The doctor took advantage of the clear course. His calls and invitations for rides and tennis and golf were more frequent than ever. She must have understood; but, being a normal young woman, as well as a very, very pretty one, she was a bit of a coquette and kept the boy--for, after all, he was scarcely more than that--at arm's length and in a state of alternate hope and despair. I shared his varying moods. If he could not be sure of her feelings toward him, neither could I, and I found myself wondering, wondering constantly. It was foolish for me to wonder, of course. Why should I waste time in speculation on that subject? Why should I care whether she married or not? What difference did it make to me whom she married? I resolved not to think of her at all. And that resolution, like so many I had made, amounted to nothing, for I did think of her constantly. And then to add a new complication to the already over-complicated situation, came A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire. Frances and Herbert Bayliss were scheduled for nine holes of golf on the Manor House course that morning. I had had no intention of playing. My projected novel had reached the stage where, plot building completed, I had really begun the writing. The first chapter was finished and I had intended beginning the second one that day. But, just as I seated myself at the desk in the Reverend Cole's study, the young lady appeared and insisted that the twosome become a threesome, that I leave my “stupid old papers and pencils” and come for a round on the links. I protested, of course, but she was in one of her wilful moods that morning and declared that she would not play unless I did. “It will do you good,” she said. “You'll write all the better this afternoon. Now, come along.” “Is Doctor Bayliss as anxious for my company as you seem to be?” I asked maliciously. She tossed her head. “Of course he is,” she retorted. “Besides it doesn't make any difference whether he is or not. _I_ want you to play, and that is enough.” “Humph! he may not agree with you.” “Then he can play by himself. It will do him good, too. He takes altogether too much for granted. Come! I am waiting.” So, after a few more fruitless protests, I reluctantly laid aside the paper and pencils, changed to golfing regalia and, with my bag of clubs on my shoulder, joined the two young people on the lawn. Frances greeted me very cordially indeed. Her clubs--I had bought them myself on one of my trips to London: having once yielded, in the matter of the tennis outfit, I now bought various little things which I thought would please her--were carried by Herbert Bayliss, who, of course, also carried his own. His greeting was not as enthusiastic. He seemed rather glum and out of sorts. Frances addressed most of her conversation to me and I was inclined to think the pair had had some sort of disagreement, what Hephzy would have called a “lover's quarrel,” perhaps.