"But isn't all that true, father?" said Netty; "it seems so."

"H'm," he murmured through his closed lips. Then with a vague smile,
folding up the letter, meanwhile, he said, "Wild words, Netty, wild
words. I've no objection to charity, judiciously given; but poor
George's notions are not mine. Every man for himself, is a good general
rule. Every man for humanity, as George has it, and in his acceptation
of the principle, would send us all to the almshouse pretty soon. The
greatest good of the greatest number,--that's my rule of action. There
are plenty of good institutions for the distressed, and I'm willing
to help support 'em, and do. But as for making a martyr of one's self,
or tilting against the necessary evils of society, or turning
philanthropist at large, or any quixotism of that sort, I don't believe
in it. We didn't make the world, and we can't mend it. Poor George.
Well--he's at rest. The world wasn't the place for him."

They grew silent. The spectre glided slowly to the wall, and stood as
if it were thinking what, with Dr. Renton's rule of action, was to
become of the greatest good of the smallest number. Nathalie sat on
her father's knee, thinking only of George Feval, and of his having
been starved and grieved to death.

"Father," said Nathalie, softly, "I felt, while you were reading the
letter, as if he were near us. Didn't you? The room was so light and
still, and the wind sighed so."

"Netty, dear, I've felt that all day, I believe," he replied. "Hark!
there is the door-bell. Off goes the spirit-world, and here comes the
actual. Confound it! Some one to see me, I'll warrant, and I'm not in
the mood."