But, nevertheless, Ethel blushed a little as she spoke. A dim sense of Dr. Heriot's meaning had been dawning on her slowly, but she was unwilling to confess it. She changed the subject somewhat hastily, by asking after Mildred and the baby, and loading Dr. Heriot with loving messages. Nothing more was said about Richard until the close of the visit, when Dr. Heriot somewhat incautiously mentioned him again; but, as he told Mildred afterwards, he spoke advisedly.
'You will not let Richard think he is misunderstood?' he said, as he rose to take leave. 'You know he is the last one to spare himself trouble, but he feels in your position that he must do nothing to compromise you.'
'He will not have the opportunity,' she returned, with brief haughtiness, and turning suddenly very crimson; but as she met Dr. Heriot's look of mild reproach, she melted.
'No—he is right, you are all of you quite right. I must exert myself, and try and care for the things that belonged to my darling father, only I shall be so lonely—so very lonely,' and she covered her face with her hands.
Ethel met Richard with more than her usual kindness when she saw him next; her sweet deprecating glance gave the young man a sorrowful pang.
'You need not have sent him to see me, Richard,' she said, a little sadly. 'I have been thoughtless, and hurt you. I—I will trouble no one but myself now.'
'It was not the trouble, Ethel; you must know that,' he returned, eagerly. 'I wish I had the right to help you, but——'
His voice broke, and he dropped her hands. Perhaps he felt the time had not come to speak; perhaps an involuntary chill seized him as he thought of the little he had to offer her. His manner was very grave, almost reserved, during the rest of the visit; both of them were glad when a chance caller enabled Richard, without awkwardness, to take his leave.
After this, the young curate's visits grew rarer, and at last almost entirely ceased, and they only met at intervals at the vicarage or the Gray House, as Dr. Heriot's house was commonly called. Ethel made no complaint when she found she had lost her friend, only Mildred noticed that she grew paler, and drooped visibly.
Mildred's tender heart bled for the lonely girl. Both she and her husband pleaded urgently that Ethel should leave her solitary home, and come to them for a little. But Ethel remained firm in her refusal.