“She is known to Norman Ogilvie, and to dozens of Norman Ogilvie’s friends, and Major Stuart has seen her,” said he, quickly; and then he drew back.  “But that is nothing.  I do not choose to have any one to vouch for her.”

“I know that; I understand that, Keith,” Janet Macleod said, gently.  “It is enough for me that you have chosen her to be your wife; I know you would choose a good woman to be your wife; and it will be enough for your mother when she comes to reflect.  But you must be patient.”

“Patient I would be, if it concerned myself alone,” said he; “but the reflection—­the insult of the doubt—­”

“Now, now, Keith,” said she, “don’t let the hot blood of the Macleods get the better of you.  You must be patient, and considerate.  If you will sit down now quietly, and tell me all about the young lady, I will be your ambassador, if you like; and I think I will be able to persuade auntie.”

“I wonder if there ever was any woman as kind as you are, Janet?” said he, looking at her with a sort of wondering admiration.

“You must not say that any more now,” she said, with a smile.  “You must consider the young lady you have chosen as perfection in all things.  And this is a small matter.  If auntie is difficult to persuade, and should protest, and so forth, what she says will not hurt me, whereas it might hurt you very sorely.  And now you will tell me all about the young lady, for I must have my hands full of arguments when I go to your mother.”

And so this Court of Inquiry was formed, with one witness not altogether unprejudiced in giving his evidence, and with a judge ready to become the accomplice of the witness at any point.  Somehow Macleod avoided speaking of Gertrude White’s appearance.  Janet was rather a plain woman, despite those tender Celtic eyes.  He spoke rather of her filial duty and her sisterly affection; he minutely described her qualities as a house-mistress; and he was enthusiastic about the heroism she had shown in determining to throw aside the glittering triumphs of her calling to live a simpler and wholesomer life.  That passage in the career of Miss Gertrude White somewhat puzzled Janet Macleod.  If it were the case that the ambitions and jealousies and simulated emotions of a life devoted to art had a demoralizing and degrading effect on the character, why had not the young lady made the discovery a little earlier?  What was the reason of her very sudden conversion?  It was no doubt very noble on her part, if she really were convinced that this continual stirring up of sentiment without leading to practical issues had an unwholesome influence on her woman’s nature, to voluntarily surrender all the intoxication of success, with its praises and flatteries.  But why was the change in her opinion so sudden?  According to Macleod’s own account, Miss Gertrude White, when he first went up to London, was wholly given over to the ambition of succeeding in her profession.  She was then