At the conclusion, Maxwell, with the same elegant courtesy, conducted her back to the ladies’ cabin.  Emily repeated her acknowledgments for the attentions, and was about to enter her state-room, when he addressed her.

“May I beg the favor of a few moments’ private conversation, Miss Dumont?” said he, in a more business-like manner than that he had assumed at the tea-table.

Emily hesitated.  Her supposition concerning his mission was partly verified in this request; but the remembrance of her last interview with him at his office in New Orleans came like a cloud over the bright sky of her hopes.  Curiosity and a painful interest prompted her to risk the interview.  If this interview was likely to be of an unpleasant nature, she could retire; and, if the worst she apprehended was likely to be realized, she knew that Henry Carroll hovered near her, at all times, like a guardian angel.

“In your legal capacity, I presume?” said she, with a smile and a crimson face.

“Certainly, certainly,” replied Maxwell, not a little disconcerted to discover this troublesome caution.

“Will you take a seat, then?  I think no one will feel an interest in our conversation beside ourselves.”

“Excuse me,” replied Maxwell, in his blandest tones, “a few words of our conversation overheard might expose persons we wish not to injure.”

“Perhaps it had better be deferred to a more convenient opportunity.”

“Delays are dangerous, Miss Dumont.  Justice to yourself requires that my communication be made at once.  Allow me to attend you to the promenade deck, where we shall be secure from interruption.”

Emily, with many doubts, accepted his arm, and they proceeded to the promenade deck.

“Now, Mr. Maxwell,” said Emily, in a very serious tone, for she wished to awe the profligate into the most business-like reserve, “be as speedy as possible, for I am fearful of the effects of the night-air upon my health.”

Maxwell was disconcerted at this change in the manner of his companion, and vexed to account for it.  The remembrance of past events came to his aid, but afforded no satisfactory solution.  He could not see why Emily should studiously reject his overtures.  His experience of female society had been of the most flattering character.  He was perfectly aware of his popularity.  His personal attractions always had been a strong recommendation, and he could not see why they should not be in this instance.  His family was good, his fortune supposed to be respectable,—­everybody did not know the inroads he had made upon it; his business was a pastime—­the gate of honor and fame.  It was true his character was dissolute, but she did not know this.

Unfortunately for him and his prospects, she did know it, and the fact had all the weight which a virtuous mind attaches to such a circumstance.

“I have been fortunate enough to obtain some information which may be of great value to you, or I should not thus have intruded upon you,” said Maxwell, with the air of a man upon whom suspicion rested unjustly.