“Not wholly. I have just been to the ‘Pocket’ to see Sill McNabb’s little daughter, who is sick--doctoring people being another of my small recreations. When I pressed him, Sill told me that the order to help you came from Judge Birrell, and that it was put upon the score of common neighborliness.” “But the idea of helping me originated with the judge’s daughter,” Tregarvon put in soberly. “Why should she wish to return good for evil, Professor Hartridge?” This time Hartridge’s smile was less amiable. “Miss Richardia’s motives are not to be questioned by either of us, Mr. Tregarvon. But why should you call her interest in your affair returning good for evil?” Tregarvon fought away from the edge of the pit into which his incorrigible ingenuousness was about to precipitate him. “Oh, there isn’t any reason why she should consider me. Within the past hour I have had the best possible proof of that.” Hartridge was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Mr. Tregarvon, I trust you are a gentleman in all that the much-misused word implies.” “A man may hardly assert that of himself,” was the quick retort. “But why?” “What you have just said implies a knowledge of a secret which has been most carefully guarded by Miss Richardia’s friends. I am not in her confidence, but I shall take it upon myself to say that whatever she does is right.” “Who is the man?” Tregarvon asked bluntly. “That is a question which Miss Richardia herself will doubtless answer at the proper time. Until she chooses to answer it, neither you nor I have any right to ask it.” Tregarvon was turning away to continue his walk to Coalville. But at the leave-taking instant he faced about for a final word. “Has it ever occurred to you, Professor Hartridge, that this is a hell of a world?” he asked gloomily. “It has--many times. Won’t you stop and take pot-luck with us at the faculty table? No? Then I wish you a pleasant walk to the valley. Good night.” XXV The Mangling of Poictiers Upon leaving Highmount, Tregarvon took the short-cut path down the mountain, and was only a few minutes late for the dinner for two served by Uncle William in the office dining-room at Coalville. Though he had plenty of thought material of his own to work upon, he could hardly help observing that Carfax ate abstractedly and was unusually silent. While the old negro was coming and going, the talk, what little there was of it, touched lightly upon the visit to Westwood House; but after the table was cleared Carfax got up to stand with his back to the open fire and the commonplaces were thrust aside. “When is it to be?” he asked abruptly. Tregarvon, who was still dallying with the black coffee, looked up with a crooked smile. “When is what to be?” he asked. “You know what I mean. We gave you your chance with Elizabeth--Miss Richardia and I. I hope you’re not going to tell me that you flunked it.”