"And Father says every day 'My dears, I really must call upon that young man.'" It was the fair one who spoke, and Guy recognized that it was her laughter he had first heard. "My other sister is somewhere close by," said the dark one. Guy was kneeling down to gather up the mushrooms, and he looked round to see another white figure coming toward them. "Oh, Margaret, do let's introduce him to Monica. It will be such fun," cried the fair sister. Guy saw that Margaret was shaking her head, but nevertheless when the third sister came near enough she did introduce him. Monica was more like Margaret, but much fairer than the first fair sister; and with her reserve and her pale gold hair she seemed, as she greeted him, to be indeed a wraith of the moon. "Shall I carry the mushrooms back for you?" Guy offered. "Oh, no thanks," said Monica quickly. "The Rectory is quite out of your way." He felt the implication of an eldest sister's disapproval, and not wishing to spoil the omens of romance, he left the three sisters by the banks of the Greenrush and was soon on his way home through the webs of mist. How extraordinary that he and Michael should have spent six weeks at Wychford without realizing that the Rector had three such daughters. Godbold had gossiped about him only this afternoon, reporting that he was held by some of his parishioners to be in with the Pope: they might more justly suspect him of being in with Titania. Monica, Margaret ... he had not heard the name of the third. Monica had seemed a little frigid, but Margaret and ... really when the omnibus arrived he must find out the name of the Rector's third daughter, of that one so obviously the youngest with her light brown hair and her laugh of which even now, as he paused, he fancied he could still hear the melodious echo. Monica, Margaret and ... Rose perhaps, for there had been something of a dewy eglantine about her. Surely that was indeed the echo of their voices; but, as upon distance the wayward sound eluded him, the belfry-clock with whirr and buzz and groan made preparation to strike the hour. Nine strokes boomed, leaving behind them a stillness absolute. The poet thought of time before him, of the three sisters by the river, of fame to come, and of his own fortune in finding Plashers Mead. Four months ago he had been in Macedonia, full of proconsular romance, and now he was in England with a much keener sense of every moment's potentiality than he had ever known in the dreams of oriental dominion. This sublunary adventure indicated how great a richness of pastoral life lay behind the slumber of a forgotten town; and it was seeming more than ever a pity Michael had not waited until to-night, so that he also might have met Monica and Margaret and that smallest innominate sister with the light brown hair. Guy could not help arranging with himself for his friend to fall in love with one of them; and since he at once allotted