“I deny it,” said Rosa, perversely.  “Parents, in this age, do not make a custom of locking up refractory daughters in nunneries or garrets until they consent to wed Baron Buncombe or my Lord Nozoo, but there are, nevertheless, compulsory marriages in plenty.  Society warns me to make a creditable match, upon penalty, if I decline, of being pointed out to the succeeding—­and a fast-succeeding generation it is! as a disappointed old maid—­passée belle, who squandered her capital of fascinations, and has become a pauper upon public toleration, while my mother, sisters, and brothers are growing impatient at my many and profitless flirtations, and anxious to see me ‘settled.’  My mother’s pet text, since I was sixteen, has been her prayerful desire that I, the last of her nestlings, should make choice of a tenable bough and helpful partner, and set up a separate establishment before she dies.  When that event occurs, I shall be, in effect, homeless—­a boarder around upon my rebukeful relatives, who ‘always thought how my trifling would end,’ and who will be forever scribbling ‘vanitas vanitatum,’ upon the tombstone of my departed youth—­my day of beaux and offers.  You may shake your head and look heroic with all your might!  You are no better off than I, should your brother see cause to refuse his consent to your marriage with Mr. Chilton.  He could, and probably would, coerce you into another alliance before you were twenty-one.  There are so many ways of letting the life out of a woman’s heart, when it is already faint from disappointment!  The spirit is oftener broken by unyielding, but not seemingly cruel pressure, than by outrageous violence.  And Winston would show himself an adept in such arts, if occasion offered.”

“Rosa Tazewell! you are speaking of my brother, my friend and benefactor! one of the best, noblest, most disinterested creatures Heaven ever made!” cried Mabel, erect and indignant.  “You have no warrant—­I shall never give you the right—­to asperse him in my presence.  He is incapable of cruelty or unfairness.  It is my duty to obey him, but it is no less a pleasure, for he is a hundred-fold wiser and better than I am—­knows far more truly what is for my real advantage.  As to his conduct in this affair of Frederic and myself, yon cannot deny that it has been generous and consistent throughout.  He has been cautious—­never harsh!”

“So!” said Rosa, scrutinizing the flushed countenance of the other, her own full of intense meaning, “you have had your misgivings!”

Mabel reddened more warmly.

“Misgivings!  What do you mean?”

“That the uncalled-for vehemence of your defence is a proof of disturbed confidence, of wanting belief in the infallibility of your semi-deity.  The trailing robes of divinity have been blown aside by a chance breath of suspicion, and you had a glimpse of the clay feet.  I am glad of it.  Scepticism is the parent of rebellion, and the time is coming when fealty to your betrothed may demand disloyalty to the power that now is.”