"Very probably," said the elder lady, with venom. "In fact, he may know sufficient to forbid you entertaining the preposterous idea of becoming Mrs. Webster. You are a fool, Ruth! Because the man is handsome and a great musician--I deny neither his looks nor his talents--you have developed a romantic passion for him. I should not be doing my duty did I fail to warn your father of this folly. To-morrow Mr. Webster will leave this house for ever." "Oh!" cried Ruth with scorn. "And I, no doubt, will marry Geoffrey Heron. I know your plans, Aunt Inez. But I'm not for sale, thank you." "Don't be insolent," cried Mrs. Marshall, with cold fury. "Mr. Heron loves you." "Very probably," rejoined Miss Cass, carelessly. "But then, you see, I do not love him." "Nevertheless, you will become his wife." "I would die first." "We shall see," and walked to the door. "I am going to tell your father of this infatuation." The girl uttered an exclamation of dismay and sprang forward. But Mrs. Marshall had already closed the door. "I don't care," cried Ruth, clenching her hands. "My love is strong enough to stand against my father's anger. I love Neil, and I intend to marry him. All the fathers and aunts in the world shall not prevent me." And in this determined frame of mind she went to bed. Her hot Spanish blood was aflame at the idea of contradiction and dictation. Nor for nothing was Ruth Cass the granddaughter of an Andalusian spit-fire, and as such was her father's mother traditionally referred to in the family. Meanwhile, Mrs. Marshall, equally hot-blooded and determined, took her way to the library where she knew her brother frequently remained long after the rest of the household had retired. He was there, sure enough, sitting before the fire and staring into it with an anxious expression. At his sister's entrance he started from his seat. For Inez was the stormy petrel of the Cass family, and he guessed that her appearance at this unwonted hour indicated an approaching tempest. "What is it?" he asked, irritably. "Why are you not in bed?" "Because I have something to say which must be said to-night." "Well, what is is?" He dropped back into his chair with a look of resignation. "Who is that man Webster?" Her brother's face grow black. "Always the same woman," he said, angrily. "You will never leave well alone. Webster is a violinist, and he comes here, at my request, because I admire his talents." "I know all that. But who is he?" "I refuse to tell you." "Will you refuse to tell your daughter?" sneered his sister. Cass looked up quickly, and something of dismay came over his face. "Ruth--what has Ruth to do with him?" "This much. They are in love with one another; they are secretly engaged. Is that a sufficient excuse for my seeing you to-night?" "I don't believe it. Webster would not----" "Oh, as to that, I don't know what hold you have over him."