h party rode up, instead of catching Washington
they caught hell. And I leave it to you, sir, whether your daughter
there, after playing the traitor to her husband's cause, for the sake
of her lover; didn't turn around and play the traitor to her own game,
for the benefit of her husband, and the ruin of her brother. Such
damnableness!"

"'For the sake of her lover,'" Mr. Faringfield repeated. "What do you
mean by that, sir?" The phrase, indeed, had given us all a
disagreeable start.

"What I say, sir. How could he be otherwise? I guessed it before; and
I became sure of it this evening, from the way he spoke of her at
General Knyphausen's quarters."

"What a lie!" cried Margaret. "Captain Falconer is a gentleman; he's
not of a kind to talk about women who have given him no reason to do
so. 'Tis ridiculous! You maligning villain!"

"Oh, 'twasn't what he said, my dear; 'twas his manner whenever he
mentioned you. When a man like him handles a woman's name so
delicate-like, as if 'twas glass and might break--so grave-like, as if
she was a sacred subject--it means she's put herself on his
generosity."

Margaret affected a derisive laugh, as at her brother's pretensions to
wisdom.

"Oh, I know all the stages," he continued, watching her with a
malicious calmness of self-confidence. "When gentry of his sort are
first struck with a lady, but not very deep, they speak out their
admiration bold and gallant; when they find they're hit seriously, but
haven't made sure of her, they speak of her with make-believe
carelessness or mere respect: they don't like to show how far gone
they are. But when she's come to an understanding with 'em, and put
'em under obligations and responsibilities--it's only then they touch
her name so tender and considerate, as if it was so fragile. But that
stage doesn't last for ever, my young lady--bear that in mind!"

"You insolent wretch!" said Margaret, ready to cry with rage and
confusion.

"This is outrageous," ventured Mrs. Faringfield, daring to look her
indignation at Ned. "William, how can you tolerate such things said
about your daughter?"

But Mr. Faringfield had been studying his daughter's countenance all
the while. Alas for Margaret, she had never given pains to the art of
dissimulation, or taken the trouble to learn hypocrisy, or even
studied self-control: a negligence common to beauties, who rely upon
their charms to carry them through all emergencies without resort to
shifts.