I was not surprised to find that when I left the room Miss Hamilton followed me, but I was hardly prepared to hear her say in a troubled voice,—

'Oh, how unfortunate I am! I would not have had this happen for worlds. Etta will—oh, what am I saying?—I am afraid Mr. Cunliffe is offended with me because I did not wish him to go home with me—but,' a little proudly and resentfully, 'he is too old a friend to misunderstand me, so he need not have said that.'

'I think Uncle Max is not well to-night,' I replied soothingly. 'I never heard him speak in that tone before; he is always so careful not to hurt people's feelings.'

'Yes, I know,' stifling a sigh; 'it is more my fault than his; he is looking wretchedly ill; and—and I think he is a little offended with me about other things; it is impossible to explain, and so he misjudges me.'

'Why do you not try to make things a little clearer?' I asked. 'Could you not say a word to him as we walk home? Uncle Max is so good that I cannot bear him to be vexed about anything, and I know he is disappointed that you will not work in the school.'

'Yes, I know; but you do not understand,' she returned gently. 'I should like to speak to him, if I dared, but I think my courage will fail; it is not so easy as you think.' And then as we went downstairs she took my arm, and I could feel that her hand was very cold. 'I wish he had not asked you to come: it shows he is hurt with me; but all the same I should have asked you myself.'

Uncle Max took up his felt hat directly he saw us, and followed us silently into the entry; he did not speak as we went down the little garden together; and as we turned into the road leading to the vicarage it was Miss Hamilton who spoke first. She was still holding my arm, perhaps that gave her courage, and she looked across at Max, who was walking on my other side.

'Mr. Cunliffe, I am so sorry you were hurt with me the other night, when Etta spoke about the schools. I am not giving up work for my own pleasure; I loved it far too much; but there are reasons,'

I heard Max give a quick, impatient sigh in the darkness.

'So you always say, Miss Hamilton; you remember we have talked of this before. I have thought it my duty more than once to remonstrate with you about giving up your work, but one seems to talk in the dark; somehow you have never given me any very definite reasons,—headaches,—well, as though I did not know you well enough to be sure you are the last person to think of ailments.'