"Heaven forbid!" cried Sir Oswald, proudly. "He is a gentleman."
Her face flushed hotly for some minutes, and then the flush died away, leaving her paler than ever.
"I consider artists and writers gentlemen," she retorted—"gentlemen of a far higher stamp than those to whom fortune has given money and nature has denied brains."
Another time a sharp argument would have resulted from the throwing down of such a gantlet. Sir Oswald had something else in view, so he allowed the speech to pass.
"It will be a great pleasure for me to see my old friend's son again," he said. "I hope, Pauline, you will help me to make his visit a pleasant one."
"What can I do?" she asked, brusquely.
"What a question!" laughed Sir Oswald. "Say, rather, what can you not do? Talk to him, sing to him. Your voice is magnificent, and would give any one the greatest pleasure. You can ride out with him."
"If he is a clever, sensible man, I can do all that you mention; if not, I shall not trouble myself about him. I never could endure either tiresome or stupid people."
"My young friend is not likely to prove either," said Sir Oswald, angrily; and Miss Hastings wondered in her heart what the result of it all would be.
That same evening Miss Darrell talked of Captain Langton, weaving many bright fancies concerning him.