“You think I am an impostor—that I have been seeking Miss Dalton’s affections under false pretentions—under an assumed name?” Earle demanded, with dignity. “I _have_ had some such idea; yes,” Mr. Dalton answered, with a strange smile. “Mr. Dalton, _what_ do you mean? What do you really know about me?” Mr. Dalton replied only by a low laugh, and Earle continued, with some excitement: “My name _is_ Earle Wayne—it is the name that my mother gave to me upon my birth, and I will now say——” “_Your mother!_” he interrupted, and a scornful, bitter laugh rang out, making both his listeners shudder, it was so fiendishly unnatural. “Papa, why do you talk like this? _Why_ are you so prejudiced against Earle?” Editha burst forth, unable to bear any more. “‘_Prejudice_’ is a _very mild term_, Editha,” he replied with glittering eyes. “What reason have you for hating him, then?” she cried, passionately. “I have the very best reason in the world, according to my judgment, for _hating not only him, but all that ever belonged to him_,” Mr. Dalton answered, with deliberate emphasis. “Sir,” exclaimed Earle, in startled surprise, “_what_ do you know about me, or those belonging to me? and why do you still persist in saying that Miss Dalton cannot be my wife, when she has distinctly stated that she has decided the matter? What possible barrier can there be to our union save the petty spite you so ignobly manifest toward me?” Mr. Dalton laughed again at this—a low, mocking laugh—and rubbed his hands in sardonic glee, while Earle regarded him in amazed perplexity, and Editha wondered if her father was not losing his mind that he should act thus. “Does it surprise you, young man, that I appear to have some knowledge of you? and shall I tell you, Editha Dalton, why you can _never_ become his wife?” he asked, and Editha shivered and grew white at his ominous words. “You know,” he continued, still addressing her, “that I never tolerate or forgive opposition from any one—never forgive either a fancied or a real wrong. Mine is a peculiar temperament, I know, yet I am what I am, and those who foil or oppose me must take the consequences. I have never _loved_ your devoted admirer, and since I have discovered _his secret_——” “Secret!” breathed both his listeners, in surprise. “Yes, _secret_. Had you no secret when you came to Richard Forrester?” demanded Mr. Dalton of Earle, and gnawing his lip savagely. “Yes, I own that I had,” Earle answered, with a sigh; “but——” “But a smooth tongue and lying lips will gloss almost anything over,” his enemy interrupted, sneeringly. “Papa, you are fearfully unjust. Earle is the soul of truth,” Editha cried, indignantly, adding: “What if he had a secret?—he had a right to it, and no one should seek to pry into it. At any rate, I do not believe it is anything that affected his honor or nobility.”