"Yes—" she whispered, her eyes brimming over again. "I love—Dick!" "Then, to marry Stirling could only mean unhappiness for you both. For him as much as for you." "I've often wondered what he would say—if he knew about Dick." "He would have to know all." Doris remained motionless, thinking. "I'd better—not go to-morrow," she said at length. "It seems more wise—under the circumstances." "Then I'll write and say so. Mother won't like it." "You must decide the question on its own merits." "I'll write at once. But of course I shall see him on Friday." "Why on Friday?" "Mr. Stirling's birthday." "Ah—true. That is nothing. You need not see more of him than you wish, in such a crowd. Besides—your note of to-day should make him understand. To accept for to-morrow might involve you in more than you intend." "Yes—I see. It won't do." A letter for herself was brought in, badly written, untidily folded. She opened it, and said in surprise: "From Mrs. Morris." The Rector waited in some suspense, till she spoke again. "It is to ask if I will go to Wyldd's farm, to-day or to-morrow. Winnie has been worse, and she is to be sent to a hospital for treatment,—and it may cure her, or she may not get through. She wants to see me before she leaves. Daddy, I can't refuse." He took the offered sheet, and read it, noting the ill-spelt words, the badly expressed sentences. "No. I am sorry, but I do not see that you can well get out of it. You had better have the pony-carriage directly after luncheon. I wish I were free to go with you." He stood up, and added: "Be wise, child. Don't get drawn into a talk about—the son." CHAPTER XXXVI A Surprise Meeting THE Rectory pony was famed for choosing his own pace, and that not a rapid one. Through the long drive Doris—having for once given over the reins to the boy—found ample leisure for thought. Again and again she recurred to her father's question—"Are you sure of yourself?" "No, I'm not!" she answered each time. Again and again she heard his emphatic—"Whatever you do, don't drift!"—and repeatedly, with growing earnestness, she murmured—"No, I won't." She had started early after luncheon; and on their way through Deene, she stopped outside Mrs. Stirling's garden, sending the boy to the front door with her note; a brief little note, giving no reason, but stating only that she was sorry she could not accept. That was her first step towards "not drifting." She hoped Hamilton would understand. At the beginning of the grass-path near Wyldd's Farm, she quitted the pony-carriage, bidding the boy wait for her, and proceeded on foot through the meadow. Mrs. Morris, stout and impassive as usual, opened the door. "I saw you coming," she said shortly. Doris was conscious of a faint thrill, as her hand met that of Dick's mother, even while noting with distaste the woman's heavy ungracious look. "I'm glad you sent for me, if Winnie wished it."