“And am I to see my father's name insulted, and his house dishonored by such a canaille crew as this?” “Just come down and see them, Master Digby; prettier, nicer girls you never saw in your life, and pretty behaved, too. Ask Mr. Eccles if he ever mixed with a nicer company. There, now, sir, slip on your velvet jacket,--it looks nicer than that tail-coat,--and come down. They 'll be all proud and glad to see you, and won't she hold her head high that you ask to take a turn of a waltz with you!” “And how should I face my father to-morrow?” said I, blushing deeply. “Might I tell you a secret, Master Digby?” said he, leaning over the table, and speaking almost in my ear. “Go on,” said I, dryly. “I know well, sir, you 'll never throw me over, and what I 'm going to tell you is worth gold to you.” “Go on,” cried I, for he had ceased to speak. “Here it is, then,” said he, with an effort “The greatest sorrow your father has, Master Digby, is that he thinks you have no spirit in you,--that you 're a mollyoot. As he said one day to Mr. Cleremont, 'You must teach him everything, he has no “go” in himself; there 's nothing in his nature but what somebody else put into it.'” “He never said that!” “I pledge you my oath he did.” “Well, if he did, he meant it very differently from what you do.” “There's no two meanings to it. There's a cheer!” cried he, running over to the window and flinging it wide. “I wonder who's come now? Oh, it's the fireworks are beginning.” “I 'll go down,” said I; but out of what process of reasoning came that resolve I am unable to tell. “Maybe they won't be glad to see you!” cried he, as he helped me on with my jacket and arranged the heron's feathers in my velvet cap. I was half faltering in my resolution, when I bethought me of that charge of feebleness of character Nixon had reported to me, and I determined, come what might, I would show that I had a will and could follow it. In less than five minutes after, I was standing under the trees in the garden, shaking hands with scores of people I never saw before, and receiving the very politest of compliments and good wishes from very pretty lips, aided by very expressive eyes. “Here's Mademoiselle Pauline Delorme refuses to dance with me,” cried Eccles, “since she has seen the head of the house. Digby, let me present you.” And with this he led me up to a very beautiful girl, who, though only the daughter of a celebrated restaurateur of Brussels, might have been a princess, so far as look and breeding and elegance were concerned. “This is to be the correct thing,” cried Cleremont “We open with a quadrille; take your partners, gentlemen, and to your places.”