"No," said Mrs. Kincaid; "I shall get along very well--I'm gardening." She was, indeed, more cheerful than she had been for some time, busying herself among the violets, and stooping over the crocuses to clear the soil away. "Go along," she added, nodding across her shoulder; "a walk will do you good!" Though the wish had been expressed only to avoid giving the letter to a servant, Mary thought that she might as well profit by the chance; and from the post-office she sauntered as far as the beach. Then it struck her that the doctor might pay his overdue visit this afternoon, and she was sorry that she had gone out. The laboured letter might have been dispensed with--she might have had a word with him before he joined his mother in the garden! She turned back at once--and as she neared the Lodge, she saw him leaving it. They met not fifty yards from the door. "Well, have you enjoyed your walk--you haven't been very far?" he said. "Not very," said she; "I changed my mind. How did you find your mother?" "She had been pottering about on the wet ground, which wasn't any too wise of her. Why do you ask?" "Oh, I ... She has been missing you a little, I think; she wants you there more often." "Oh?" he said; "I'm very sorry. Are you sure?" "Yes, I am sure; it is more than a little she misses you. As a matter of fact, I have just written to you, Dr. Kincaid." "To me? What--about this?" "Yes." "I didn't know," he said; "I never supposed she'd miss me like that. It was very kind of you." "I wanted to speak to you about it before. I have seen for some time she was distressed." "Has she said anything?" "She only mentioned it this morning, but I've noticed." "It was very kind of you," he repeated; "I'm much obliged." Both suffered slightly from the consciousness of suppression; and after a few seconds she said boldly: "Dr. Kincaid, if you're staying away with any idea of sparing embarrassment to me, I beg that you won't." "Well, of course," he said, "I thought you'd rather I didn't come." "But do you suppose I can consent to keep you from your mother's house? You must see ... the responsibility of it! What I should like to know is, are you staying away solely for my sake?" "I didn't wish to intrude my trouble on you." "No," she said; "that isn't what I mean. I am glad I have met you; I want to speak to, you plainly. I have thought that perhaps it hurt you to come; that my being there reminded--that you didn't like it? If that's so----" "I think you're exaggerating the importance of the thing! It is very nice and womanly of you, but you are making yourself unhappy for nothing. I have had a good deal to occupy me of late--in future I'll go oftener." "I feel very guilty," she answered. "If I am right in thinking it would be pleasanter for you to stay away than to go there and see me, my course is clear. It's not my home, you know; I'm in a situation, and it can be given up."