I should have been flattered, perhaps, at her taking me into confidence concerning her nephew's matrimonial projects. If I had believed the “garrulity,” as she called it, to have been unintentional, I might have been flattered. But I did not so believe. I was pretty certain there was intention in it and that she expected Frances and Hephzy and me to take it as a warning. Carleton dear was, in her eyes, altogether too friendly with the youngest tenant in Mayberry rectory. The “garrulity” was a notice to keep hands off. I was not incensed at her; she amused me, rather. But with Heathcroft I was growing more incensed every moment. Engaged to be married, was he! He and this Warwickshire girl of “fine family” had been “so fond” of each other for years. Everything was understood, was it? Then what did he mean by his attentions to Frances, attentions which half of Mayberry was probably discussing at the moment? The more I considered his conduct the angrier I became. It was the worst time possible for a meeting with A. Carleton Heathcroft, and yet meet him I did at the loneliest and most secluded spot in the hedged lane leading to the lodge gate. He greeted me cordially enough, if his languid drawl could be called cordial. “Ah, Knowles,” he said. “Been doing the round I see. A bit stupid by oneself, I should think. What? Miss Morley and I have been riding. Had a ripping canter together.” It was an unfortunate remark, just at that time. It had the effect of spurring my determination to the striking point. I would have it out with him then and there. “Heathcroft,” I said, bluntly, “I am not sure that I approve of Miss Morley's riding with you so often.” He regarded me with astonishment. “You don't approve!” he repeated. “And why not? There's no danger. She rides extremely well.” “It's not a question of danger. It is one of proprieties, if I must put it that way. She is a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and she probably does not realize that being seen in your company so frequently is likely to cause comment and gossip. Her aunt and I realize it, however.” His expression of surprise was changing to one of languid amusement. “Really!” he drawled. “By Jove! I say, Knowles, am I such a dangerously fascinating character? You flatter me.” “I don't know anything concerning your character. I do know that there is gossip. I am not accusing you of anything. I have no doubt you have been merely careless. Your intentions may have been--” He interrupted me. “My intentions?” he repeated. “My dear fellow, I have no intentions. None whatever concerning your niece, if that is what you mean. She is a jolly pretty girl and jolly good company. I like her and she seems to like me. That is all, upon my word it is.” He was quite sincere, I was convinced of it. But I had gone too far to back out. “Then you have been thoughtless--or careless,” I said. “It seems to me that you should have considered her.”