’Miss Darrell said I was to bring the waggonette, sir:  it did not rain so badly when the order was brought round to the stables.’

’I could have taken a fly easily:  it is worse than folly bringing out the horses this wet night.  Jump in, Nap.  What, must I go first?  Manners before a wet coat.’

I heard no more, for Max hurried me into a fly, and the waggonette passed us on the road.

‘Who was that?’ I asked curiously.

’Oh, that is Mr. Hamilton.  Why did you not wait for me to introduce him to you, Ursula?  He is a rich doctor who lives in these parts; he practises for his own pleasure among the poor people; he will not attend gentle-folks.  He told me that he had studied medicine meaning to make it his profession, but a distant relative died and left him a fortune, and by so doing spoiled his career.’

’That was rather ungracious of him; but he looks the sort of man who could do plenty of grumbling.  Where does he live, Max?’

’Oh, at Gladwyn:  I cannot show you the house now, because we do not pass it.  There is the church, Ursula, and there is Tudor in his mackintosh coming out of the vicarage:  that is the best of Lawrence, he never shirks his duty; he hates the job, but he does it.  He is going down to see old Smithers and get sworn at for his pains.’

‘Have you got any cases ready for me, Max?’ I asked, with a little tingling of excitement.

’Hamilton has.  I was at Gladwyn the other evening, and had a talk with him.  He was a little off-hand about your mission; he thinks you must be romantic, and all that sort of thing.  You would have laughed to have heard him talk, and I let him go on just for the joke of it.  It was rich to hear him say that he did not believe in hysterical goodness; a girl would do anything now to get herself talked about—­no, I did not mean to repeat that,’ interrupting himself, with an annoyed air.  ’Hamilton always says more than he means.  Look, Ursula, there is the White Cottage; that bow-window to the right belongs to your parlour.  Now, my dear, I will open the gate, and you must just run up the path as quickly as you can, for you can hardly hold up an umbrella in this wind.  You see the cottage does not boast of a carriage-drive.’

That odious Mr. Hamilton—­or Dr. Hamilton, which was it?  No wonder he looked like a Romish priest if he could make those Jesuitical remarks!  I felt I almost hated him, but I resolved to banish him from my mind, as I ran past the dripping laurels that bordered the narrow path.  The cottage door was open as soon as our fly had stopped at the gate; and by the light I could see the neat flower-borders and clipped yews, and a leafless wide-spreading tree with a seat under it.  As I made my way into the porch, a very big man without his coat passed me with a civil ‘good-evening.’  I thought it must be Nathaniel, from his great height, and of course the prim-looking little widow in black, standing on the threshold, was Mrs. Barton.  She had a nice, plaintive face, and spoke in a mild, deprecating voice.