“All right, go!” said Alice, the spirit of the lower orders beginning to assert itself, and a sharp suspicion rising in her about the morning’s thief. For one minute he stood waiting her decision, but it did not alter, and he went away. And Alice, suspicion being roused in her, found it very quickly followed by dislike. Why should an honest man be too busy to see an honest woman? Her mind could not perceive such limitations to the path of honesty. Then again the door to the west wing opened, and out came Mr Barringcourt, followed by the servant. “What is it?” The shadowy eyes were bent on her--steel shining through the shadow. “Timothy’s dead--and my--my niece has collapsed altogether. She’s--dangerously ill.” “Hysterical, you mean. Leave her alone--she’ll be all right in the morning.” “Look here, sir, I know my niece. She isn’t hysterical, though she may be flighty. And she’s got a nasty wound on her neck--nails, sir--human nails, I call them.” “You are very melodramatic, you beggar-folk!” he said, turning to leave her. “We’re not beggar-folk. I’ll tell you what, she’s a better born woman than you are a man--now!” “Very possibly--very possibly. Is this all you’ve come to tell me?” “No; I came, honestly believing you an honest doctor, to ask you to come and see her.” “I don’t understand women’s ailments--never studied them. A douche of cold water is all I can think of to recommend.” “You big brute!” said Alice, and such a healthily untrained voice had never, never been heard in Marble House before. “I told your niece, or your daughter, or whatever she is,” he said, suddenly turning again to her and bending his dark eyes to hers; “I told her she was not to nurse Timothy. She persisted in the teeth of everything--first snubs, then, I may say, insults. She has nursed him--and incidentally she fell in love with me. I tell you all the phases of her disease, so that in nursing her you may understand the symptoms. She lost him, he was bound to die from the beginning. I told her so. And now she has lost me, I suppose, and sent you to bring me back. But I am not coming, Aunt Alice. She will die of consumption--slowly--very slowly. You’ll have plenty of time to get used to it, so don’t look so pale. And she has no one but herself to thank for it. It used to irritate me to see her in the room.” “You’re a liar! You loved her more than she loved you.” “Oh! has she told you of--of this morning?” “No, but I guessed. You’re a thief, too.” Alice was thinking of the picture, for she had not heard of its history. “I’m everything that’s bad. You can tell your niece so--it may cure her of her infatuation.” “I’ll tell her nothing. She isn’t the one to break her heart over any man, though it pleases you to think so. But just you wait, sir, and one of these nice days you’ll jump finely. Just you wait, and even a douche of cold water won’t cure _you_.”