I was much perplexed to answer this question; though it flattered my pride as a woman shortly to enter upon the field myself, and perhaps make decisions of equally momentous result to somebody, it sadly bewildered my perceptions of right and wrong. I felt humbled rather than exalted in my own self-opinion by the idea, that anything _I_ said or did could produce such consequences; and I could not understand about Mr. Osborne. He, with his shrewd merry eyes, his regard for all his own comforts and luxuries, his want of sentiment and melancholy--that _he_ should be the disappointed lover, almost exceeded my powers of belief. I was glad to think that he must have "got over it," but I was greatly puzzled to make the conclusion whether it could be this that decided the manner of his life. My father was extremely absorbed in _his_ book to-night--more than usually so I thought; and I am afraid that circumstance made me still more disposed to question him, unoccupied and idle as I was. I had disturbed him two or three times already by stirring the fire, and moving my seat, and had perceived his quick upward glance of impatience, but I was not deterred from beginning my investigations. "Papa, have you known Mr. Osborne a very long time?" said I, looking at his face in the lamplight, and at the ray of reflection which came from the diamond on his finger. He looked up sharply as if not quite comprehending. "Known Mr. Osborne?--yes, a long time, Hester--since I was a boy." "And do you know why he lives here--why he is not married, papa?" I continued quietly. My father looked up with a smile. "He is not married because he did not choose it, I suppose; and because he is a fellow, and has his income on that condition. Osborne is a scholar, and not a family man." "I wonder now what is the good of being a scholar," said I. "Is Mr. Osborne poor? Does he do it for the sake of his income? Yes! I know all these colleges are for making scholars--but then, what is the good of it, papa?" "Hester, you speak like a child," said my father with a little anger; "you might say in the same foolish words what is the good of anything--what is the good of life?" "And so I do," said I with a little terror, and in an undertone. "So! I have a young misanthrope on my hands--have I?" said my father; "we will not enter on that question, but return to Mr. Osborne, if you please, for I am busy. Are you very sorry for Mr. Osborne, Hester?" "No, papa," said I. "I am glad to hear it--there is no such prolific source of evil in the world," said my father gradually becoming vehement, "as false and injudicious pity--take care you never let _that_ fictitious principle sway your conduct, Hester. Justice--let every man have justice--and he who is not content with that deserves no more."