"What do you mean?" she repeated. "What is it you cannot countenance or"--scornfully--"permit concerning me?"

"I--well, I cannot permit you to do as you have done to-day. You did not tell your aunt or me your purpose in coming to Wrayton. You did not tell us you were coming here to buy--to buy various things for yourself."

"Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea that I should ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?"

"Considering that you ask me to pay, I--"

"I most distinctly did NOT ask you. I TOLD you to pay. Certainly you will pay. Why not?"

"Why not?"

"Yes, why not. So this was what you wished to speak to me about. This was why you were so--so boorish and disagreeable in that shop. Tell me--was that the reason? Was that why you followed me there? Did you think--did you presume to think of preventing my buying what I pleased with my money?"

"If it had been your money I should not have presumed, certainly. If you had mentioned your intention to me beforehand I might even have paid for your purchases and said nothing. I should--I should have been glad to do so. I am not unreasonable."

"Indeed! Indeed! Do you mean that you would have condescended to make me a present of them? And was it your idea that I would accept presents from you?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she had already accepted a good deal; but somehow the place, a public sidewalk, seemed hardly fitting for the discussion of weighty personal matters. Passers-by were regarding us curiously, and in the door of the draper's shop which we had just left I noticed the elderly clerk standing and looking in our direction. I temporized.

"You don't understand, Miss Morley," I said. "Neither your aunt nor I are wealthy. Surely, it is not too much to ask that you consult us before--before--"

She interrupted me. "I shall not consult you at all," she declared, fiercely. "Wealthy! Am _I_ wealthy? Was my father wealthy? He should have been and so should I. Oh, WHAT do you mean? Are you trying to tell me that you cannot afford to pay for the few trifles I have bought this afternoon?"

"I can afford those, of course. But you don't understand."

"Understand? YOU do not understand. The agreement under which I came to Mayberry was that you were to provide for me. I consented to forego pressing my claim against you until--until you were ready to--to--Oh, but why should we go into this again? I thought--I thought you understood. I thought you understood and appreciated my forbearance. You seemed to understand and to be grateful and kind. I am all alone in the world. I haven't a friend. I have been almost happy for a little while.

I was beginning to--"

She stopped. The dark eyes which had been flashing lightnings in my direction suddenly filled with tears. My heart smote me. After all, she did not understand. Another plea of that kind and I should have--Well, I'm not sure what I should have done. But the plea was not spoken.

"Oh, what a fool I am!" she cried, fiercely. "Mr. Knowles," pointing to the sporting-goods store, "I have made some purchases in that shop also.

I expect you to pay for those as well. Will you or will you not?"

I was hesitating, weakly. She did not wait for me to reply.

"You WILL pay for them," she declared, "and you will pay for others that I may make. I shall buy what I please and do what I please with my money which you are keeping from me. You will pay or take the consequences."

That was enough. "I will not pay," I said, firmly, "under any such arrangement."

"You will NOT?"

"No, I will not."

She looked as if--Well, if she had been a man I should have expected a blow. Her breast heaved and her fingers clenched. Then she turned and walked toward the shop with the cricket bats in the window.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I am going to tell the man to send the things I have bought to Mayberry by carrier and I shall tell him to send the bill to you."

"If you do I shall tell him to do nothing of the kind. Miss Morley, I don't mean to be ungenerous or unreasonable, but--"

"Stop! Stop! Oh!" with a sobbing breath, "how I hate you!"

"I'm sorry. When I explain, as I mean to, you will understand, I think.

If you will go back to the rectory with me now--"

"I shall not go back with you. I shall never speak to you again."

"Miss Morley, be reasonable. You must go back with me. There is no other way."

"I will not."

Here was more cheer in an already cheerful situation. She could not get to Mayberry that night unless she rode with me. She had no money to take her there or anywhere else. I could hardly carry her to the trap by main strength. And the curiosity of the passers-by was more marked than ever; two or three of them had stopped to watch us.

I don't know how it might have ended, but the end came in an unexpected manner.

"Why, Miss Morley," cried a voice from the street behind me. "Oh, I say, it IS you, isn't it. How do you do?"

I turned. A trim little motor car was standing there and Herbert Bayliss was at the wheel.

"Ah, Knowles, how do you do?" said Bayliss.

I acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed fashion. I wondered how long he had been there and what he had heard. He alighted from the car and shook hands with us.

"Didn't see you, Knowles, at first," he said. "Saw Miss Morley here and thought she was alone. Was going to beg the privilege of taking her home in my car."

Miss Morley answered promptly. "You may have the privilege, Doctor Bayliss," she said. "I accept with pleasure."

Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled.

"Thanks, awfully," he said. "But my car holds but two and your uncle--"

"Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should love the motor ride. May I get in?"

He helped her into the car. "Sure you don't mind, Knowles," he asked.

"Sorry there's not more room; but you couldn't leave the horse, though, could you? Quite comfy, Miss Morley? Then we're off."

The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an instant; there was withering contempt in its look--also triumph.

Left alone, I walked to the trap, gave the horse-holding boy sixpence, climbed to the seat and took up the reins. "Pet" jogged lazily up the street. The ride over had been very, very pleasant; the homeward journey was likely to be anything but that.

To begin with, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I had bungled the affair dreadfully. This was not the time for explanations; I should not have attempted them. It would have been better, much better, to have accepted the inevitable as gracefully as I could, paid the bills, and then, after we reached home, have made the situation plain and "have put my foot down" once and for all. But I had not done that. I had lost my temper and acted like an eighteen-year-old boy instead of a middle-aged man.

She did not understand, of course. In her eyes I must have appeared stingy and mean and--and goodness knows what. The money I had refused to pay she did consider hers, of course. It was not hers, and some day she would know that it was not, but the town square at Wrayton was not the place in which to impart knowledge of that kind.

She was so young, too, and so charming--that is, she could be when she chose. And she had chosen to be so during our drive together. And I had enjoyed that drive; I had enjoyed nothing as thoroughly since our arrival in England. She had enjoyed it, too; she had said so.

Well, there would be no more enjoyment of that kind. This was the end, of course. And all because I had refused to pay for a tennis racket and a few other things. They were things she wanted--yes, needed, if she were to remain at the rectory. And, expecting to remain as she did, it was but natural that she should wish to play tennis and dress as did other young players of her sex. Her life had not been a pleasant one; after all, a little happiness added, even though it did cost me some money, was not much. And it must end soon. It seemed a pity to end it in order to save two pounds eight and threepence.