"But women form their own ideals, dear lady, and she may have had a man in view whom she did look up to, honor, and love. Is not that a reasonable theory?" And the doctor's eyes, full of sympathy and deference, watched his impulsive patient narrowly withal. How well he knew her! She fell instantly into the trap.
"But she hadn't! I could forgive her easily if that were so, but she told the captain it was purely and simply that she could not and would not marry Philip Courtlandt or any man like him."
"But I fancied from what—from various circumstances—that the young man was very dissipated—dangerously so, in fact. Would you counsel your sister to marry such a man?"
"Well, why not? He has been wild, I know. My husband looked into the whole case, and, of course, he sustains her. Phil Courtlandt had to go into a retreat once, but I believe it was because she treated him so. His father was sure that she could reform and make a man of him, and he almost implored her to take pity on his gray hairs and save his boy. I tell you I think it was sheer ingratitude. Even if she couldn't have reformed him, there would have been all that money." And Mrs. Forrest sighed pathetically at thought of the thousands her hard-headed, hard-hearted sister had refused. Bayard, congratulating himself on his success thus far, had still another point on which he desired information,—a vital point.
"What seems so bad about the whole matter," he said, after a sympathetic echo of the lady's sigh, "is the disappointment of old Mr. Courtlandt. No doubt, despite their cousinship, this has long been his cherished scheme; and it must make him—at least I do not wonder that it makes him a trifle bitter against her."
"Why, doctor, that is one of the queerest things to me! One would suppose that any girl of ordinary gratitude would try and repay and appreciate such devotion as has been lavished on her. She simply repels people who try to be loving to her. I'm sure I've tried every way in my power. Of course, at first he was very bitter and said some severe things,—at least she so told Captain Forrest,—but she has no right to treasure them up against him. He said he had reared and educated and cherished her purposely to be the salvation of his wayward son, and, as she would not have the son, he said she could not live under his roof. Then he had always given her a liberal allowance, besides paying the most extraordinary bills, and she hurt him fearfully—I know she did—by refusing to accept it afterward. He has sent it to her even here, and she almost hurls it back at him,—and here are Maud and Vickie without a decent dress to their names," wailed Mrs. Forrest in somewhat irrelevant conclusion, and the tears welled again from her weary eyes.
Bayard was again silent a moment, waiting for his patient to recover her composure and her tongue. It was comfort to think that, at least, Mr. Courtlandt's munificence was still a fact. But how about the future?
"Anything that might tend to widen the breach between them would, of course, be deplorable," he presently said; "but I infer, from the fact that he continues to send her allowance to her, that he will be apt to provide liberally for her in his will."
"He would do anything for her, I've no doubt, despite her ingratitude; but she has told Captain Forrest that after what has passed she cannot and will not accept a penny from him. Now what can one say to a girl like that?"
And this question the doctor could not answer. After a few moments' thought, he arose as if to go.