“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve never thought much about it. Perhaps I shall want to after . . . that is, when I’m older.”

“But, my dear child, don’t you see? Hasn’t Dr. McAllister ever discussed the matter with you? I think it’s a pity he’s your doctor. He’s a perfect scamp in many ways and has always been a heart-breaker, but that’s beside the point. He ought at least to guide you, knowing what he does.”

“Do you mean that I shouldn’t marry because of my bad heredity? Because, why, yes, he has talked to me about it and has told me I shouldn’t think of such things.” This was not quite true. He had one time compared me to himself and had said our misfortunes could be turned to good account if we looked upon them as symbols, perhaps of original sin or of mortality, like Dr. Galbraith’s memento mori. However, this had been in one of his religious moods when he was gathering all manner of disparate elements into his train of thought. He had never actually spoken to me of marriage and I, who seldom thought of it, had not solicited his advice.

“Times change. Nowadays children aren’t spanked, don’t learn Latin, don’t respect their elders. And I haven’t a doubt it’s thought old-fashioned to be wary of insanity in the family. But, Sonie, there have been two instances of it in your lifetime, very close to you. I must say it would give me pause.”