to take up cudgels for every outsider that your sister mentions, as you
do. She is afraid to speak her mind before you, for fear of a fuss."

"I hate deceit," I said, wiping my eyes; "and deceitful people, too. I
love my friends behind their backs the same as to their faces--just the
same."

"What makes you mock Mr. Bainrothe then, and show how he minces at
table, and uses his rattan?" she asked.

"Mr. Bainrothe is not my friend; besides, I said no harm of him. I don't
love him, and never will, and he knows it."

"Were you rude enough to tell him so, Miriam?"

"No, but he understands very well. I never mimic any one I love."

"Yet you love that rough, old Mr. Gerald Stanbury, as cross as a cur.
What taste!"

"Yes, from my heart I love him. He is good, he is true, he is noble;
that is what he is. He has no specks in his eyes. He does not say, 'Just
so,' whenever papa opens his lips."

"O Miriam! not to like him for that!"

"No; that is just why I _don't_ like him. He has no mind of his own--or
maybe he has two minds. Mamma thinks so, I know."

"She has told you so, I suppose?"