Or what is more likely than that the young woman should constantly draw her friend and guardian to speak of days and people connected with her own life, but passed before her memory had retained them?
After a long interval, as if, when she had once broken her reserve about her life, she must pour out all her experience, Mrs.Simcoe began: "When I was twenty years old, living with my father, a poor farmer in the country, there came to pass the summer in the village a gentleman, a good deal older than I.He was handsome, graceful, elegant, fascinating.

I saw him at church, but he did not see me.

Then I met him sometimes upon the road, idly sauntering along, swinging a little cane, and looking as if village life were fatiguing.

He seemed at length to observe me.

One day he bowed.