“What a question,” she said, smiling, “to tempt me to betray my cousin’s secrets, if she had any, but candidly I must admit that as yet I know none.  It is a strange fancy, but I often think Ellen will be an old maid.”

“Why, is she so precise, so prim, so opinionated, so crabbed?  For shame, Emmeline, even to hint such a thing.”

“Nay, St. Eval, the shame is rather yours, for daring to associate such terms with a single woman.  To go through life alone, without sympathy, without any call for natural affections, always appears at first sight rather melancholy than otherwise; but why should dislike and prejudice be added to them?  I cannot think that a woman’s remaining unmarried is any proof of her being unamiable.”

“Indeed, I am not so unjust,” said the Earl, smiling; “when old maids conduct themselves properly, I esteem them quite as much and more than some married women.  But still Ellen shall not be an old maid; she is too pretty and too good, and would bless any man who may be happy enough to gain her affections and esteem.  But you, Emmeline, you, surely, will not be an old maid, though you are so warm in their defence.”

“My lot is not in my own hands—­do not speak of that, Eugene,” she said, with a quivering lip; and hastily turning from his gaze, she added, “as you seem to know everybody’s concerns in the room, what are Mrs. Cameron and Florence talking so intently about?”

“On the old subject:  my madcap brother Louis and his sage tutor.  By the bye, Emmy, I have never asked what you think of Myrvin’s conduct in this affair; did he not behave admirably?”

“He did but his duty,” replied Emmeline, firmly.  “He acted but as every man of generous feelings would have done; it was his duty, for he had pledged himself to the care of his pupil, and could he have left him in his sickness?  The dictates of common humanity, the social duties of life would have prevented him.”

“What a pity Florence does not hear you, such calm reasoning would destroy all the glow of romance which she has thrown around these incidents.  But indeed you do not give Myrvin his due, every man does not perform his duty.”

“Every man ought, and when he does not, he is wrong; as when he does, he is right.”

“But this is contrary to your own principle, Emmeline.  What has become of the enthusiasm which once bade you condemn all such cold judgments, such scanty praise?  Once upon a time, you would have looked on such conduct very differently.”

Emmeline turned away, but St. Eval saw her eyes were swimming in tears.  He continued, sportively—­

“Be assured, I will tell Myrvin as soon as I see him.”

“I beg you will not, my lord,” Emmeline said, struggling to retain her calmness; but failing, she added, entreatingly, “dearest Eugene, if you have any regard for me, do not repeat my words; let them pass with the subject, it has engrossed us quite enough.”