“Possibly; but I must defend myself from hearing what I know will be certain to annoy me.” “But he is the reverse of immoral: and I intend to read you parts of the letter to prove to you that he is not the man you would blame, but I, and that if ever I am worthier... worthier of you, as I hope to become, it will be owing to this admirable and good old man.” Cecilia trembled: she was touched to the quick. Yet it was not pleasant to her to be wooed obliquely, through Dr. Shrapnel. She recognized the very letter, crowned with many stamps, thick with many pages, in Beauchamp’s hands. “When you are at Steynham you will probably hear my uncle Everard’s version of this letter,” he said. “The baron chooses to think everything fair in war, and the letter came accidentally into his hands with the seal broken; well, he read it. And, Cecilia, you can fancy the sort of stuff he would make of it. Apart from that, I want you particularly to know how much I am indebted to Dr. Shrapnel. Won’t you learn to like him a little? Won’t you tolerate him?—I could almost say, for my sake! He and I are at variance on certain points, but taking him altogether, I am under deeper obligations to him than to any man on earth. He has found where I bend and waver.” “I recognize your chivalry, Nevil.” “He has done his best to train me to be of some service. Where’s the chivalry in owning a debt? He is one of our true warriors; fearless and blameless. I have had my heroes before. You know how I loved Robert Hall: his death is a gap in my life. He is a light for fighting Englishmen—who fight with the sword. But the scale of the war, the cause, and the end in view, raise Dr. Shrapnel above the bravest I have ever had the luck to meet. Soldiers and sailors have their excitement to keep them up to the mark; praise and rewards. He is in his eight-and-sixtieth year, and he has never received anything but obloquy for his pains. Half of the small fortune he has goes in charities and subscriptions. Will that touch you? But I think little of that, and so does he. Charity is a common duty. The dedication of a man’s life and whole mind to a cause, there’s heroism. I wish I were eloquent; I wish I could move you.” Cecilia turned her face to him. “I listen to you with pleasure, Nevil; but please do not read the letter.” “Yes; a paragraph or two I must read.” She rose. He was promptly by her side. “If I say I ask you for one sign that you care for me in some degree?” “I have not for a moment ceased to be your friend, Nevil, since I was a child.” “But if you allow yourself to be so prejudiced against my best friend that you will not hear a word of his writing, are you friendly?” “Feminine, and obstinate,” said Cecilia.