Hester shook her head. "It's no good promising. You'll have to prevent me." Meynell was silent a moment. Then he said, not without sternness: "We shall of course prevent you, Hester, if necessary. But it would be far better if you took yourself in hand." "Why did you stop my being engaged to Stephen?" she cried, raising her head defiantly. He saw the bright tears in her eyes, and melted at once. "Because you are too young to bind yourself, my child. Wait a while, and if in two years you are of the same mind, nobody will stand in your way." "I sha'n't care a rap about him in two years," said Hester vehemently. "I don't care about him now. But I should have cared about him if I had been engaged to him. Well, now, you and mamma have meddled--and you'll see!" They were nearing the opening of the lane which led from the main road to North Leigh, Lady Fox-Wilton's house. As she perceived it Hester suddenly took to flight, and her light form was soon lost to view in the summer dusk. The Rector did not attempt to pursue her. He turned back toward the Rectory, perturbed and self-questioning. But it was not possible, after all, to set a tragic value on the love affair of a young lady who, within a week of its breaking off, had already consoled herself with another swain. Anything less indicative of a broken heart than Hester's behaviour during that week the Rector could not imagine. Personally he believed that she spoke the simple truth when she said she no longer cared for Stephen. He did not believe she ever had cared for him. Still he was troubled, and on his way toward the Rectory he turned aside. He knew that on his table he should find letters waiting that would take him half the night. But they must lie there a bit longer. At Miss Puttenham's gate he paused, hesitated a moment, then went straight into the twilight garden, where he imagined that he should find its mistress. He found her, in a far corner, among close-growing trees and with her usual occupations, her books and her embroidery, beside her. But she was neither reading nor sewing. She sprang up to greet him, and for an hour of summer twilight they held a rapid, low-voiced conversation. When he pressed her hand at parting they looked at each other, still overshadowed by the doubt and perplexity which had marked the opening of their interview. But he tried to reassure her. "Put from you all idea of immediate difficulty," he said earnestly. "There really is none--none at all. Stephen is perfectly reasonable, and as for the escapade to-day--" The woman before him shook her head. "She means to marry at the earliest possible moment--simply to escape from Edith--and that house. We sha'n't delay it long. And who knows what may happen if we thwart her too much?"