He regretted, of course, deeply, this unfortunate misunderstanding. Accident had made him acquainted with Miss Desmond's talent, he had merely offered her a little of that help which between brother artists--The well-worn phrase had not for the Rector the charm it had had for Betty. The Rector spoke again, and Mr. Vernon listened, bare-headed, in deepest deference. No, he had not been holding Miss Desmond's hand--he had merely been telling her fortune. No one could regret more profoundly than he,--and so on. He was much wounded by Mr. Underwood's unworthy suspicions. The Rector ran through a few texts. His pulpit denunciations of iniquity, though always earnest, had lacked this eloquence. Vernon listened quietly. "I can only express my regret that my thoughtlessness should have annoyed you, and beg you not to blame Miss Desmond. It was perhaps a little unconventional, but--" "Unconventional--to try to ruin--" Mr. Vernon held up his hand: he was genuinely shocked. "Forgive me," he said, "but I can't hear such words in connection with--with a lady for whom I have the deepest respect. You are heated now, Sir, and I can make every allowance for your natural vexation. But I must ask you not to overstep the bounds of decency." The Rector bit his lip, and Vernon went on: "I have listened to your abuse--yes, your abuse--without defending myself, but I can't allow anyone, even her father, to say a word against her." "I am not her father," said the old man bitterly. And on the instant Vernon understood him as Betty had never done. The young man's tone changed instantly. "Look here," he said, and his face grew almost boyish, "I am really most awfully sorry. The whole thing--what there is of it, and it's very little--was entirely my doing. It was inexcusably thoughtless. Miss Desmond is very young and very innocent. It is I who ought to have known better,--and perhaps I did. But the country is very dull, and it was a real pleasure to teach so apt a pupil." He spoke eagerly, and the ring of truth was in his voice. But the Rector felt that he was listening to the excuses of a serpent. "Then you'd have me believe that you don't even love her?" "No more than she does me," said Vernon very truly. "I've never breathed a word of love to her," he went on; "such an idea never entered our heads. She's a charming girl, and I admire her immensely, but--" he sought hastily for a weapon, and defended Betty with the first that came to hand, "I am already engaged to another lady. It is entirely as an artist that I am interested in Miss Betty." "Serpent," said the Rector within himself, "Lying serpent!" Vernon was addressing himself silently in terms not more flattering. "Fool, idiot, brute to let the child in for this!--for it's going to be a hell of a time for her, anyhow. And as for me--well, the game is up, absolutely up!" "I am really most awfully sorry," he said again.