“Sir Philip,” returned the wary doctor, “is a good deal away, and Lady Cranstoun’s health does not permit her to accompany him to Scotland, or even to London. Miss Cranstoun, who is a most devoted daughter, invariably remains by her mother’s side, and has, I believe, never been out of England. But she has had every advantage of education; masters and mistresses have attended at the Chase ever since she was five years old, when I first made her acquaintance, to instruct her in English, French, German, Italian and Latin, music, singing, painting, dancing, and calisthenics; she is also an admirable horsewoman.” “The last I know from personal observation,” returned Lord Carthew. “But we were speaking of her father. Is he not proud of such a lovely and accomplished daughter?” The doctor glanced at him slyly out of the corners of his worldly, good-natured eyes. “I presume, Mr. Pritchard,” he said, “that you are acquainted with some details of the daily life here and do not need any enlightenment from me?” “Not at all,” Lord Carthew answered, frankly. “But I am of an observing disposition, and I have already formed an impression that every one in this house is cowed and dominated by its master, his daughter included.” “You are perfectly right,” the doctor assented, after a short pause. “Miss Cranstoun is a charming girl; I like and admire her greatly. But it is useless to deny the friction which occasionally results from her father’s admonitions. Sir Philip is--er--well--he is not a popular man, and Miss Cranstoun, well-bred and affectionate as she most certainly is by nature, is not the kind of girl to endure being _driven_. She has a good deal of her father’s spirit, in short. Most certainly she does not get it from her mother, although when I knew Lady Gwendolen Douglas before her marriage, she was the handsomest and liveliest of the Duke of Lanark’s daughters. She has altered very greatly, very greatly indeed.” Reading between the doctor’s words, Lord Carthew realized several things which the former left unsaid. For one, that Sir Philip was an intolerable tyrant and despot, who tried to grind the hearts of his amiable wife and lovely daughter under the iron heel of his will; for another, that between him and Stella Cranstoun an incessant struggle was waging; and for still another, that Dr. Morland Graham cordially disliked the baronet, although he was too politic to put his feelings into actual words. “I very much hope,” Dr. Graham went on musingly, as he contemplated the glowing tip of his cigar, “that Miss Cranstoun will soon be happily married.” A keen pang of jealousy shot through Lord Carthew’s heart. “Has she any avowed admirer then?” he inquired, in would-be careless tones.