As he rushed home, Frere lashed himself into greater and greater fury. Everett was standing inside the porch when the other man passed him roughly by. "I say, Frere, what's up?" called Everett, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "Curse you, don't keep me, I want to speak to Miss Armitage." Everett burst into a somewhat discordant laugh. "Your manners are not quite to be desired at the present moment, old man," he said. "Miss Armitage seems to have a strangely disquieting effect upon her swains." "I do not intend to discuss her with you, Everett. I must speak to her at once." Everett laughed again. "She seems to be a person of distinction," he said. "She has just been seen home with much ceremony by no less a person than Awdrey, of The Court." "Curse Awdrey and all his belongings. Do you know where she is?" A sweet, high-pitched voice within the house now made itself heard. "I can see you in Aunt's parlor if you like, Mr. Horace." "Yes." Frere strode into the house--a moment later he was standing opposite to Hetty in the little hot gaslit parlor. Hetty had evidently been crying. Her tears had brought shadows under her eyes--they added pathos to her lovely face, giving it a look of depth which it usually lacked. Frere gave her one glance, then he felt his anger dropping from him like a mantle. "For God's sake, Hetty, speak the truth," said the poor fellow. "What do you want me to say, Mr. Horace?" she asked. Her voice was tremulous, her tears nearly broke forth anew. Frere made a step forward. He would have clasped her to his breast, but she would not allow him. "No," she said with a sob, "I can't have anything to do with you." "Hetty, you don't know what you are saying. Hetty, remember this morning." "I remember it, but I can't go on with it. Forget everything I said--go away--please go away." "No, I won't go away. By heaven, you shall tell me the truth. Look here, Hetty, I won't be humbugged--you've got to choose at once." "What do you mean, Mr. Horace?" "You've got to choose between that fellow and me." "Between you and the Squire!" exclaimed Hetty. She laughed excitedly; the bare idea caused her heart to beat wildly. Her laughter nearly drove Frere mad. He strode up to her, took her hands with force, and looked into her frightened eyes. "Do you love him? The truth, girl, I will have it." "Let me go, Mr. Horace." "I won't until you tell me the truth. It is either the Squire or me; I must hear the truth now or never--which is it, Squire Awdrey or me?" "Oh, I can't help it," said Hetty, bursting into tears--"it's the Squire--oh, sir, let me go." CHAPTER III. Frere stood perfectly still for a moment after Hetty had spoken, then without a word he turned and left her. Everett was still standing in the porch. Everett had owned to himself that he had a decided penchant for the little rustic beauty, but Frere's fierce passion cooled his. He did not feel particularly inclined, however, to sympathize with his friend.