or her to speak and did not know
that she had heard little, but was wondering at that moment if he would
go back to the formal 'Miss Dinnett' again, or always call her 'Sabina'
in future.

After a pause Raymond spoke.

"Now tell me about yourself," he said. "I'm sure you've heard enough
about me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"How did you happen to be a spinner?"

"Mother was, so I went into it as a matter of course."

"I should have thought old Churchouse would have seen you're a genius,
and educated you and adopted you."

"Nothing of a genius about me. I'm like most other girls."

"I never saw another girl like you," he said.

"You'd spoil anybody with your compliments."

"Never paid a compliment in my life," he declared.

Their conversation became desultory, and presently Sabina said she must
be going home.

"Mother will be wondering."

On the way back they met another familiar pair and Sabina speculated as
to what Raymond thought; but he showed no emotion and took off his hat
to Sarah Northover and Nicholas Roberts, the lathe worker, as they
passed by. Sarah smiled, and Nicholas, a thin, good-looking man, took
off his hat also.

"I must go and study the lathes," said Raymond after they had passed.
"That's a branch of the work I haven't looked at yet. Roberts seems a
good chap, and he's a very useful bowler, I find."

"He's engaged to Sarah; they're going to be married when he can get a
house."

"That's another thing that must be looked to. There are scores of
cottages that want pulling down here. I shall point that out to the Lord
of the Manor when I get a chance."

"You're all for changes and improvements, Mister Ironsyde."

"Call me Raymond, Sabina."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not? I want you to. By the way, may I call you Sabina?"

"Yes, if you care to."

They parted at the entrance gate of 'The Magnolias,' and Raymond thanked
her very heartily for her company.

"I've looked forward to this," he said. "And now I shall look forward to
the next time. It's very sporting of you to come and I'm tremendously
grateful and--good-bye, Sabina--till to-morrow."

He went on up the road to North Hill House and felt the evening had
grown tasteless without her. He counted the hours to when he would see
her again. She went to work at seven o'clock, but he never appeared at
the Mill until ten, or later.

He began to see that this was the most serious thing within his
experience. He supposed th