"Ah!" said Thorold, with a concerned face. "Then my fears are realized. Gentian, I'm afraid I must leave you. Explain it to Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I hope to take you over the mine to-morrow, but I must go off with Dormer at once." "I'll take Miss Brendon to the church," said Frances Muir, "that is, if she is not in a hurry to return to her friend. What do you think of this little house?" "I like it," said Gentian. "I'm in no hurry at all, and should like to see the church. Has it a nice organ?" Thorold smiled. "It has a wheezy old harmonium, that is all," he said. "It is awful, isn't it?" said Miss Muir. "But I'm not musical, I don't know one note from another. Our little schoolmistress plays it." They were walking along the lane at a good brisk pace, then Thorold turned up one road and they took another. Gentian was quiet and grave, as she usually was when she did not feel sure of a person. Miss Muir did most of the talking. "Dad is so delighted to have Mr. Holt down here. It's making him quite young again, but we don't approve of that house for him. It's too desolate and lonely. I'm not going to let him take it if I can help it. And he would be better the other side of the village near his mine." "If I had a mine, I wouldn't want it just outside my windows," said Gentian, "and Cousin Thor is accustomed to a nice house and has always lived alone. There aren't any other empty houses about are there?" "Oh, he could build. I love planning houses; I always think I should have made a good architect. He and I spend our evenings in drawing out plans. I have a lovely one just completed, that would suit all his requirements." "I hate new houses," said Gentian shortly, "they have no tradition or atmosphere." "But you won't be asked to live in it," said Miss Muir laughing. Gentian spoke with real temper now: "Can't one like or dislike things for one's friends without being involved in them personally? I don't think I'll go to the church now, thank you. I'll wait till Cousin Thor can take me. Here's the inn, good-bye." She flashed away from Miss Muir like a bright meteor, and burst in upon Mrs. Wharnecliffe in impetuous fashion. "I dislike Miss Muir very much; I think I hate her," she announced, flinging her gloves down on the table, and facing her friend with hard, defiant eyes. "What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe with a smile. "Oh, she's what people call 'catty.' She gives herself airs, and thinks she's going to frame Cousin Thor to her liking." "Perhaps she will," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe slowly; "perhaps Thorold has met his fate in this little Cornish village." "I wish him a better fate than that conceited girl," snapped out Gentian. "I don't believe he likes her a bit. I shall ask him. Fancy! She doesn't know one note of music from another and doesn't care! Boasts of it! A person without any love for music is a person without a soul!" "My dear Gentian, don't get so hot over her."