“A great temptation, truly!” I said, grimly.

“Your manner is peculiar to-day, Miriam.  I cannot understand it, I confess.”

“For all explanation, Mr. Bainrothe, I refer you to your son.  I prefer not to discuss the matter.”

“Ah! it is just as I expected, from his behavior as well as your own.  Some childish misunderstanding has taken place between you, which, he was loath to acknowledge or explain, but which in your womanly candor you will reveal at once, and tell me all about it.  I am the very best mediator you ever saw on such occasions,” with a bland and confident air, taking my hand, smiling.

“Mr. Bainrothe, your mediation could effect nothing between me and Claude; we understand one another perfectly, I assure you.”

He was very much excited now, evidently; he relinquished my unwilling hand coldly—­on which he had, doubtless, missed the conspicuous ring, significant of my engagement.  His chameleon eyes seemed to emit sparks of phosphorescent fire, as if every one of the dull-yellow sparks therein had become suddenly ignited.  I saw then, for the first time, what his ire could be, and what reason I had to dread it.

“Have I been deceived in believing that you were attached to my son, Miriam Monfort, and that you meant to keep faith with him?” he asked, stiffly.

“You have not been deceived, Mr. Bainrothe, nor is it my wish to deceive you now.  Again I beg to refer you to him for all explanation; whatever he alleges will be highly satisfactory to me.”

“I will bet my life,” he said, passionately, “that Evelyn Erle is at the root of all this!  That girl,” he soliloquized, “who knew so well, from the first, what our intentions were; to throw herself at his head in the shameless way she did!  A woman, without a woman’s modesty.”

“Beware, Mr. Bainrothe,” I interrupted; “it is of my sister you speak.  I will not hear her slandered.  Certainly, if propriety ever assumed female form, it is in that of Evelyn Erie.  This was my father’s opinion—­it is mine.”

“Propriety!  The pale ghost of it rather,” he sneered; “I thought you hated hypocrisy; you do not love that woman—­have little right to; yet you praise and defend her.  How is this!  Are you sincere in such a course?  Ask your own heart.”

“Mr. Bainrothe, let us not discuss Evelyn, I beg, either now or hereafter; for some reason she is very sacred to me.  I cannot say one word more on the subject of your son than I have said, without his own consent.  As to our marriage, let me tell you frankly—­” I hesitated—­the stricture of my throat, for a moment, interrupted me, and I was ashamed of my weakness.

“That it is indefinitely postponed, I suppose you would like to say, Miriam,” he added, ironically.  “Well, I honor your emotion; don’t be ashamed of it.  Claude is to blame, no doubt; but the poor fellow suffers enough already, without prolonged punishment.  Suppose I send him up to you; he will fall at your feet.”