“What do you mean by that, sir?” demanded Miss Merlin, flashing upon him the lightning of her eyes, before Ishmael had drawn near enough to overhear the words of Alfred.

“I mean that fellow is not fit company for me.”

“No; Heavens knows that he is not!” exclaimed Claudia pointedly.

“Never mind, Miss Merlin; do not be angry with him; the beaten have a right to cry out,” said Ishmael, who had now come up, and stood smiling among them, totally unconscious of the humiliation that was in store for him.

“I am not angry; I am never angry with such dull pups; though I find it necessary to punish them sometimes,” replied Claudia haughtily.

“I say he is no fit company for me; and when I say that, I mean to say that he is no fit company for any young gentleman, much less for any young lady!” exclaimed Alfred.

Ishmael looked on with perfect good humor, thinking only that his poverty was sneered at, and feeling immeasurably above the possibility of humiliation or displeasure upon that account.

Claudia thought as he did, that only his lowly fortunes had exposed him to contempt; so putting her delicate white gloved hand in that of Ishmael, she said: 

“Ishmael Worth is my partner in the first dance; do you dare to hint that the youth I dance with is not proper company for any gentleman, or any lady, either?”

“No, I don’t hint it; I speak it out in plain words; he is not only not fit company for any gentleman or lady, but he is not even fit company for any decent negro!”

Ishmael, strong in conscious worth, and believing the words of Alfred to be only reckless assertion, senseless abuse, laughed aloud with sincere, boyish mirthfulness at its absurdity.

But Claudia’s cheeks grew crimson, and her eyes flashed—­bad signs these for the keeping of her temper towards “dull pups.”

“He is honest, truthful, intelligent, industrious, and polite.  These are qualities which, of course, unfit him for such society as yours, Mr. Burghe; but I do not see why they should unfit him for that of ladies and gentlemen,” said Claudia severely.

“He is a ——­,” brutally exclaimed Alfred, using a coarse word, at which all the young girls started and recoiled, as if each had received a wound, while all the boys exclaimed simultaneously: 

“Oh, fie!” or “Oh, Alf, how could you say such a thing!”

“For shame!”

As for Walter Middleton, he had collared the young miscreant before the word was fairly out of his mouth.  But an instant’s reflection caused the young gentleman to release the culprit, with the words: 

“My father’s house and the presence of these young ladies protect you for the present, sir.”

Ishmael stood alone, in the center of a shocked and recoiling circle of young girls; so stunned by the epithet that had been hurled at him that he scarcely yet understood its meaning or felt that he was wounded.