cold, imperious expression of face not unbecoming to her haughty style
of beauty, and fanned herself gently as she listened carelessly to his
evidently earnest words, bowing superciliously in answer from time to
time.

"The desire of the moth for the star," burst from my lips involuntarily.

"Nothing of the kind," said Mr. Bainrothe, quietly. "If Evelyn Erie were
the last of her sex, _he_ never could fancy _her_. She is much too old
for my son, much too artificial; and, beautiful as she is, she wants
some nameless charm, without which no woman ever secures the abiding
love of man;" adding, abruptly, after a little pause, "_That charm is
yours, Miriam_."

"How strangely you talk, Mr. Bainrothe!" I replied, with evident
embarrassment, which he pretended not to perceive.

"Had you remained one year longer at school, there would have been no
grace, no perfection wanting. I am sorry to see you thrown so young, so
unprotected, on the waves of society, as you must be soon."

"Oh, not necessarily. I rarely come into the parlor when Evelyn
receives, rarely go to parties, and my studies are as dear to me as they
ever were. Besides, Mabel absorbs much of my time, and I am quite
infatuated with my new accomplishment."

"What is that, Miriam?"

"I am studying elocution, learning to read with Mr. Mortimer--you have
heard of him--and he is pleased, so far, with my success. It is a very