“You’re not going to get my ward,” suddenly said Ransford.  “That’s flat!  She doesn’t want you—­and she’s now said so three times.  And—­I support her.”

“What have you against me?” asked Bryce calmly.  “If, as you say, you support her in her resolution not to listen to my proposals, you must have something against me.  What is it?”

“That’s a question you’ve no right to put,” replied Ransford, “for it’s utterly unnecessary.  So I’m not going to answer it.  I’ve nothing against you as regards your work—­nothing!  I’m willing to give you an excellent testimonial.”

“Oh!” remarked Bryce quietly.  “That means—­you wish me to go away?”

“I certainly think it would be best,” said Ransford.

“In that case,” continued Bryce, more coolly than ever, “I shall certainly want to know what you have against me—­or what Miss Bewery has against me.  Why am I objected to as a suitor?  You, at any rate, know who I am—­you know that my father is of our own profession, and a man of reputation and standing, and that I myself came to you on high recommendation.  Looked at from my standpoint, I’m a thoroughly eligible young man.  And there’s a point you forget—­there’s no mystery about me!”

Ransford turned sharply in his chair as he noticed the emphasis which Bryce put on his last word.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“What I’ve just said,” replied Bryce.  “There’s no mystery attaching to me.  Any question about me can be answered.  Now, you can’t say that as regards your ward.  That’s a fact, Dr. Ransford.”

Ransford, in years gone by, had practised himself in the art of restraining his temper—­naturally a somewhat quick one.  And he made a strong effort in that direction now, recognizing that there was something behind his assistant’s last remark, and that Bryce meant him to know it was there.

“I’ll repeat what I’ve just said,” he answered.  “What do you mean by that?”

“I hear things,” said Bryce.  “People will talk—­even a doctor can’t refuse to hear what gossiping and garrulous patients say.  Since she came to you from school, a year ago, Wrychester people have been much interested in Miss Bewery, and in her brother, too.  And there are a good many residents of the Close—­you know their nice, inquisitive ways!—­who want to know who the sister and brother really are—­and what your relationship is to them!”

“Confound their impudence!” growled Ransford.

“By all means,” agreed Bryce.  “And—­for all I care—­let them be confounded, too.  But if you imagine that the choice and select coteries of a cathedral town, consisting mainly of the relicts of deceased deans, canons, prebendaries and the like, and of maiden aunts, elderly spinsters, and tea-table-haunting curates, are free from gossip—­why, you’re a singularly innocent person!”

“They’d better not begin gossiping about my affairs,” said Ransford.  “Otherwise—­”