“Why should I suffer him to fill my mind with suspicions that embitter it against all approaches?  Why should I seal my soul away in endless gloom, because one man, out of all Adam’s race, was faithless and falsehearted?”

Thus reasoning, I gained strength and self-reliance to receive other attentions and mingle with the multitude.  Nor should I have known to what extent Mr. Bainrothe had carried his injustice and perfidy toward me, but for the loquacity of Lieutenant Raymond, a young adorer of mine, who revealed to me, the very evening before I left Saratoga, along with his passion—­a hopeless one of course, which, but for this connection, would not be noted here—­the strategic course of my guardian.

“I ought to have been warned, by what I saw and heard, that my suit was a hopeless one,” he said; “I had been told of your engagement, but could not believe it possible, although confirmed by Mr. Bainrothe’s manner.  A rival of his age and experience, possessed too of such physical attractions, and such charm of manner, seldom fails to carry the day over a raw, impulsive youth—­who can only adore—­bow down and worship his idol, and who possesses no arts of conquest.”

“Pause there, Lieutenant Raymond; of what are you speaking?” I asked, coldly; “you have probably confounded matters, names, and—­”

“No, no, it is all too evident now to admit of a doubt I You are affianced to Mr. Bainrothe—­your own timid and dependent manner might have enlightened me long ago, as well as his devoted one—­but a man in love is blinder than the blindest bat even!  He is the maddest fool certainly!  Forgive me for my presumption, and forget it if you can;” and he turned away, smiting his brow impatiently.

I laid my hand on his arm—­I drew it down from his face again, which he turned upon me with an expression of surprise.  I felt that I was pale with rage and scorn as he looked at me.  He misunderstood my feelings evidently, for he said, earnestly:  “I am sorry to have caused you so much pain, Miss Monfort!  I was premature, I have been indiscreet in my remarks.  Your engagement is surely no concern of mine.  I should have confined myself to my own disappointment exclusively, and respected your reserve;” adding, “I beg that you will pardon and look less angrily upon me, in this our parting.”

“I am not offended with you, Mr. Raymond.” (His boyish passion had, indeed, swept over me as lightly as the wing of a butterfly across a rose.  I felt that it amounted to nothing but pastime on either hand—­a careless throw of the dice on his part, that might, or might not, have resulted to his advantage.  He probably staked but little feeling in the enterprise—­I certainly none at all.)—­“I am not angry with you, Lieutenant Raymond, nay, grateful rather for your impulsive homage, which I regret not to be able to reward as you deserve; but this you must tell me, as a true, as an honorable man, if you care one iota for my regard, or the cause of truth and justice:  what has that man been saying about me?” And I laid my hand upon his arm and shook it slightly.