Something of the personal influence which Anne exercised more or less over all the men with whom she came in contact seemed to communicate itself to the old lawyer through the medium of her letter.  His thoughts perversely wandered away from the serious and pressing question of his niece’s position into a region of purely speculative inquiry relating to Anne.  What infatuation (he asked himself) had placed that noble creature at the mercy of such a man as Geoffrey Delamayn?

We have all, at one time or another in our lives, been perplexed as Sir Patrick was perplexed now.

If we know any thing by experience, we know that women cast themselves away impulsively on unworthy men, and that men ruin themselves headlong for unworthy w omen.  We have the institution of Divorce actually among us, existing mainly because the two sexes are perpetually placing themselves in these anomalous relations toward each other.  And yet, at every fresh instance which comes before us, we persist in being astonished to find that the man and the woman have not chosen each other on rational and producible grounds!  We expect human passion to act on logical principles; and human fallibility—­with love for its guide—­to be above all danger of making a mistake!  Ask the wisest among Anne Silvester’s sex what they saw to rationally justify them in choosing the men to whom they have given their hearts and their lives, and you will be putting a question to those wise women which they never once thought of putting to themselves.  Nay, more still.  Look into your own experience, and say frankly, Could you justify your own excellent choice at the time when you irrevocably made it?  Could you have put your reasons on paper when you first owned to yourself that you loved him?  And would the reasons have borne critical inspection if you had?

Sir Patrick gave it up in despair.  The interests of his niece were at stake.  He wisely determined to rouse his mind by occupying himself with the practical necessities of the moment.  It was essential to send an apology to the rector, in the first place, so as to leave the evening at his disposal for considering what preliminary course of conduct he should advise Arnold to pursue.

After writing a few lines of apology to his partner at Piquet—­assigning family business as the excuse for breaking his engagement—­Sir Patrick rang the bell.  The faithful Duncan appeared, and saw at once in his master s face that something had happened.

“Send a man with this to the Rectory,” said Sir Patrick.  “I can’t dine out to-day.  I must have a chop at home.”

“I am afraid, Sir Patrick—­if I may be excused for remarking it—­you have had some bad news?”

“The worst possible news, Duncan.  I can’t tell you about it now.  Wait within hearing of the bell.  In the mean time let nobody interrupt me.  If the steward himself comes I can’t see him.”

After thinking it over carefully, Sir Patrick decided that there was no alternative but to send a message to Arnold and Blanche, summoning them back to England in the first place.  The necessity of questioning Arnold, in the minutest detail, as to every thing that had happened between Anne Silvester and himself at the Craig Fernie inn, was the first and foremost necessity of the case.