"Oh, the very first people send their daughters to St. Mark's. If I were
training a wife for my son, I should educate her there. What higher
eulogium could I bestow, or"--dropping his voice--"what higher
compliment pay you, Miriam?"

"If he were a king's son, you could not speak more confidently," I
rejoined, with inexcusable rudeness. "Remember, too, you are _not_
training a wife for your prince in disguise." But I was annoyed and
irritated by his patronizing manner, and the suspicion that took
possession of me from that time, that he had aided Evelyn in this
conspiracy against my peace for selfish views.

He laughed carelessly and turned away, but I saw triumph in his
variegated eye; yet was I powerless to resent it.

"I am leaving my poor papa bound hand and foot," I thought, "in
designing hands, but I cannot help it. He has chosen for himself, I will
not entreat his affection, his confidence, misplaced as they surely are.
I _cannot_ do this if I would; something stronger than myself binds me
to silence. But O papa, papa! if you only knew how I loved you, you
would not suffer these strangers to take my place, or banish your poor
Miriam so cruelly!"

"Don't let Mabel forget me," were the last words I spoke to Mrs. Austin,
as with a bursting heart I turned from the lovely child I had made
perhaps too much an idol; "and George, let her see George Gaston every
day; it will be a comfort to both." So, choking, I went my way.

I bade Evelyn "good-by" gayly, Mr. Bainrothe superciliously, my father
bitterly, for I felt his ingratitude to my heart's core; and, under dear