h your mother.
Going to lose her soon. Natural enough. I said to Mrs. Miller, 'There's
real devotion.' Possible to overdo it though. Marriage is terribly
trying. For relatives. But long engagements are worse. How was it you
didn't get to the picnic?"

Esther murmured that she hadn't quite felt like going to the picnic.

"Well, you didn't miss much. Even Angus wasn't as cheerful as usual.
Inclined to be moody. And that brings me to what I wanted to tell you.
Remember that last time you had lunch with us?"

"Yes."

"Remember me saying that I never ask questions, but that I always find
out? Well--I have."

"Have what?" asked Esther, who had not been following.

"Found out. Found out what is the matter with my brother. Exactly what I
thought. He is the victim of an unhappy attachment. Unreciprocated!"

"But--"

"You remember you laughed at me, Esther. Suggested liver. And when I
mentioned your mother you almost convinced me that I was wrong. Although
I am never wrong. It _is_ your mother, Esther. My poor brother,
brokenhearted, quite--utterly!"

This was so amazing that Esther waited for more.

"I suppose he felt certain of her until Dr. Callandar stepped in. Could
hardly believe it. When I told him of your mother's reputed engagement
he was not in the least disturbed. Said 'Pshaw!' Couldn't imagine such a
possibility. I said, 'I assure you it is the truth, Angus,' and he
merely remarked, 'Well, what if it is?' in a most matter of fact way.
Quite calm!"

"And you think--"

"My dear, I am sure. All put on. To deceive me. Although I never am
deceived. So I waited. And then one night last week I happened to get
home from a business session of the Ladies' Aid, early. I went in
quietly. Angus was in his study, without a light, but the door was a
little bit open, and I could hear his voice quite plainly. He was
praying--"

"Oh, please--"

"My dear, I couldn't help hearing. I didn't listen. I was rooted to the
spot. Positively! He--"

"You must not tell me, Miss Annabel, I won't listen."

"Very well, my dear. Perhaps you are right. Couldn't tell you his very
words anyway. I cannot remember them. He was very eloquent, terribly
worked up! And he was praying for Her. That's what he called your
mother, just Her. It sounded almost--almost popish, you know! Then
suddenly he stopped as if something had cut him off--sharp. There was a
silence. So long I began to be frightened and then he cried out loud,
'Not for me!