"There is a great deal of power about him," said Miriam, "and I like power in a man. He seems to me to be a man who would stand at nothing in working out his own ends either for good or evil. For women--weak women--such characters generally have a peculiar fascination." "That's because you never have a will of your own for an hour together," said Byrne. "Women always admire what they possess least of themselves." "Papa always runs the ladies down," said Miriam, smilingly, to Gerald. "But if only one-half that I have heard whispered be true, no one could be fonder of their society than he was, so long as he was young and good-looking." "And now that he is neither----?" said Byrne. "No one delights to run them down more than he. The old story, Mr. Warburton. Olives have no longer any flavour for him, therefore only fools eat olives." Gerald rose and made his adieux. It was arranged that he should call again on the following Tuesday or Wednesday. "You won't forget the tickets for the opera, will you, Mr. Warburton?" were Miriam's whispered words as they stood for a moment at the street door, she having gone down stairs to let him out. "Well, kitten, and what do you think of your new-found brother?" asked Byrne, as soon as Miriam got back into the room. "I like him. It would be impossible to help liking him," said Miriam. "Your reasons--if you have any?" "Ladies are not supposed to give reasons. I like him because I like him. For one thing, he is not commonplace. There is an air of cleverness about him. You would not feel a bit surprised if at any moment he were to tell you that he was the author of the last celebrated poem, or the painter of the last great picture, or that he had been down the crater of Vesuvius, or had invented a new balloon that would take you half-way to the moon. By the time you have been in Mr. Warburton's society ten minutes, you say to yourself: 'Here's a man who has brains.'" "Rather different from James Baron, Esq., eh?" "Now, papa!" said Miriam, in a hurt tone. Then she turned from him and went to the window, and drew aside the curtain, and peered out into the darkness. "I thought it was understood between us that on this point there was no longer to be any contention. I thought you thoroughly understood, papa, that nothing could alter my determination." "Oh, you have made me understand all that, plainly enough," said Byrne. "But when I think how mad and foolish you are--how determined you are to throw away your one great chance in life, I can't help----" "Pray spare me, papa! Why cover ground that you and I have trodden so often already?" "To think," said Byrne, indignantly, "of my daughter demeaning herself to marry a common, underpaid clerk!" "Yes, a clerk whose father is a dean; and who was educated at college, and----" "And who was expelled from college for----" "Papa, for shame! Is his one fault to stick to him through life?" "Even his own people discard him."