As Esther walked away, demurely acquiescent, by the side of the Rev. Mr. Macnair she was conscious of a conflict of emotions. The sight of the doctor's disappointed face as he stood hat in hand, awoke regret and perhaps a trifle of girlish gratification. She had been sorry herself to miss that half hour among the roses but she was still too young and too happy to know how few are such hours, how irrevocable such losses. Also, it had seemed good to her maidenly pride that Dr. Callandar should know—well, that he should see—just exactly what he should know and see she did not formulate. But underneath her temporary disappointment she felt as light and glad as a bird in springtime.

The minister was speaking, but he had been speaking for several moments before Esther's delighted flutter would permit of her listening to him. When at last her thoughts came back she noticed, with a happy-guilty start, that his tone was one of dignified reproof.

"Naturally we all understand," he was saying, "at least I hope we all understand, that you are not primarily to blame. At the worst one can only impute carelessness—"

"Oh, but it wasn't carelessness! You don't know Buster. He's the cleverest dog! He hid. I had no idea that he was with me until he bounded past me at the church door. And though I whistled and tried to grab him he was in before I knew it. I'll make him sit up meekly and beg your pardon."

A flush of what in a layman might have been anger crimsoned the minister's cheek.

"You are well aware," stiffly, "that I am not referring to the incident of the dog."

"To what then? I am sorry I wasn't listening but you seemed to be scolding and I couldn't think of anything else." Even the abstruse Mr. Macnair saw that her surprise was genuine. His tone grew gentler.

"You are very young, Miss Esther. But since I must speak more plainly, I was referring to that mad escapade of a week ago. Don't misunderstand me, the blame undoubtedly rests upon the man who was thoughtless enough, selfish enough, to put you in such a position."

"Whatever do you mean?" Esther was torn between anger and a desire to laugh. But seeing the earnestness in his face, anger predominated. "Can you possibly be referring to the breakdown of Dr. Callandar's motor?" she asked coldly.

"I refer to the whole unfortunate adventure. If your step-mother had been at home I feel sure it would not have happened. She would never have permitted the excursion to take place."

The girl's dark brows drew together in their own peculiar manner.

"Let us be honest," she suggested. "You know quite well that my step-mother would not have bothered about it in the least."

"I feel it my duty," went on the minister, "to tell you that there were some peculiar features in connection with the disablement of the motor. I understand from the mechanician who accompanied Dr. Callandar to the spot for the recovery of the machine that there was really very little the matter. A short ten minutes completed the necessary repairs."

"Ten minutes? Oh, how silly he must have felt—the doctor I mean. After all the hours he spent and the things he said." She laughed with reminiscent amusement. "He threw the monkey wrench at it, too. And he thought he knew so much about motors!"

Her companion observed her with sombre eyes. Was it possible that she had actually missed the point of his remark?

"Can you understand," he said slowly, "how a man used to driving a motor car can have been entirely baffled by so slight an accident? To me it seems—odd!"

"So Dr. Callandar thought, only he expressed it more forcibly."

"And you?"

"Well, I suppose I was heartless. But it was the funniest thing I ever saw!" Esther's laughter bubbled again.

They were now at the manse gate. He saw that he must hasten.

"My dear Miss Esther, let us be serious. I do not like to disturb your mind but I have a duty in this matter. Has it never occurred to you that this so-called accident may not have been so—so—er—entirely—er—irremediable, so to speak, as it was made to appear?"

"Do you mean that he did it on purpose?" The tone was one of blank amazement. Esther's hand was upon the gate but forgot to press the latch. She was a quick brained girl and the insinuation in the minister's words had been patent. Yet that he should be capable of such an idea seemed incredible! Had he been looking at her he would have seen the clear red surge over her face from neck to brow and then recede, but not before it had lighted a danger spark in her eyes.

"You did mean that!" She went on before he could answer. The scorn in her voice stung. But the Reverend Angus was not a coward.

"That was my meaning. You are a young and inexperienced girl. You go upon an excursion with a man whom none of us know. An accident, a very peculiar accident, happens. You are led to believe that the damage is serious, but later, when the matter is investigated, it is found to have been trifling. What is the natural inference? What have you to say?"

"It has been said before," calmly.

"Well—"

"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor."

They faced each other, the man and the girl. And the man's eyes fell.

"God forbid that I should do so," he murmured.

Esther's face softened. Her anger was not proof against humility.

"If you are really disturbed about it," she said slowly, "I can reassure you. You say that you do not know Dr. Callandar. But I do know him. The whole situation rests upon that. He is a man incapable of the caddish villainy you impute. Why he could not repair the car, I cannot say. I think," with a smile, "that he does not know quite as much about cars as he thinks he does. But he did his best, I know that! When we found his efforts useless we took the only course possible and made at once for the canoe. We had to steal it, you remember, but the doctor showed no faltering in that. He was also prepared to shoot the dog. And you have my word for it that he made no attempt to swamp the canoe or to otherwise complicate matters. I arrived at Mrs. Burton's by ten minutes past nine. She was delighted to see me. Dr. Callandar walked over to the station and sent telegrams to Aunt Amy and Mrs. Sykes. He returned to Coombe upon the morning train. I remained with Mrs. Burton and came back in time for school on the milk train Monday morning. That is the whole story of the adventure and, to be frank, I enjoyed it immensely."

The minister shook his head, but he could say no more. His attitude had not changed, yet he felt a sense of shame before the straightforward honesty of Esther's outlook. She had no sense of the evil of the world. That very fact seemed to make the world less evil.

"When will Mrs. Coombe be back?" he asked abruptly.

Immediately the girl's frank look clouded. "I do not know," she said. "She hardly ever tells me when she is returning. She may be at home any day now. You know how impulsively she acts."

"Yes—just so." The minister's manner was absent. "The fact is I wish very much to speak with your mother regarding a certain matter. Not the matter we have been discussing, we will say no more of that, but a matter of great importance to—er—to me. The importance is such indeed that I doubt if I am justified in delaying longer if you have no idea of when I may expect to see her."

Had Esther been noticing she must have remarked the unusual agitation of his manner, but Esther was not noticing.

"Is it anything you could discuss with me?" she asked innocently. "Mother cares less and less for business. Unless it is something quite private she will probably turn it over to me in any case."

"But this is not—er—a matter of business. Not exactly. Not a business matter at all, in fact. It is a matter which—"

"Oh, there you are!" Miss Annabel's voice was breathless but gratified and free from the faintest suspicion of having arrived, as usual, at exactly the wrong moment. "Are you showing Esther the new rose, Angus? Such a disappointment, Esther, my dear! I had quite made up my mind that it was to be red. It came out pink, and such a beautifully strong plant—such a waste! I simply can't make myself care for pink roses. They are so common. Was I very long? You must both be starved. I know I am. Won't you come upstairs, Esther, and put off your hat?"

Esther intimated that she would. Just now, she had no desire for the further company of Mr. Macnair. She was conscious even of a faint stirring of dislike. Therefore the eagerness with which she followed Miss Annabel filled that good lady with hospitable reproach.

"I didn't intend to be so long," she apologised, "but you know what choir-leaders are? And Angus won't speak to him. I can't make Angus out lately. Tell me," abruptly, as they stood in the cool front room with its closed green shutters, "did you notice anything peculiar about Angus?"

"No," in surprise, "is he peculiar?"

"Quite. He's getting fussy. He never used to be fussy. The trouble was to induce him to be fussy enough. Except over church matters. But this morning he was just like an ordinary man. About his collar" (Miss Annabel had a fascinating habit of disjointing her sentences anywhere) "nothing suited him. And you know, Esther, what care I always take with his collars. He said they were too shiny. Of course they're shiny. Why not? He said he noticed that men weren't wearing shine on their collars now. Fancy that!"

"Not really?" Esther's fresh laugh rang out.

"Well, words to that effect. He asked me if I wanted to make him a laughing stock before the congregation. Did you ever? And he banged the door!"

"Does he not bang doors usually?"

"Never. And he banged it hard. It shook the house."

"But people have to bang doors, hard, sometimes, even ministers. I wouldn't worry if I were you. It probably did him the world of good. As for the collars—he may have been noticing Dr. Callandar's. Mrs. Sykes says the doctor sends all his laundry to the city."

"You don't say? And is it different from ours?"

"I—yes, I think it does look different."

"How did you happen to notice it? Oh, Esther, you aren't really carrying on with that strange young man, are you?"

The girl's cheek flamed. The question, she knew, was void of offence. "Carrying on" meant nothing, but the homely phrase seemed suddenly very displeasing—horribly vulgar! Her very ears burned. What if, some time, he should hear a like phrase used to describe their wonderful friendship? The thought was acute discomfort. Oh, how mean and small and misunderstanding people were!

She took off her hat and smoothed her hair without answering. But Miss Annabel was so used to having her anxious queries unanswered that she did not notice the lack.

"I know you haven't, of course," she went on. "But Coombe is such a place for gossip. Ever since you and he had that smash-up with the automobile, people have kind of got it into their heads that you're keeping company. But I said to Mrs. Miller, 'I know Esther Coombe better than you do and it isn't at all likely that a girl who can pick and choose will go off with a stranger—even if he is a doctor. And,' I said, 'how do we know he is a doctor anyway?' Goodness knows he came into the place like a tramp. You've heard, haven't you, Esther, how he came into the Imperial with nothing but a knapsack and riding in Mournful Mark's democrat?"

This time she did pause for an answer and Esther said "Yes," shortly.

"Then that settles it. I knew you had some sense. Just like I said to Mrs. Miller. Next time I see her I'll tell her what you say. 'Tisn't as if we knew anything about the man. No wonder you feel vexed about it."

"I hope you will not mention the subject at all."

"Of course not. Except to tell them how silly they are. You're sure you didn't notice anything queer about Angus when you were walking home from church?"

"Nothing at all." Yet, as she said it, it occurred to her that she had noticed something unusual in the minister's manner—an agitation, a lack of poise! "Perhaps he is disturbed about church matters," she suggested, thinking of the interrupted conversation about the important matter which was not business. "Why don't you ask him?"

Miss Annabel shook her head. "Oh, I never ask him anything! But," cheerfully, "I almost always manage to find out. I'm rather good at finding out things. But this isn't a church matter. I know all the symptoms of that. This is different. It's—it's more human!"

"Liver?" suggested Esther.

"No. I know the symptoms of liver too, Esther! What if it should be Love!"

The idea was so daring that Miss Macnair justly spoke it in italics. But the attitude of her listener was disappointing. Esther looked as if it might be quite a natural thing for the minister of Knox Church to fall in love.

"Love!" she said the word caressingly. "Perhaps it is. They say love is a disturbing thing. But—does it usually make a man bang doors?"

"It often turns a sensible man into a fool." Miss Annabel's tone held bitterness. "But what I can't discover is this! If Angus is in love, whom is he in love with?" The question was delivered with such force that Esther jumped.

"I'm sure I don't know!"

"Nor do I. And that is what I must find out. I have my suspicions. My dear, don't let me startle you, but have you ever thought that it might possibly be—your mother?"

"Gracious! So it might! I never thought of it."

"I have not been blind," went on Miss Annabel complacently. "I have noticed how often he calls at the Elms and how long he stays. Also how very considerate he is of Mrs. Coombe, how patient with Jane, how indulgent with you—"

"Indulgent with me!" indignantly. "Why should he be 'indulgent' with me?"

"Why, indeed," asked Miss Macnair pointedly, "unless on account of your mother?"

Esther subdued a desire to laugh. Many little things, half-observed, seemed to fit in with Miss Annabel's theory. Yet, somehow, instinct told her that the theory was wrong.

"I don't believe it," she declared finally. "At first I thought it possible but now I seem to know that we're on the wrong track. Mr. Macnair is not in love with mother, and as for mother—Oh, the thing is absurd! Aren't you awfully hungry, Miss Annabel?"