nly exists at a very large
dinner table.

"I am sorry," he said, pleadingly.

"So am I," she answered. "Very--oh, you think I mean that to be
pleasant in that way, too----"

She hastily averted her face, and engaged vigorously in conversation
with the man on the other side. Leeds stared moodily before him.
During the passing of the many courses which Mrs. Gunnison's idea of
fitting ceremony demanded, the lady whom he had taken in found him
neither communicative nor responsive. The dinner dragged on. Miss
Whiting's soft right shoulder remained constantly turned on him. Her
discourses, which he could not help hearing, continued actively and
unceasingly. At last Mrs. Gunnison darted restless glances about. She
had already begun to stir uneasily in her chair.

Miriam suddenly veered round upon him.

"I want to tell you something," she almost whispered. "What I
said--what I tried to say this afternoon was true."

He looked at her with fixed earnestness.

"Oh!" she cried, passionately. "I can't bear to have you study me as
if I were a specimen of something--of mendacity, you think. But no
matter about that. You must believe me. Don't you?"

"How can I," he answered, slowly, "with----"

"With my reputation," she caught up, quickly, as he paused. "Do not
try to spare me--now. Can't you hear--can't you see, now, that I am
speaking the truth?"

He gazed at her without answering.

"Oh, I can read in your eyes that you do not. I want you to believe
me. Can't you believe--even that?"

He shook his head half smilingly.

"You do not know all that I have heard," he answered.

"Who can have been so unfair--so cruel? I--I never wanted to be
believed so before. Oh, you think that is only a part of it; that the
habit is so strong with me--that I am only flattering."

"If I have been--warned," Leeds continued.

"As if I were a peril--an evil----"

"Perhaps you might be," he muttered.

"I will not bear it. You _shall_ believe me. I am not flattering."

"At least, that you should have been willing to take the trouble to
try was in itself a distinction."

"You are hard on me."

"I must protect myself."

Mrs. Gunnison had arisen, and a rustling stir was spreading down the
table.

"I am not a harpy," she cried.

"A siren was a bird more beautiful, but not less dangerous," he said.

She rose straightly and swiftly.

"You feel that you can speak to me like that because you believe I am
what you think. Very well.