There was one person, and perhaps only one, who openly circulated and rejoiced in these rumors. That was a man whom Lindo met daily in the street and passed with a careless nod and a word, not dreaming for an instant that the spiteful little busybody was concerning himself with him. The man was Dr. Gregg, the snappish, ill-bred man who had chanced upon Lindo and the Bonamy girls breakfasting together at Oxford. The sight, it will be remembered, had not pleased him, for he had long had a sneaking liking for Miss Kate himself, and had only refrained from trying to win her because he still more desired to be of the “best set” in Claversham. He had been ashamed, indeed, up to this time of his passion; but, reading on that occasion unmistakable admiration of the girl in the young clergyman’s face, and being himself rather cavalierly treated by Lindo, he had somewhat changed his views. The girl had acquired increased value in his eyes. Another’s appreciation had increased his own, and, merely as an incident, the man who had effected this has earned his hearty jealousy and ill-will. And this, while Lindo thought him a vulgar but harmless little man. But if the rector, immersed in new social engagements, did not see whither he was tending, others, though they knew nothing of the unpleasant tales we have mentioned, saw more clearly. The archdeacon, coming into town one Saturday five or six weeks after Lindo’s arrival, did his business early and turned his steps toward the rectory. He felt pretty sure of finding the young fellow at home, because he knew it was his sermon day. A few yards from the door he fell in, as it chanced, with Stephen Clode. The two stood together talking, while the archdeacon waited to be admitted, and presently the curate said, “If you wish to see the rector, archdeacon, I am afraid you will be disappointed. He is not at home.” “But I thought that he was always at home on Saturdays?” “Generally he is,” Clode replied, looking down and tracing a pattern with the point of his umbrella. “But he is away to-day.” “Where?” said the archdeacon rather abruptly. “He has gone to the Homfrays’ at Holberton. They have some sort of party to-day, and the Hammonds drove him over.” Despite himself, the curate’s tone was sullen, his manner constrained. “Oh!” said the archdeacon thoughtfully. The Homfrays were his very good friends, but of the county families round Claversham they were reckoned the fastest and most frivolous. And he sagely suspected that a man in Lindo’s delicate position might be wiser if he chose other companions. “Lindo seems to see a good deal of the Hammonds,” he remarked after a pause. “Yes,” said Clode. “It is very natural.”