There was not light enough upon the terrace to show Theodore any change in his cousin’s countenance, but the movement of Lord Cheriton’s hand as he took the cigar from his mouth, and the sudden slackening of his pace were sufficient indications of troubled thought. It could hardly be pleasant for him to hear so melancholy a suggestion about the pensioner whom he had established in comfort at his gate, intending that she should enjoy his bounty for all the days of her life. “Upon what does your friend base this fantastical notion?” he asked angrily. “Upon physiological and psychological evidence. You can question him, if you like. It appears to me that you ought to know the truth.” “I have no objection to hear anything he may have to say, but it is very unlikely I shall be influenced by him. These young men, who are by way of being savants, are full of crochets and theories. They look at every one as Darwin looked at a Virginia creeper or a cowslip, with a preconceived notion that they must find out something about him. I believe Mrs. Porter, with her calm, impassible nature, is much better able to reckon up your friend Ramsay than he is able to come to a correct opinion about her.” “I should like you to discuss the question with him, at any rate,” said Theodore. “The horror of last year’s calamity is a reason you should have nobody about the estate whom you cannot trust.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that while you have madness at your gate you may have murder in your house.” “Theodore! You cannot be so cruel as to associate that unhappy woman with Godfrey Carmichael’s death?” “God knows! That murder has to be accounted for somehow. Can you, as Juanita’s father, know rest or peace till it has been accounted for? I could not, in your place.” “I hope you do not think it necessary to teach me my duty to my daughter,” said Lord Cheriton coldly; and Theodore felt that he had said too much. His cousin addressed him upon some indifferent subject a minute or so afterwards, when he had lighted a fresh cigar, and his manner resumed its usual friendliness. There was no further mention of Mrs. Porter that night, but on Sunday Lord Cheriton walked home from church with Cuthbert Ramsay, and questioned him as to his impressions about the lodge-keeper. “Theodore has exaggerated the significance of my remark,” explained Cuthbert. “I take it Mrs. Porter’s case is one of slight aberration brought on by much brooding upon troubles, real or imaginary. If my power to diagnose is worth anything, her mind has lost its balance, her thoughts have lost their adjusting power. She is like a piece of mechanism that has got out of square, and will only work one way. You may hardly consider that this amounts to madness, and I may have done wrong in speaking of it: only were Mrs. Porter concerned in my existence, I should feel it incumbent on me to watch her; and I recommend you to have her watched, so far as it can be done without alarming or annoying her.”