On Sunday morning Lallie got a letter from Tony telling her how ill Tarrant was. She read the letter over and over again, feeling restless and unhappy. She wanted Tony. She would have liked to go back to B. House that minute, to comfort him.

"When I was at B. House I was homesick for Bridget, and now I'm here I'm homesick for Tony. Shall I always be homesick, I wonder?" Lallie pondered.

She felt curiously nervous and ill at ease. Sidney Ballinger's inevitable proposal was hanging over her, and she was no nearer any decision as to her own answer. It was all very well "to be nice" to him just to annoy Mrs. Atwood, as it plainly did; but quite another matter to make up her mind "to be nice to him for ever and ever," as she considered would be her duty if she accepted him. She wished she could talk it over with Tony once more.

Mrs. Chester insisted that her husband should take Mrs. Atwood to service at Fareham church while the rest of the party went with her to the church in the village.

Mrs. Atwood protested against the motor being had out on her account, but her hostess was firm; and as she had, when they first met, expressed such an ardent desire to behold that ancient building, she could hardly now declare that she no longer felt any inclination to gaze upon its beauties.

"Won't you come too, Miss Clonmell?" she asked, as arrangements were being made in the hall after breakfast.

"Lallie is coming with me," Mrs. Chester said firmly, without giving her guest a chance to reply. "Every one is coming with me except you and my husband. Then the vicar won't miss him so much."

All through the service Lallie thought of College chapel and longed to be there. From her seat in the gallery she could see Tony, and she liked to look down at him and admire his decorous demeanour. She always regarded his schoolmastering as something quite apart from himself, and now, although she had been living in B. House for nearly six weeks, she still thought that when he was what she called "stiff" it was only a manner adopted for the benefit of the boys.

Her Tony Bevan was the Tony of the holidays, in shabby Norfolk jacket and old fishing-hat. She never quite got over her first amusement at his sober Sunday garb and college gown. But even in this she liked him. She liked him amazingly. Her eyes were very soft and kind as she pictured Tony, stalwart and grave, leaning back in his college stall. And Ballinger, watching her, wondered what would be her thoughts, and hoped they might be of him.

They all walked back from church together meeting the motor as it turned into the drive. Mrs. Atwood and Mr. Chester got out and the whole party went round the gardens before lunch.

"Remember, we meet in the drawing-room at three--no one's ever there on Sunday afternoon; you promised me a walk, you know--don't forget," Ballinger contrived to say to Lallie as they neared the house. She nodded without speaking, and Mrs. Atwood who was close behind them--she generally was--heard his reminder and noted Lallie's silent acquiescence.

Her face was very sombre as she slowly went upstairs to take off her hat.

She was leaving next day, and she was no nearer any explanation with Sidney Ballinger than before she came. They had assuredly met once more, but even her vanity hardly helped her to believe that the meeting had, for him, been fraught with any pleasure.

Like Miss Foster, she considered Lallie "a designing girl," and blamed her for Sidney's coldness.

"If I could only see him alone," was the thought that repeated itself over and over again in her head; and the reflection that it was Lallie--and not she--who would see him alone that very afternoon became unbearable. Something must be done.

In winter at Pinnels, bedroom fires are lit before lunch on Sundays, and ladies retire to their rooms immediately after, nominally to write letters. Most people sleep, but that afternoon Lallie felt unusually wide-awake. She drew up a chair to the fire, intending to read till it should be time for her walk with Ballinger, but the printed page conveyed nothing to her mind. She was in that state of acute nervous tension when definite occupation of any kind seems impossible, and every smallest sound is magnified tenfold.

"I'll get it over," said Lallie to herself. "Nothing will induce me to marry him, but I'll get it over."

Presently there came a very soft rap upon her door. Mrs. Atwood followed the knock and, shutting the door behind her, came over to Lallie.

"May I sit down?" she said. "I very much want to have a few minutes' conversation with you, and this seemed the best opportunity."

She was pale, and there was an atmosphere about her of suppressed storm. Lallie hoisted a mental umbrella while she politely begged her guest to be seated, and awaited developments.

"You have, I think," said Mrs. Atwood, "known Mr. Ballinger for about a year?"

"Just about," said Lallie.

"I have known him for nearly seven."

"Really," Lallie remarked.

"Miss Clonmell, you are young, and I feel that it is only fair to you that you should know--what he and I have been to one another."

"Please, I have no desire to know anything of the kind. It is no business of mine. I would rather not--much rather not--hear any more. Please, please stop before you say things you will wish unsaid half an hour afterwards--please."

"You've got to listen to me whether you like it or not," Mrs. Atwood exclaimed passionately. "You think he is in love with you. I know him; it is merely a passing glamour. Your youth, your music--your--oh, what shall I call it--have carried him off his feet, but it will pass; his heart, what there is of it, belongs to me."

"But you're married, Mrs. Atwood, so what would you be doing with his heart? even if it is as you say."

"Married!" Mrs. Atwood repeated bitterly--"married! so I was when he first knew me, but that didn't prevent his falling in love with me."

"I fear," said Lallie gravely, "that he is a very unfortunate young man, and if he has done his best to cure himself of such a hopeless attachment it's not you who should stand in the way of his doing so."

"Confront me with him," Mrs. Atwood cried furiously; "ask him whether what I say is true or not, and you'll soon see."

"My dear Mrs. Atwood, I shouldn't dream of doing such a thing. It is an unpleasant affair altogether, and the sooner it's buried in oblivion the better for all concerned."

"But, girl, I love him! Can't you understand? I love him!"

"I'm very sorry," said Lallie.

"But what are you going to do?" cried Mrs. Atwood, her voice vibrant and shrill with irritation. "The matter can't rest he............