'True, Cardie; but though I do not deny the heroism of the act, I maintain that many a man in his place would do the same thing. Have we no stories of heroism in our Crimean annals? Amongst the hideous details of the Indian mutiny were there no deeds that might match that of the dying soldier at Zutphen?' 'Perhaps so; but all the same I have a right to my own ideal.' A mocking smile swept over Dr. Heriot's face. 'Virtue in an Elizabethan ruff surpasses virtue clad in nineteenth century broadcloth and fustian. I suspect even in your favourite Sir Philip's case distance lends enchantment to the view; he wrote very sweetly on Arcadia, but who knows but a twinge of the gout may not have made him cross?' 'How you persist in misunderstanding me,' returned Ethel, with a touch of feeling in her voice. 'I suppose as usual I have brought this upon myself, but why will you believe that I am so hard to please? After all you are right; Bayard and Sir Philip Sidney are only typical characters of their day; there must be great men even in this generation.' 'There are downright honest men--men who are not ashamed to confess to flaws and inconsistencies, and possible twinges of gout.' 'There you spoil all,' said Mildred, with an amused look; but Dr. Heriot's mischievous mood was not to be restrained. 'One of these honest fellows with a tolerably tough will, and not an ounce of imagination in his whole composition--positively of the earth, earthy--will strike the right chord that is to bring Hermione from off her pedestal--don't frown, Miss Trelawny; you may depend upon it those old Turks were right, and there is a fate in these things.' Ethel curved her long neck superbly, and turned with a slightly contemptuous expression to Richard: her patience was exhausted. 'I think my father will be wondering what has become of me; will you take me to him?' 'There they go, Ethel and her knight; how little she knows that perhaps her fate is beside her; they are too much of an age, but that lad has the will of half a dozen men.' 'Why do you tease her so?' remonstrated Mildred. Dr. Heriot still retained his seat comfortably beside her. 'She is very girlish and romantic, but she hardly deserved such biting sarcasms.' 'Was I sarcastic?' he asked, evidently surprised. 'Poor child! I would not have hurt her for the world. And these luxuriant fancies need pruning; hers is a fine nature run to seed for want of care and proper nurture.' 'I think she needs sympathy,' returned gentle Mildred. 'Then she has sought it in the right quarter,' with a look she could hardly misunderstand, 'and where the supply is always equal to the demand; but I warn you she is somewhat of an egotist.' 'Oh no!' warmly. 'I am sure Miss Trelawny is not selfish.' 'That depends how you interpret the phrase. She would give you all her jewels without a sigh, but you must allow her to talk out all her fine feeling in return. After all, she is only like others of her sex.'