"Good-morning, Maria," he said, stopping her and holding out his hand. What could she do but put out hers in return? "Good-morning," she rejoined. "I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Page's death; it must have been a mournful time for you. You have been back a week, have you not?" "About that." "And I have called at the Vicarage nearly every day, only to be denied to you. Mr. Kettle is not to be seen, and Miss Kettle is not to be seen, are the answers I get. Of course I can only conclude that I am no longer welcome. Now, Maria, what is the meaning of it?" Maria was thoroughly distressed. She knew not what to say. How dear he was to her! How his very voice thrilled her as he spoke! If there was anger in his eyes there was love as well, and her own eyes fell before his ardent gaze. "Papa thought it best that you should not come to the Vicarage for a little while," she murmured--and the words seemed nearly to choke her. "But why? What have I done? Why am I to be tabooed in this way?" "Papa has heard--has heard things," stammered Maria. "He says you are frequently to be seen at the billiard-table; he has heard that you are addicted to high play with men like Lord Camberley and Captain Lennox. And--and he says they may be able to afford it, but you cannot--which, of course, is true. Oh, Philip! have you forgotten the promises you made to me before I went to Leamington?" Philip changed colour, and bit his lip. He began tracing some hieroglyphic on the gravel with his cane. "Papa asked me whether there was any engagement between us," continued Maria. "I told him that there was not, but that you had spoken to me before I went away. He then said that everything between us must be broken off, at least for the present; you best know why, yourself, Philip." "That I have been weak and foolish, Maria, no one knows better than myself," he candidly answered. "But I don't think I have deserved to be treated quite so harshly." It was on the tip of Maria's tongue to say, "Papa seems to have something against you more than I have mentioned, though he would not tell me what:" but after a moment's thought she stopped herself. "Papa is not in the habit of treating anyone with undue harshness," she remarked aloud. "I think he is harsh to me. Why, Maria--but perhaps I had better see your father himself, and have this matter out with him," he broke off in his usual impulsive style. Maria shook her head: she knew that his seeing her father would bring forth nothing--except unpleasantness. "It would be of no use, Philip," she answered, sadly. "Papa would only say to you what I have said--putting it perhaps in stronger terms." Philip went into a passion. "What right has Mr. Kettle to set himself up as a censor of my morals and conduct?" asked he, with a heightened colour.