"It was nonsense then?"
"Why did you make it up, and talk as if as if it really happened—to somebody—once."
"Why?" he said carelessly. "Oh, because I suppose it did really happen to somebody—once. Didn't it?"
The next pause lasted longer.
"I thought you didn't know," she muttered presently.
The blind-tassel was flying wildly through the air. He laughed slightly.
"I didn't. At least, not until you began to read."
"At all events, you have not altered much," she retorted, and the blind-tassel came off in her hand.
"Well, I never," said the Squire's wife from the door way.
"I have knocked three times. And you don't seem to be reading the paper either. You were talking just as though you had known one another all your lives."
"I believe we were," assented the novelist.
"You see," exclaimed his companion elaborately, "we have just discovered that we met on the East Coast once, ever so long ago, soon after I was married. Isn't it odd?"
"In fact, a coincidence," said Allan, to help her out.
The Squire's wife looked as though she did not believe in coincidences much.
"How very strange," she said; "but why in the world didn't you say so last night, Everilde?"
After that, the Squire's wife and Mrs. Witherington did all the talking between them. But Allan managed to get in a word just as they were leaving.
"And what time did you say you would be walking on Blackcliff Hill?" he murmured.
