“You mean that Uncle Tom--” “I mean this, Madge, and now I am talking to you as a physician--_his_ physician, too. The old man is actually so near the end of his natural life that irritation like this is apt to undermine what little constitution he has left. I've known old men to worry themselves into softening of the brain over smaller things than this. You may not think it would make much difference; but remember that if any act of yours and Fred Walton's were to cause his death, even indirectly, you could never outlive the reproach of your conscience. Uncle Tom is in a dangerous condition: his heart-action is bad, and so are his kidneys. You are too young a girl to take such a responsibility as that on your shoulders; besides, Madge, I must say that Fred--it is my duty as a brother to say--” “You are going to abuse him; remember, you have not done it so far!” Margaret broke in. “You won't gain by it, brother. The whole town has talked of nothing lately but him and his faults, and I appreciated your silence, and so does he. We were speaking about it only yesterday, and he praised you for it. He said you were the truest, most perfect gentleman he had ever known, that you knew human nature too well to expect young men to be absolutely perfect, and that--” “I wasn't going to say a word against his _honor_, Madge,” Dearing interrupted her, gently; “but I am going to say this: if I were in _his_ place right now I'd feel that I could not conscientiously, or even quite honorably, continue to pay attention to a young lady situated--well, situated _just as you are_.” “Why, what do you mean?” the girl asked, her lip quivering stubbornly. “This, sister, and nothing else. We may say what we please about Fred's good qualities, his sincerity, his--his devotion to you; his plans, whatever they are; but a very disagreeable fact stands out like a black splotch on the whole business, and that is simply this: Fred really has failed to make good in the way a man ought to make good who aspires to the hand of a girl like yourself. His father gave him a splendid chance in the bank, but Fred's best friends admit that he hasn't profited by it. Instead of attending to business and helping his old daddy--who, harsh old skinflint though he is as to money matters, is a safe man in any community--instead of doing what was expected of him, Fred--well, he has turned his father against him, that's all. The old man swears he is going to cut him off without a penny, and everybody in town knows he means it; Fred doesn't dispute it himself. So, taking that along with _the other thing_, I honestly can't see how he can talk of love and marriage to a girl like you are.” “What _other_ thing do you mean?” Margaret demanded, pale with suppressed emotion.