“Perhaps so,” said Lancaster, “but the time has come when curb-bits, cages, and good advice are not for me.  I must burst loose from everything and go my way, right or wrong, whatever it may be.”

“I see that,” said she; “but if it had not been for the curbed bit and all that, you would be leaving this place a discarded lover, like the rest of them.  They depart with their love-affairs finished forever, ended; you go as free to woo, to win, or to lose as you ever were.  And you owe this entirely to me, so whatever else you do, don’t sneer at my curbs and my cages; to them you owe your liberty.”

The professor fully appreciated everything she had done for him, and told her so earnestly and warmly.  But she interrupted his grateful expressions.

“It would have been very hard on me,” she said, “if Olive had asked me to carry to you the news of your rejection.  That is what I did for the others, I suppose you know.”

“Oh, yes,” said Lancaster; “Locker told me.”

“I might have supposed that,” said she.  “And now I feel bound to tell you also, although it is not a message, that Olive does not expect to see you at her uncle’s house.  She infers that you are going to continue your vacation journey.”

“I have made my plans for my journey,” said he, “and I do not think, Mrs. Easterfield, that you will care to have me talk them over with you.”

“No, indeed,” she replied; “I do not want to hear a word about them, but I am going to give you one piece of advice, whether you like it or not.  Don’t be in a hurry to ask her to marry you.  At this moment she does not want to marry anybody.  Her position has entirely changed.  She wanted to marry so that her plans might be settled before her father and his new wife arrive; and now she considers that they are settled.  So be careful.  It is true that the objections she formerly had to you are removed, but before you ask her to marry you, you should seriously ask yourself what reason there is she should do so.  She does not know you very well; she is not interested in you; and I am very sure she is not in love with you.  Now you know, for I have told you so, that I would be delighted to see you two married.  I believe you would suit each other admirably, but although you may agree with me in this opinion, I am quite sure she does not; at least, not yet.  Now, this is all I am going to say, except that you have my very best wishes that you may get her.”

“I shall never forget that,” said he, “but I see I am not to be free from the memory, at least, of the curb and the cage.”

After breakfast on Monday the three discarded lovers departed in a dog-cart, Mr. Du Brant in front with the driver, and Claude Locker and Hemphill behind.  For some minutes the party was silent.  If circumstances had permitted they would have gone separately.

As long as he could see the mansion of Broadstone, Claude Locker spoke no word.  When the time had come to go he had not wanted to go.  When taking leave of Dick Lancaster he had congratulated that favored young man upon the fact that he had not been rejected, and had assured him that if he had remained at Broadstone he would have done his best to back him up as he had said he would.