ity is a letter, addressed to me by a relative of
Mr. Gracedieu--my dear and intimate friend, Miss Jillgall." My father's
keen eyes traveled backward and forward between his female surgeon and
his son. "Which am I to believe?" he inquired. "I am surprised at your
asking the question," I said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at
Mr. Philip, sir--and you will allow him one merit. He is capable of
showing it, when he knows he has disgraced himself." Without intending
it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he believed her.
Out came one of the smallest and strongest words in the English language
before I could stop it: "Mrs. Tenbruggen, you lie!" The illustrious
Rubber dropped my father's hand--she had been operating on him all the
time--and showed us that she could assert her dignity when circumstances
called for the exertion: "Either your son or I, sir, must leave the
room. Which is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking
quietly to the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low bow.
She stopped on her way out, and delivered her parting words: "Messieurs
Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and merely regard you as a
couple of blackguards." With that pretty assertion of her opinion, she
left us.

When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my
confession. It is impossible to tell you how my father received it--for
he sat down at his library table with his back to me. The first thing he
did was to ask me to help his memory.

"Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?"

"Yes--a Congregational Minister."

"What does the Minister think of you?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Find out."

That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't pretend
to have discovered what he really has in his mind. I only venture on
a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town, who has some
influence over your father, leave no means untried of getting that
friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask your father to write to
mine. This is, as I see it, our only chance.

.......

There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride is
fiercely interested in securing Philip as a husband. Her victory over
poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates, be only complete when she is
married to young Dunboyne. For the rest, her desperate resolution to win
her way to my good graces is sufficiently intelligible, now.

My own impressions vary.