"Then I will not oppress you with my society," I said, with a feint to rise.
"Sit still, Miriam, and don't be foolish. You know what I mean, very well. Now, how do you like my son?"
"Oh, very much indeed; he is a little satirical, though, now and then; intolerant of youthful greenness, I perceive, and enthusiasm."
"All affectation, I assure you. He is as verdant himself as the Emerald Isle. Just from college, and very young; what can he know of life? As to enthusiasm, he is full of it."
"True, what can he know of life," I mused, and I glanced at him, as I questioned, sitting in front of Evelyn in a sort of humble, devoted way, very different from his easy, knightly air with me. She wore a cold, imperious expression of face not unbecoming to her haughty style of beauty, and fanned herself gently as she listened carelessly to his evidently earnest words, bowing superciliously in answer from time to time.
"The desire of the moth for the star," burst from my lips involuntarily.
"Nothing of the kind," said Mr. Bainrothe, quietly. "If Evelyn Erie were the last of her sex, he never could fancy her. She is much too old for my son, much too artificial; and, beautiful as she is, she wants some nameless charm, without which no woman ever secures the abiding love of man;" adding, abruptly, after a little pause, "That charm is yours, Miriam."
"How strangely you talk, Mr. Bainrothe!" I replied, with evident embarrassment, which he pretended not to perceive.
"Had you remained one year longer at school, there would have been no grace, no perfection wanting. I am sorry to see you thrown so young, so unprotected, on the waves of society, as you must be soon."
"Oh, not necessarily. I rarely come into the parlor when Evelyn receives, rarely go to parties, and my studies are as dear to me as they ever were. Besides, Mabel absorbs much of my time, and I am quite infatuated with my new accomplishment."