have stripped him of the living he has no right to, and proved him the detected swindler he is! Wait-wait a little, Miss Bonamy, and when your parson is ruined, as he will be before three months are out, high as he holds his head now, perhaps you will be sorry that you did not take my offer. Why,' he added scornfully, 'I should say you are the only person in the parish who does not know he has no more right to be where he is than I have.' 'Go!' she said, pointing to the door. Her face was white now. 'So I will when I have said one more word- ?

"You won't say it!' a sharp voice cried behind him. "You will go now!' He shot round, and there was Daintry, with her hand on the door. Her hair was in disorder, her cheeks were flushed, her greenish-grey eyes were aglow with anger. He saw that she had overheard something of what had passed, and he began to tremble, for he had said more than he intended. You will go now, as Kate tells you,' she cried. 'I will not have › 'Leave the room, child!' he snarled, stamping his foot.

6

'I shan't!' she retorted fiercely. And if you do not go before I count three I will fetch the dogs.'

Dr. Gregg made a movement as if he would have put her out of the room. But her presence had a little sobered him, and he stopped. Look here,' he said.

'One!' cried Daintry, who knew well that the doctor had a particular dislike for Snorum, and that the dog's presence was at any time enough to drive him from the house.

He turned and looked at Kate. She had gone to the window and was gazing out, her back to him, her figure proud and scornful. Miss Bonamy,' he said.

'Two!' cried Daintry. Are you going, or shall I fetch Snorum ?'

With a muttered oath he took up his hat and went down the stairs. He passed out into the street. But near the door he stood a moment, grinding his teeth, as the full sense of the calamity which had befallen him came home to him. He had stooped and been rejected. He had been rejected by Bonamy's daughter. He walked away, and still his anger did not decrease. But all the same he began to be a little thankful that the child had interrupted him. Had he gone on he might have said too much. As it was, he had an idea that perhaps he had said more than was quite prudent. And this had presently a wonderful effect in the way of sobering him.

CHAPTER XII.

THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL.

NEEDLESS to say, tea-time at Mr. Bonamy's was five-thirty; the lawyer knew nothing of four o'clock tea. He would have stared had he been invited into the drawing-room to take it, or had his daughters produced one of those dainty afternoon tea-tables which were in use at the Town House, and asked him to support his cup and saucer on his knee. Compromises found no favour with him. Tea was a meal-he had always so considered it; and he liked to have the dining-room table laid for it. Possibly Kate, had she enjoyed more of her own way, would have altered this, as she would certainly have reformed the drawing-room. But Mr. Bonamy, who was in many things an indulgent father, was conservative in some. Four o'clock tea, and a daily use of the drawing-room, were refinements which he had always regarded as peculiar to a certain set; and in his pride he would not appear to ape its ways or affect to belong to it.

Almost to the moment he came into the room, which was as bright and cheerful as gaslight and firelight could make it. Laying some letters under a weight on the mantelshelf, he turned round, and stood with his back to the fireplace. 'How is the child?' he asked. 'Has she gone to bed?'

'Yes,' Kate answered, lifting the lid of the teapot and looking in. I think she will be all right after a night's rest.'

"You do not look very bright yourself, Kate,' he continued, as he sat down.

'I

Her cheek flushing, she made the old woman's excuse. have a little headache,' she said. "It will be better when I have had my tea.'

He took a piece of toast and buttered it deliberately. 'Gregg came and saw her?' he asked.

'Yes. He said it was only a sick headache, and would pass off.'

The lawyer made no comment at the moment, but went on eating his toast. But presently he looked up. 'What is the matter, Kitty?' he said, not unkindly.

Her face burning, she peered again quite unnecessarily into the teapot. Then she said hurriedly, 'I have something I think I ought to tell you, father. Dr. Gregg has asked me-to marry him!'

"The deuce he has!' Mr. Bonamy answered. His surprise was unmistakable. For a moment he did not know what to say, or how to feel about it. If any one had informed the Claversham people that the lawyer's moroseness was not natural to the man, but the product of many slights, the informant would have lost his pains. Yet in a great measure this was so; and first among the things which of late years had exercised Mr. Bonamy, a keen anxiety for his daughters' happiness had place. He had never made any move towards procuring them the society of their equals; nay, he had done many things in his pride calculated rather to prolong their exclusion. Yet all the time he had bitterly resented it, and had spent many a wakeful night in pondering gloomily over the dull lives to which they were condemned. Now-strange that he had never thought of it before-as far as Kate was concerned, he saw a way of escape opening. Gregg had a fair practice, some private means, a good house, a tolerable position in the town. In a word, he was perfectly eligible. Yet Mr. Bonamy was not altogether pleased. He had no fastidious objection to the doctor. It did not occur to him that the doctor was not a gentleman. But he did know that he did not like him.

So the lawyer, after one exclamation of surprise, was for a moment silent. Then he asked, 'Well, Kate, and what did you say?"

'I said No,' Kate answered in a low voice.

'He is a well-to-do man,' Mr. Bonamy remarked, slowly stirring his tea. Not that you need think of that only. But you are not likely to know many people who could make you more comfortable. I believe he is skilful in his profession. It is a chance, girl, not to be lightly thrown away.'

'I could not-I could not marry him,' Kate stammered, her agitation now very apparent. 'I do not like him. You would not have me

,

6

'I would not have you marry any one you do not like!' Mr. Bonamy replied, almost sternly. But are you sure that you know your own mind?'

'Quite,' Kate said, with a shudder.

'Hum! Well, well; there is no more to be said, then,' he answered.

Don't cry, girl.'

Kate managed to obey him. And in a moment, bravely steadying her voice, she asked, 'What is this about Mr. Lindo, father? I heard that he had turned the sheep out of the churchyard.'

The lawyer thought she asked the question in order to change the subject; and he answered briskly, with less reserve perhaps than he might have practised at another time. It is quite true,' he said. "He is making a fool of himself, as I expected. You cannot put old heads on young shoulders. However, what has happened has convinced me of one thing.'

"What is that?' she asked in a low voice.

'That he does not know himself that he has no right here.' 'No right here?' she murmured, in the same tone.

But has he none?' He noticed that her manner was conscious and embarrassed; but naturally he set this down to the former topic. He thought she was trying to avoid a scene, and he admired her for it.

'Well, I doubt if he has,' he answered, though I am not quite sure that people have not happened upon a mare's nest. It is the talk of the town that there was some mistake in his presentation, and there is a disreputable fellow hanging on his heels, and apparently living on him, who is said to be in the secret, and to be making the most of it. I do not believe that now, however,' the lawyer continued, falling into a brown study and speaking as much to himself as to her. If he knew he were insecure he would live more quietly than he does. All the same, he is likely to learn a lesson he will not forget.'

'How?' she asked, her spoon tinkling tremulously against the side of the cup, and her head bent low over it, as though she saw something interesting in the lees.

Mr. Bonamy laughed in his out-of-door manner. 'How?' he said grimly. Well, if there be any mistake, he is going the right way to suffer by it. If he kept quiet, and went softly, and made no enemies, very little might be said, and nothing done when the mistake came out. But as it is-well, he has made a good many enemies, and the chances are that he will lose the best berth he will ever get into. It will be bad for him, but the better for the parish.'

'Don't you think,' said Kate very gently, that he means well?'

Mr. Bonamy grunted. 'Perhaps so, but he does not go the right way to do it,' he rejoined. His good fortune has turned his head, and he has put himself into the hands of the Hammond set. And that does not do at Claversham.' The lawyer closed his speech with a harsh laugh, which said more plainly than any

words, that it never would do while John Bonamy was churchwarden at Claversham.

'It seems a pity,' Kate ventured, almost under her breath. She had never raised her eyes from the tea-tray since the subject was introduced, and if her father had looked closely he would have seen that her very ears were scarlet. 'Could you not give him a word of warning?'

'I' said the lawyer, with asperity. Certainly not; why should I?'

Kate did not say, and her father, with another impatient word or two, rose from the table, and presently went out. She rang the bell mechanically and had the table cleared, and in the same mood turned to the fire and, putting her feet on the fender, began to brood over the coals, which were burning red and low in the grate.

Five times-five times only, counting the Oxford escapade as one, she had spoken to him; and they-'they' meant Claversham, for it was her chief misery to believe that the whole town was talking of her had made this of it! They had noticed his attentions, and had seen them scornfully withdrawn when he learned who she was. Oh, it was cowardly of him. And yet, had he ever -so her thoughts ran, taking a fresh turn-had he ever said a word or cast a glance at her which meant anything—which all the world might not have heard and seen? No, never. And then her anger changed its course and ran against Gregg. Him she would never forgive. It was his evil imagination, his base suspicions, which had built it all up; and Mr. Lindo was no more to blame-though she a little despised him for his weakness and conventionality-than she was herself.

It seemed most sad that he should be ruined because no one would say a word to warn him. Brooding over the fire, she felt a girl's pity for the man's ill-fortune. She forgot the last month, during which she had spoken to him but once-and then he had seemed embarrassed and anxious to be gone-and remembered only how frank and gay he had been in the first blush of his hopes at Oxford, how pleasantly he had smiled, how well and yet how quaintly his new dignity had sat upon him, and how naïvely he had shaken it off at times and shown himself a boy, with a boy's love of fun and mischief. Or, again, she remembered how thoughtful he had been for them, how considerate, how much at home in scenes new to them, with how lordly an air he had pro