Never had enough to do with a woman to give
himself a chance. He's an old hermit of a bachelor, Miss Vane, absorbed
in his work, and becoming more of a slave to it every year of his life.
Even on a holiday he can't take it easy like other folks. He has some
writing on hand just now--a paper of sorts which he has undertaken to
have ready by a certain time, and it appears to his benighted intellect
that a holiday is an excellent opportunity of getting it through. Mad,
you see; stark, staring mad, but an excellent fellow all the same. One
of the very best. I have a large experience of men, but I've never met
one to compare with him for all-round goodness and simplicity of heart.
We all have our failings, and there are worse things than a little
shyness and reserve. If he avoids you like the plague, try to pity him
for the loss it entails upon himself, and take no offence! As I said
before, it's not a personal matter. He knows that you are a stranger
and a woman, but I don't suppose he has the most glimmering idea of what
you are really like!"

"Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he came
and spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impression
lasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still,--I
wasn't pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for his
life. But he _did_ see it! He knows quite well what I am like."

"And in the depths of your little girl heart you think he is a strange
fellow, not to want to see you again! You can't understand why he
should go out of his way to be kind to Elspeth, and avoid some one
infinitely more attractive. Don't be offended, but that's a wrong view
to take of the case. In my brother's eyes Elspeth is more attractive
than yourself, for she is poor, you see, and ugly, and leads a life of
all work and no play. He might be able to do her a good turn. Besides,
he has known her for several years, and has had time to become
reconciled to her existence, so to speak. Custom goes a long way with
shy people. George would rather beard a den of lions than face the
company in the inn parlour on a wet evening, but he is a welcome guest
in the kitchen, and Mrs McNab adores him to the extent of submitting to
muddy boots without a murmur. He cracks jokes with her in a free-and-
easy manner which strikes awe into the heart of tremblers like myself.
It's my first visit to the Nag's Head, and I'm still in the stag