Olivia. But I did my best to comfort my
mother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement,
if possible.

"Pray, may I be informed as to what is the matter now?" broke in a
satirical, cutting voice--the voice of my father. It roused us both--my
mother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronic
state of irritation which his presence always provoked in me.

"Not much, sir," I answered, coldly; "only my marriage with my cousin
Julia is broken off."

"Broken off!" he ejaculated--"broken off!"

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.

THE DOBREES' GOOD NAME.

My father's florid face looked almost as rigid and white as my mother's
had done. He stood in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand (for it had
grown quite dark while my mother and I were talking), and the light
shone full upon his changed face. His hand shook violently, so I took
the lamp from him and set it down on the table.

"Go down to Mrs. Murray," he said, turning savagely upon my mother. "How
could you be so rude as to leave her? She talks of going away. Let her
go as soon as she likes. I shall stay here with Martin."

"I did not know I had been away so long," she answered, meekly, and
looking deprecatingly from the one to the other of us.--"You will not
quarrel with your father, Martin, if I leave you, will you?" This she
whispered in my ear, in a beseeching tone.

"Not if I can help it, mother," I replied, also in a whisper.

"Now, confound it!" cried Dr. Dobree, after she had gone, slowly and
reluctantly, and looking back at the door to me--"now just tell me
shortly all about this nonsense of yours. I thought some quarrel was up,
when Julia did not come home to dinner. Out with it, Martin."

"As I said before, there is not much to tell," I answered. "I was
compelled in honor to tell Julia I loved another woman more than
herself; and I presume, though I am not sure, she will decline to become
my wife."

"In love with another woman!" repeated my father, with a long whistle,
partly of sympathy, and partly of perplexity. "Who is it, my son?"

"That is of little moment," I said, having no desire whatever to confide
the story to him. "The main point is that it's true, and I told Julia
so, this afternoon."

"Good gracious, Martin!" he cried, "what accursed folly! What need was
there to tell her of any little peccadillo, if you could conceal it? Why
did you not come to me for advice? Julia is a prude, like your mother.