She was equal to a necessary lie that had not to be maintained
with labour, or to a pretence requiring little effort and encountering
no suspicion, but to the concealment of her feelings when she was
openly put to the question, her powers were inadequate. If ever a
human face served its owner ill, by apparently confessing guilt, where
only folly existed, Margaret's did so now.

"What I may think of the rascal who says these things," replied Mr.
Faringfield, with the unnatural quietness that betrays a tumult of
inward feelings, "I will tolerate them till I am sure they are false."
His eyes were still fixed on Margaret.

"What!" said she, a little hysterically. "Do you pay attention to the
slanders of such a fellow? To an accusation like that, made on the
mere strength of a gentleman's manner of mentioning me?"

"No, but I pay attention to your manner of receiving the accusation:
your telltale face, your embarrassment--"

"'Tis my anger--"

"There's an anger of innocence, and an anger of guilt. I would your
anger had shown more of contempt than of confusion." Alas! he knew
naught of half-guilt and _its_ manifestations.

"How can you talk so?--I won't listen--such insulting
innuendoes!--even if you are my father--why, this knave himself says I
betrayed Captain Falconer's scheme: how could he think that, if--"

"That proves nothing," said Ned, with a contemptuous grin. "Women do
unaccountable things. A streak of repentance, maybe; or a lovers'
quarrel. The point is, a woman like you wouldn't have entered into a
scheme like that, with a man like him, if there hadn't already been a
pretty close understanding of another kind. Oh, I know your whole
damn' sex, begad!--no offence to these other ladies."

"William, this is scandalous!" cried Mrs. Faringfield. My mother, too,
looked what it was not her place to speak. As for Tom and me, we had
to defer to Mr. Faringfield; and so had Cornelius, who was very
solemn, with an uneasy frown between his white eyebrows. Poor Fanny,
most sensitive to disagreeable scenes, sat in self-effacement and mute
distress.

Mr. Faringfield, not replying to his wife, took a turn up and down the
room, apparently in great mental perplexity and dismay.

Suddenly he was a transformed man. Pale with wrath, his lips moving
spasmodically, his arms trembling, he turned upon Margaret, grasped
her by the shoulders, and in a choked, half-articulate voice demanded:

"Tell the truth! Is it so--this sha