145 
THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
“ That counts for little ; there are few girls who 
not make that assertion, especially to their fathers ” a ° 
“ That may be, but I believe she is one of the few who 
mean what they say.” vuo 
“And the few who mean it are thinking of some one 
they cannot have. It is surprising, my clear Cuthbert 
how self-sacrificing we can all be over sour grapes Of 
course, Miss Cuthbert is an exception.” ' 1 
“ She is thinking of Maurice,” was Mr. Calthorpe’s 
private reflection, and he found much consolation in it 
He was elate with triumph when, a few days afterward 
he heard tiiis : ’ 
“ Since the acquittal of that fellow Teddy O’Bryan 
she has twice mentioned Maurice, and gives him the 
whole credit of having rescued that young fool from the 
hangman.” 
But Mr. Calthorpe’s hopes were again dashed to the 
ground when he reported the interesting fact of her 
gratitude to his son. Maurice bluntly repudiated the 
idea that he had anything to do with Teddy’s release; 
and instead of being pleased by the account of her 
gratitude, appeared to be decidedly the reverse. The 
father was too much astounded by this persistent ob¬ 
stinacy to speak at the moment. It was in his eyes such 
a wilful tlu'o wing overboard of fortune that even lunacy 
seemed scarcely to afford sufficient explanation for it. 
“ But why on earth should you not accept the credit 
for it, when it is given to you unasked ? ” was his ex¬ 
clamation when he recovered breath 
“ Because I should not like to appear more ridiculous 
in her eyes than I do already,” was the conclusive re¬ 
joinder. 
Mr. Calthorpe almost lost his temper ; and as no con¬ 
versation in which temper plays a part ever ends satis¬ 
factorily for the person who introduces it, he discreetly 
postponed further discussion. 
If occasion offered he might make another effort to 
bring Maurice to reason, but it should be the last. 
The occasion did offer itself sooner than he could have 
anticipated, and after reading a note he had received by 
the first post one morning, he proceeded to his son’s 
chambers. Arrived there, Mr. Calthorpe put down his 
hat and umbrella, then slowly took off his gloves, which 
he carefully smoothed and placed in the hat. He had 
the air of one who has some serious matter of business 
on his mind, a matter of so much import that it must 
be approached with all possible gravity. 
Maurice was finishing a letter, and asked his father 
to excuse him for a moment, as he was desirous of dis¬ 
patching it at once. 
“Certainly; do not let me interfere with anything 
you are doing, because when you can speak to me I am 
anxious to have your undivided attention.” 
Mr. Calthorpe clasped his hands behind him, walked 
deliberately to the window, and looked out. Maurice 
closed his letter and gave it to a lad who was waiting. 
“ Now, sir, I am quite at your service,” he said briskly, 
as he closed the door and resumed his seat. 
The father turned lois back to the window and faced 
his son. There was a brighter look upon the face than 
he had seen for a long time, and it contrasted singularly 
with the gravity of his own. 
“Do you know what date this is?” he asked quietly. 
“ Wednesday, fourteenth September,” was the prompt 
reply. 
“ Are you aware that in six months I shall have to 
leave Calthorpe ? ” ' , , , „ 
“ I had not forgotten it, sir, but I thought that, so far 
as I was concerned we had spoken our last upon the 
subject unless I should have found the means to enable 
you to retain the place.” , '. 
“ Well, you have not found the means, and, although 
they are. within your reach, you obstinately refuse to 
secure them.” 
Maurice was silent. , . , T B ■, 
“You accept the position so complacently that 1 nua 
it difficult to believe you thoroughly realize all that ti 
means to me.” . 
“Believe me, sir, I have thought of it very anxious y 
and often. But you gave me to understand that > o 
yourself were satisfied that it was beyond my power t 
do as you wished. You gave me to understand that 
you were ready to meet the misfortune with resigna¬ 
tion, since it could not be helped.” 
Mr. Calthorpe took a chair and seated himself oppo¬ 
site his son. 
“ And so I was, and so I am prepared to accept the 
misfortune with resignation—provided it cannot be 
helped. But it is one thing to be content to sink when 
there is no possibility of keeping your head above 
water; it is quite another to resign yourself to going 
down when you see some one near you who has only to 
stretch out his hand to save you from drowning. That 
is precisely our position.” 
“I am afraid I cannot see it exactly in your way.” 
“ I am afraid that I must really lose patience with 
you. Now, my dear Maurice, clo consider how we 
stand from a common-sense point of view. I do not 
pretend to be able to enter into your exalted feelings in 
regard to matrimony, and I certainly do not appreciate 
the course of conduct which they induce you to pursue.” 
Maurice rested his elbow on the table, shading his 
eyes with his hand. 
“I think you will admit,” Mr. Calthorpe went on, 
“that since our memorable interview at home I have 
not pressed this subject upon you.” 
“That is so.” 
“I own that I did hope, I will even go so far as to 
admit that I expected, things would right themselves.” 
This was said as if he were making a generous admis¬ 
sion to the advantage of his opponent in argument. 
“ And you have been disappointed, sir.” 
“On your part, most emphatically. No one can 
admire independence of character more than I do ; no 
one can be more ready to assert that independence than 
I am, on due occasion. - But you are mistaking the 
promptings of wounded vanity for honorable indepen¬ 
dence.” 
“I hope not.” 
“It is so, I assure you; any man with the slightest 
experience of the world would tell you the same. Just 
suppose for an instant that the positions had been re¬ 
versed. Suppose that the lady was Lucy Smith and that 
you had in a moment of passion said to her the un¬ 
pleasant things she said to you—would you not be sorry 
afterward, and regard her as acting unkindly as well as 
foolishly, if she gave you no opportunity of making 
amends ?” 
“ Very likely I should; but I-do not think that you 
grasp the position, and it is impossible to imagine what 
might happen if she were a man and I a woman,” 
answered Maurice without uncovering his eyes, and 
there was a curious huslriness in his voice, as if the 
absurdity of hi's father’s suggestion had disposed him to 
laughter in spite of the earnestness with which it had 
been made. 
“ Then you mean to persist in your insane course?” 
“ It is too late to alterit now.” 
This doggeduess was very trying to the father; open 
rebellion he could understand and deal with ; but this 
dull, passionless rejection of all reason was most irritat¬ 
ing, and this insensibility to every ordinary feeling of 
self-interest was as incomprehensible to Mr. Calthorpe 
as it was apparently insurmountable. They had come 
to a deadlock. 
“Very well,” said Mr. Calthorpe, rising slowly, “we 
need not prolong this painful conversation. I may 
mention, however, that I have this morning received an 
invitation to luncheon at Colonel Cuthbert’s; it is writ¬ 
ten by Miss Cuthbert, and in a postscript she tells me 
that she particularly wishes to see me. Have you no 
friendly word to send 
“No.” 
Mr. Calthorpe waited for a moment as if hoping that 
Maurice would yet relent. Then, sarcastically : 
“ May I not even convey your congratulations on her 
forthcoming marriage?” 
“Oh yes, certainly,” replied Maurice, with symptoms 
of agitation at last. “You may congratulate her for 
me if you like ; and you may tell her at the same time 
that I also am about to be married.” 
“ Your jest, sir, is not agreeable or timely, and sounds 
somewhat like mockery of me.” 
“ You are mistaken, father, it is no jest, and I do not 
