"I suppose likely that's so. And I can't imagine her a minister's wife, can you?"

I could not; nor, unless I was greatly mistaken, could the young lady herself. In fact, anything as serious as marriage was far from her thoughts at present, I judged. But Hephzy did not seem so sure.

"No," she went on, "I don't think the curate's got much chance. But young Doctor Bayliss is different. He's good-lookin' and smart and he's got prospects. I like him first-rate and I think Frances likes him, too. I shouldn't wonder if THAT affair came to somethin'. Wouldn't it be splendid if it did!"

I said that it would. And yet, even as I said it, I was conscious of a peculiar feeling of insincerity. I liked young Bayliss. He was all that Hephzy had said, and more. He would, doubtless, make a good husband for any girl. And his engagement to Frances Morley might make easier the explanation which was bound to come. I believed I could tell Herbert Bayliss the truth concerning the ridiculous "claim." A man would be susceptible to reason and proof; I could convince him. I should have welcomed the possibility, but, somehow or other, I did not. Somehow or other, the idea of her marrying anyone was repugnant to me. I did not like to think of it.

"Oh dear!" sighed Hephzy; "if only things were different. If only she knew all about her father and his rascality and was livin' with us because she wanted to--if that was the way of it, it would be so different. If you and I had really adopted her! If she only was your niece."

"Nonsense!" I snapped. "She isn't my niece."

"I know it. That's what makes your goodness to her seem so wonderful to me. You treat her as if you cared as much as I do. And of course you don't. It isn't natural you should. She's my sister's child, and she's hardly any relation to you at all. You're awful good, Hosy. She's noticed it, too. I think she likes you now a lot better than she did; she as much as said so. She's beginning to understand you."

"Nonsense!" I said again. Understand me! I didn't understand myself.

Nevertheless I was foolishly pleased to hear that she liked me. It was pleasant to be liked even by one who was destined to hate me later on.

"I hope she won't feel too hard against us," continued Hephzy. "I can't bear to think of her doin' that. She--she seems so near and dear to me now. We--I shall miss her dreadfully when it's all over."

I think she hoped that I might say that I should miss her, also. But I did not say anything of the kind.

I was resolved not to permit myself to miss her. Hadn't I been scheming and planning to get rid of her ever since she thrust herself upon us? To be sorry when she, at last, was gotten rid of would be too idiotic.

"Well," observed Hephzy, in conclusion, "perhaps she and Doctor Bayliss will make a match after all. We ought to help it all we can, I suppose."

This conversation had various effects upon me. One was to make me unaccountably "blue" for the rest of that day. Another was that I regarded the visits of Worcester and Herbert Bayliss with a different eye. I speculated foolishly concerning those visits and watched both young gentlemen more closely.

I did not have to watch the curate long. Suddenly he ceased calling at the rectory. Not altogether, of course, but he called only occasionally and his manner toward my "niece" was oddly formal and constrained. She was very kind to him, kinder than before, I thought, but there was a difference in their manner. Hephzy, of course, had an explanation ready.

"She's given him his clearance papers," was her way of expressing it.

"She's told him that it's no use so far as he's concerned. Well, I never did think she cared for him. And that leaves the course clear for the doctor, doesn't it."

The doctor took advantage of the clear course. His calls and invitations for rides and tennis and golf were more frequent than ever. She must have understood; but, being a normal young woman, as well as a very, very pretty one, she was a bit of a coquette and kept the boy--for, after all, he was scarcely more than that--at arm's length and in a state of alternate hope and despair. I shared his varying moods. If he could not be sure of her feelings toward him, neither could I, and I found myself wondering, wondering constantly. It was foolish for me to wonder, of course. Why should I waste time in speculation on that subject? Why should I care whether she married or not? What difference did it make to me whom she married? I resolved not to think of her at all. And that resolution, like so many I had made, amounted to nothing, for I did think of her constantly.

And then to add a new complication to the already over-complicated situation, came A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire.

Frances and Herbert Bayliss were scheduled for nine holes of golf on the Manor House course that morning. I had had no intention of playing. My projected novel had reached the stage where, plot building completed, I had really begun the writing. The first chapter was finished and I had intended beginning the second one that day. But, just as I seated myself at the desk in the Reverend Cole's study, the young lady appeared and insisted that the twosome become a threesome, that I leave my "stupid old papers and pencils" and come for a round on the links. I protested, of course, but she was in one of her wilful moods that morning and declared that she would not play unless I did.

"It will do you good," she said. "You'll write all the better this afternoon. Now, come along."

"Is Doctor Bayliss as anxious for my company as you seem to be?" I asked maliciously.

She tossed her head. "Of course he is," she retorted. "Besides it doesn't make any difference whether he is or not. _I_ want you to play, and that is enough."

"Humph! he may not agree with you."

"Then he can play by himself. It will do him good, too. He takes altogether too much for granted. Come! I am waiting."

So, after a few more fruitless protests, I reluctantly laid aside the paper and pencils, changed to golfing regalia and, with my bag of clubs on my shoulder, joined the two young people on the lawn.

Frances greeted me very cordially indeed. Her clubs--I had bought them myself on one of my trips to London: having once yielded, in the matter of the tennis outfit, I now bought various little things which I thought would please her--were carried by Herbert Bayliss, who, of course, also carried his own. His greeting was not as enthusiastic. He seemed rather glum and out of sorts. Frances addressed most of her conversation to me and I was inclined to think the pair had had some sort of disagreement, what Hephzy would have called a "lover's quarrel," perhaps.

We walked across the main street of Mayberry, through the lane past the cricket field, on by the path over the pastures, and entered the great gate of the Manor, the gate with the Carey arms emblazoned above it.

Then a quarter of a mile over rolling hills, with rare shrubs and flowers everywhere, brought us to the top of the hill at the edge of the little wood which these English people persisted in calling a "forest."

The first tee was there. You drove--if you were skillful or lucky--down the long slope to the green two hundred yards away. If you were neither skillful nor lucky you were quite as likely to drive into the long grass on either side of the fair green. Then you hunted for your ball and, having found it, wasted more or less labor and temper in pounding it out of the "rough."

At the first tee a man arrayed in the perfection of natty golfing togs was practicing his "swing." A caddy was carrying his bag. This of itself argued the swinger a person of privilege and consequence, for caddies on those links were strictly forbidden by the Lady of the Manor. Why they were forbidden she alone knew.

As we approached the tee the player turned to look at us. He was not a Mayberryite and yet there was something familiar in his appearance. He regarded us for a moment and then, dropping his driver, lounged toward me and extended his hand.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "It is you, isn't it! How do you do?"

"Why, Mr. Heathcroft!" I said. "This is a surprise."

We shook hands. He, apparently, was not at all surprised.

"Heard about your being here, Knowles," he drawled. "My aunt told me; that is, she said there were Americans at the rectory and when she mentioned the name I knew, of course, it must be you. Odd you should have located here, isn't it! Jolly glad to see you."

I said I was glad to see him. Then I introduced my companions.

"Bayliss and I have met before," observed Heathcroft. "Played a round with him in the tournament last year. How do, Bayliss? Don't think Miss Morley and I have met, though. Great pleasure, really. Are you a resident of Mayberry, Miss Morley?"

Frances said that she was a temporary resident.

"Ah! visiting here, I suppose?"

"Yes. Yes, I am visiting. I am living at the rectory, also."

"Miss Morley is Mr. Knowles's niece," explained Bayliss.

Heathcroft seemed surprised.

"Indeed!" he drawled. "Didn't know you had a niece, Knowles. She wasn't with you on the ship, now was she."

"Miss Morley had been living in England--here and on the Continent," I answered. I could have kicked Bayliss for his officious explanation of kinship. Now I should have that ridiculous "uncle" business to contend with, in our acquaintance with Heathcroft as with the Baylisses and the rest. Frances, I am sure, read my thoughts, for the corners of her mouth twitched and she looked away over the course.

"Won't you ask Mr. Heathcroft to join our game--Uncle?" she said. She had dropped the hated "Hosea," I am happy to say, but in the presence of those outside the family she still addressed me as "Uncle." Of course she could not do otherwise without arousing comment, but I did not like it. Uncle! there was a venerable, antique quality in the term which I resented more and more each time I heard it. It emphasized the difference in our ages--and that difference needed no emphasis.

Heathcroft looked pleased at the invitation, but he hesitated in accepting it.

"Oh, I shouldn't do that, really," he declared. "I should be in the way, now shouldn't I."

Bayliss, to whom the remark was addressed, made no answer. I judged that he did not care for the honor of the Heathcroft company. But Frances, after a glance in his direction, answered for him.

"Oh, not in the least," she said. "A foursome is ever so much more sporting than a threesome. Mr. Heathcroft, you and I will play Doctor Bayliss and--Uncle. Shall we?"

Heathcroft declared himself delighted and honored. He looked the former. He had scarcely taken his eyes from Miss Morley since their introduction.

That match was hard fought. Our new acquaintance was a fair player and he played to win. Frances was learning to play and had a natural aptitude for the game. I played better than my usual form and I needed to, for Bayliss played wretchedly. He "dubbed" his approaches and missed easy putts. If he had kept his eye on the ball instead of on his opponents he might have done better, but that he would not do. He watched Heathcroft and Miss Morley continually, and the more he watched the less he seemed to like what he saw.