’D-don’t talk to me li-like that, girl!—­I—­I believe you’re s-stark mad!’ He turned to me.  ’W-what was that tomfoolery she was talking to you about?’

‘To what do you allude?’

’About a rub-rubbishing b-beetle, and g-goodness alone knows what,—­d-diseased and m-morbid imagination,—­r-reared on the literature of the gutter!—­I never thought that a child of mine could have s-sunk to such a depth!—­Now, Atherton, I ask you to t-tell me frankly,—­what do you think of a child who behaves as she has done? who t-takes a nameless vagabond into the house and con-conceals his presence from her father?  And m-mark the sequel! even the vagabond warns her against the r-rascal Lessingham!—­Now, Atherton, tell me what you think of a girl who behaves like that?’ I shrugged my shoulders.  ’I—­I know very well what you d-do think of her,—­don’t be afraid to say it out because she’s present.’

‘No; Sydney, don’t be afraid.’

I saw that her eyes were dancing,—­in a manner of speaking, her looks brightened under the sunshine of her father’s displeasure.

‘Let’s hear what you think of her as a—­as a m-man of the world!’

‘Pray, Sydney, do!’

‘What you feel for her in your—­your heart of hearts!’

‘Yes, Sydney, what do you feel for me in your heart of hearts?’

The baggage beamed with heartless sweetness,—­she was making a mock of me.  Her father turned as if he would have rent her.

’D-don’t you speak until you’re spoken to!  Atherton, I—­I hope I’m not deceived in you; I—­I hope you’re the man I—­I took you for; that you’re willing and—­and ready to play the part of a-a-an honest friend to this mis-misguided simpleton.  T-this is not the time for mincing words, it—­it’s the time for candid speech.  Tell this—­this weak minded young woman, right out, whether this man Lessingham is, or is not, a damned scoundrel.’

’Papa!—­Do you really think that Sydney’s opinion, or your opinion, is likely to alter facts?’

‘Do you hear, Atherton, tell this wretched girl the truth!’

’My dear Mr Lindon, I have already told you that I know nothing either for or against Mr Lessingham except what is known to all the world.’

’Exactly,—­and all the world knows him to be a miserable adventurer who is scheming to entrap my daughter.’

’I am bound to say, since you press me, that your language appears to me to be unnecessarily strong.’

‘Atherton, I—­I’m ashamed of you!’

’You see, Sydney, even papa is ashamed of you; now you are outside the pale.—­My dear papa, if you will allow me to speak, I will tell you what I know to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.—­That Mr Lessingham is a man with great gifts goes without saying,—­permit me, papa!  He is a man of genius.  He is a man of honour.  He is a man of the loftiest ambitions, of the highest aims.  He has dedicated his whole life to the improvement of the conditions amidst which