carried off! Well acted!" he retorted with a sneer.

"You do not accept the proposal," said Irene, growing a little
sterner of aspect. "Very well. I scarcely hoped that you would meet
me on this even ground. Why should I have hoped it? Were the
antecedents encouraging? No! But I am sorry. Ah, well! Husbands are
free to go and come at their own sweet will--to associate with
anybody and everybody. But wives--oh dear!"

She tossed her head in a wild, scornful way, as if on the verge of
being swept from her feet by some whirlwind of passion.

"And so," said her husband, after a long silence, "you do not choose
to answer my questions as to Major Willard?"

That was unwisely pressed. In her heart of hearts Irene loathed this
man. His name was an offence to her. Never, since the night he had
forced himself into her carriage, had she even looked into his face.
If he appeared in the room where she happened to be, she did not
permit her eyes to rest upon his detested countenance. If he drew
near to her, she did not seem to notice his presence. If he spoke to
her, as he had ventured several times to do, she paid no regard to
him whatever. So far as any response or manifestation of feeling on
her part was concerned, it was as if his voice had not reached her
ears. The very thought of this man was a foul thing in her mind. No
wonder that the repeated reference by her husband was felt as a
stinging insult.

"If you dare to mention that name again in connection with mine,"
she said, turning almost fiercely upon him, "I will--"

She caught the words and held them back in the silence of her wildly
reeling thoughts.

"Say on!"

Emerson was cool, but not sane. It was madness to press his excited
young wife now. Had he lost sense and discrimination? Could he not
see, in her strong, womanly indignation, the signs of innocence?
Fool! fool! to thrust sharply at her now!

"My father!" came in a sudden gush of strong feeling from the lips
of Irene, as the thought of him whose name was thus ejaculated came
into her mind. She struck her hands together, and stood like one in
wild bewilderment. "My father!" she added, almost mournfully; "oh,
that I had never left you!"

"It would have been better for you and better for me." No, he was
not sane, else would no such words have fallen from his lips.

Irene, with a slight start and a slight change in the expression of
her countenance, looked up at her husband:

"You think so?" Emerson w