"No, he wasn't; at least I did think he was then, but I afterwards knew that he was the best of them all; and I was often sorry I did not take him." "And did he marry?" "Yes; he married a fool." "Who had just come out--her first season?" asked Maud, with her hands folded serenely on her lap. "Yes. But how did you guess?" "Well, you see, you told me I should marry the first stupid lout who asked me, and I thought it likely a girl only just out did marry the stupid lout who proposed first to you." "But, dear, I told you he wasn't a stupid lout; then I thought he was stupid, and was often sorry afterwards--of course I mean before I married--that I did not accept him." "This gives me more hope for my own case. You see, the girl who had only just come out took the man you thought was a stupid lout, and was right in taking him." Maud looked up and smiled. For a moment Mrs. Grant tapped her foot impatiently on the carpet; looked hither and thither, rose a little hastily, and cried: "Well, Maud, if you don't think I have a very serious interest in what I say, I will say----" She paused, and looked at the sweet, half-frightened face of the girl. All at once her manner underwent a change. She drew near the girl, and putting her arm round her waist, "I will say," she continued, "that whoever gets you cannot help loving you. Men are often bad, Maud darling; but I don't think there is one such a villain and a fool as to be unkind to you." As April of 1866 grew into May, the asthmatic affection from which the old baronet suffered abated; but the valvular defect of heart increased. He had fainted three or four times in the month of April, and in May his debility became so great that he was unable to leave his bed. Other symptoms now showed themselves, and complicated the case, and so embarrassed the action of the heart that the doctors declared he must expect a speedy termination. Towards the end of May the doctors declared he would never rise from his bed. The old man, whose spirit was in arms against these doctors, would not believe them. Twenty years ago they had told him the same thing. They said: No, the circumstances were different. They had then said he _might_ go at any moment; things were worse than that now. There was no longer any chance of recovery, and the dread was things would grow worse. The doctors found it necessary to be almost brutally candid with him, for they had learned he had not yet made his will. Insecure as was the tenure upon which he had for the past twenty years held his life, he had gone on from day to day deferring the arrangement of his affairs on the grounds that he was too busy, and that if he made his will now he should have to add codicils according as his savings increased. His lawyer assured him no such thing was necessary, because, after all bequests had been mentioned, he could leave his daughter residuary legatee absolutely or with any provisions and restrictions he liked to impose.