They did not talk much.

Thomas's mind had gone back to that morning when he had looked out and seen Daniel Magor at the gate with letters in his hand--that wonderful letter which had so altered and beautified their existence for a time, only to blight them both cruelly.
"I believe it's Miss Grace I see coming in," he said presently, rousing with a start.

"She's at the gate, and--yes, she's unfastening it.

I'll go and meet her." On his way through the garden he saw a cat lazily basking on his best wall-flower seedlings, and drove her away; the excitement of it prevented his noticing the expression of Miss Grace's face, the anxious, excited look in her eyes.
"Good-evening, Mr.Dawson," she said, as she came close.

"I was at the post office getting my letters, and there was one lying there for you, so I said I would bring it, as it was marked 'Urgent.' It seemed wrong to leave it there until to-morrow, I thought it might be important." She handed him the envelope, but she did not turn and go.