He almost wondered that his father had not fallen madly in love with her at the very outset, and yet he could understand how the spirit of antagonism had been aroused in them, from the fact of not having been allowed to choose for themselves in a matter so vital to their interests and happiness. “You say that this cousin, Robert Dale, was an old bachelor?” he asked, after a few moments of thought. “Yes, and he was every bit as eccentric as Uncle Jabez himself.” “Are you sure that he never married? Somehow, what you have told me has created a suspicion in my mind that this Geoffrey Dale Huntress, after all, may be in some way connected with these Dales at home.” Mrs. Mapleson gave vent to a silvery ripple of amusement at her son’s question. “I am very sure that Robert Dale was never married,” she said. “He despised all women, even disliked to eat what a woman’s hands had cooked.” “How old was he when he died?” “Forty, I should judge.” “Do you imagine that he could have had a secret alliance with any one, and that this Geoffrey Dale is a descendant of his?” “No, indeed!” Mrs. Mapleson returned, her face dimpling all over at this suggestion. “If you could have seen him you would never ask such a question. No woman would have dared approach him; no woman would have lived with such a creature, or as he lived. He built himself a small stone house in the woods a few miles from Vue de l’Eau. It was as rude as it could be, and furnished with only what was actually necessary, and there he lived a kind of hermit’s life, with an old negro servant, who was cook, housemaid, and everything else you may choose to call him.” “But during his earlier life he may have been different—he may have loved some one, and been secretly married, and then disappointed in some way in his hopes, which might have embittered him and made him the woman-hater he was,” responded Everet, thoughtfully. “No, I do not think that is possible; and even if it were, this young man could not be a son of his; he is not old enough; he belongs to the same generation as yourself.” “True. I did not think of that. How long did Robert Dale live after you were married?” “Just one month.” Everet looked up quickly into his mother’s face. “Before your twenty-fifth birthday?” “Yes.” “And were you sorry that you did not wait a little longer? You would have been free from the conditions of that will, and could have kept your money.” “No, Everet, I have never regretted my marriage,” Mrs. Mapleson calmly replied. “I think I have been far happier than I should have been had I remained single.” “What became of Robert Dale’s money?”