ey me. Miss Rhoda, I
say again, go down to the music-room."

"Remain where you are, Rhoda," said Mrs. Marston again. "Mademoiselle;
you have long been acting as if your object were to provoke me to part
with you. I find it impossible any longer to overlook this grossly
disrespectful conduct; conduct of which I had, indeed, believed you
absolutely incapable. Willett," she continued, addressing the maid, who
was evidently bursting with rage at the scene she had just witnessed,
"your master is, I believe, in the library; go down, and tell him that I
entreat him to come here immediately."

The maid started on her mission with angry alacrity, darting a venomous
glance at the handsome Frenchwoman as she passed.

Mademoiselle de Barras, meanwhile, sate, listless and defiant, in her
chair, and tapping her little foot with angry excitement upon the floor.
Rhoda sate close by her mother, holding her hand fast, and looking
frightened, perplexed, and as if she were on the point of weeping. Mrs.
Marston, though flushed and excited, yet maintained her dignified and
grave demeanor. And thus, in silence, did they all three await the
arrival of the arbiter to whom Mrs. Marston had so promptly appealed.

A few minutes more, and Marston entered the room. Mademoiselle's
expression changed as he did so to one of dejected and sorrowful
submission; and, as Marston's eye lighted upon her, his brow darkened and
his face grew pale.

"Well, well--what is it?--What is all this?" he said, glancing with a
troubled eye from one to the other. "Speak, someone. Mrs. Marston, you
sent for me; what is it?"

"I want to know, Mr. Marston, from your own lips," said the lady, in
reply, "whether Rhoda is to obey me or Mademoiselle de Barras?"

"Bah!--A question of women's prerogative," said Marston, with muttered
vehemence.

"Of a wife's and a mother's prerogative, Richard," said Mrs. Marston,
with gentle emphasis. "A very simple question, and one I should have
thought needing no deliberation to decide it."

"Well, child," sad he, turning to Rhoda, with angry irony, "pray what is
all this fuss about? You are a very ill used young lady, I dare aver.
Pray what cruelties does Mademoiselle de Barras propose inflicting upon
you, that you need to appeal thus to your mother for protection?"

"You quite mistake me, Richard," interposed Mrs. Marston; "Rhoda is
perfectly passive in the matter. I simply wish to learn from you, in
mademoiselle's presence, whet