racter had therefore received a bias from the
first, and was to a great extent unjust. Conceiving it possible that
Patoff might be responsible for his brother's death, he therefore
regarded the prospect of Paul's marriage with Hermione with the
strongest aversion, though he could not make up his mind to speak to
John Carvel on the subject. He had told the whole story to him eighteen
months earlier, when he had brought home Madame Patoff; and he had told
it without ornament, leaving John to judge for himself. But at that time
there had been no prospect whatever of Paul's coming to Carvel Place.
Cutter might easily have turned his story in such a way as to make Paul
look guilty, or at least so as to cast a slight upon his character. But
he had given the plain facts as they occurred. John had said the thing
was absurd, and a great injustice to the young man; and he had,
moreover, told his wife and sister, as well as Cutter, that Hermione was
never to know anything of the story. It was not right, he said, that the
young girl should ever know that any member of the family had even been
suspected of such a crime. She should grow up in ignorance of it, and it
was not untruthful to say that Madame Patoff's insanity had been caused
by Alexander's death.

But now Cutter regretted that he had not put the matter in a stronger
light from the first, giving John to understand that Paul had never
really cleared himself of the imputation. The professor did not know
what to do, and would very likely have done nothing at all, had Miss
Dabstreak not fired the mine. He had, indeed, endeavored to stop the
progress of the attachment, but, in attempting always to intervene as a
third person in their conversations, he had roused Paul's obstinacy
instead of interrupting his love-making. And Paul was a very obstinate
man.

As we sat at dinner that evening, the conversation turned upon general
topics. Chrysophrasia sat opposite to Paul, as usual, and her green eyes
watched him with interest for some time. As luck would have it, our talk
approached the subject of crime in general, and John Carvel asked me
some question about the average number of murders in India, taking ten
years together, as compared with the number committed in Europe. While I
was hesitating and trying to recollect some figures I had once known,
Chrysophrasia rushed into the conversation in her usual wild way.

"I think murders are so extremely interesting," said she to Patoff