"Very well. Then I beg yours. I'm sorry, too."

Now I WAS surprised. I turned in my chair and looked at her.

"You beg my pardon?" I repeated. "For what?"

"Oh, for everything. I suppose I should have spoken to you before buying those things. You might not have been prepared to pay then and--and that would have been unpleasant for you. But--well, you see, I didn't think, and you were so queer and cross when you followed me to the draper's shop, that--that I--well, I was disagreeable, too. I am sorry."

"That's all right."

"Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Why did you buy the Slazenger racket instead of the other one?"

I had forgotten the "Slazenger" for the moment. She had caught me unawares.

"Oh--oh," I stammered, "well, it was a much better racket and--and, as you were buying one, it seemed foolish not to get the best."

"I know. I wanted the better one very much, but I thought it too expensive. I did not feel that I should spend so much money."

"That's all right. The difference wasn't so much and I made the change on my own responsibility. I--well, just consider that I bought the racket and you bought none."

She regarded me intently. "You mean that you bought it as a present for me?" she said slowly.

"Yes; yes, if you will accept it as such."

She was silent. I remembered perfectly well what she had said concerning presents from me and I wondered what I should do with that racket when she threw it back on my hands.

"Thank you," she said. "I will accept it. Thank you very much."

I was staggered, but I recovered sufficiently to tell her she was quite welcome.

She turned to go. Then she turned back.

"Doctor Bayliss asked me to play tennis with him tomorrow morning," she said. "May I?"

"May you? Why, of course you may, if you wish, I suppose. Why in the world do you ask my permission?"

"Oh, don't you wish me to ask? I inferred from what you said at Wrayton that you did wish me to ask permission concerning many things."

"I wished--I said--oh, don't be silly, please! Haven't we had silliness enough for one afternoon, Miss Morley."

"My Christian name is Frances. May I play tennis with Doctor Bayliss to-morrow morning, Uncle Hosea?"

"Of course you may. How could I prevent it, even if I wished, which I don't."

"Thank you, Uncle Hosea. Mr. Worcester is going to play also. We need a fourth. I can borrow another racket. Will you be my partner, Uncle Hosea?"

"_I_? Your partner?"

"Yes. You play tennis; Auntie says so. Will you play to-morrow morning as my partner?"

"But I play an atrocious game and--"

"So do I. We shall match beautifully. Thank you, Uncle Hosea."

Once more she turned to go, and again she turned.

"Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?" she asked.

The repetition repeated was too much.

"Yes," I declared. "Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your uncle."

"Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven't you?"

I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to state emphatically that I didn't like the title.

"Oh, very well," she said. "But 'Mr. Knowles' sounds so formal, don't you think. What shall I call you? Never mind, perhaps I can think while I am dressing for dinner. I will see you at dinner, won't I. Au revoir, and thank you again for the racket--Cousin Hosy."

"I'm not your cousin, either--at least not more than a nineteenth cousin. And if you begin calling me 'Hosy' I shall--I don't know what I shall do."

"Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir--Kent."

When Hephzy came to the study I was still seated in the rector's chair.

She was brimful full of curiosity, I know, and ready to ask a dozen questions at once. But I headed off the first of the dozen.

"Hephzy," I observed, "I have made no less than fifty solemn resolutions since we met that girl--that Little Frank of yours. You've heard me make them, haven't you."

"Why, yes, I suppose I have. If you mean resolutions to tell her the truth about her father and put an end to the scrape we're in, I have, certain."

"Yes; well, I've made another one now. Never, no matter what happens, will I attempt to tell her a word concerning Strickland Morley or her 'inheritance' or anything else. Every time I've tried I've made a blessed idiot of myself and now I'm through. She can stay with us forever and run us into debt to her heart's desire--I don't care. If she ever learns the truth she sha'n't learn it from me. I'm incapable of telling it. I haven't the sand of a yellow dog and I'm not going to worry about it. I'm through, do you hear--through."

That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that THIS resolution I should probably stick to.

CHAPTER XI

In Which Complications Become More Complicated

And stick to it I did. From that day--the day of our drive to Wrayton--on through those wonderful summer days in which she and Hephzy and I were together at the rectory, not once did I attempt to remonstrate with my "niece" concerning her presumption in inflicting her presence upon us or in spending her money, as she thought it--our money as I knew it to be--as she saw fit. Having learned and relearned my lesson--namely, that I lacked the courage to tell her the truth I had so often declared must be told, having shifted the responsibility to Hephzy's shoulders, having admitted and proclaimed myself, in that respect at least, a yellow dog, I proceeded to take life as I found it, as yellow dogs are supposed to do.