Sir Thomas was silent, not because he did not feel the taunt, but because he did feel it too bitterly to trust himself with speech. But Rachel rose from her chair, deeply stung, and spoke very plain words indeed. "Orige Enville," she said, "thou art a born fool!" "Gramercy, Rachel!" ejaculated her sister-in-law, as much moved out of her graceful ease of manner as it lay in her torpid nature to be. "You can deal with the maid betwixt you two," pursued the spinster. "I will not bear a hand in the child's undoing." And she marched out of the room, and slammed the door behind her. "Good lack!" was Lady Enville's comment. Without resuming the subject, Sir Thomas walked to the other door and opened it. "Blanche!" he said, in that hard, constrained tone which denotes not want of feeling, but the endeavour to hide it. "Blanche is in the garden, Father," said Margaret, coming out of the hall. "Shall I seek her for you?" "Ay, bid her come, my lass," said he quietly. Margaret looked up inquiringly, in consequence of her father's unusual tone; but he gave her no explanation, and she went to call Blanche. That young lady was engaged at the moment in a deeply interesting conversation with Don Juan upon the terrace. They had been exchanging locks of hair, and vows of eternal fidelity. Margaret's approaching step was heard just in time to resume an appearance of courteous composure; and Don Juan, who was possessed of remarkable versatility, observed as she came up to them-- "The clouds be a-gathering, Dona Blanca. Methinks there shall be rain ere it be long." "How now, Meg?--whither away?" asked Blanche, with as much calmness as she could assume; but she was by no means so clever an actor as her companion. "Father calleth thee, Blanche, from Mother's bower." "How provoking!" said Blanche to herself. Aloud she answered, "Good; I thank thee, Meg." Blanche sauntered slowly into the boudoir. Lady Enville reclined in her chair, engaged again with her comedy, as though she had said all that could be said on the subject under discussion. Sir Thomas stood leaning against the jamb of the chimney-piece, gazing sadly into the fire. "Meg saith you seek me, Father." "I do, my child." His grave tone chilled Blanche's highly-wrought feelings with a vague anticipation of coming evil. He set a chair for her, with a courtesy which he always showed to a woman, not excluding his daughters. "Sit, Blanche: we desire to know somewhat of thee." The leaves of the play in Lady Enville's hand fluttered; but she had just sense enough not to speak. "Blanche, look me in the face, and answer truly:--Hath there been any passage of love betwixt Don John and thee?"