To-day, so far, things have gone well. She has seemed satisfied with Miss Manning, and Miss Manning with her. And as for the fear of an immediate scandal, that seems quite at rest. But in time the old worry is sure to mount to the surface again. For example, when Mrs. Prior hears of her—he wishes now, trudging grimly over the uneven road, that he had not led that astute woman to believe his tenant was a man—as she inevitably must, there will be a row on somewhere that will make the welkin ring; and after that, good-bye to his chances with Lord Shangarry, who has very special views about the right and the wrong. If only this silly girl could be persuaded to come out of her shell and mingle with her kind, all might be got over after a faint wrestle or two. But no! Angrily he tells himself that there is no chance of that. Soft as she looks, and gentle, and lov—h’m—he kicks a stone out of his way—and pleasant-looking, and all that, he feels absolutely sure that nobody will be able to drag her out of her self-imposed imprisonment. * * * * * After this diatribe, it is only natural that he should, on entering the Rectory garden, feel himself a prey to astonishment on seeing, amongst a turbulent group upon the edges of the tennis-court, the ‘poor girl’ laughing with all her heart. He stands still, within the shelter of the laurels, to ask himself if his eyesight has failed him thus early in life. But his eyesight still continues excellent, and when he sees the ‘poor girl’ pick up Tommy and plant him on her knee, he knows that all is well with his visual organs. The fact is that, almost as he left the Cottage by the front-gate, Susan had run across the road and hammered loudly at the little green one. This primitive knocking had become a signal now with the Barrys and Ella, and soon the latter had rushed to open the door. There had been entreaties from Susan that she would come over now—now, at once—and have a game of tennis with them. She did not know tennis. All the more reason why she should begin to learn; and Aunt Jemima was quite pining to know her. ‘Yes, do come!’ ‘No—no, I can’t. I have said I would never leave this place.’ ‘Oh, that, of course; but—oh!—’ Here Susan breaks off abruptly. Who is that pretty, tall lady coming down the path? It is Miss Manning, and Ella very shyly introduces Susan to her. ‘Miss Manning, tell her to come and play tennis with us this afternoon,’ says Susan. ‘Not a soul but ourselves, and she’s very lonely here. Father says she ought to see people.’ ‘I think as your father does,’ says Miss Manning gently. ‘And will you come too?’ asks Susan. ‘Aunt Jemima’—with born courtesy—‘will come and see you to-morrow, but in the meantime—’