"Sophy," said Alan suddenly, "had your father any enemies?"
She looked round at him in astonishment.
"I don't know. I don't think so. Why should he? He was the kindest man in the world."
"I am sure he was," replied the young man warmly; "but even the kindest may have enemies."
"He might have made enemies in Africa," she said gravely. "It was there he made his money, and I suppose there are people mean enough to hate a man who is successful, especially if his success results in a fortune of some two millions. Father used to say he despised most people. That was why he lived so quietly at the Moat House."
"It was particularly quiet till you came, Sophy."
"I'm sure it was," she replied, with the glimmer of a smile. "Still, although he had not me, you had your profession."
"Ah! my poor profession! I always regret having given it up."
"Why did you?"
"You know, Sophy. I have told you a dozen times. I wanted to be a surgeon, but my father always objected to a Thorold being of service to his fellow-creatures. I could never understand why. The estate was not entailed, and by my father's will I was to lose it, or give up all hope of becoming a doctor. For my mother's sake I surrendered. But I would choose to be a struggling surgeon in London any day, if it were not for you, Sophy dear."