The Doctor had, for a moment, forgotten himself, but he looked up at the clouds, which were angry, and said, as if speaking of the weather, “It is dark now, but we hope it will clear up by-and-by.  There are a great many more clouds than rains, and more rains than strokes of lightning, and more strokes of lightning than there are people killed.  We must let this girl of ours have her way, as far as it is safe.  Send away this woman she hates, quietly.  Get her a foreigner for a governess, if you can,—­one that can dance and sing and will teach her.  In the house old Sophy will watch her best.  Out of it you must trust her, I am afraid,—­for she will not be followed round, and she is in less danger than you think.  If she wanders at night, find her, if you can; the woods are not absolutely safe.  If she will be friendly with any young people, have them to see her,—­young men, especially.  She will not love any one easily, perhaps not at all; yet love would be more like to bring her right than anything else.  If any young person seems in danger of falling in love with her, send him to me for counsel.”

Dry, hard advice, but given from a kind heart, with a moist eye, and in tones that tried to be cheerful and were full of sympathy.  This advice was the key to the more than indulgent treatment which, as we have seen, the girl had received from her father and all about her.  The old Doctor often came in, in the kindest, most natural sort of way, got into pleasant relations with Elsie by always treating her in the same easy manner as at the great party, encouraging all her harmless fancies, and rarely reminding her that he was a professional adviser, except when she came out of her own accord, as in the talk they had at the party, telling him of some wild trick she had been playing.

“Let her go to the girls’ school, by all means,” said the Doctor, when she had begun to talk about it.  “Possibly she may take to some of the girls or of the teachers.  Anything to interest her.  Friendship, love, religion,—­whatever will set her nature at work.  We must have headway on, or there will be no piloting her.  Action first of all, and then we will see what to do with it.”

So, when Cousin Richard came along, the Doctor, though he did not like his looks any too well, told her father to encourage his staying for a time.  If she liked him, it was good; if she only tolerated him, it was better than nothing.

“You know something about that nephew of yours, during these last years, I suppose?” the Doctor said.  “Looks as if he had seen life.  Has a scar that was made by a sword-cut, and a white spot on the side of his neck that looks like a bulletmark.  I think he has been what folks call a ‘hard customer.’”

Dudley Venner owned that he had heard little or nothing of him of late years.  He had invited himself, and of course it would not be decent not to receive him as a relative.  He thought Elsie rather liked having him about the house for a while.  She was very capricious,—­acted as if she fancied him one day and disliked him the next.  He did not know,—­but (he said in a low voice) he had a suspicion that this nephew of his was disposed to take a serious liking to Elsie.  What should he do about it, if it turned out so?