‘Uncle Howard,’ she said slowly, ‘it seems as if the good you do is some way cast up to the credit side of the world’s account and helps just so much to overcome the bad, whether any one knows about it or not. You may go away and leave it all behind and never be appreciated, but it’s a positive quantity just the same. It’s so much accomplished on the right side.’ Her uncle smiled again. ‘I’m afraid that’s rather too idealistic a philosophy for this generation. We’re living in a material age, and it takes something more solid than good intentions to make much impression on it. I have a sneaking suspicion that I wasn’t born to set the world to rights. Many men are reformers in their youth, but I’m reaching the age when a club and a good dinner are excellent anodynes for my own and other people’s troubles.’ A shadow fell over her face and she looked down in her lap without answering. After a moment he asked suddenly, ‘Where’s Sybert, Marcia?’ ‘I think he’s downstairs waiting for the doctor.’ ‘Ah!’ said Copley again, with a little sigh. Marcia slipped down on her knees beside the bed. ‘Uncle Howard,’ she whispered, ‘I want to tell you something. I’m—going to marry Mr. Sybert.’ Copley raised himself on his elbow and stared at her. ‘You are going to marry Sybert?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Yes, uncle,’ she smiled. ‘He asked me to.’ ‘Sybert!’ Copley repeated, with an astonished laugh. ‘Holy St. Francis! What a change is here!’ ‘I thought you would be pleased,’ she said a little tremulously. He stretched out his hand and laid it over hers. ‘My dear Marcia, nothing could have pleased me more. He’s the finest man I have ever known, and I begin to suspect that you are the finest girl. But—good gracious! Marcia, I must be blind and deaf and dumb. I had a notion you didn’t like each other.’ ‘We’ve changed our minds,’ she said; ‘and I wanted you to know it because I thought it would make you feel better.’ ‘And so it does, Marcia,’ he said heartily. ‘The year has accomplished something, after all; and I’m glad for Sybert’s sake that he’s got this just now, for, poor fellow, he’s in a deeper hole than I.’ Marcia pressed his hand gratefully as her aunt came bustling in with her arms full of clothes. ‘Howard,’ she asked, ‘shall I have Granton pack your heavy flannels, or shall you want them on the steamer?’ Her husband attempted a shrug and found the bandages would not permit it. ‘I think perhaps I’d better leave them out. It’s June, of course; but I’ve known very cold crossings even in July.’ Copley turned on his side and wrenched his arm again. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Katherine,’ he groaned, ‘pack them, throw them away, burn them, do anything you please.’ Mrs. Copley came to the bedside and bent over him anxiously. ‘What’s the matter, dear? Is your arm very painful? You don’t suppose,’ she added in sudden alarm, that the stiletto was poisoned, do you?’