, occasionally fallen into "polite" society--I
yielded the point to him and submitted to his larger experience of good
breeding.

However, Fate, kinder than he, took the knot of etiquette into her own
hands, and broke it.

Close to the cottage door, our two paths converging, and probably our
breakfast-hours likewise, brought us suddenly face to face with Miss
March.

She saw us, and we had a distinct sight of her.

I was right: we and our contiguity were not of the smallest importance
to Miss March. Her fresh morning roses did not deepen, nor her eyes
droop, as she looked for a moment at us both--a quiet, maidenly look of
mere observation. Of course no recognition passed; but there was a
merry dimple beside her mouth, as if she quite well knew who we were,
and owned to a little harmless feminine curiosity in observing us.

She had to pass our door, where stood Mrs. Tod and the baby. It
stretched out its little arms to come to her, with that pretty, babyish
gesture which I suppose no woman can resist. Miss March could not.
She stopped, and began tossing up the child.

Truly, they made a pleasant picture, the two--she with her hooded cloak
dropping off, showing her graceful shape, and her dark-brown hair, all
gathered up in a mass of curls at the top of her head, as the fashion
then was. As she stood, with her eyes sparkling, and the young blood
flushing through her clear brunette cheeks, I was not sure whether I
had not judged too hastily in calling her "no beauty."

Probably, by his look, John thought the same.

She stood right before our wicket-gate; but she had evidently quite
forgotten us, so happy was she with Mrs. Tod's bonny boy, until the
landlady made some remark about "letting the gentlemen by." Then, with
a slight start, drawing her hood back over her head, the young lady
stepped aside.

In passing her, John raised his eyes, as was natural enough. For me, I
could hardly take mine from her, such a pleasant creature was she to
behold. She half smiled--he bowed, which she returned, courteously,
and we both went in-doors. I told him this was a good beginning of
acquaintance with our neighbour.

"Not at all, no acquaintance; a mere civility between two people living
under the same roof. It will never be more."

"Probably not."

I am afraid John was disappointed at my "probably." I am afraid that
when he stood at our window, contemplating the little group which
filled up our wicket-gate,