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He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and fiery watchful dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question, he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and persevering; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician, but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull provincial town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is termed "a good bedside manner," and the invalids of the cathedral city and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties. Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret past which he declined to yield up to the most persistent questioner, accentuated the distrust caused by his sombre looks and curt speeches. Provincial society is intolerant of originality. Judith's face had been undergoing swift changes during this short speech, but now it cleared and a beatific expression shone upon it. "Nor I," said Maurice, stretching out his hand. "Please let me read the note. Uncle Jen. I wish to see precisely how it is worded.".

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"True, doctor," remarked Jen, keeping his eyes fixed upon the swart face of the other, "and is that all you have to say?" "I had my reasons for not doing so, Mrs. Dallas," replied Maurice, quickly. "But I was about to tell you of our engagement when Dr. Etwald forestalled me by making his unexpected offer." "I refuse to tell you--at present." "How do you like it now?" asked Griffin, as the gong released them for the rest, and they slipped out in the corridor to look for Elinor..