Le was still walking up and down on the porch, when Mr. Force rode up, followed by his mounted groom.

He did not see Le, who was partly shaded by the bare tangle of the climbing rose vines on the trelliswork.

He threw himself out of his saddle, threw his bridle to his groom, and came up the steps.

“Ho, my boy!” he shouted, as he caught sight of the youth. “Is that you, really? Welcome! welcome! I am delighted to see you!”

And he seized Le by both hands, and shook them heartily.

“When did you get home?” he continued, in the same cordial tone.

“Only this morning,” answered Le, trying to command himself, for the sudden sight of Odalite’s father and the jubilant cordiality of his address nearly upset the poor fellow’s balance.

Had his uncle no feeling, knowing, as he must know, that he, Le, had come home joyfully expecting to marry Odalite, only to meet with a bitter disappointment?

“Come into the parlor! Come into the parlor! It is too cold out here! You look quite blue! Come in, and let’s get a better view of you!” continued Mr. Force, leading the way into the house, followed by Le.

In the hall he threw off his riding coat, drew off his long, India rubber boots, and then entered the parlor, which was on the opposite side from Mrs. Force’s sitting room.

It was a medium-sized, wainscoted room, with two front windows and one side window. It was carpeted and upholstered in dark crimson, and had a large, open wood fire burning in the ample chimney.

“Take that chair! I’ll take this,” said Mr. Force, pushing one armchair toward Le with his foot, and throwing himself into the other.

Thus they sat in opposite corners.

“Now tell me! When did your ship get into port?”

“Yesterday morning, and I hurried immediately down here to see—to see my—to—to—meet the bitterest disappointment of my life, Uncle Abel!” said the youth, faltering, hesitating, but determined to come to the point at last.

“Oh, come, come! Tut, tut, tut! She was only a child when you went away, if you are referring to Odalite!” said Mr. Force, in a cheery tone.

“Yes, Uncle Abel, I am referring to Odalite, and speaking of the most heartbreaking disappointment that ever crushed a man,” said the youth.

“Nonsense, dear lad! You know nothing of heartbreaking troubles of any sort, or you would not magnify this one! You will get over it in a month.”

“It was the cherished love and hope and faith of years.”

“A dream, my boy, of which this is the awakening. A dream, in which I, too, shared! Le, lad, you must know that I am just as much disappointed as you can be! It was the desire of my life that you and Odalite should marry, and in time succeed us here, and make the two great manors of Mondreer and Greenbushes into one mammoth estate. I am disappointed in this. And if I ever permitted myself to grieve over the inevitable, I should feel very sorry for myself as well as for you!”

“It was so sudden, so unexpected! Why, her last letter to me, received at Spezzia, and written not two months ago, was so kind! She must have changed very quickly,” said poor Le.

“No, I think it must have been gradually. I think she was deeply infatuated before she realized her state. And then I know she struggled, poor, dear child!—struggled until she nearly broke her heart—to keep faithful to you and to please me. It was only from her suitor that I heard at last of her distress. Then, as she meekly left her fate entirely in my hands, I conquered my own ambition and told the child to follow the dictates of her own heart. What else could a father do? But even now, though she has her own way in this matter, she is not content! She frets about you, Le!”

“Oh! and this is the gentle, tender creature whom I could reproach so fiercely—dog that I was!” said Le, who seemed to feel the necessity of confession to poor Odalite’s parents.

“You, Le?”

“Yes, I! When she made me understand that she had broken her engagement with me and had promised to marry that Englishman, I tell you, Uncle Abel, I went on at her like a raving maniac! Satan took possession of me! I—could bang out my own brains against the wall, when I think of it!”

“Don’t! It would spoil the paper, and do nobody any good but the coroner and the undertaker! It was inevitable that you should have gone into a passion, Le! Your provocation would have upset a doctor of divinity, if it had taken him by surprise. Think no more of it, my boy! I dare say she has forgiven it!”

“She! the blessed child! She never once resented it—that is what kills me! She never opened her lips in self-defense, or self-excuse! Oh, I could beat my——”

“Pray, don’t, I say! It would make a mess in a tidy parlor! I dare say she thought she was without any excuse for disappointing you and me of our pet plan, and all for the sake of that puncheon of an Englishman! But girls are weak vessels. I never knew one worth having, except my own noble wife! But perhaps she has spoiled me for appreciating any other woman, even my own daughter.”

“Yes, Aunt Elfrida is the most excellent of the earth, I do believe,” assented Le; but without the interest in the subject which the words might have implied.

“The most perfect woman in person, soul and spirit that ever was created!”

“Who is ‘the most perfect woman in person, soul and spirit that ever was created’?” inquired a voice behind them.

Mr. Force turned and saw Col. Anglesea approaching them.

Both the gentlemen, who were seated, immediately arose.

Mr. Force presented his young relative to his guest.

The midshipman and the colonel bowed coldly and stiffly, while they eyed each other with ill-repressed antagonism.

“Who is ‘the most perfect woman in person, soul and spirit that ever was created’?” again queried Col. Anglesea, as the party seated themselves around the fire.

“My wife,” answered Abel Force.

Angus Anglesea threw back his head and laughed aloud—then recovering himself, said—to one who, unseen, had just joined the group: “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Force! I really could not help laughing, to hear your good husband praise you so—unconsciously—before your face! You know.”

“I did not know that Elfrida was there,” said Mr. Force, half offended at—he knew not what!—something that he vaguely perceived, but could not specify.

Mrs. Force had turned deadly pale, and her lips were compressed and her blue eyes glittering as she took her seat.

It was fortunate, at that moment, that Miss Meeke and the two younger girls entered the parlor, simultaneously with the ringing of the dinner bell.

Mrs. Force arose and took the arm of the young midshipman and led the way to the dining room, followed by the party.

“I hope Miss Force is not indisposed,” said Col. Anglesea, missing Odalite from her place at the table.

“She does not feel very well, but may perhaps join us in the drawing room,” said Mrs. Force, as they all took their seats around the board.

Mr. Force sought to enliven the meal with gay conversation, but signally failed.

Col. Anglesea affected to treat the young midshipman with great condescension, but equally failed; for Le ignored and disregarded him to the verge of actual rudeness—either not hearing his remarks or else answering them in monosyllables and giving all his attention to his little cousins, Wynnette and Elva, who were seated, by their own choice, the one on his right and the other on his left.

Mrs. Force did not attempt to converse, and Miss Meeke, chilled by the social coldness around her, kept silence.

In less than an hour the uncomfortable meal was over and the party withdrew to the drawing room.

Le then arose to bid them good-night.

“No, no, Leonidas, my lad! Don’t go! Not yet, at least. Wait; I have something to say to you. Excuse me, friends! Come into the library with me, Le,” said Mr. Force, rising, drawing the arm of the younger man within his own and passing out.

When they reached the little book room in the rear of Mrs. Force’s sitting room, and which the family dignified by the name of library, Mr. Force said:

“Sit down, Le.” And taking a seat himself, pushed another to his companion.

“Now, Le,” he said, when both were seated, “where were you going?”

“To Greenbushes, of course. I ought to be there to look after my property.”

“Yes, yes; but Beever don’t expect you to-night and has not got things ready for you; and besides it is too late. Don’t leave us to-night, Le. Don’t hurry away! Your doing so would hurt Odalite. She would think she had driven you away.”

“Well, then, I will not go. I have hurt Odalite enough. If my going would hurt her I would stay here and stand that ruffian’s insolence until he takes her away. I beg your pardon, uncle, for calling your intended son-in-law a ruffian.”

“Oh, fire away, my lad! You have every right to swear! I feel like joining you.”

“His insolence in laughing when you praised my aunt so much!”

“But I did not praise her above her merits. Why, just look at her, Le! Nearly forty years old, and the very handsomest woman in the country, and as noble and perfect in mind as in person!”

“Yes; and he laughed!”

“Look here, Le. You know he was a brother officer of my wife’s brother, and an old friend of hers. Now, I’ll tell you what, I often think that he was a rejected suitor of Lady Elfrida Glennon. And the memory of it makes him sore and sarcastic at times. Many little things in their intercourse makes me think that sometimes. Bear with him, Le, as I shall do, for Odalite’s sake. Now shall we return to the drawing room?”

“If you please.”