"Oh, come, come," Lord Musselburgh interposed, rather testily, "don’t be so bigoted. It isn’t only your considering that girl to be everything that is fine and wonderful—I can understand that—the glamour of love can do anything; but you go too far in professing the greatest admiration and respect for this old man. Leave us some chance of agreeing with you, of believing you sane. For you can’t deny that he took the money: there is the plain and simple fact staring you in the face. More than that, his taking it was the justification of those who offered it: it proved to them that he was not the kind of person with whom you should be connected by marriage. I say nothing about the young lady; I don’t know her; perhaps her association all these years with this old—well, I won’t call him names—has not affected her in any way; perhaps she believes in him as implicitly as you appear to do. But as for him: well, take any unprejudiced outsider, like myself; what am I to think when I find him accepting this money from strangers?" "Yes," said Vincent, a little absently, "I suppose, to an outsider, that would look bad. But it is because you don’t know him, Musselburgh; or the story of his life; or his circumstances. I confess that at one time there were things that disquieted me; I rather shut my eyes to them; but now that I understand what this man is, and what he has gone through, and how he bears himself, it isn’t only pity I feel for him, it is respect, and more than respect. But it’s a long story; and it would have to be told to sympathetic ears; it would be little use telling it to my father or to my aunt—they have the detectives’ version before them—they have the detectives’ reading of the case." "Well, tell me, at least," said his friend. "I want to get at the truth. I have no prejudice or prepossession one way or the other. For another thing, I like to hear the best of everybody—and to believe it, if I can; it makes life pleasanter; and I can’t forget, either, that it was through me you got to know George Bethune." It was a long story, as Vincent had said; and it was a difficult one to set in order and in a proper light: but it was chiefly based on what had been told him by the Toronto banker; and Mr. Thompson’s generous interpretation of it ran through it all. Lord Musselburgh listened with the greatest interest and attention. What seemed mostly to strike him was the banker’s phrase—’Call George Bethune an impostor, if you like; but the man he has imposed on, his whole life through, has been—George Bethune.’