ill less would she give her proud rival a chance to wound her again.
Miss Wildmere might make Graydon's devotion as ostentatious as she
pleased, but should never again detect on Madge's face a look of
pained surprise and solicitude.

She made a careful toilet for the evening, telling Mr. Muir and her
sister not to wait for her, as she had overslept herself.

"Where is Madge?" Graydon asked, at the supper-table.

"She did not wake up in time to come down with us," Mrs. Muir replied.
"What does it matter? Miss Wildmere so fills your eyes that you see no
one else. When is it to be, Graydon?"

"Madge evidently sees quite as much of me as she cares to," he
replied, somewhat irritably. "I have not asked when it's to be or
whether it's to be at all. I suppose," he added, satirically, "that in
consideration of my extreme youth I should obtain permission from my
family before venturing to ask anything."

"That remark is absurd and uncalled for," Mr. Muir replied, gravely.
"Of course you will please yourself, as I did, and we shall make the
best of it. But you have no right to expect that we shall see the lady
with your eyes. I cannot help seeing her as she is. I do not like her,
but if you choose to marry her, rest assured I shall give neither of
you cause for complaint. Now, according to my custom, I've had my say.
You could not expect me, as your brother, to be indifferent; still
less could I pretend an approval that I don't feel; but I recognize
that you are as free as I was when Mary's suitor, and I do not think
you can reasonably ask more. Our relations are too intimate for
misunderstanding. You know that, in my present plans and hopes, I
looked forward to receiving you as a partner at no distant time, if
such purposes are carried out our interests must always be identical."

"Pardon me, Henry," said Graydon, warmly, "and do not misunderstand my
hasty words. I know you have my best welfare at heart--you have ever
proved that--but you misjudge my choice. Even Mary begins to see that
you do, and woman's insight is keener than man's. You attribute to the
daughter the qualities you dislike in the father. Is it nothing that
she has waited for me during my long absence, when she could pick and
choose from so many?"

"I'm not sure she has been waiting for you; her manner toward Mr.
Arnault yonder suggests that she may still pick and choose."

"Bah! I'm not afraid of him. She could have taken him long since had
she so wish