rgyman, and Miss Kate
Dancox pulling at his coat-tails.

"Shameful flirt!"

The acidity of the tone was so pronounced that Mrs. Carradyne, seated
near and busy at her netting, lifted her head in surprise. "Why, Eliza,
what's the matter? Who is a flirt?"

"Lucy," curtly replied Eliza, pointing with her finger.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carradyne, after glancing outwards.

"Why does she persistently lay herself out to attract that man?" was the
passionate rejoinder.

"Be silent, Eliza. How can you conjure up so unjust a charge? Lucy is
not capable of _laying herself out_ to attract anyone. It lies but in
your imagination."

"Day after day, when she is out with Kate, you may see him join
her--allured to her side."

"The 'allurer' is Kate, then. I am surprised at you, Eliza: you might be
talking of a servant-maid. Kate has taken a liking for Mr. Grame, and
she runs after him at all times and seasons."

"She ought to be stopped, then."

"Stopped! Will you undertake to do it? Could her mother be stopped in
anything she pleased to do? And the child has the same rebellious will."

"I say that Robert Grame's attraction is Lucy."

"It may be so," acknowledged Mrs. Carradyne. "But the attraction must
lie in Lucy herself; not in anything she does. Some suspicion of the
sort has, at times, crossed me."

She looked at them again as she spoke. They were sauntering onwards
slowly; Mr. Grame bending towards Lucy, and talking earnestly. Kate,
dancing about, pulling at his arm or his coat, appeared to get but
little attention. Mrs. Carradyne quietly went on with her work.

And that composed manner, combined with her last sentence, brought gall
and wormwood to Eliza Monk.

Throwing a summer scarf upon her shoulders, Eliza passed out at the
French window, crossed the terrace, and set out to confront the
conspirators. But she was not in time. Seeing her coming, or not seeing
her--who knew?--Mr. Grame turned off with a fleet foot towards his home.
So nobody remained for Miss Monk to waste her angry breath upon but
Lucy. The breath was keenly sharp, and Lucy fell to weeping.

* * * * *

"I am here, Grame. Don't go in."

The words fell on the clergyman's ears as he closed the Vicarage gate
behind him, and was passing up the path to his door. Turning his head,
he saw Hubert Monk seated on the bench under the May tree, pink and
lovely yet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting down bes