Jeffray, looking white and stern, understood whither Miss Hardacre’s strategy was tending. He rallied himself, made her a polite bow, and confessed that he could suffer no parental interference. “I have nothing to discuss with Sir Peter,” he said. “Nothing!” “I cannot recognize his authority, Jilian, nor can your father coerce my conscience. It is a miserable business, but one cannot save the wine when the flask is broken.” This last sally dissipated the lady’s remaining self-control. Was there ever such a puritanical and canting young hypocrite? He would be quoting the Bible and the marriage service to her in a moment to prove that his dishonor was a commendable virtue. Quivering with the impatience of her spite, she started up, and flashed a look at Jeffray that was more significant than a judicial ruling. “Drat your conscience, Richard,” she said. “I tell you, sir, that you are fickle and dishonorable, and that you have trifled with my affections. I may have lost some of my good looks, sir, but I am still a woman, to be treated with courtesy and not with cowardly lies and excuses.” “Jilian!” “Do not call me Jilian, sir. I refer you instantly to my father. And if you slink and dare not face him, I can promise you that my brother is a man of courage. I may be a weak woman, Mr. Jeffray, a woman who has treated you too kindly, and worn her heart upon her sleeve, but I am not to be trifled with as though I were some common farmer’s daughter. I tell you that you have insulted my affections, sir, compromised my honor and the honor of my family.” Jeffray stood stock-still in the middle of the room, staring at Miss Hardacre’s red and angry face. Her fury had transfigured her, as though some witch’s wand had changed her from smiling youth into a fierce and scolding shrew. Few women look well when they are the creatures of wrath, and Jeffray was astonished and repelled by the transformation he beheld before him. Three months ago he would have been on his knees at Jilian’s feet. Now he realized that she could look old, vixenish, and ugly. “I am sorry you have spoken like this,” he said. “Sorry, sir—sorry! Nonsense; you don’t care the price of a new pin. I am disgusted, sir—disgusted at the miserable lies you have the impudence to throw at me. I thought you a gentleman, sir. I find that you are a villain.” Jeffray crushed his hat between his hands, restrained himself by a great effort, and bowed to her with all the dignity he could command. “I think that I had better take my leave of you,” he said, coldly. “Ah, do so, by all means. Your righteous self-conceit sickens me.” “Madam, I came to try and tell you the truth as courteously as I could.” Miss Hardacre pointed him to the door. “Tell me no more lies,” she said; “as for your conscience—I snap my fingers at it.” Jeffray, mortified and not sorry to escape, bowed once more to the lady, and left her to her tears, her smelling-salts, and her brother.