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No, I wasn't nineteen, and this town was full of women who were aunts and cousins and law-kin to me, and nobody did anything for me. They all said, with a sigh of relief, "It will be such a nice safe thing for you, Molly." And they really didn't mean anything by tying up a gay, frolicking, prancing colt of a girl with a terribly ponderous bridle., 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., "I understand. He said, poor lad, that I would approve of his reasons when I knew them, and now that you have explained his motives I quite agree with his saying. To protect that poor girl, to save you from suffering for a crime which you did not commit, he could have acted in no other fashion. Still, I wish both of you had been more open with me.".