Miss Waterhouse hardly ever failed to suggest Mrs. Mercer as his expected companion when he put in his appearances at tea-time. It was beginning to occur to him that Miss Waterhouse was something of the Dragon that he had heard his young friends call her, and had once playfully called her himself, though without the success that he had anticipated from his pleasantry. He was inclined to resent her presence in the family circle of which she seemed to him so unsuitable a member. He prided himself upon getting on so well with young people, and these young Graftons were so easy to get on with, up to a point. The point would have been passed and that intimacy which he always just seemed to miss with them would have been his if it had not always been for this stiff unsympathetic governess. She was always there and always took part in the conversation, and always spoilt it, when he could have made it so intimate and entertaining. Miss Waterhouse had to be treated with respect, though. He had tried ignoring her, as the governess, who would be grateful for an occasional kindly word; but it had not worked. She refused to be ignored, and he could hardly ever get hold of the girls, really to make friends, without her. "Well, I was on my way home," he said. "I have been visiting since lunch-time. I have been right to the far end of the parish to see a poor old woman who is bedridden, but so good and patient that she is a lesson to us all." He turned to Caroline. "I wonder if you would walk up to Burnt Green with me some afternoon and see her. I was telling her about you, and I know what pleasure it would give her to see a bright young face like yours. I'm sure, if you only sat by her bedside and talked to her it would do her good. She is _so_ lonely, poor old soul!" He spoke very earnestly. Caroline looked at him with dislike tingeing her expression, though she was not aware of it. But Miss Waterhouse replied, before she could do so. "If you will tell us her name and where to find her, Mr. Mercer, we shall be glad to go and see her sometimes." He gave the required information, half-unwillingly, as it seemed; but this lady was so very insistent in her quiet way. "Mollie Walter comes visiting with me sometimes," he said. "I don't say, you know, that sick people are not pleased to see their clergyman when he calls, but I am not too proud to say that a sympathetic young girl often does more good at a bedside than even the clergyman." "I should think anybody would be pleased to see Mollie," said Beatrix. "If I were ill she is just the sort of person I should like to see." "Better than the clergyman?" enquired the Vicar archly. "Now be careful how you answer." Beatrix turned her head away indifferently. Young George, who was afflicted to the depths of his soul by the idea of this proffered intimacy, said, awkwardly enough but with intense meaning: "My sisters are not used to go visiting with clergymen, sir. I don't think my father would like it for them."