her, and his face displayed solicitude, which
soon passed, however, into a smile of sarcasm.

'The gentleman's word no doubt has weight with you.'

'Father, what do you mean?' broke from Marian, whose eyes of a sudden
flashed stormily. 'Would Mr Milvain tell me a lie?'

'I shouldn't like to say that it is impossible,' replied her father in
the same tone as before.

'But--what right have you to insult him so grossly?'

'I have every right, my dear child, to express an opinion about him
or any other man, provided I do it honestly. I beg you not to strike
attitudes and address me in the language of the stage. You insist on my
speaking plainly, and I have spoken plainly. I warned you that we were
not likely to agree on this topic.'

'Literary quarrels have made you incapable of judging honestly in
things such as this. I wish I could have done for ever with the hateful
profession that so poisons men's minds.'

'Believe me, my girl,' said her father, incisively, 'the simpler thing
would be to hold aloof from such people as use the profession in a
spirit of unalloyed selfishness, who seek only material advancement, and
who, whatever connection they form, have nothing but self-interest in
view.'

And he glared at her with much meaning. Marian--both had remained
standing all through the dialogue--cast down her eyes and became lost in
brooding.

'I speak with profound conviction,' pursued her father, 'and, however
little you credit me with such a motive, out of desire to guard you
against the dangers to which your inexperience is exposed. It is perhaps
as well that you have afforded me this--'

There sounded at the house-door that duplicated double-knock which
generally announces the bearer of a telegram. Yule interrupted himself,
and stood in an attitude of waiting. The servant was heard to go along
the passage, to open the door, and then return towards the study. Yes,
it was a telegram. Such despatches rarely came to this house; Yule tore
the envelope, read its contents, and stood with gaze fixed upon the slip
of paper until the servant inquired if there was any reply for the boy
to take with him.

'No reply.'

He slowly crumpled the envelope, and stepped aside to throw it into the
paper-basket. The telegram he laid on his desk. Marian stood all
the time with bent head; he now looked at her with an expression of
meditative displeasure.

'I don't know that there's much good in resuming our conversation,' he
sa