"All that talk of yours, Miriam, about 'Hamlet,' 'Elsinore,' 'Wittenberg,' and the 'fiery Dane,' probably imposed on those two unsophisticated men; but I saw through the whole proceeding; you were afraid of yourself, my dear, that was evident, and ashamed, as you ought to have been, of your capricious conduct to poor Claude, who shows, however, as uncompromising a spirit as your own, I perceive. What was the matter, Miriam? I can get nothing out of him, and I have waited, until my patience is exhausted, for a voluntary communication from you."
"Why have you not asked me before, Evelyn?" I questioned, calmly, in reply. "You have shown more than your usual forbearance, on this occasion."
"My dear child, 'Least said is soonest mended,' is proverbial in quarrels of all kinds. I have no wish to pry or play mischief-maker, and, if Mr. Basil Bainrothe with his diplomatic talents could do nothing to mend the difficulty, I had no right to suppose that I could succeed better, with my very direct, straightforward disposition."
"You were right, Evelyn, certainly, in your conclusion, and, if you please, will never ask for any explanation of the breach between Claude and myself. It is irrevocable; but I am sorry to see him so resentful. He cannot conceal his displeasure against me, and yet I have never offended him willingly, I am sure."
"Caprice and coquetry are not so lightly estimated by every one, as you hold them, nor yet counted causes for gratitude by most men, let me assure you, Miriam."
"Who has accused me of these?" I questioned, with a flashing eye, a flushing cheek.
"Does your own heart acquit you?" she asked, evasively.
"It does," I answered, solemnly, "as does the God who reads all hearts, and to whom I am now alone answerable for any motives of mine."
"Since when have you grown so independent, Miriam?" she asked, ironically.
"Since the death of my father," I replied.