some years ago--when I was still a
lad--something in Mr. Boyce's life--some financial matters, I
believe--during the time that he was member of Parliament, made a
scandal, and especially among his family and old friends. It was the
effect upon his old father, I think, who, as you know, died soon
afterwards--"

Marcella started.

"I didn't know," she said quickly.

Aldous Raeburn's distress grew.

"I really oughtn't to speak of these things," he said, "for I don't know
them accurately. But I want to answer what you said--I do indeed. It was
that, I think, chiefly. Everybody here respected and loved your
grandfather--my grandfather did--and there was great feeling for him--"

"I see! I see!" said Marcella, her chest heaving; "and against papa."

She walked on quickly, hardly seeing where she was going, her eyes dim
with tears. There was a wretched pause. Then Aldous Raeburn broke out--

"But after all it is very long ago. And there may have been some harsh
judgment. My grandfather may have been misinformed as to some of the
facts. And I--"

He hesitated, struck with the awkwardness of what he was going to say.
But Marcella understood him.

"And you will try and make him alter his mind?" she said, not
ungratefully, but still with a touch of sarcasm in her tone. "No, Mr.
Raeburn, I don't think that will succeed."

They walked on in silence for a little while. At last he said, turning
upon her a face in which she could not but see the true feeling of a
just and kindly man--

"I meant that if my grandfather could be led to express himself in a way
which Mr. Boyce could accept, even if there were no great friendship as
there used to be, there might be something better than this--this,
which--which--is so painful. And any way, Miss Boyce, whatever happens,
will you let me say this once, that there is no word, no feeling in this
neighbourhood--how could there be?--towards you and your mother, but one
of respect and admiration? Do believe that, even if you feel that you
can never be friendly towards me and mine again--or forget the things I
have said!"

"Respect and admiration!" said Marcella, wondering, and still scornful.
"Pity, perhaps. There might be that. But any way mamma goes with papa.
She always has done. She always will. So shall I, of course. But I am
sorry--_horribly_ sore and sorry! I was so delighted to come here. I
have been very little at home, and understood hardly anything about
this worry--not h