“Denham, Jenny Denham, Miss Jenny Denham,” said Palmet, rejoiced at the opportunity of trumpeting her name so that she should not fail to hear it. “I stake my reputation I have heard her called Shrapnel—Miss Shrapnel,” said Cecil. The doctor glanced hastily from one to the other of his visitors. “The young lady is my ward; I am her guardian,” he said. Cecil pursed his mouth. “I have heard her called your niece.” “Niece—ward; she is a lady by birth and education, in manners, accomplishments, and character; and she is under my protection,” cried Dr. Shrapnel. Cecil bowed. “So you are for gentle birth? I forgot you are for morality too, and for praying; exactly; I recollect. But now let me tell you, entirely with the object of conciliation, my particular desire is to see the young lady, in your presence of course, and endeavour to persuade her, as I have very little doubt I shall do, assuming that you give me fair play, to exercise her influence, on this occasion contrary to yours, and save my cousin Captain Beauchamp from a fresh misunderstanding with his uncle Mr. Romfrey. Now, sir; now, there!” “You will not see Miss Denham with my sanction ever,” said Dr. Shrapnel. “Oh! Then I perceive your policy. Mark, sir, my assumption was that the young lady would, on hearing my representations, exert herself to heal the breach between Captain Beauchamp and his family. You stand in the way. You treat me as you treated the lady who came here formerly to wrest your dupe from your clutches. If I mistake not, she saw the young lady you acknowledge to be your ward.” Dr. Shrapnel flashed back: “I acknowledge? Mercy and justice! is there no peace with the man? You walk here to me, I can’t yet guess why, from a town where I have enemies, and every scandal flies touching me and mine; and you—” He stopped short to master his anger. He subdued it so far as to cloak it in an attempt to speak reasoningly, as angry men sometimes deceive themselves in doing, despite the good maxim for the wrathful—speak not at all. “See,” said he, “I was never married. My dear friend dies, and leaves me his child to protect and rear; and though she bears her father’s name, she is most wrongly and foully made to share the blows levelled at her guardian. Ay, have at me, all of you, as much as you will! Hold off from her. Were it true, the cowardice would be not a whit the smaller. Why, casting a stone like that, were it the size of a pebble and the weight of a glance, is to toss the whole cowardly world on an innocent young girl. And why suspect evil? You talk of that lady who paid me a visit here once, and whom I treated becomingly, I swear. I never do otherwise. She was a handsome woman; and what was she? The housekeeper of Captain Beauchamp’s uncle. Hear me, if you please! To go with the world, I have as good a right to suppose the worst of an attractive lady in that situation as you regarding my ward: better warrant for scandalizing, I think; to go with the world. But now—”