Papa’s affair is serious.  It is the first clashing of the foils,—­ and this time, I imagine, the buttons are really off.  This morning he said a few words, not so much to, as at me.  He informed me that Paul was expected to speak to-night,—­as if I did not know it!—­ and availed himself of the opening to load him with the abuse which, in his case, he thinks is not unbecoming to a gentleman.  I don’t know—­or, rather, I do know what he would think, if he heard another man use, in the presence of a woman, the kind of language which he habitually employs.  However, I said nothing.  I had a motive for allowing the chaff to fly before the wind.

But, to-night, issue was joined.

I, of course, went to hear Paul speak,—­as I have done over and over again before.  Afterwards, Paul came and fetched me from the cage.  He had to leave me for a moment, while he gave somebody a message; and in the lobby, there was Sydney,—­all sneers!  I could have pinched him.  Just as I was coming to the conclusion that I should have to stick a pin into his arm, Paul returned,—­and, positively, Sydney was rude to him.  I was ashamed, if Mr Atherton was not.  As if it was not enough that he should be insulted by a mere popinjay, at the very moment when he had been adding another stone to the fabric of his country’s glory,—­papa came up.  He actually wanted to take me away from Paul.  I should have liked to see him do it.  Of course I went down with Paul to the carriage, leaving papa to follow if he chose.  He did not choose,—­but, none the less, he managed to be home within three minutes after I had myself returned.

Then the battle began.

It is impossible for me to give an idea of papa in a rage.  There may be men who look well when they lose their temper, but, if there are, papa is certainly not one.  He is always talking about the magnificence, and the high breeding of the Lindons, but anything less high-bred than the head of the Lindons, in his moments of wrath, it would be hard to conceive.  His language I will not attempt to portray,—­but his observations consisted, mainly, of abuse of Paul, glorification of the Lindons, and orders to me.

‘I forbid you—­I forbid you—­’ when papa wishes to be impressive he repeats his own words three or four times over; I don’t know if he imagines that they are improved by repetition; if he does, he is wrong—­’I forbid you ever again to speak to that—­that—­that—­’

Here followed language.

I was silent.

My cue was to keep cool.  I believe that, with the exception, perhaps, of being a little white, and exceedingly sorry that papa should so forget himself, I was about the same as I generally am.

‘Do you hear me?—­do you hear what I say?—­do you hear me, miss?’

‘Yes, papa; I hear you.’

’Then—­then—­then promise me!—­promise that you will do as I tell you!—­mark my words, my girl, you shall promise before you leave this room!’