“And it does not seem to me,” said Olive, “that you have given me any definite counsel, and I know that is what you came here to do.”

“You are mistaken there,” he said.  “I came here to find out what sort of a girl you are; my counsels must depend on my discoveries.  But there is one thing I want to ask you; you are all the time talking about three young men.  Now, there are four of them here.”

“Yes,” she answered quickly.  “But only three of them have proposed; and, besides, if the other were to do so, he would have to be set aside for what I may call family reasons.  I don’t want to go into particulars because the subject is very painful to me.”

For a moment Mr. Tom did not speak.  Then, determined to go through with what he had come to do, which was to make himself acquainted with this girl, he said:  “I do not wish to discuss anything that is painful to you, but Mrs. Easterfield and I are very much disturbed for fear that in some way your visit to Broadstone created some misunderstanding or disagreeable feeling between you and your uncle.  Now, would you mind telling me whether this is so, or not?”

She looked at him steadily.  “There is an unpleasant feeling between me and my uncle, but this visit has nothing to do with it.  And I am going to tell you all about it.  I hate to feel so much alone in the world that I can’t talk to anybody about what makes me unhappy.  I might have spoken to Mrs. Easterfield, but she didn’t ask me.  But you have asked me, and that makes me feel that I am really better acquainted with you than with her.”

This remark pleased Mr. Tom, but he did not think it would be necessary to put it into his report to his wife.  He had promised to be very circumspect; and circumspection should act in every direction.

“It is very hard for a girl such as I am,” she continued, “to be alone in the world, and that is a very good reason for getting married as soon as I can.”

“And for being very careful whom you marry,” interrupted Mr. Easterfield.

“Of course,” said she, “and I am trying very hard to be that.  A little while ago I had a father with whom I expected to live and be happy, but that dream is over now.  And then I thought I had an uncle who was going to be more of a father to me than my own father had ever been.  But that dream is over, too.”

“And why?” asked Mr. Easterfield.

“He is going to marry a woman,” said Olive, “that is perfectly horrible, and with whom I could not live.  And the worst of it all is that he never told me a word about it.”

As she said this Olive looked very solemn; and Mr. Tom, not knowing on the instant what would be proper to say, looked solemn also.

“You may think it strange,” said she, “that I talk in this way to you, but you came here to find out what sort of girl I am, and I am perfectly willing to help you do it.  Besides, in a case like this, I would rather talk to a man than to a woman.”