"No, mother. But Mr. Farvel's letters----" Now that quick, mechanical smile, and Mrs. Milo tipped her head to one side as she regarded the clergyman in pretty concern. "Mr. Farvel is in no mood for dictation," she declared gently; "and--I am quite exhausted, as you know." But as Sue hurried away, not lifting her eyes, lest she betray how glad she was to be dismissed, her mother rose--and there was no appearance of the complained-of exhaustion. Her eyes shone with eagerness. They fastened themselves on Farvel's face. "That Miss Crosby," she began; "--she came, recognized Wallace, gave a cry--and ran." Farvel listened politely. Mrs. Milo was so prone to be dramatic. There was scarcely a day that some warning of Wolf! Wolf! did not ring through the Rectory. "Well, what seemed to be the matter?" he asked. "I thought you might know,"--with just a trace of emphasis on the You. "I don't," he assured her, quietly. "Then why not go yourself--and get the facts?" "Wallace didn't ask me." There was something in the tone of his reply that brought the blood to her cheeks. She replied to it by making her own tone a little chiding. "But as my boy's oldest friend," she reminded. Farvel laughed. "Friend?" he repeated. "He's more like a younger brother to me. But that doesn't warrant my intruding on him, does it?" Mrs. Milo lifted her eyebrows. "I hope," she commented, with something of that same sorrowful intonation which characterized the speech of Dora, "--I hope there's no reason why you shouldn't meet this Crosby girl." Farvel stared at her. "I?" he demanded, too astonished by her daring to be angry. "Why--why----" At this juncture the library door opened and Dora entered, to set the room to rights apparently, for she gave a critical look about, arranged the writing-desk, and put a chair in place. "Dora," said Mrs. Milo, "you saw Miss Susan?" Dora lifted pale eyes. "Oh, yes," she answered, "but only a fleeting glimpse." "Glimpse?" repeated Mrs. Milo, startled. "From the rear portal"--with an indefinite wave of the hand--"she turned that way." "Oh! She went! To that Crosby girl! And I forbade her!--Mr. Farvel, come!" "But I'm not wanted," urged the clergyman. "Why do you hold back? Don't I want you?" Farvel pondered a moment, his look on Hattie, standing in the bay-window, now, alert but motionless. "Well, I'll come," he said at last. "Dora!" cried Mrs. Milo, as she fluttered hallward; "my bonnet!" Dora had gone by the same door through which she had come. Hattie and Farvel were alone. She turned and came to stand beside him. "Why do you suppose----" she commenced; and then, more bluntly, "What was the matter with Miss Crosby?" Farvel studied her face for a moment, his own full of anxious sympathy. "I can't imagine," he said, finally; "but whatever it is you may be sure of one thing--Wallace isn't to blame."