Granny Grimshaw shook her head and sighed, "Ah, dear!" after his retreating form. It was a few days after this that a letter came for Doris, one morning, bearing the Squire's crest. Her husband handed it to her at the breakfast-table, and she received it with a flush. After a moment, seeing him occupied with a newspaper, she opened it. "Dear Doris," it said. "You asked me to come and see you, but I have not done so as I was not sure if, after all, you meant me to take the invitation literally. We have been friends for so long that I feel constrained to speak openly. For myself, I only ask to go on being your friend, and to serve you in any way possible. But perhaps I can serve you best by keeping away from you. If so, then I will do even that.--Yours ever, "Hugh." Something within moved Doris to raise her eyes suddenly, and instantly she encountered Jeff's fixed upon her. The flush in her cheeks deepened burningly. With an effort she spoke: "Hugh Chesyl wants to know if he may come to see us." "I thought you asked him," said Jeff. A little quiver of resentment went through her; she could not have said wherefore. "He was not sure if I meant it," she said. There was an instant's silence; then Jeff did an extraordinary thing. He stretched out his hand across the table, keeping his eyes on hers. "Let me have his letter to answer!" he said. She made a sharp instinctive movement of withdrawal. "Oh, no!" she said. "No!" Jeff said nothing; but his face hardened somewhat, and his hand remained outstretched. Doris's grey eyes gleamed. "No, Jeff!" she repeated, more calmly, and with the words she slipped Hugh's envelope into the bosom of her dress. "I can't give you my letters to answer indeed." Jeff withdrew his hand, and began to eat his breakfast in utter silence. Doris played with hers until the silence became intolerable, and then, very suddenly and very winningly, she leaned towards him. "Dear Jeff, surely you are not vexed!" she said. He looked at her again, and in spite of herself she felt her heart quicken. "Are you, Jeff?" she said, and held out her hand to him. For a moment he sat motionless, then abruptly he grasped the hand. "May I say what I think?" he asked her bluntly. "Of course," she said. "Then I think from all points of view that you had better leave Chesyl alone," he said. "What do you mean?" Quickly she asked the question; the colour flamed in her face once more. "Tell my why you think that!" she said. "I would rather not," said Jeff. "But that is not fair of you, Jeff," she protested. He released her hand slowly. "I am sorry," he said. "If I were more to you, I would say more. As it is--well, I would rather not." She rose impetuously. "You are very--difficult," she said. To which he made answer with that silence which was to her more difficult than speech.