‘Then I am not too late,’ he said, with an air of relief. ‘There is still time! I am very glad of that. Respect--forfeit your friends’ respect? who could suppose such a thing? You have only too much of your friends’ respect. We would all go through fire and water for you.’ ‘Thanks, thanks,’ she said; ‘but you must not let me be gossiped about,’ she added, after a moment, which made the doctor, though he was not of a delicate countenance, blush. ‘That is all very well,’ he said, ‘but those who have so many friends, and friends so warmly interested, must expect a little talk. It has been spoken of, that there was something, that there might be--in short, that Mr. Beresford and you--forgive me! I don’t mean to say that it would not be most suitable. Everybody knows how fond he is of you--and not much wonder.’ ‘Indeed, indeed you must not talk to me so,’ cried Mrs. Meredith, distressed; ‘my affairs are not public business, Mr. Maxwell.’ ‘I came to tell you,’ he said, doggedly, ‘something you ought to know. I have no dislike to James Beresford. On the contrary, we are old friends; we were boys together. I did my best to shelter him from any reproach at the time. Everything I could do I did, and I think I succeeded. Perhaps now when one comes to reflect, it would have been better if I had not succeeded so well. But I could not stand by and see him ruined, see his peace of mind destroyed.’ ‘Are you talking of Mr. Beresford? Have you lost your senses, doctor? what do you mean?’ ‘You remember all that happened when Mrs. Beresford died?’ ‘I remember--oh yes--poor Annie! how she suffered, poor soul, and how truly he mourned for her--how heart-broken he was.’ ‘He had occasion,’ said the doctor, grimly. ‘Had occasion! I cannot imagine what you mean--there was never a better husband,’ said Mrs. Meredith, with some fervour; ‘never one who loved a woman better, or was more tender with her.’ ‘Too tender. I am not saying that I condemn him absolutely. There are cases in which in one’s heart one might approve. Perhaps his was one of these cases; but anyhow, Mrs. Meredith, you ought to know.’ She got impatient, for she, too, had the feeling that to see her friend’s faults herself was one thing, but to have him found fault with quite another. ‘I should have thought that I knew Mr. Beresford quite as well as you did, doctor,’ she said, trying to give a lighter tone to the conversation. ‘I have certainly seen a great deal more of him for all these years.’ ‘You could not know this,’ said Mr. Maxwell, ‘nor would I have told you but for the extremity of the case. Listen! She might have lingered I cannot tell how long--weeks, months--it was even possible years.’ ‘Yes!’ the assent was no assent, but an exclamation of excitement and wonder.