There was an uneasy, chilling pause. Miss Maitland would have given something to withdraw her last shot. Fanny was very uncomfortable and fixed her eyes on the table. Zoe, deeply shocked at Severne's deceit, was now amazed and puzzled about her brother. “Ina Klosking!” inquired she; “who is that?” “Ask Mr. Severne,” said Miss Maitland, sturdily. Now Mr. Severne was sitting silent, but with restless eyes, meditating how he should get over that figment of his about the sick friend. Zoe turned round on him, fixed her glorious eyes full upon his face, and said, rather imperiously, “Mr. Severne, who is Ina Klosking?” Mr. Severne looked up blankly in her face, and said nothing. She colored at not being answered, and repeated her question (all this time Fanny's eyes were fixed on the young man even more keenly than Zoe's), “Who--and what--is Ina Klosking?” “She is a public singer.” “Do you know her?” “Yes; I heard her sing at Vienna.” “Yes, yes; but do you know her to speak to?” He considered half a moment, and then said he had not that honor. “But,” said he, rather hurriedly, “somebody or other told me she had come out at the opera here and made a hit.” “What in--Siebel?” “I don't know. But I saw large bills out with her name. She made her _de'but_ in Gounod's 'Faust.'” “It is _my_ Siebel!” cried Zoe, rapturously. “Why, aunt, no wonder Harrington admires her. For my part, I adore her.” _“You,_ child! That is quite a different matter.” “No, it is not. He is like me; he has only seen her once, as I have, and on the stage.” “Fiddle-dee-dee. I tell you he is in love with her, over head and ears. He is wonderfully inflammable for a woman-hater. Ask Mr. Severne: he knows.” “Mr. Severne, is my brother in love with that lady?” Severne's turn had come; that able young man saw his chance, and did as good a bit of acting as ever was extemporized even by an Italian mime. “Miss Vizard,” said he, fixing his hazel eyes on her for the first time, in a way that made her feel his power, “what passed in confidence between two friends ought to be sacred. Don't--you--think so?” (The girl quivered, remembering the secret he had confessed to her.) “Miss Maitland has done your brother and me the honor to listen to our secrets. She shall repeat them, if she thinks it delicate; but I shall not, without Vizard's consent; and, more than that, the conversation seems to me to be taking the turn of casting blame and ridicule and I don't know what on the best-hearted, kindest-hearted, truest-hearted, noblest, and manliest man I know. I decline to take any further share in it.” With these last words in his mouth, he stuck his hands defiantly into his pockets and stalked out into the veranda, looking every inch a man.