Louis Castrani was a guest in the house, by Archer’s invitation—­for the two gentlemen had become friends, warmly and deeply attached to each other, and Mrs. Trevlyn could not help fretting over the unfortunate condition of her cuisine.

She was looking very cross, as she sat in the back parlor, adjoining the tasteful little morning-room, where she spent most of her time, and where the gentlemen were in the habit of taking their books and newspapers when they desired it quiet.  If she had known that Mr. Castrani was at that moment lying on the lounge in the morning-room, the door of which was slightly ajar, she might have dismissed that unbecoming frown, and put her troubles aside.  Mr. Trevlyn entered, just as she had for the twentieth time that day arrived at the conclusion that she was the most sorely afflicted woman in the world, and his first words did not tend to give her any consolation.

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Trevlyn, that I am to be deprived of the privilege of attending the ball to-night.  It is particularly annoying.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Trevlyn?”

“I am obliged to go to Philadelphia on important business, and must leave in this evening’s train.  I did not know of the necessity until a few hours ago.”

Mrs. Trevlyn was just in the state to be wrought upon by trifles.

“Always business,” she exclaimed, pettishly.  “I am sick of the word.”

“Business before pleasure, Mrs. Trevlyn.  But, really this is an important affair.  It is connected with the house of Renshaw and Selwyn, which went under last week.  The firm were under large obligations to—­”

“Don’t talk business to me, Mr. Trevlyn.  I do not understand such things—­neither do I desire to.  I only hope it is business you are going for!”

Mr. Trevlyn looked at her in some surprise.

“You only hope it is business?” he said, inquiringly.  “I do not comprehend.”

“I might have said that I hoped it was not a woman who called you from your wife!”

The moment the words were spoken she repented their utterance, but the mischief was already done.

“Mrs. Trevlyn, I shall request you to unsay the insinuation conveyed in your words.  They are unworthy of you and a shame to me.”

“And I shall decline to unsay them.  I dare affirm they are true enough.”

“What do you mean, madam?  I am, I trust, a man of honor.  You are my wife, and I am true to you.  I have never loved but one woman, and she is dead to me.”

The allusion to the old love was extremely unfortunate just at this time, for Mrs. Trevlyn was just sore enough to be deeply wounded by it, and angry enough to throw back taunt for taunt.

“A man of honor!” she ejaculated, scornfully.  “Honor, forsooth!  Archer Trevlyn, do you call yourself that?”

“I do; and I defy any man living to prove the contrary!” answered Archer, proudly.