"Well, it's not a very complimentary story to our sex, my dear. But, there, I never did think much of women. Who could," she exclaimed, with sudden gusto, "when there are such fools as Mrs. Darrow and minxes like Hilda Marsh to be found in every parish? I'd give them both the ducking-stool if I could. Hilda--there's a smiling cat for you, and as deceitful as--as a weasel. She never helps her wretched mother, but thinks of nothing but dressing herself up in fripperies that are never paid for. She thinks to secure that idiot of a Gerald Arkel by her mincing. But she shan't. I'll put a stop to that. We've got more than enough with the two of them, without letting them marry and produce more fools." "But about Mr. Barton?" asked Miriam, bringing the good lady back to the subject in hand. "I am very curious to hear this story of his." "I can soon tell it to you. Barton was a younger son--a gay, light-hearted young fellow, not unlike Gerald Arkel, but of course with ten times the brains. He was engaged to marry a pretty, and, strange to say, sensible girl, who would no doubt have made him an excellent wife. But one of his sisters--Arkel's mother--took it upon her to interfere (so like them!), with the result that the girl married somebody else. Well, Barton, who was always a nervous, highly strung sort of creature, went off his head altogether, and was seriously bad for years. While he lived his elder brother looked after him, but unfortunately the brother died, and Barton came in for the property. He then had to go his own way, and a pretty mess he made of it." "But what reason had his sister for interfering--surely it was very wrong?" Mrs. Parsley rubbed her nose, as she was wont to do when puzzled. "Of course it was wrong, my dear; but I never did get at the exact truth. There was a great deal of talk about it at the time--some said one thing some another. Barton and Mrs. Arkel--she was Flora Barton then--held their tongues you may be sure. But I had my own opinion, and I still have it," concluded Mrs. Parsley, frowning at the fire. "And what is it?" said Miriam. "But perhaps I should not ask."