The new Vicar turned out to be a man after the Captain's heart, a rollicking, jovial, fox-hunting young parson, as many a parson was in those days--and took small blame to himself for it. He was only a year or two past thirty, good-looking, of taking manners and hail-fellow-well-met with the parish in general, who liked him and called him to his face Tom Dancox. All this pleased Captain Monk. But very soon something was to arrive that did not please him--a suspicion that the young parson and his daughter Katherine were on rather too good terms with one another. One day in November he stalked into the drawing-room, where Katherine was sitting with her aunt. Hubert and Eliza were away at school, also Mrs. Carradyne's two children. "Was Dancox here last night?" began Captain Monk. "Yes," replied Mrs. Carradyne. "And the evening before--Monday?" Mrs. Carradyne felt half afraid to answer, the Captain's tone was becoming so threatening. "I--I think so," she rather hesitatingly said. "Was he not, Katherine?" Katherine Monk, a dark, haughty young woman, twenty-one now, turned round with a flush on her handsome face. "Why do you ask, papa?" "I ask to be answered," replied he, standing with his hands in the pockets of his velveteen shooting-coat, a purple tinge of incipient anger rising in his cheeks. "Then Mr. Dancox did spend Monday evening here." "And I saw him walking with you in the meadow by the rill this morning," continued the Captain. "Look here, Katherine, _no sweethearting with Tom Dancox_. He may do very well for a parson; I like him as such, as such only, you understand; but he can be no match for you." "You are disturbing yourself unnecessarily, sir," said Katherine, her own tone an angry one. "Well, I hope that is so; I should not like to think otherwise. Anyway, a word in season does no harm; and, take you notice that I have spoken it. You also, Emma." As he left the room, Mrs. Carradyne spoke, dropping her voice: "Katherine, you know that I had already warned you. I told you it would not do to fall into any particular friendship with Mr. Dancox; that your father would never countenance it." "And if I were to?--and if he did not?" scornfully returned Katherine. "What then, Aunt Emma?" "Be silent, child; you must not talk in that strain. Your papa is perfectly right in this matter. Tom Dancox is not suitable in any way--for _you_." This took place in November. Katherine paid little heed to the advice; she was not one to put up with advice of any sort, and she and Mr. Dancox met occasionally under the rose. Early in December she went with Mr. Dancox into the Parsonage, while he searched for a book he was about to lend her. That was the plea; the truth, no doubt, being that the two wanted a bit of a chat in quiet. As ill-luck had it, when she was coming out again, the Parson in attendance on her as far as the gate, Captain Monk came by.