"I saw them," he continued as he flung himself back in his seat, "the whole mob in the church sniggling with delight. Curse them! And that fellow, Stratton! If ever we stand face to face again I'll--Oh, I hope he will never have the audacity to come near me, for his own sake." Myra had been sitting perfectly upright, looking as if suffering from some cataleptic seizure; but at the mention of Stratton she turned and laid her hand upon her father's arm. "Oh, yes, of course!" he raged, with a mocking laugh. "Womanlike; a hundred excuses ready for him: cut himself in shaving--wedding clothes not home in time--sprained his ankle--a bad headache. Oh, you women, you women! If ever there were a pack of fools--" "Father!" That one word only, but full of so much agony that he turned and caught her to his breast. "Brute! Senseless brute!" he literally growled. "Thinking of myself, of my own feelings, and not of you, my own." Then raging again, with his countenance purple, and the veins of his temples starting: "But you! To insult you, my child, and after that other horrible affair. How a man--who professed to worship you--could subject you to such an outrage--to such infamy! I tell you it is maddening." "Father!" once more in a piteous tone. "No; you shall not plead for him, my darling. You have behaved nobly. Like a true, self-respecting English lady. No acting, no silly girlish fainting, but like my daughter. You must go on, though. This scoundrel must be shown that he cannot insult you with impunity." "Listen, father," she whispered after a desperate effort to restrain the hysterical burst of agony striving for exit. "I will not. There is no excuse, Myra. A telegram--a messenger--his friend and best man. Nothing done. The man is--no; he is no man. I'll--my lawyer shall--no; I'll go myself. He shall see that--Silence! Be firm. Don't move a muscle. Take my arm when I hand you out, and not a word till we are in the drawing room." For the carriage had stopped, after a rapid course, at Sir Mark's house in Bourne Square, where they had to wait some minutes before, in response to several draggings at the bell, the door was opened by an elderly housemaid. "Why was not this door answered? Where is Andrews?" thundered the admiral as the footman came in, looking startled, and closed the door behind which the housemaid stood, looking speechless at her master's unexpected return. "Shall the carriage wait, Sir Mark?" interposed the footman. "No! Stop; don't open that door. I said, why was this door not answered?" "I'm very sorry, Sir Mark," faltered the woman, who was trembling visibly. "I was upstairs cleaning myself." "Bah! Where is Andrews? Where are the other servants?" "They all went to the wedding, Sir Mark." "Bah!" "Father--upstairs--I can bear no more," whispered Myra.