"She won't think the worse of you for that," observed the old man. "But you can't tell her--the rest. Of course not! I'll see what I can do, Brook. I don't believe it's hopeless at all. I've watched Miss Bowring, ever since we first met you two, coming up the hill. I'll try something--" "Don't speak to her about Mrs. Crosby, at all events!" "I don't think I should do anything you wouldn't do yourself, boy," said Sir Adam, with a shade of reproval in his tone. "All I say is that the case isn't so hopeless as you seem to think. Of course you are heavily handicapped, and you are a dog with a bad name, and all the rest of it. The young lady won't change her mind to-day, nor to-morrow either, perhaps. But she wouldn't be a human woman if she never changed it at all." "You don't know her!" Brook shook his head and began to refill his refractory pipe. "And I don't believe you know her mother either, though you were married to her once. If she is at all what I think she is, she won't let her daughter marry your son. It's not as though anything could happen now to change the situation. It's an old one--it's old, and set, and hard, like a cast. You can't run it into a new mould and make anything else of it. Not even you, Governor--and you are as clever as anybody I know. It's a sheer question of humanity, without any possible outside incident. I've got two things against me which are about as serious as anything can be--the mother's prejudice against you, and the daughter's prejudice against me--both deuced well founded, it seems to me." "You forget one thing, Brook," said Sir Adam, thoughtfully. "What's that?" "Women forgive." Neither spoke for some time. "You ought to know," said Brook in a low tone, at last. "They forgive when they love--or have loved. That's the right way to put it, I think." "Well--put it in that way, if you like. It will just cover the ground. Whatever that young lady may say, she likes you very much. I've seen her watch you, and I'm sure of it." "How can a woman love a man and hate him at the same time?" "Why do jealous women sometimes kill their husbands? If they didn't love them they wouldn't care; and if they didn't hate them, they wouldn't kill them. You can't explain it, perhaps, but you can't deny it either. She'll never forgive Mrs. Crosby--perhaps--but she'll forgive you, when she finds out that she can't be happy without you. Stay here quietly, and let me see what I can do." "You can't do anything, Governor. But I'm grateful to you all the same. And--you know--if there's anything I can do on my side to help you, just now, I'll do it!" "Thank you, Brook," said the old man, leaning back, and putting up his feet again.