ody cares.

"Frank Breton may find his place in this new world. He has no place in
mine."

Then she added: "So much for that--what's the other thing?"

But he hesitated. Her voice was tired, even tremulous, and he was aware
as he looked across at her that her emotions now treated her more
severely than they had once done. At the same time he was aware that
giving free play to her temper always did her good.

"Well--perhaps--another day----"

"No--now. I may as well take my scoldings together--it saves time!"

He stood up and, leaning on the mantelpiece with one arm, looked down
upon her.

"Here," he said, "I'm afraid I may seem doubly impertinent, but it's a
matter that is closer to me than anything in the world. You know that
I'm a lonely old bachelor and that all those sentiments that you accuse
me of must find some vent somewhere. I'm fonder of Rachel, I think, than
I am of anyone in the world, and it's only that affection and the
feeling that, in some ways, I know her better than any of you do that
give me courage to speak."

He could see that now she was reaching the limits of her patience.

"Well--what of Rachel?"

"I understand--I know--that you--that all of you intend that she shall
marry young Seddon----"

"Well?"

"I know that it is impertinent of me, but, as I have said, I think I
know Rachel differently from anyone else in the world. She is
strange--curiously ignorant of life in many ways, curiously wise in
others. Her simplicity--the things that she takes on trust--there is no
end to it. The things, too, that she cannot forgive--she doesn't know
how often, later on, she will have to forgive them--

"But the first man who breaks her trust----"

"Thank you for this interesting light on Rachel's character. What does
it mean?"

"It means," he said abruptly, "that she mustn't be hurt. Your Grace may
turn me out of the house here and now if you will, but Seddon is the
wrong man for her to marry----"

"What are his crimes?" Her voice was rising, and her hand tapped
impatiently on her dress.

"I know him only slightly, but common repute--anyone who is in the
London world at all will tell you--his reputation is bad. I've nothing
against him myself, but his affairs with women have been many. He is no
worse, I dare say, than a thousand others. At least he's young--and I
myself, God knows, am no moralist. But to marry him to Rachel will be a
crime."

He knew as he heard his own voice drop that