‘Come, Lucius,’ he said; ‘Mrs. Bertram has gone through no end of agitation to-day, or rather yesterday, for it’s past midnight. We had better leave her to rest.’ ‘Yes,’ said Lucius, in a slow thoughtful tone, ‘good-night. I will come to see the little girl again early to-morrow morning—say at eight o’clock—as I must leave Stillmington soon after nine.’ ‘O, come,’ remonstrated Geoffrey, ‘you must give yourself a holiday to-morrow.’ ‘Impossible. Pain and disease will not give my patients a holiday.’ ‘But surely their complaints can stand over for a day or so,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Parish patients can’t have such complicated diseases. I thought all the worst evils flesh is heir to came from high living.’ ‘There are numerous diseases that come from low feeding, or almost no feeding at all. No; I must go back by an early train to-morrow. But I should like to see you at eight o’clock, if that will not be too soon, Mrs. Bertram.’ ‘Not at all too soon,’ she answered; and they departed, Geoffrey with an uncomfortable foreboding that, so soon as the little girl recovered, his occupation would be gone. What other excuse could he find for intruding himself upon Mrs. Bertram’s solitude? ‘Well, Lucius,’ he began, as soon as they were clear of the house, ‘what do you think of her?’ ‘I think she is very handsome,’ answered Lucius, with a thoughtful slowness which was peculiarly irritating to his friend. ‘What more can I think of her after so brief an interview? She seems,’ with an almost painful effort, ‘very fond of her child. I am very sorry for her unprotected and solitary position; but—’ ‘But what?’ cried Geoffrey impatiently. ‘How you torment the soul of a fellow with your measured syllables!’ ‘I think the very wisest—nay, the only rational—thing you can do is to forget her.’ ‘Never! And why should I wish to forget her?’ ‘Because all surrounding circumstances point to the conclusion that she is no fitting wife for you. A woman so lovely, so accomplished, would hardly lead so lonely a life—I don’t speak of her professional career, since that is a natural use for a woman to make of a fine voice if she wants to get her own living—if there were not some strong reason for her seclusion—some painful secret in the past, some fatal tie in the present. She knows you to be young, generous, wealthy, and her devoted slave; yet she rejects your devotion. She would scarcely repulse such a lover were she free to marry. Believe me, there is something in the background, some obstacle which you will never overcome. Be warned in time, my dear true-hearted Geoffrey; don’t waste the best years of your life in the pursuit of a woman who can never reward your affection, who was not born to make you happy. There are plenty of women in the world quite as lovely, and—I won’t say better worthy of you,’ with ever so faint a quiver of his voice, ‘but better able to bless your love.’