Harry¹ Clavering went down to Stratton, slept one night at old Mr. Burton's house, and drove Florence over to Clavering,—twenty miles across the country,—on the following day. This journey together had been looked forward to with great delight by both of them, and Florence, in spite of the snubbing which she had received from her lover because of her prudence², was very happy as she seated herself alongside of him in the vehicle which had been sent over from the rectory, and which he called a trap. Not a word had as yet been said between them as to that snubbing, nor was Harry minded that anything should be said. He meant to carry on his revenge by being dumb on that subject. But such was not Florence's intention. She desired not only to have her own way in this matter, but desired also that he should assent⁴ to her arrangements.

It was a charming day for such a journey. It was cold, but not cold enough to make them uncomfortable. There was a wind, but not wind enough to torment⁵ them. Once there came on a little shower, which just sufficed to give Harry an opportunity of wrapping his companion very closely, but he had hardly completed the ceremony before the necessity for it was over. They both agreed that this mode of travelling was infinitely⁶ preferable to a journey by railroad, and I myself should be of the same opinion if one could always make one's journeys under the same circumstances. And it must be understood that Harry, though no doubt he was still taking his revenge on Florence by abstaining⁷ from all allusion⁸ to her letter, was not disposed to make himself otherwise disagreeable. He played his part of lover very well, and Florence was supremely⁹ happy.

"Harry," she said, when the journey was more than half completed, "you never told me what you thought of my letter."

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