“All doubt, however, on this point was removed by what he said to Richard on that terrible morning,” Rosabelle went on in a voice that trembled a little. “After overwhelming him with his anger at what he believed to be his baseness, he told him he knew we were attached to each other, and that he would have put no obstacles in our way. It was really as I thought. Richard was always a little dubious as to what his attitude might be, while I never had the slightest fear. We were both so very dear to him that I was always sure our marriage would have given him the greatest pleasure.” The detective considered her reply carefully, as was his invariable custom. He never accepted any statement without probing it very deeply, none knew better than he the futility of jumping to rash and hasty conclusions. “There would seem to be some reasonable ground for Mr. Croxton’s doubts in the matter,” he said very quietly. “Kind and generous as Mr. Morrice was to him, there was no actual blood-tie between them; you tell me the young man had practically no money of his own, that his future depended entirely on a continuance of his benefactor’s favour. You, on the other hand, are a near relative and it is to be assumed that your uncle will leave you a considerable sum. It would be a very natural thing that he should have different views for you, should have wished you to look a little higher than one who, after all, was not your equal in anything but birth. At any rate, it is what the ordinary person might think, of course; Mr. Morrice may be an exceptional man of liberal independent views.” “Oh, but that is just what he is,” cried the girl warmly. In spite of her fervent belief in her lover, and perhaps a little natural resentment against her uncle for his obstinate presumption of Richard’s guilt, she loved him very dearly and thoroughly appreciated his sterling qualities. “That is just what he is, Mr. Lane,” she repeated. “Rich as he is, hard as he works to make himself so, he does not love money for its own sake or value the possession of it in others. One or two of his closest friends are poor men, and he is happier in their society than in that of millionaires like himself. He loves his business and his work, it is true, but more for the mental excitement and stimulus they bring than for their pecuniary results. And he doesn’t attach much importance to birth or what the world calls position. At heart, I believe he is a good bit of a democrat.” “If a millionaire can be truly a democrat!” suggested Mr. Lane with a smile. “Anyway, if he is one, there must be a good many reservations.”