to the verge of
tears; and Magdalena, forlorn and lonely, but thanking him mutely with
her eloquent eyes, appealed to the great measure of chivalry in him.

"I am glad I spoke to you, Uncle Jack," she said after a moment. "You
have given me much to think about, and I am sure I shall get along much
better. Thanks, ever so much."

She did not rise to go, but was silent for several moments. Then she
asked abruptly,--

"What do you mean by women having temptations? I know by the way you
said it that you don't mean just ordinary every-day temptations."

Colonel Belmont glanced about helplessly. His eloquence had carried him
away; he had not paused to take feminine curiosity into account. He
encountered Magdalena's eyes. They were fixed on him with solemn
inquiry, and they were very intelligent eyes. Did he take refuge in
verbiage, she would not be deceived. Did he refuse to continue the
conversation, she would be hurt. In either case her imagination would
have been set at work, and she might go far, and in the wrong direction,
to satisfy her curiosity. Once more he stared at the fire.

To his daughter he could have said nothing on such a subject: he was too
old-fashioned, too imbued with the chivalrous idea of the South of his
generation that women were of two kinds only, and that those who had
been segregated for men to love and worship and marry must never brush
the skirts of their thought against the sin of the world. They were
ideal creatures who would produce others like themselves, and men--like
himself.

But as he considered he realised that he had a duty toward Magdalena,
which grew as he thought: she needed help and advice and had come to
him, having literally no one else to go to. After all, might she not
have temptations which would pass his beautiful, quick-witted,
triumphant daughter by? Helena, with the world at her feet, would have
little time for brooding, little time for anything but the lighter
pleasures of life under his watchful eye, until she loved and passed to
the keeping of a man who, he hoped, would be far stronger and finer than
himself. But Magdalena? Repressed, unloved, intellectual, disappointed
at every turn, passionate undoubtedly,--there was no knowing to what
sudden extremes desperation might drive her. And the woman, no matter
how plain, had yet to be born who could not be utterly bad if she put
her mind to it. It was not only his duty to warn Magdalena, but to give
her such advice as