"Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't
want you!" said Ransford. "Hang it!--for anything you know to
the contrary, she may have--might have--other ideas!"

Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last
minute or two, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed
into the garden. And Ransford turned--and saw Mary Bewery
walking there with a tall lad, whom he recognized as one
Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot, a wealthy resident
of the Close. The two young people were laughing and chatting
together with evident great friendliness.

"Perhaps," remarked Bryce quietly, "her ideas run in--that
direction? In which case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble.
For Mrs. Folliot, mother of yonder callow youth, who's the
apple of her eye, is one of the inquisitive ladies of whom
I've just told you, and if her son unites himself with
anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is.
You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However
--I suppose there's no more to say."

"Nothing!" answered Ransford. "Except to say good-day--and
good-bye to you. You needn't remain--I'll see to everything.
And I'm going out now. I think you'd better not exchange any
farewells with any one."

Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and
gloves, left the surgery by the side door. A moment later,
Bryce saw him crossing the Close.