“Which probably proves,” said Mr. Cabot, “that the hero is the only one to be relied on. It is such fun to believe in the incredible! That is the charm of miracles, that they are impossible.” The rosy guest turned to the daughter with a smile, saying: “And there is nothing like a hard-headed old lawyer to drag you back to earth.” “What were these tales, Mr. Fettiplace? What did they refer to?” she asked. But Mr. Fettiplace evidently felt that he had said enough, possibly because a portion of his audience was not of encouraging material, for he only answered in a general way that the stories related to impossible experiences, and were probably only village gossip. After dinner they sat around the fire in the next room, the two men with their cigars and Molly at work over a bit of tapestry representing the Maid of Orleans on a fat, white horse. This horse, according to her father, must have belonged to a Liverpool circus, and was loaned to Joanna for tapestry only. When Mr. Judd appeared Molly felt an augmented interest in this hero of the white jacket, but it was against both conscience and judgment and in spite of a pious resolve to consider him simply as a libertine with a murderous temper. That her father and Mr. Fettiplace had no such abhorrence was evident from their cordial greeting. The conversation became general, although the burden of it was borne by Mr. Fettiplace, who seemed to possess upon every subject either some interesting facts or a novel theory. Once, when he was telling them something so amusing that it seemed safe to count upon a strict attention from all his hearers, she looked over at Mr. Judd and found his eyes fixed earnestly upon her face. It was a look so serious, of such infinite melancholy that, in surprise, her own glance involuntarily lingered for a second. He at once turned his eyes in another direction, and she felt angry with herself for having given him even so slight a testimonial of her interest. Although a trivial episode, it served to increase the existing hostility and to strengthen an heroic resolve. This resolve was to impress upon him, kindly but clearly, the impossibility of a serious respect on her part for a person of such unenviable repute. Later, when the two older men went up into the library to settle some dispute concerning a date, he came over and seated himself in a chair nearer her own, but also facing the fire. “Your ears must have tingled this evening, Mr. Judd.” “Ah, has Mr. Fettiplace been giving me away?” “On the contrary; he is a stanch friend of yours.” “Indeed he is, but it might require an exceedingly skilful friend to throw a favorable light on such a subject.” “How delightfully modest! I assure you he gave you an excellent character.” “Did you think it a wilful deception, or that he was simply mistaken?”