“I did not mean that I was anxious about his health, Mr. Levinger. I am sure that you will forgive me if I am frank with you, so I will speak out.” He bowed expectantly, and Ellen went on: “My father has told me, and indeed I know it from what you have said to me at different times, that for various reasons you would be glad if Henry and Emma—made a match of it.” Again Mr. Levinger bowed. “I need not say that our family would be equally glad; and that Emma herself would be glad we learned from what she said the other day. There remains therefore only one person who could object—Henry himself. As you know, he is a curiously sensitive man, especially where money matters are concerned, and I believe firmly that the fact of this marriage being so greatly to his advantage, and to that of his family, is the one thing which makes him hesitate, for I am sure, from the way in which he has spoken of her, that he is much attracted by Emma. Had he come here to stay, however, I fancy that all this would have passed off, and by now they might have been happily engaged, or on the verge of it; but you see, this accident happened, and he is laid up—unfortunately, not here.” “He will not be laid up for ever, Miss Graves. As you say, I am anxious for this marriage, and I hope that it will come about in due course.” “No, he will not be laid up for ever; but what I fear is, that it may be too long for Emma’s and his own welfare.” “You must pardon me, but I do not quite understand.” “Then you must pardon me if I speak to you without reserve. You may have noticed that there is a singularly handsome girl at the Bradmouth inn. I mean Joan Haste.” At the mention of this name Mr. Levinger rose suddenly from his chair and walked to the end of the room, where he appeared to lose himself in the contemplation of the morocco backs of an encyclopedia. Presently he turned, and it struck Ellen that his face was strangely agitated, though at this distance she could not be sure. “Yes, I know the girl,” he said in his usual voice—“the one who brought about the accident. What of her?” “Only this: I fear that, unless something is done to prevent it, she may bring about another and a greater accident. Listen, Mr. Levinger. I have no facts to go on, or at least very few, but I have my eyes and my instinct. If I am not mistaken, Joan Haste is in love with Henry, and doing her best to make him in love with her—an effort in which, considering her opportunities, her great personal advantages, and the fact that men generally do become fond of their nurses, she is likely enough to succeed, for he is just the kind of person to make a fool of himself in this way.” “What makes you think so?” asked Mr. Levinger, with evident anxiety.