pudent stare at the two sisters, whose dress imposed no restraint upon
her insolence, mademoiselle flounced past. "Come along, girls," said
Dalton, angrily, and offended that he should appear to his children
as if wanting in worldly tact and knowledge "come with me;" and he
proceeded boldly up stairs.

A folding-door lay open before them into a large chamber, littered with
boxes, trunks, and travelling gear of all kinds. Making his way through
these, while he left his daughters outside, Dalton approached a
door that led into an inner room, and knocked sharply at it with his
knuckles.

"You may take it away now; I 've used cold water!" cried a voice from
within, that at once proclaimed Dr. Grounsell.

Dalton repeated his summons more confidently.

"Go to the devil, I say," cried the doctor; "you've made me cut my
chin;" and the enraged Grouusell, with his face covered with lather,
and streaming with blood, flung open the door in a passion. "Oh, Dalton,
this you, and the ladies here!" said he, springing back ashamed, as
Kate's hearty burst of laughter greeted him. "Come in, Dalton, come in,"
said he, dragging the father forward and shutting the door upon him. "I
was longing to see you, man; I was just thinking how I could have five
minutes' talk with you. What answer have you given to the letter they
've sent you?"

"What d' ye think?" said Dalton, jocularly, as he seated himself in a
comfortable chair.

"What do I think?" repeated he, twice or thrice over. "Egad, I don't
know what to think! I only know what to hope, and wish it may have
been!"

"And what's that?" said Dalton, with a look of almost sternness, for he
was not ignorant of the doctor's sentiments on the subject.

"A refusal, of course," said Grounsell, who never yet was deterred by a
look, a sign, or an innuendo, from any expression of his sentiments.

"And why so, sir?" rejoined Dalton, warmly.

"On every ground in the world: What has your fine, generous-hearted,
dear child in common with that vile world of envy, malice, and all
wickedness you 'd throw her amongst? What similarity in thought,
feeling, or instinct between her and that artificial class with whom you
would associate her, with their false honor, false principle, and false
delicacy nothing real and substantial about them but their wickedness?
If you were a silly woman, like the mother in the 'Vicar of Wakefield,'
I could forgive you; but a man a hardened, worldly man, that has tasted