“The desire of the moth for the star,” burst from my lips involuntarily.

“Nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Bainrothe, quietly.  “If Evelyn Erie were the last of her sex, he never could fancy her.  She is much too old for my son, much too artificial; and, beautiful as she is, she wants some nameless charm, without which no woman ever secures the abiding love of man;” adding, abruptly, after a little pause, “That charm is yours, Miriam.”

“How strangely you talk, Mr. Bainrothe!” I replied, with evident embarrassment, which he pretended not to perceive.

“Had you remained one year longer at school, there would have been no grace, no perfection wanting.  I am sorry to see you thrown so young, so unprotected, on the waves of society, as you must be soon.”

“Oh, not necessarily.  I rarely come into the parlor when Evelyn receives, rarely go to parties, and my studies are as dear to me as they ever were.  Besides, Mabel absorbs much of my time, and I am quite infatuated with my new accomplishment.”

“What is that, Miriam?”

“I am studying elocution, learning to read with Mr. Mortimer—­you have heard of him—­and he is pleased, so far, with my success.  It is a very delightful resource.”

“Yes, you have a good voice, an impassioned face and manner—­all very suitable, no doubt; but what will it amount to, after all?  You will never have to earn your bread in that way, and for a home circle you have always read well enough.  It is time wasted, I imagine.”

“But the reading is not all.  I learn to know and comprehend so much that was sealed from me before; in this way, Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, all acquire new beauties.  By-the-by, this is what your son meant by studying poetry, perhaps.”

“The puppy!  Has he been lecturing you, too?  Really, there is no end to his presumption;” and he smiled, benignly, upon him.

“I must defend him from such a charge,” I said, earnestly.  “I find him very deferential—­he has the courteous European manner, which, when high-bred, is so polite.  Americans never learn to bow like foreign gentlemen.  It is a great charm.”

“Do you hear that, Claude?  Miss Monfort approves of your bow.  This is all I can extort from her; but she is very hard to please, very censorious by nature, so don’t be entirely discouraged.”

A bow of the approved sort, and wave of the hand across the room, in addition, were the only rejoinder elicited by this sally, and again the downcast head, the clasped hands, the low, entreating voice denoted the character of his conference with Evelyn.  He was pleading a desperate cause, it seemed to me.

Mr. Bainrothe became unreasonably nervous, I thought.  He fidgeted with his hat, and gloves, and cane, which he took from the table near him, dropping the last as he did so; he glanced impatiently at the door through which my father was to enter, and, when finally his friend came, after a brief conference in a corner with regard to the papers he had gone out to seek, probably, summoned his son abruptly and darted off in true Continental style, followed by his more stately junior.