“Of course.” (Mr. Danvers was a neighbouring clergyman, and his wife was a stout lady of much amiability, who, childless herself, had been fond of entertaining children.) “If I remember rightly,” said Hugh, “one of her juvenile parties brought about my first bilious attack.” “I daresay. Well, you remember they went away for his health when you were at school, leaving a curate in charge. Since you came down last time, they have returned. At their house Daisy met this young man. I suppose you know that Mrs. Danvers was a Miss Clithero?” “Clithero?” Hugh gave a visible start. “Yes; the sister of the Clithero who is partner of the Pyms. Oh! it is hard upon a man, Hugh, left alone as I am, when his girls begin to have love affairs.” “It is,” said Hugh. “But whatever I can do, dad, shall be done. You know that.” The old man was touched. For a few moments he gazed steadily at the fire. Then he said: “I do; and I feel sure that you will tell me if there is any truth in the shocking stories about those Pyms.” “The Pyms! What have they got to do with it?” “The man who wants to marry Daisy is a son of the head of the firm.” “Not _Captain_ Pym?” Hugh spoke almost fiercely. “Why not?” Mr. Paull looked at him curiously. “Never mind. Tell me all—everything.” It seemed that when Daisy Paull was staying at Mrs. Danvers’ house for a week, there had been also staying there a newly-ordained young clergyman, Herbert Pym, third son of Mr. Pym, the reputed millionaire. At the end of the week he had offered himself to Daisy. “He is a nice young fellow,” added Mr. Paull. “Frank, no nonsense about him. He has expectations: will share equally with his eldest brother. He told me that his brother Roderick (the Captain Pym you mentioned) is to inherit nothing from his father, having been adopted by his uncle, Sir Roderick, who will leave him his whole fortune.” “That is, to put it mildly, a mistake,” said Hugh. “You know that I stayed at the Pinewood, Sir Roderick’s place in Surrey, for a couple of days. Captain Pym is a favourite nephew, but is not an adopted son. Sir Roderick is wrapped up in his daughter.” “His daughter? Now, Hugh, what is the mystery about that daughter? Is she an idiot? Don’t get angry! I have heard such queer tales.” “Why did you listen to them?” said Hugh, disdainfully. “I thought you were above listening to gossip.” “I was compelled, in Daisy’s interests, to investigate the matter,” said Mr. Paull, with a dignity which recalled Hugh to a sense of propriety his anxiety was tempting him to forget. “Mrs. Danvers hinted to me that, although Herbert was the nicest young man she knew, the family were eccentric. She had heard all sorts of things about them—untrue, doubtless; still, there seldom was so much smoke without some fire. Mr. Bullock, the banker, knew how much or how little there was in the stories. Now, Bullock being my banker, I called upon him.”