“Why do you say that?” I asked. “I know,” she replied. “But,” I said, “I saw him more often and knew him more intimately in his latter days than you could have done. He gave me no hint of wishing to see me married. I could even give you a proof to the contrary, only I should not wish to run the risk of offending you.” Mrs. Stratton intimated that she should like to hear anything that her poor brother had said. “Very well then,” I replied. “He has often remarked what a relief it was to be able to come over to me in the evening, to a house where there were no women about to have to be polite to.” “Disgraceful!” said Mrs. Stratton. “But his own dislike of refinement and the convenances is one thing; the bringing up of his daughter is another. I repeat that not even he would wish to leave his only child to the mercies of a bachelor. I claim to know something of his character,” she went on: “we were girl and boy together. He would have added the clause to the will if he had been more himself. I am convinced of that.” “But he didn’t,” I pointed out. “One can take wills only as they are framed. Isn’t that so, Stratton?” “Except in very exceptional cases, yes,” said George, with an heroic effort. Mrs. Stratton became tearful and turned on her husband. “You never support me,” she complained. “You allow any one to override me. As if I didn’t know my own brother better than strangers could! His wish—more, his decision—would be that Dr. Greville should marry if he accepted the care of Rose. Of course you must marry,” she added, to me. “How old are you?—you look about thirty—every man of thirty should be married. There’s always something wrong with bachelors. We can’t allow—can we, George?—our niece to be brought up by a bachelor of thirty.” “Many good men have been bachelors,” I said. “Tell me one,” she replied, “and I shall be surprised.” “Very well then,” I rejoined: “our Lord.” “Don’t be blasphemous,” she said. “I was merely being historical,” I explained meekly. “You have no right to compare yourself with Him,” she said. “It all helps to confirm my worst fears. I didn’t intend to pass on to other matters connected with this deplorable affair; but that remark of yours has forced me to. Not only are you young and unmarried, but you treat sacred things with levity. I have not been prying, though you may think so—I should scorn the action—I have not been prying or asking questions, but I have learned that you are not a churchgoer. And not just because you’re a doctor either,” she added. “It was not an excuse that I was about to make,” I replied. “I should not be a churchgoer whatever happened. It would involve suggestions of belief that I could not make and should not like to be dishonest about.” “An agnostic!” she said. “How terrible! O my poor Rose!” She began to be tearful.