was
one yet!"

Mirabel waited a minute behind the lodge to recover himself. He had been
so completely unnerved that his hair was wet with perspiration. While
he used his handkerchief, he shuddered at other recollections than the
recollection of the dog. "After that night at the inn," he thought, "the
least thing frightens me!"

He was received by the young ladies with cries of derisive welcome. "Oh,
for shame! for shame! here are the potatoes already cut, and nobody to
fry them!"

Mirabel assumed the mask of cheerfulness--with the desperate resolution
of an actor, amusing his audience at a time of domestic distress. He
astonished the keeper's wife by showing that he really knew how to use
her frying-pan. Cecilia's omelet was tough--but the young ladies ate it.
Emily's mayonnaise sauce was almost as liquid as water--they swallowed
it nevertheless by the help of spoons. The potatoes followed, crisp and
dry and delicious--and Mirabel became more popular than ever. "He is the
only one of us," Cecilia sadly acknowledged, "who knows how to cook."

When they all left the lodge for a stroll in the park, Francine attached
herself to Cecilia and Miss Plym. She resigned Mirabel to Emily--in the
happy belief that she had paved the way for a misunderstanding between
them.

The merriment at the luncheon table had revived Emily's good spirits.
She had a light-hearted remembrance of the failure of her sauce. Mirabel
saw her smiling to herself. "May I ask what amuses you?" he said.

"I was thinking of the debt of gratitude that we owe to Mr. Wyvil," she
replied. "If he had not persuaded you to return to Monksmoor, we should
never have seen the famous Mr. Mirabel with a frying pan in his hand,
and never have tasted the only good dish at our luncheon."

Mirabel tried vainly to adopt his companion's easy tone. Now that he was
alone with her, the doubts that Francine had aroused shook the prudent
resolution at which he had arrived in the garden. He ran the risk, and
told Emily plainly why he had returned to Mr. Wyvil's house.

"Although I am sensible of our host's kindness," he answered, "I should
have gone back to my parsonage--but for You."

She declined to understand him seriously. "Then the affairs of your
parish are neglected--and I am to blame!" she said.

"Am I the first man who has neglected his duties for your sake?" he
asked. "I wonder whether the masters at school had the heart to report
you when you neglected your le