'Well that's true—but he won't. Here is his letter'—and he produced it—'announcing officially that he means to accept the office; but I think he ought to be told it is not delicate, under all circumstances. You know, Miss, that your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, was talked about unpleasantly once.'
'You mean'—I began.
'I mean about the death of Mr. Charke, at Bartram-Haugh.'
'Yes, I have heard that,' I said; he was speaking with a shocking aplomb.
'We assume, of course, unjustly; but there are many who think quite differently.'
'And possibly, Doctor Bryerly, it was for that very reason that my dear papa made him my guardian.'
'There can be no doubt of that, Miss; it was to purge him of that scandal.'
'And when he has acquitted himself honourably of that trust, don't you think such a proof of confidence so honourably fulfilled must go far to silence his traducers?'
'Why, if all goes well, it may do a little; but a great deal less than you fancy. But take it that you happen to die, Miss, during your minority. We are all mortal, and there are three years and some months to go; how will it be then? Don't you see? Just fancy how people will talk.'
'I think you know that my uncle is a religious man?' said I.