“What man, Miss Monfort?  I—­I, scarcely understand you!  You surely do not mean Mr. Bainrothe—­your—­”

“Guardian, nothing more, scarcely that,” I interrupted, almost fiercely; thus finishing out his sentence as he probably might not have done.  “Answer me truthfully, honorably, as you are a gentleman, has he propagated this vile slander, for as such I feel it, and as such shall resent it?”

“I do, do—­not know positively—­but I have reason to think that, either directly or indirectly, the rumor comes from him.  You know some men have a way of insinuating things.  I—­I—­cannot recall any thing positive or definite.  I cannot, indeed.  He never spoke to me on the subject at all.  There was only an expression at times, as he bore you off, that seemed to tell me that all my efforts to win you were vain.  I can’t see why you lay such stress on the matter at all, Miss Monfort.”

He had evidently the gentleman’s true reluctance to make mischief.

“Lieutenant Raymond, I simply dislike to be placed in a false position, or grossly misinterpreted or misrepresented.  Do you see that unfortunate person there?” I asked suddenly, “with his head drawn completely to one side, and his arms and legs swathed in flannel bandages, hobbling feebly along, followed by a youth (a relation, probably, bearing a camp-stool) and a dingy little terrier-dog, on his way to the pool of Bethesda?” As if he knew that he was the object of our attention, the man alluded to stopped, and turned just then a face grotesquely hideous in our direction, and, seeing me, smiled, and nodded feebly—­disclosing, as he did so, long, fang-like teeth, yellow, as if cut from lemon-rind, and fantastically irregular.

“You have the oddest acquaintance, Miss Monfort, for a young lady of fashion, certainly!  This old man keeps a little one-horse book-store somewhere, I am told, and makes it his constant theme of conversation.”

“Yes, he has his hobby, like more distinguished men.  I have known him from my childhood, however, and esteem him truly.  He kept the choicest collection of children’s books I ever saw in former days, and was a child at heart himself, and an especial crony of mine.  But I have other reasons for asking you to remark him now.  He is old, diseased, and poor; yet, just as good and honorable as he is, I would rather put my hand in his as betrothed or married a thousand-fold, than become the wife of Basil Bainrothe.  Repeat this, if you please, whenever you hear this very unpleasant and absurd report and subject agitated.  It will be a simple act of justice to me, and a tribute to truth, such as I am sure you will be pleased to render and illustrate.”

“I will do so,” he said, quietly; “but I confess, you surprise me.  I have always refused to give credit to the matter myself, blinded, I was assured, by my own impetuosity, but I acknowledge this engagement is very generally canvassed and believed at Saratoga; nor has Miss Erie in any instance refuted the impression.  Of this I am quite certain, and deem it my duty now to tell you so.”