Yet, to the end of time, the vanity and credulity of women will lead them to lend credence to such statements, rather than look matters firmly in the face, with the eyes of common-sense and experience.  I, for one, am a very skeptic on this subject of manly dislike growing out of female susceptibility, and usually take the conservative view of the question.

During one of these condescending visits of the “Lady Anastasia,” whose position toward Bainrothe I perfectly comprehended, through the inadvertence, it may be remembered, of Mrs. Clayton, I ventured to ask her whether she had met with her betrothed, as she had expected to do on landing at New York, and when her marriage was to take place.

“Whenever you come out of this retirement, dear; not before.  You see I have set my heart on ‘aving you for my bridesmaid, with your friends’ permission.”

“Then Mr. Bainrothe has concluded to annul the condition of my marriage before leaving the asylum.”

“Oh, I had forgotten about that!  Well, we will have the ceremony performed together, if you prefer; down in Dr. Englehart’s drawing-rooms.”

“You reside here, then?” I questioned; “you are at home in this house, whosesoever it may be?”

“Oh, no, you quite misunderstand me.  I am staying with friends, and Mr. Bainrothe is over at home with his son and daughter-in-law “—­with a jerk of her head in the right direction—­“in the other city, I mean; I am such a stranger I forget names sometimes.  This, you know, is solely Dr. Englehart’s establishment.”

“I suppose that gentleman is absent, as I have not seen him lately,” I continued.

“He has been absent, but has just returned.  He speaks of calling, I believe, very soon, to see you on the part of Mr. Gregory.  How happy you are to inspire such a passion in the heart of that splendid man!”—­and she rolled her eyes, and drew up her square, flat shoulders expressively.  “Do tell me where you knew him, and all about it; I am sure he is much more suitable to you, in age and intellect, than—­than—­even Mr. Bainrothe.”

“There is no question of him now,” I responded, gravely, purposely misunderstanding her; “he has been married some time to my step-sister, Evelyn Erie, and, I suppose, with many of my other friends, believes me dead!”

“Oh, no, I assure you,” she rejoined, with some confusion, “it is a mistake altogether.  Both Mr. and Mrs. Claude Bainrothe are perfectly aware of your seclusion, and he, especially, recommended and contrived it.”

“There was contrivance, then; you admit that!” I said, impressively.

At this juncture a feeble voice from the adjoining room was heard calling aloud, and I listened to it, uplifted as it was, evidently, in tones of remonstrance and reproof, for some moments afterward—­the Lady Anastasia having hastened, with dutiful alacrity, to the bedside of her soi-disant servant.