"I am. I know, uncle, how much I have to thank you for; please don't think I'm ungrateful because I am leaving Nuthurst. If I had married any of those hundred thousand gentlemen you just spoke of, I should have had to leave your house for his, so it comes to the same thing, because I hope that my husband will soon have a home for me. I don't suppose we shall see much of each other in future----" "Don't talk balderdash! I'm disappointed in you, Violet, disappointed." "I'm sorry, uncle; but I shan't cease to love you, and I hope you won't cease to love me." "Why should I? Though your whole conduct shows you don't care a snap of your fingers for me. I don't believe you're really quite right in your head; I've half a mind to have you certified as a lunatic." "You might find that harder than you suppose. But don't let us talk about that. You'll think better of me when I've gone. If you won't shake hands, once more good-bye. Remember, 2A Cobden Mansions. I shall be always glad to have a visit from you." She was gone from the room, and very shortly afterwards from the house. His inclination was to stop her by strong measures, but second thoughts prevailed. He chose what he flattered himself was the wisdom of the serpent. "If I let her think that it is a matter of complete indifference to me whether she goes or stays, she'll soon be back again. When a woman thinks that you don't care if she does make a fool of herself, she'll soon give up trying. I never thought that the girl would be such an imbecile." When, a few days later, Sir George Beaton called, and placed him in possession of certain information, he formed a still lower estimate of his niece's mental capacity. The young man burst in on the old one just as he had finished his usual daily interview with his steward. "Hovenden," he began, without any preliminary greeting, "what's this idea about Violet having left Nuthurst and gone to live in town?" The old gentleman looked up from a bundle of papers which the steward had left behind. "I don't know what you hear, but she's gone." His glance returned to the papers. "So far as I can understand, she's gone to look for your brother Sydney." Sir George displayed signs of acute perturbation. "Good heavens! Do you know what's the latest tale they're telling?" "How should I? How long is it since I saw you? The worst tales about your brother I've always heard from you." "Is that meant for---- What do you mean by that?" "It's the truth, any way. Ever since Sydney was a small boy you've been telling tales to his discredit." "Have I? I'm going to cap them with another: he's been committing burglary--that's his latest performance." "Tell that to the marines. You know, George, you overdo it where Sydney is concerned; you make of him 'an 'orrible tale'; the colours with which you paint him are invariably sanguinary." Sir George Beaton punctuated his words by striking his hand on the table at which the old gentleman was sitting.