“Of course, Miss Eunice.” “I have grieved that she seemed so wayward. I have wished to see this anxious question settled. You have been almost of the family since she was a child, and if she saw her happiness in--in you, I should feel quite contented, quite secure--of her finding it there, and of my brother's satisfaction, in the end. He must not be separated from her. He could not--I think he could not outlive it. And in this way I should feel secure that--that you would understand.” “I hope I should deserve your tribute. I'm more than glad to have it.” “Perhaps this long intimacy, which makes me feel secure, is, at the same time, the trouble with her?” “But why, Miss Eunice? I don't understand that. It has struck me so. And yet I love Camilla the more for all I know of her, and the better for the time. How can it be so different with her?” “That is true. I don't doubt it, Richard.” “Well, then, is it because I don't wear well?” “No. It is true, I think, that we don't understand this difference always--perhaps, not often. But I think,”--knitting a trifle more slowly, speaking with a shade of embarrassment--“I think, with women, it must be strange in order to be at all. It must not be customary. It must always be strange.” Hennion looked puzzled and frowning. “Please go on.” “Lately then, very lately, I have grown more anxious still, seeing an influence creeping into her life, against which I could not openly object, and which yet gave me great uneasiness. It--he was here an hour ago. I should not perhaps have spoken in this way, but I thought there was something unusual between them, some secrecy or confusion. I was distressed. I feared something might have occurred already. I wished to take some step. You know to whom I refer?” “I think so.” “A gentleman, in appearance at least. One does not know anything about his past. He is admired by some, by many, and disliked or distrusted by others. He has great gifts, as my brother thinks. But he thinks him also 'heady,' 'fantastic.' He has used these words. My brother thinks that this society called 'The Assembly' is a mere fashion in Port Argent, depending for financial support, even now, on Mr. Secor, and he thinks this gentleman, whom I am describing, is not likely to continue to be successful in our society, in Port Argent, but more likely to have a chequered career, probably unfortunate, unhappy. My brother regards--he calls him--'a spasmodic phenomenon.' My own disapproval goes further than my brother's in this respect. Yet he does not approve of this influence on Camilla. It causes him uneasiness. I have not thought wise to speak to her about it, for I am afraid of--of some mistake, but I think my brother has spoken, has said something. This--this person arouses my distrust, my dislike. I look at this subject with great distress.” Tick, tick, tick, the knitting needles, and their prim, dry comment. Hennion said gravely: