Strange to say John felt none of that annoyance which he formerly felt when his conversations with Mrs.Goddard were interrupted, and he talked with Nellie and Mrs.Ambrose quite as readily as with her.
He felt very calm and happy that night, as though he had done with the hard labour of life.

In half an hour he had realised that he was no more in love with Mrs.Goddard than he was with Mrs.Ambrose, and he was trying to explain to himself how it was that he had ever believed in such a palpable absurdity.

Love was doubtless blind, he thought, but he was surely not so blind as to overlook the evidences of Mrs.Goddard's age.
All the dreams of that morning faded away before the sight of her face, and so deep is the turpitude of the best of human hearts that John was almost ashamed of having once thought he loved her.

That was probably the best possible proof that his love had been but a boyish fancy.
What the little party at the vicarage would have been like, if John's presence had not animated it, would be hard to say.

The squire and Mr.
Ambrose treated Mrs.Goddard with the sort of paternal but solemn care which is usually bestowed either upon great invalids or upon persons bereaved of some very dear relation.