"After all," he said, at one point, "it has been a good many years since you qualified, doctor. 'Thirty-eight, was it not?"

"You mean to make me an old fogy, do you," said the doctor, with perfect good humor. "No, no, my lad; 'forty-five was the year. A long time, but not so long as you would have."

"Where did you study?" Carlton asked.

The doctor looked surprised at his inquisitorial tone, but replied readily enough, "I took my degree in London, after studying for several years in Edinburgh."

"Ah, Edinburgh."

"A beautiful city," the doctor said reminiscently.

"With such wonderful people. Major Weird, Deacon Brodie, Burke and Hare…"

"Come now," the doctor protested. "Is that how the legal mind operates? To define a charming old city in terms of the murderers who plied their trade there? If so, I am glad I think otherwise."

"But Burke and Hare were in your own profession, Doctor," said Carlton, leaning back in his chair.

This sally finally pierced the doctor's armor. "What an outrageous thing to say!"

"Well, at least their friend Dr. Knox was. He bought the bodies from them." Carlton closed his eyes and began to chant,

" 'Up the close and doun the stair, But and ben wi' Burke and Hare. Burke's the butcher, Hare's the thief, Knox the boy that buys the beef.' "

"Knox was never charged," said the doctor, red as a turkeycock. "The whole dreadful situation would never have arisen had it not been for the antiquated laws forbidding medical students to obtain cadavers for dissection. How can a surgeon possibly learn -"

"What?" Marianne exclaimed in disgust. The sense of the discussion had finally become clear to her. "Surely, gentlemen, this is not a suitable subject for luncheon conversation."

"I quite agree, Miss Ransom," the doctor said. "And I beg your pardon for my part in it."

"But wouldn't you think Dr. Knox might have noticed that some of the corpses were still warm when they were delivered to him?" Carlton inquired sweetly.

Marianne made a protesting sound and fled from the room, followed by the doctor's indignant response.

During the afternoon the snow began. Delicate, fragile white flakes drifted against the windowpanes and danced in the wind. Marianne took a book and went to the rose parlor, which was the most cheerful room in the bleak old place on such a day. Tired after a hard morning's exercise and a disturbed day, she was drowsing over the pages of Carlyle's French Revolution when the butler announced a caller.

"Mr. St. John, miss."

Marianne rose and tried to smooth her hair.

"I am afraid I woke you," the vicar said, advancing with outstretched hand.

"I am glad you did. I ought to have been improving my mind instead of dozing. The Duchess is in her room, Mr. St. John; shall I ring and -"

"I asked to see you. You do not mind?" Still holding her hand, he stood so close that with her disadvantage of height Marianne had to crane her neck at an uncomfortable angle in order to meet his eyes. He appeared very serious.

"No, no, of course… I am happy to see you. Would you care for tea, or sherry, or-"

She made as if to tug on the bellpull. St. John forestalled her.

"I want nothing, except your attention. I did intend to pay Her Grace a pastoral visit, but I was denied. Is it true that she is sinking fast?"

"Who told you that?"

"Gruffstone and Carlton." The vicar smiled faintly. "Two faithful dragons, guarding her door. Faithful, but oh, how terribly, tragically misled! Now of all times does she need the consolation only I – that is, only my Master, through me, His humble servant – can give."

Marianne indicated a chair, but he refused with an agitated shake of his head. So she sat down, thinking that in this case Carlton and the doctor had acted correctly. The vicar's brand of salvation was not suited to the Duchess even when she was in good health, and she needed no more reminders that her end was near.

"You have done all you could," she said. "Please sit down and let me give you a cup of tea. You are upset -"

"Upset!" The vicar whirled and crossed the space that separated them in a single bound, his coattails flying out like the wings of a big black bird. Marianne was so startled that she emitted a faint yelp of alarm. Before she could do more the vicar took her by the shoulders – it seemed to be a favorite gesture of his – and lifted her clean out of her chair. Holding her at arm's length, with the tips of her slippers barely touching the floor, he cried out, "Yes, I am upset! I confess it. But I will not yield. I will snatch one brand from the burning. Miss Ransom, will you… No, I will not ask, I will command – purely in my pastoral capacity, of course. Miss Ransom, you must be mine!"

Marianne could only conclude that she had lost her wits, or that the vicar had lost his. One of them must be mad.

Seeing her consternation, St. John grew calmer. "I have frightened you," he said.

Marianne nodded dumbly.

"My zeal overcame me." St. John lowered her into her chair. But then he lifted her again, having transferred his grasp from her shoulders to her waist. "I do not ask this," he explained carefully, "out of selfish lust."

"Oh, indeed?" Marianne had at last recovered her breath. She put her hands against the young man's chest and pushed. For all the effect this had she might have been pushing at a stone.

"No," St. John said. "I do it in order to save a soul. You are doomed to perdition, my dear Miss Ransom, if you remain here.

I offer you sanctuary – redemption – everlasting bliss! I realize the ambiguities of your position: your doubtful heritage, your lack of a dowry, your scandalous past. I overlook them. At heart you are honest, I am sure. We will leave this house at once. I will take you to an aged relative of mine, where you will remain until the wedding."

Throughout this speech his actions had been somewhat at variance with his lofty sentiments; for his arms clasped Marianne closer and closer and he made a very determined effort to reach her lips with his.

Sad to say, Marianne's reaction was not indignation or the sense of spiritual shame the vicar had hoped to inspire. It was, simply and solely, boredom. She wondered how she could have gone out of her way to catch a glimpse of this singularly dull, pompous young man.

Finally, realizing that she was losing ground in her effort to keep him from kissing her, she freed one hand and slapped his face as hard as she could. St. John let her go. Nursing his wounded cheek with one hand, he stared at her in shocked surprise.

"You are distraught," he suggested.

"I am insulted – and amused. Let me advise you, Mr. St. John, the next time you propose to a lady, do not begin by listing all her negative qualities. Can you find your way out, or shall I ring for Jenkins to show you out?"

St. John found his own way out.

Marianne collapsed into a chair. She did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry or swear. She was only certain of one thing: what a blessing it was that Carlton had not come in upon that dreadful, farcical scene!

Even as the thought came to her mind a voice remarked, "Very nicely done, upon my word. I would not have believed you had it in you."

Carlton's head appeared above the back of the sofa.

"You listened!" Marianne cried furiously. "You are the most disgusting – the most reprehensible -"

She was so angry she stumbled over the last word, pronouncing it "rehensibubble," and Carlton burst out laughing. Marianne fled, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.

After that misadventure it was time to force herself to face the Duchess.

At first all went smoothly. The Duchess appeared bright and calm. They spoke of Mr. MacGregor, and Marianne expressed her enthusiastic approval. The Duchess agreed. She had one more candidate to interview next day, but unless he proved to be extraordinary she thought the nod must go to the young Scot.