“You’re not a fool!” she said tartly. “Harry Garlett’s not the first man who’s made love to a woman—and then been sorry he had, eh?”

“You think there was a time when Garlett made love to Miss Cheale?”

Dr. Maclean’s voice also fell almost to a whisper.

“I’m sure of it! She’s never admitted it, mind you—don’t run away with that idea.”

“I don’t believe Harry Garlett has ever made love to Agatha Cheale,” said the doctor, definitely making up his mind. “I think he’s an out-and-out white man.”

Miss Prince smiled a wry smile.

“I’m positive that something happened lately which changed their relations to one another. Harry’s afraid of her—he avoids her.”

“I’ve never noticed anything of the kind,” said the other brusquely.

Miss Prince looked vexed; no gossip likes to be contradicted, and she proceeded to pay the doctor out.

“Your niece seems to be giving great satisfaction at the Etna factory,” she observed.

“I think she is—I hope she is! Jean’s a good conscientious girl.”

“And so attractive, too! Every one was saying how pretty she looked at the cricket match. Times are changed since we were young, Dr. Maclean. What would my father have said if I’d insisted on being boxed up hour after hour with an old bachelor like Mr. Dodson—or an attractive young married man like Harry Garlett?”

The doctor felt annoyed. What a spiteful woman Miss Prince was, to be sure!

“I don’t think she runs any risk with either of them.” He tried to speak jokingly, but failed.

“How about them?” she asked meaningly.

“Perhaps she’ll become Mrs. Dodson,” he answered dryly. 25But as Mr. Dodson was sixty-four and Jean Bower twenty-one, that didn’t seem very likely.

25

Lifting his hat, Dr. Maclean walked briskly on his way, telling himself that Miss Prince, like most clever people, was an extraordinary bundle of contradictions—kind, spiteful, generous, suspicious, affectionate and hard-hearted, and a mischief-maker all the time!

The subject of his thoughts hurried on toward the 

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