"Not safe," she repeated. "Mr Brent, there is a very malicious person in this part of the country--a perfectly dreadful person." "What do you mean?" he managed to ask. "These three Saturdays I have come along this road; each time I have had a puncture. And each time I have found embedded in my tyre the evidence of some one's malice. This is one piece of evidence." She held out her ungloved hand. On its pink palm lay a good sized tin-tack. "Once might be accident; twice a coincidence; three times is too much. The road's impossible." "Do you think some one did it on purpose?" "I know it," she said calmly. Then he grew desperate. "Try to forgive me," he said. "I was so lonely, and I wanted so much----" She turned wide eyes on him. "You!" she cried, and began to laugh. Her laughter was very pretty, he thought. "Then you didn't know it was me?" said the Greek student. "You!" she said again. "And has it amused you--to see all these poor people in difficulties, and to know that you've spoilt their poor little holiday for them--and three times, too." "I never thought about _them_," he said; "it was you I wanted to see. Try to forgive me; you don't know how much I wanted you." Something in his voice kept her silent. "And don't laugh," he went on. "I feel as if I wanted nothing in the world but you. Let me come to see you--let me try to make you care too." "You're talking nonsense," she said, for he stopped on a note that demanded an answer. "Why, you told Camilla----" "Yes--but you--but I meant _you_. I thought I cared about her once--but I never cared really with all my heart and soul for any one but you." She looked at him calmly and earnestly. "I'm going to forget all this," she said; "but I like you very much, and if you want to come and see me, you may. I will introduce you to my aunts at Felsenden as--as a friend of Camilla's. And I will be friends with you; but nothing else ever. Do you care to know my aunts?" Maurice had inspirations of sense sometimes. One came to him now, and he said: "I care very much." "Then help me to mend my bicycle, and you can call there to-morrow. It's 'The Grange'--you can't miss it. No, not another word of nonsense, please, or we can't possibly be friends." * * * * * He helped her to mend the bicycle, and they talked of the beauty of spring and of modern poetry. * * * * * It was at "The Grange," Felsenden, that Maurice next saw Miss Redmayne--and it was from "The Grange," Felsenden, that, in September, he married her. "And why did you say you would never, never be anything but a friend?" he asked her on the day when that marriage was arranged. "Oh! you nearly made me believe you! Why did you say it?" "One must say something!" she answered. "Besides, you'd never have respected me if I'd said 'yes' at once." "Could you have said it? Did you like me then?"