Against dates on which she heard his name thus mentioned she put a cross of red ink in the little calendar she carried in her purse. When she was having her new summer frock fitted, the dressmaker's three-year-old son ran into the room. Agnes, who was fond of children, spoke kindly to him; but the mother, kneeling on the floor with upstretched arms and a mouthful of pins, shook her head menacingly.
"Ah, Johnnie's a bad boy. He won't take his medicine. I'll have to tell Dr. Owen bout him."
"Does Dr. Owen attend him?" Agnes asked, flutteringly; and the woman explained he was doctor of the club to which her husband belonged.
"He's a very clever doctor," ventured Agnes, all covered with blushes. "Don't you think so?"
"Ah, my good!" said the other, as who should say doctors are necessary evils, and there's not much to choose between them. "But he give Johnnie a fine new double piece last time he come, didn't he, Johnnie? 'Tisn't the value I ever looks at," she explained to Agnes, "but the kind thought."
Agnes felt a glow of pride at the generosity, the good-heartedness of her lover, and on going away pressed a whole British shilling into Johnnie's treacly little paw. Against this day she placed two crosses in her calendar, and the episode filled her thoughts for a week, to be succeeded by a more precious one.
The annual picnic came round, provided by the chapel for its Sunday-school. Agnes, as one of the teachers, went with the rest. They drove in waggonettes to Rocquaine, and the one point of the day to which she looked forward with excitement, with a thrill, was the passing Owen's house on the way back late at night. They went by a longer way, but they always came down Contrée Mansel on the way home. She distinguished fromquite
