"Ah, but, you see, he isn't my doctor, Lord Aldean, so I don't feel called upon to obey his orders." "Oh, but I say, you know," blurted out her victim, "you really should let me show you round our country. You can have no idea how charming he is." "Charm depends so much upon one's companion, doesn't it? Now Major----" "Oh, I know he is delightful," interrupted Jim wrathfully; "at least, you think he is." "Do I, indeed? And who told you so, may I ask?" "Nobody; but I have good eyes." "But not good manners, I fear, Lord Aldean, nor good temper." Inwardly Jim groaned. "I used to be considered an amiable sort of chap," he said sadly. "But somehow I've gone wrong lately. I miss----, I miss Mallow." The shaft went home. "Oh, I know how very fond you are of Mr. Mallow. When is he coming back that you may be amiable?" "I cannot say. He does not tell me in his letters." "No? Then I presume he intends letting that horrid Mr. Carson marry Olive?" "I suppose so. I do not see how he can very well prevent it." "Oh, he is blind, and so are you," cried Tui, indignantly. "If he loves Olive, why on earth doesn't he marry her? Mr. Carson's a smiling Cheshire cat. Mr. Mallow indeed! He ought to be called Mr. Feeble-Mind. If I were a man and loved a girl, I'd tell her so." "Suppose the girl wouldn't let the man get that far?" said Aldean, significantly. "What nonsense! As if any man, who was really and truly in love, ever stopped from speaking his mind." "Well, I am in love, you----." "Lord Aldean, I am not speaking about you, but about Mr. Mallow. You can tell him from me that I am ashamed of him. He's a hesitating, frightened----" "Come, I say, Miss Ostergaard----" "Nervous, feeble-minded rabbit; so there!" and Tui, having brought her string of epithets to a triumphant conclusion, walked off rapidly, with a glance that forbade Aldean to follow. The young man looked after her open-mouthed. "My word! she has a power of speech," he murmured. "I wonder what she'd call Carson, if she knew of his little game with the maid?" CHAPTER XII. "WEDDING-BELLS." When Mallow returned to Casterwell he found the village keeping high holiday in honour of Olive's marriage. The streets and houses were gay with flowers and flags. Under the arches of green boughs, festooned with many coloured blossoms, the people moved about gazing--not without admiration, it must be confessed--at their own handiwork. The same profuse hospitality, which had distinguished the coming-of-age of the Lady of the Manor, was repeated on a still larger scale. The bells of St. Augustine's were clamorous in the old tower; the sleepy old churchyard was for the nonce alive with voices, and the sun, in sympathetic mood at so brave a sight, was shining with all his splendour. But the idol does not ever rejoice with the worshippers, and she was the most miserable girl in the whole village.