little group around the sofa,
whom he had been entertaining with his calumnies. To them he had
muttered that he would have satisfaction; that he would call Miss
Merlin's father to a severe account for the impertinence of his
daughter, etc.

But the consternation produced by these threats was soon dissipated. The
band struck up an alluring waltz, and Lord Vincent claimed the hand of
Beatrice, and Ishmael, smiling, radiant and unsuspicious, came in search
of Miss Tourneysee, who accepted his hand for the dance without an
instant's hesitation.

"Do you know"--inquired Miss Tourneysee, with a little curiosity to
ascertain whether there was any mutual enmity between Burghe and
Ishmael--"do you know who that Captain Burghe is that danced the last
quadrille with me?"

"Yes; he is the son of the late Commodore Burghe, who was a gallant
officer, a veteran of 1812, and did good service during the last War of
Independence," said Ishmael generously, uttering not one word against
his implacable foe.

Miss Tourneysee looked at him wistfully and inquired: "Is the son as
good a man as the father?"

"I have not known Captain Burghe since we were at school together."

"I do not like him. I do not think he is a gentleman," said Miss
Tourneysee.

Ishmael did not reply. It was not his way to speak even deserved evil of
the absent.

But Miss Tourneysee drew a mental comparison between the meanness of
Alfred's conduct and the nobility of Ishmael's. And the dance succeeded
the conversation.

Claudia remained sitting on the sofa beside Mrs. Middleton, until at the
close of the dance, when she was rejoined by the viscount, who did not
leave her again during the evening.

The early summer nights were short, and so it was near the dawn when the
company separated.

The party as a whole had been the most splendid success of the season.

CHAPTER LXII.

FOILED MALICE.

Through good report and ill report,
The true man goes his way,
Nor condescends to pay his court
To what the vile may say:
Aye, be the scandal what they will,
And whisper what they please,
They do but fan his glory still
By whistling up a breeze.

--_M.F. Tupper_.

The family slept late next day, and the breakfast was put back to the
luncheon hour, when at length they all, with one exception, assembled
around the table.

"Where is Mr. Worth?" inquired the judge.

"He took a cup of coffee and went to the courthouse at the usual