Rapidly my sister ran over a list of maidens living in the neighborhood, with

profuse reasons for and against.

 

When she paused for breath, I murmured something about a patient, and slipped

out.

 

I proposed to make my way to the Three Boars. It seemed likely that Ralph Paton

would have returned there by now.

 

I knew Ralph very well—better, perhaps, than any one else in King’s Abbot, for I

had known his mother before him, and therefore I understood much in him that

puzzled others. He was, to a certain extent, the victim of heredity. He had not

inherited his mother’s fatal propensity for drink, but nevertheless he had in

him a strain of weakness. As my new friend of this morning had declared, he was

extraordinarily handsome. Just on six feet, perfectly proportioned, with the

easy grace of an athlete, he was dark, like his mother, with a handsome,

sunburnt face always ready to break into a smile.

 

Ralph Paton was of those born to charm easily and without effort. He was

self-indulgent and extravagant, with no veneration for anything on earth, but he

was lovable nevertheless, and his friends were all devoted to him.

 

Could I do anything with the boy? I thought I could.