hair, fair and inclined to curliness, had escaped bounds a little, and
she brushed it impatiently back.

"I must only stay for a moment, Douglas," she said, gravely. "Let us go
down the hill by the Beacon. We shall be on the way home."

They walked side by side in silence. Neither of them were wholly at
their ease. A new element had entered into their intercourse. The
wonderfully free spirit of comradeship which had sprung up between them
since her coming, and which had been so sweet a thing to him, was for
the moment, at least, interrupted.

"I want you to tell me, Douglas," she said at last, "exactly how much of
a surprise to-day has been to you."

"It is easily done," he answered. "Last night I went to your father. I
tried to thank him as well as I was able for all that he has done for
me. I then told him that with every respect for his wishes I did not
feel myself prepared at present to enter the ministry. I showed him my
diplomas and told him of my degrees. I told him what I wished--to
become a schoolmaster, for a year or two, at any rate. Well, he
listened to me in fixed silence. When I had finished he asked, 'Is that
all?' I said, 'Yes,' and he turned his back upon me. 'Your future is
already provided for, Douglas,' he said. 'I will speak to you of it
to-morrow.' Then he walked away. That is all the warning I had."

"And what about Joan?"

His face flushed hotly.