"Well, you may speak to her, if she'll let you," said he, cheerfully. "But, really, she's a thorny young person. She's treated young Lindsay, the curate, very cruelly, and I'm sure he's a much better looking fellow than you. However, you can try your luck."
Dudley did not wait for any more encouragement. No sooner had Mr. Wedmore left the room than the convalescent followed. He found Doreen in the hall, putting a handful of letters on the table ready for the post. She started when she turned and saw him, and, leaning back with her hands upon the table, she asked him what he meant by leaving the nice, warm, ox-roasting fire they had built up expressly for him upstairs.
"I hear you've been treating the curate very badly," said he. "I've come to ask for an explanation."
Doreen looked down at the tip of her shoe, and, after a pause, said demurely:
"Well, I suppose if you don't know the reason, nobody does."
"Why, was it anything connected with me, then?"
"So I have been informed," answered Doreen, more primly than ever.
And then he waited for her to look up; and when she did, he kissed her. And they didn't exchange a word upon the subject of the long misunderstanding, but just strolled into the dining-room and saw pictures in the fire together.
There was no trial and no scandal; there were rumors, and that was all. Max remained true to his fancy for Carrie, and gave proof of his sincerity by settling down to work in a merchant's office, after the manner so dear to his father's heart. And in return, Mr. Wedmore consented to Carrie's being invited down to The Beeches in the spring, to be present at Doreen's wedding.