in vain for one moment's private conversation. Mrs. Scudder was
immovable in her motherly kindness, sitting there, smiling and chatting
with him, but never stirring from her place by Mary.

Madame de Frontignac was out of all patience, and determined, in her
small way, to do something to discompose the fixed state of things. So,
retreating to her room, she contrived, in very desperation, to upset
and break a water-pitcher, shrieking violently in French and English at
the deluge which came upon the sanded floor and the little piece of
carpet by the bedside.

What housekeeper's instincts are proof against the crash of breaking
china?

Mrs. Scudder fled from her seat, followed by Miss Prissy.

"Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro," while Mary sat quiet as a
statue, bending over her sewing, and James, knowing that it must be now
or never, was, like a flash, in the empty chair by her side, with his
black moustache very near to the bent brown head.

"Mary," he said, "you _must_ let me see you once more. All is not said,
is it? Just hear me,--hear me once alone!"

"Oh, James, I am too weak!--I dare not!--I am afraid of myself!"

"You think," he said, "that you _must_ take this course, because it is
right. But _is_ it right? Is it right to marry one man, when you love
another better? I don't put this to your inclination, Mary,--I know it
would be of no use,--I put it to your conscience."