“I should think so,” said Edith, with a look at Mowbray. “But still, is it not strange that young ladies should refuse to dance with one who is an officer and a gentleman?” During the whole of this conversation the captain had said nothing, but had been sitting turning over the leaves of a book, and furtively watching Edith's face and manner. When the conversation turned upon him, however, his face flushed, and he looked angrily at Mrs. Mowbray. At last, as Edith spoke, he started, and said: “See here, now! I don't think it's altogether the correct thing to make remarks about a gentleman in his presence. I'm aware that ladies are given to gossip, but they generally do it behind a fellow's back. I've done nothing to deserve this just now.” “There was nothing offensive in my remark,” said Edith, quietly. “Oh,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “my son is very quick and very sensitive, and very nice on a point of honor. He is the most punc-til-i-ous man you ever saw;” and Mrs. Mowbray held up her hands, lost in amazement at the conception which was in her mind of the punctiliousness of her son. “But, my dear Miss Dalton,” she continued, “he is quick to forgive. He don't bear malice.” “Haven't I said,” growled Mowbray, “that I don't like this! Talk of me behind my back, if you choose. You can't imagine that it's particularly pleasant for a fellow to sit here and listen to all that rot.” “But, my son,” said Mrs. Mowbray, fondly, “it's all love.” “Oh, bother your love!” muttered this affectionate son. “Well, then, you naughty, sensitive boy,” said Mrs. Mowbray, “I will come here by myself, and tell dear Miss Dalton all about you behind your back. I will tell her about some of your adventures in London, and she will see what a naughty, wicked, rakish fellow you have been. He is sadly like me, dear Miss Dalton--so sensitive, and so fond of society.” Edith gave a polite smile, but said nothing. Then the conversation lagged for a little while. At length Edith, full of the idea that Wiggins had sent them for some purpose, and desirous of finding out whether her suspicions were correct or not, said, in a careless tone, “I suppose you know this Wiggins very well?” “Mr. Wiggins?” said Mrs. Mowbray, quickly. “Oh yes; my son and he often meet, though for my part I know little or nothing about the man.” “Pooh!” cried Mowbray, interrupting her. “Miss Dalton, Mrs. Mowbray is so talkative that she often says things that she does not mean, or, at least, things that are liable to mislead others. I have met Wiggins, it is true, but do not imagine that he is a friend of mine. On the contrary, he has reason to hate me quite as much as he hates you. Your idea of any connection between him and me, which I plainly see you hint at, is altogether wrong, and you would not have even suspected this if you knew me better.” “You came here so easily,” said Edith, “that I very naturally supposed that you were on friendly terms.”