Her approach was heralded by a note from Mr. Bainrothe, full of his characteristic, guileful sophistry and cool impertinence.  It ran as follows (I still possess this billet with others of his inditing—­along with a snake’s rattle): 

“Miriam:  I am glad to hear through Mrs. Clayton that reaction has occurred, and that you manifest repentance for your recent violence toward one who always means you well.  A little jesting on the part of your guardian, my dear girl, should meet with a very different reception, and handsome women must submit to compliments with a good grace, or run the risk of being called prudes or viragos.  Not that I mean to apply either term to you by any means.  Your father’s daughter could not be other than a lady, even if she tried, but I must confess your manners have deteriorated somewhat since you went into voluntary banishment among those outlandish people.  I have heard no very good account of this old La Vigne who died in debt, it seems, and left his children beggars.  I have some curiosity to know whether he paid your salary.  ‘Straws show,’ you know, etc.

“It is now October; by the end of this month I hope you will have made up that stubborn mind of yours (truly indomitable, as I often say to Evelyn) to leave seclusion, and enter your family once more in the only way you can do so respectably after what has occurred—­as a married woman.

    “You remember the French song which I was always fond of
    humming, ‘Ou est on si bien qu’au sein de sa famille?’ How
    appropriate it seems to your condition!

    “You will be surprised to hear that your step-mother’s brother
    has appeared on the tapis, and that he has had the audacity to
    propose to adopt Mabel, whom he claims as his niece.

“He seems a gentlemanly person enough, but may be an impostor for aught I know.  The young lady he was engaged to, Gregory tells me, perished in the Kosciusko, which proves a relief, after all, as it is rumored he has a wife in Europe.  But such gossip can hardly interest you very vividly.  The man has gone to California, and will probably return no more.

    “Did you, or did you not, meet this person at Colonel La
    Vigne’s?  Favraud hinted something of the kind when he was here;
    but I can get no satisfaction from Gregory.

    “They all believe you were drowned in Georgia, and I thought it
    best for the present not to undeceive Favraud, who laments your
    fate.

“The surprise will be all the more pleasant; and, of course, every thing will be explained to the satisfaction of friends when you appear publicly as the wife of Luke Gregory—­’long secretly married!’ You see, it will be necessary to go back a little to save appearances, on account of Ernie!”

The miscreant!  I understood him now—­oh, my God, for strength to tear