Ida was surprised that Mr. Ashlin requested a presentation to herself, and still more at the pertinacity with which he cultivated the acquaintance he must see she did not desire. He triumphed over her prejudice, inveterate as she had thought it. His air of deep interest—the admiration, too respectful to be conveyed in words, which spoke in every look and action, were dangerous flattery, and Ida was not invulnerable. But in reviewing the events of the evening, distrust obscured the pleasing recollection of his captivating address and the magic of his eloquence. Why was it bestowed upon her—a stranger, and so little attractive in her appearance? Why, especially, should he have asked permission to call? He knew Mrs. Read, and to her the application should, in etiquette, have been made. There was a vague apprehension hanging over her—a foreboding, for which she could assign no cause. He called, as he had promised, "at an early day." The family were collected in Mr. Read's room, when his card was brought to the lady of the house.
"Mr. Ashlin," she read. "Whom did he ask for, John?"
"The ladies, ma'am."
"Very well. Josephine, I will thank you and Miss Ida to receive him, and excuse me."
"Excuse me, if you please!" answered Josephine, bridling. "I scarcely know the gentleman, and do not covet the honour."
"Miss Ida?" said Mrs. Read, inquiringly.
"Why not go down with me, ma'am? Are you indisposed?"
"You need not say so—I am engaged. I really wish it," she added, for Ida was undecided.
"Then I will go," said she, with a sensation of infinite relief.
Josephine followed her out. "Beware, my lady-like Tartuffe!" hissed she, sneering in baffled malignity. "You are mixing yourself up in a scrape which will not reflect much credit upon the elect."