xceedingly.

From then on, during the fortnight which followed, there was a great
deal of Heathcroft in the rectory social circle. And when he was
not there, it was fairly certain that he and Frances were together
somewhere, golfing, walking or riding. Sometimes I accompanied them,
sometimes Herbert Bayliss made one of the party. Frances' behavior to
the young doctor was tantalizingly contradictory. At times she was very
cordial and kind, at others almost cold and repellent. She kept the
young fellow in a state of uncertainty most of the time. She treated
Heathcroft much the same, but there was this difference between
them--Heathcroft didn't seem to mind; her whims appeared to amuse rather
than to annoy him. Bayliss, on the contrary, was either in the seventh
heaven of bliss or the subcellar of despair. I sympathized with him, to
an extent; the young lady's attitude toward me had an effect which, in
my case, was ridiculous. My reason told me that I should not care at
all whether she liked me or whether she didn't, whether I pleased or
displeased her. But I did care, I couldn't help it, I cared altogether
too much. A middle-aged quahaug should be phlegmatic and philosophical;
I once had a reputation for both qualities, but I seemed to possess
neither now.

I found myself speculating and wondering more than ever concerning the
outcome of all this. Was there anything serious in the wind at all?
Herbert Bayliss was in love with Frances Morley, that was obvious now.
But was she in love with him? I doubted it. Did she care in the least
for him? I did not know. She seemed to enjoy his society. I did not want
her to fall in love with A. Carleton Heathcroft, certainly. Nor, to be
perfectly honest, did I wish her to marry Bayliss, although I like him
much better than I did Lady Carey's blase nephew. Somehow, I didn't
like the idea of her falling in love with anyone. The present state
of affairs in our household was pleasant enough. We three were happy
together. Why could not that happiness continue just as it was?

The answer was obvious: It could not continue. Each day that passed
brought the inevitable end nearer. My determination to put the thought
of that end from my mind and enjoy the present was shaken. In the
solitude of the study, in the midst of my writing, after I had gone to
my room for the night, I found my thoughts drifting toward the day in
October when, our lease of the rectory ended, we must pack up and go
some