“No, John, that won’t do,” returned Wentworth, “we’re not the wisest, but we’re wise enough not to be made fools of in anything but a love affair.” “Well then, let us concede our wisdom,” replied Harrington, in the same jocose vein, “and solve the whole riddle with that deep maxim of my beloved Verulam, ‘Love is the folly of the wise.’” “Good! I rest there,” said Wentworth, laughing. “Yes, my Lord Bacon, you’re right, love is the folly of the wise.” “But it is the highest wisdom, too,” observed Muriel. “Of course,” replied Harrington. “Verulam would be the last to gainsay that. I understand him to only mean that the mortal reason most exempt from the clouds of the other passions, is subject to the obscurations of this. It is one side of his tribute to the potency of love, and all human experience justifies it. Particularly ours,” he jestingly added. At this moment a tap was heard at the library door. It was Patrick, who, all in smiles for the new-married couple, announced that Mr. Witherlee was in the parlor below. “Jupiter!” exclaimed Wentworth. “Let’s have him up here, and give him a rowing.” “Yes, do,” said Emily nervously. “Let’s hear what he has to say for himself.” Muriel looked dubiously at Harrington. “I really think,” said Harrington, in answer to her look, “that Fernando ought to have a lesson on the danger and folly of such detraction and mischief-making as he practises. It would be salutary.” “Well then—but, Richard, you must promise me that you won’t get angry at Mr. Witherlee—that you’ll talk to him calmly,” said Muriel. “Oh, indeed I will!” declared Wentworth, rubbing his hands gleefully, and all alive with eagerness. “Only have him up here. I promise sacredly that I’ll be as gentle as a sucking dove.” “And you, Emily, you must engage to be calm,” said Muriel. “Oh, I’ll be calm. I despise him too much to be anything but calm,” returned Emily with an air of indolent scorn. “Very well. Patrick, show Mr. Witherlee up here,” said Muriel. Patrick bowed, and departed. “Now for a scene!” cried the gleeful Wentworth. “His impudence won’t get him out of this scrape.” “Take care, Richard,” remarked Harrington, “for in my opinion you’ll find it difficult to convict him of any misconduct.” “We’ll see!” exclaimed Wentworth with a confident air. Presently the door opened, and the good Fernando came in, bowing low with an almost cringe in his courtesy, and smiling with his usual constrained smile of elegance. He was very fashionably dressed, and looked, as he commonly did, handsome. “Good morning,” he said with courteous _empressement_, as he came bowing forward. “All together, as usual.” “Yes, all together,” said Harrington, good-naturedly, giving him his hand as he spoke, and taking no notice of the covert sneer which lurked rather in the tone of his last remark than in the words.