Hephzy shook her head. "I wouldn't dare," she said. "She'd take my head off. We're on awful thin ice, you and I, with her, as it is. She treats us real nicely now, but that's because we don't interfere. If I should try just once to tell her what she ought to do she'd flare up like a bonfire. And then do the other thing to show her independence."

"I suppose she would," I admitted, gloomily.

"I know she would. No, we mustn't say anything to her. But--but you might say somethin' to him, mightn't you. Just hint around and find out what he does mean by bein' with her so much. Couldn't you do that, Hosy?"

I smiled. "Possibly I could, but I sha'n't," I answered. "He would tell me to go to perdition, probably, and I shouldn't blame him."

"Why no, he wouldn't. He thinks you're her uncle, her guardian, you know. You'd have a right to do it."

I did not propose to exercise that right, and I said so, emphatically.

And yet, before that week was ended, I did do what amounted to that very thing. The reason which led to this rash act on my part was a talk I had with Lady Kent Carey.

I met her ladyship on the putting green of the ninth hole of the golf course. I was playing a round alone. She came strolling over the green, dressed as mannishly as usual, but carrying a very feminine parasol, which by comparison with the rest of her get-up, looked as out of place as a silk hat on the head of a girl in a ball dress. She greeted me very affably, waited until I putted out, and then sat beside me on the bench under the big oak and chatted for some time.

The subject of her conversation was her nephew. She was, apparently, only too glad to talk about him at any time. He was her dead sister's child and practically the only relative she had. He seemed like a son to her. Such a charming fellow, wasn't he, now? And so considerate and kind to her. Everyone liked him; he was a great favorite.

"And he is very fond of you, Mr. Knowles," she said. "He enjoys your acquaintance so much. He says that there is a freshness and novelty about you Americans which is quite delightfully amusing. This Miss--ah--Cahoon--your cousin, I think she is--is a constant joy to him.

He never tires of repeating her speeches. He does it very well, don't you think. He mimics the American accent wonderfully."

I agreed that the Heathcroft American accent was wonderful indeed. It was all that and more. Lady Carey went on.

"And this Miss Morley, your niece," she said, poking holes in the turf with the tip of her parasol, "she is a charming girl, isn't she. She and Carleton are quite friendly, really."

"Yes," I admitted, "they seem to be."

"Yes. Tell me about your niece, Mr. Knowles. Has she lived in England long? Who were her parents?"

I dodged the ticklish subject as best I could, told her that Frances'

father was an Englishman, her mother an American, and that most of the young lady's life had been spent in France. I feared more searching questions, but she did not ask them.

"I see," she said, nodding, and was silent for a moment. Then she changed the subject, returning once more to her beloved Carleton.

"He's a dear boy," she declared. "I am planning great things for him.

Some day he will have the estate here, of course. And I am hoping to get him the seat in Parliament when our party returns to power, as it is sure to do before long. He will marry then; in fact everything is arranged, so far as that goes. Of course there is no actual engagement as yet, but we all understand."

I had been rather bored, now I was interested.

"Indeed!" said I. "And may I ask who is the fortunate young lady?"

"A daughter of an old friend of ours in Warwickshire--a fine family, one of the oldest in England. She and Carleton have always been so fond of each other. Her parents and I have considered the affair settled for years. The young people will be so happy together."

Here was news. I offered congratulations.

"Thank you so much," she said. "It is pleasant to know that his future is provided for. Margaret will make him a good wife. She worships him.

If anything should happen to--ah--disturb the arrangement her heart would break, I am sure. Of course nothing will happen. I should not permit it."

I made some comment, I don't remember what. She rose from the bench.

"I have been chatting about family affairs and matchmaking like a garrulous old woman, haven't I," she observed, smiling. "So silly of me.

You have been charmingly kind to listen, Mr. Knowles. Forgive me, won't you. Carleton dear is my one interest in life and I talk of him on the least excuse, or without any. So sorry to have inflicted my garrulity upon you. I may count upon you entering our invitation golf tournament next month, may I not? Oh, do say yes. Thank you so much. Au revoir."

She moved off, as imposing and majestic as a frigate under full sail. I walked slowly toward home, thinking hard.

I should have been flattered, perhaps, at her taking me into confidence concerning her nephew's matrimonial projects. If I had believed the "garrulity," as she called it, to have been unintentional, I might have been flattered. But I did not so believe. I was pretty certain there was intention in it and that she expected Frances and Hephzy and me to take it as a warning. Carleton dear was, in her eyes, altogether too friendly with the youngest tenant in Mayberry rectory. The "garrulity" was a notice to keep hands off.

I was not incensed at her; she amused me, rather. But with Heathcroft I was growing more incensed every moment. Engaged to be married, was he!

He and this Warwickshire girl of "fine family" had been "so fond" of each other for years. Everything was understood, was it? Then what did he mean by his attentions to Frances, attentions which half of Mayberry was probably discussing at the moment? The more I considered his conduct the angrier I became. It was the worst time possible for a meeting with A. Carleton Heathcroft, and yet meet him I did at the loneliest and most secluded spot in the hedged lane leading to the lodge gate.

He greeted me cordially enough, if his languid drawl could be called cordial.

"Ah, Knowles," he said. "Been doing the round I see. A bit stupid by oneself, I should think. What? Miss Morley and I have been riding. Had a ripping canter together."

It was an unfortunate remark, just at that time. It had the effect of spurring my determination to the striking point. I would have it out with him then and there.

"Heathcroft," I said, bluntly, "I am not sure that I approve of Miss Morley's riding with you so often."

He regarded me with astonishment.

"You don't approve!" he repeated. "And why not? There's no danger. She rides extremely well."

"It's not a question of danger. It is one of proprieties, if I must put it that way. She is a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and she probably does not realize that being seen in your company so frequently is likely to cause comment and gossip. Her aunt and I realize it, however."

His expression of surprise was changing to one of languid amusement.

"Really!" he drawled. "By Jove! I say, Knowles, am I such a dangerously fascinating character? You flatter me."

"I don't know anything concerning your character. I do know that there is gossip. I am not accusing you of anything. I have no doubt you have been merely careless. Your intentions may have been--"

He interrupted me. "My intentions?" he repeated. "My dear fellow, I have no intentions. None whatever concerning your niece, if that is what you mean. She is a jolly pretty girl and jolly good company. I like her and she seems to like me. That is all, upon my word it is."

He was quite sincere, I was convinced of it. But I had gone too far to back out.

"Then you have been thoughtless--or careless," I said. "It seems to me that you should have considered her."

"Considered her! Oh, I say now! Why should I consider her pray?"

"Why shouldn't you? You are much older than she is and a man of the world besides. And you are engaged to be married, or so I am told."

His smile disappeared.

"Now who the devil told you that?" he demanded.

"I was told, by one who should know, that you were engaged, or what amounts to the same thing. It is true, isn't it?"

"Of course it's true! But--but--why, good God, man! you weren't under the impression that I was planning to marry your niece, were you? Oh, I say! that would be TOO good!"

He laughed heartily. He did not appear in the least annoyed or angry, but seemed to consider the whole affair a huge joke. I failed to see the joke, myself.