‘When I meet such a woman I will forget her,’ answered the other. ‘I thought you were a better judge of human nature, Lucius; I thought you would be able to recognise a good and pure woman when you saw one. True that you had seen very little of this one; yet you saw her with her fond mother’s heart bared before you; you saw her warm and grateful nature. You had sneered at her as a heartless mother: see how facts belied your unkind suspicion. You saw her moved to passionate tears by the mere thought of your kindness to her child.’ ‘For God’s sake, say no more about her!’ cried Lucius, with sudden passion. ‘The subject will breed a quarrel between us. You wanted my advice, and I have given it you—dispassionately. Reason, not feeling, has influenced my words. Pure, good, true: yes, I would willingly believe her all that, did I not—did not circumstances point to the other conclusion. It is hard to look in her face and say, This is not a woman to be loved and trusted. But are you the man to endure a shameful secret in your wife’s past history? Could you face the hazard of some cruel discovery after marriage—a discovery which should show you the woman you love as a victim, perhaps, but not without guilt?’ ‘I will never believe her less than she seems to me at this moment!’ cried Geoffrey. ‘What makes you speculate on her past life? why suppose that there must be some ignominious secret? Only because she gets her own living, I suppose; because she is obliged to travel about the world without her own maid, and has no footman, or carriage, or circle of polite acquaintances, and possibly has never been presented at court. I wonder at you, Davoren; I could not have believed you were so narrow-minded.’ ‘Think me narrow-minded, if you like, but be warned by me. My voice to-night is the voice of the majority, which always takes the narrowest view of every question. You have asked for my advice, and you shall have it, however distasteful. Don’t marry a woman of whom you know so little as you know about Mrs. Bertram.’ ‘Thanks for your advice. Of course I know you mean well, old fellow; but if Mrs. Bertram would take me for her husband to-morrow, I should be the proudest man in Stillmington, or in Christendom.’ ‘I think I know enough of her to feel very sure she will never consent to marry you,’ said Lucius. ‘You are quick in forming conclusions,’ exclaimed Geoffrey, with a somewhat distrustful glance at his friend, ‘considering that you saw Mrs. Bertram for something less than five minutes.’