There was one little check, and one only, to the flow of Mr. Kenyon's prosperity. Careful mothers occasionally objected that he was not married, and that his sister was an actress. Why did he let his sister go on the stage? And why, if she was an actress, did he allow her to live in his house? It did not seem quite respectable in the eyes of some worthy people that these things should be. But Mr. Kenyon only laughed when reports of these sayings, reached him, and went on his way unmoved, as his sister Ethel went on hers. And in London, the question of a doctor's relations, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts, and what they do for a living, is not so important as it is in the country. Maurice Kenyon's care of his sister, and her devotion to him, were well known by all their friends; and as he sometimes said, it mattered very little to him what all the rest of the world might think. "Talking of your sister, Kenyon," said Mr. Brooke, somewhat abruptly, "I suppose you know that my daughter comes to me to-morrow?" The connection of ideas was not, perhaps, very obvious, but Maurice Kenyon nodded as if he understood. "I suppose she will want a companion. Would Ethel be so kind as to call on her?" "Certainly. She will do all she can for Miss Brooke, I am sure." "I have been speaking to Mrs. Romaine, too." "_Have_ you?" Kenyon raised eyebrows a very little, but Mr. Brooke did not seem to notice the change of expression. "--And she promises to do what she can; but a woman like Mrs. Romaine is not likely to find many subjects in common with a girl fresh from a convent." "I suppose not"--in the driest of tones. "Mrs. Romaine," said Brooke, in a more decided tone, "is a cultivated woman who has made a mark in literature----" "In literature?" queried the doctor. "She has written a novel or two. She writes for various papers--well and smartly, I believe. She is a thorough woman of the world. Naturally, a girl brought up as Lesley has been will----" "--Will find her detestable," said Kenyon, briskly, "as I and Ethel do. You'll excuse this expression of opinion; you've heard it before." For a moment Caspar Brooke's face was overcast; then he broke into uneasy laughter, and rose from his chair, shaking himself a little as a big dog sometimes does when it comes out of the water. "You are incorrigible," he said. "A veritable heretic on the matter of my friend, Mrs. Romaine. By the by, I must remind you, Kenyon, that Mrs. Romaine is a very old friend of mine." His manner changed slightly as he spoke. There was a little touch of quiet hauteur in his look and tone, as if he wished to repel unsolicited criticism. Maurice understood the man too well to be offended, and merely changed the subject. But when, after half an hour's chat, the young doctor left the house, his mind reverted to the topic which Mr. Brooke had broached.