Ida was half distracted.

"But you really cannot mean it!" she pleaded. "I have done nothing,

said nothing. You surely do not complain of his speaking to me, of his

being simply civil and polite! Heaven knows I had no desire to exchange

a word with him. I would not have come down if Isabel had not asked me,

and I had thought you would have considered it rude of me to remain

upstairs. Oh, what can I say to convince you that you are mistaken,

that I never gave a thought to this gentleman--I forget his name--that

I do not care if I never see him again, and that--Isabel, surely you do

not think me capable of the--vulgarity, the stupidity, with which your

Advertisement..

mother charges me!"

Isabel's sniffs and sobs only grew louder, and her demonstrative misery

worked Mrs. Heron to a higher pitch of resentment and virtuous

indignation.

"That is right, Isabel, do not answer her. It is all pretence and

deceit on her part. She knows very well that she was doing her best to

attract his attention, smiling and making eyes at him, and attempting

to catch him just as she has caught poor Joseph."

Ida's slight figure sprang erect, her face grew crimson and her eyes

flashed with a just wrath which could no longer be suppressed.

"I think you must be mad," she said in a low voice. "Indeed, you must

be mad, or you would not insult me in this way. If I were guilty of the

conduct of which you accuse me, I should not be fit to live, should not

be fit to remain in any respectable house."

"You are guilty," retorted Mrs. Heron. "And as to your being fit to

remain under this roof--and it was a respectable and happy one until

you came--you are the best judge. I shall inform your cousin John of

what has passed--it is my duty to do so--and he shall decide whether

you are to remain, a firebrand, and a disturber of the peace of a

Christian household. It is my duty to protect my poor boy."

At that moment the hall door was opened and closed, and the "poor boy,"

after shuffling about in the hall for a moment or two, opened the

drawing-room door. His hat was on the back of his head, one end of his

collar was unfastened, his face was flushed, and there was mud on his

coat, as if he had fallen--which he had. He lurched into the room with

a tipsy leer, and nodded to them with an affectation of extreme

sobriety, which is unfortunately always assumed by the individual who

is hopelessly intoxicated. Mrs. Heron rose with outstretched hands.




Most Popular