us that an invisible barrier was rising from that hour, never
to be put aside.

CHAPTER IV.

For a discarded lover heartlessly played with, as she herself confessed
he had been, Claude Bainrothe bore himself very proudly and calmly in
Evelyn Erle's presence, I thought. At first, there was a shade of
coolness, of pique even in my own manner toward him as the memory of
Evelyn's insinuations rose between us; but after the lapse of a few
weeks all thought of this kind was put away, and he was received with a
pleasure as undisguised, as it was innocent and undesigning on my part.

The repugnant idea of succeeding to Evelyn in his affections had stifled
the very germs of coquetry, and my manner to him was unmistakable; nor
was it without evident dissatisfaction that Mr. Basil Bainrothe surveyed
the ruin of his hopes.

A sudden and painful change took place about midsummer in Claude's
manner toward me (with Evelyn it was uniform). He became cold,
restrained, embarrassed in his intercourse with me, hitherto so frank
and brotherly. He made his visits shorter and at last at greater
intervals; yet I knew, through others, that he remained strictly at
home, eschewing all places of amusement, all society--"all occupation
even," as Mr. Basil Bainrothe himself complained.

"I can't think what has got into Claude lately," he said to my father
one day at our dinner-table. "The boy mopes. He is in love, I believe,
but with whom I can't conjecture," and he glanced askance at Evelyn and
me.--"Can you assist me, ladies?"

"Not with me, I assure you," said Evelyn, proudly. "That measure has
been trodden, and the dance is over."

"Nor with me," I faltered, for the careless words had struck to my
heart. "That fancy dance has yet to be solicited. We both plead
innocent, you see, Mr. Bainrothe," and I tried to laugh, but the
glittering, kaleidoscopic eye was fixed upon me, and my face was
crimson.

"Never _blush_, Miriam," whispered Evelyn, maliciously, "it makes you
look the color of a new mahogany bedstead. You are best pale, child.
Always remember that."

"It must be with Miss Stanbury, then," said Mr. Bainrothe, evasively.
"She is a very pretty girl, and I don't wonder at Claude's infatuation.
The old man is rich, too; it will answer very well, I think. What do you
say, Mr. Monfort."

"Well, really, I think Claude could scarcely do better," rejoined my
ever literal father. "She is an admirable young person, pious, and
di