Editha’s fair face flushed with mingled shame and indignation at his coarseness, while Earle’s eyes flashed dangerously at his almost insulting manner to his betrothed. “Papa, Mr. Wayne sails for Europe to-morrow,” Editha said, to divert his attention, and hoping thus to tide over a scene until Earle should be out of the way. “Ah, indeed? I am happy to hear it—extremely happy to hear it,” with a satirical bow to Earle, yet with a start of surprise and a searching glance into the young man’s face; “and I presume he was taking a _friendly_ leave of you, my dear; quite interesting—quite affecting—ah! quite.” It is impossible to describe the malice and satire contained in his words, or the evil expression on Mr. Dalton’s face, as his eyes restlessly searched first one countenance and then the other of the lovers before him. “_No, sir!_” Earle replied, rising, and pale to ghastliness with the effort he made at self-control at this insulting language and manner. “I was not taking _leave_ of Miss Dalton, and, since I do not approve of concealments or secret engagements, I will state that she has just consented to do me the honor to become my wife at some future time.” The young man stood proudly erect, confronting his enemy, and still holding one of Editha’s hands, as he made this bold statement. “Do _you_ dare stand there and tell _me_ this?” Mr. Dalton hissed, with strange malignity. “And why should I not dare, sir?” Earle asked, with forced respect, remembering that he was speaking to Editha’s father. Sumner Dalton did not reply, but, turning fiercely upon Editha, demanded, in a voice of concentrated passion: “Is what he says truth?” “Yes, papa,” she replied, firmly, but with downcast eyes and painfully flushed cheeks. “You have promised to _marry him_?” pointing with a shaking finger at Earle, and speaking in the same tone as before. “Yes, sir.” “You have dared to do this thing without either my knowledge or sanction? _You_ marry a thing like _him_!” The blue eyes were downcast no longer, but flashed up to meet his, with a clear and steady glance. “Sir!” she began, and her tones, though respectful, were firm and unfaltering, “I was twenty-one years of age some time ago, and I can now, so to speak, act upon my own authority, if I choose. I am, at all events, old enough to know my own mind, and I believe I told you once before that I consider I have a right to judge and act for myself in a matter so vital to my own happiness and interests.” She paused a moment, and her look of independence changed to one of pain, as she added, more gently: “I would much to prefer to have your consent and approbation in all that I do, but——” “You will have my curses and hate instead,” he interrupted, nearly purple with passion that she should face him so dauntlessly. “Please do not say that, papa,” Editha cried, in deep distress.