“My dearest young friend, that is all benevolent sophistry. I do not wish my nephew’s wife to owe her rank to her husband’s family alone. A beggar girl might do that. No, _good birth_, even before wealth or personal attractions, is what I desire and insist upon in the wife of Ronald. And let me tell you, my dear and gentle Emolyn, that this and all other desirable attributes are to be found in the lady I long ago selected for him—Hermia, my niece. They are indeed my co-heirs, and they must marry. There, my dear, there is my decision. And now, my Emolyn, you have known me of old. You know that when my judgment has decided any course of action to be the right one no power on earth can move me to alter.” “I know! I know! That is the reason why I feared you so, and shrank from confessing my marriage to you until it was too late. Do not fear. I shall not continue to importune you, Commodore Bruce,” said the lady in a tone of pain. “Do not be vexed with me, Emolyn, my child. It is inexpressibly distressing to me to be obliged to place myself in opposition to you on any subject at this our first reunion after so long and hopeless a separation. Believe me, dear, I appreciate the benevolence of your actions, which is in perfect keeping with the tenor of your whole life. I approve your kind intentions toward this young girl with only one exception——” “The only vital one,” murmured Emolyn. “Be as kind to her as your good heart dictates in all things. Give her the advantages of wealth and a higher culture. She deserves them, and will put them to good use. Do all you please for her, my dear; but do not torment yourself or me by trying to bring about a marriage between Ronald Bruce and the overseer’s daughter.” “Fear no importunity from me, sir. I shall not recur to the subject again in your presence,” said the lady in the same tone of pain. “Now I fear that I have angered you, Emolyn.” “Oh, no, not angered, only disappointed me,” she replied. Then rising and gathering her India shawl about her, she held out her hand and said: “I wish you good-morning, sir.” “What? Going? You are not going so early?” “Thanks; but I must.” “At least stay to lunch?” “Much obliged; but it is impossible.” “Let me then introduce you to the ladies of my family. My niece and her daughter will be happy to see you.” “Not for the world. I came not out of my grave to make a fashionable call. I came to fulfil a mission, which has failed. Let me go in peace.” “But, my dear, your cousins—Mrs. and Miss Ward—are here, my guests. Let me send for them and make known your presence,” said the commodore, reaching his hand for the bell. But the lady’s hand quickly arrested his. “No, on your salvation!” she cried in great excitement. “Not for a thousand worlds! Oh, stop! _Nothing_ should ever induce me to meet Malvina Warde! _Never_ could I bear to look upon her—her, the cause of all my sorrows—my enemy—my destroyer!”