The New Magdalen

HE stopped just inside the door. His first look was for Mercy; his is

second look was for Julian.

"I knew it!" he said, with an assumption of sardonic composure. "If I

could only have persuaded Lady Janet to bet, I should have won a hundred

pounds." He advanced to Julian, with a sudden change from irony to

anger. "Would you like to hear what the bet was?" he asked.

"I should prefer seeing you able to control yourself in the presence of

this lady," Julian answered, quietly.

"I offered to lay Lady Janet two hundred pounds to one," Horace

proceeded, "that I should find you here, making love to Miss Roseberry

behind my back."

Mercy interfered before Julian could reply.

"If you cannot speak without insulting one of us," she said, "permit me

to request that you will _not_ address yourself to Mr. Julian Gray."

Horace bowed to her with a mockery of respect.

"Pray don't alarm yourself--I am pledged to be scrupulously civil to

both of you," he said. "Lady Janet only allowed me to leave her on

condition of my promising to behave with perfect politeness. What else

can I do? I have two privileged people to deal with--a parson and

a woman. The parson's profession protects him, and the woman's sex

protects her. You have got me at a disadvantage, and you both of

you know it. I beg to apologize if I have forgotten the clergyman's

profession and the lady's sex."

"You have forgotten more than that," said Julian. "You have forgotten

that you were born a gentleman and bred a man of honor. So far as I am

concerned, I don't ask you to remember that I am a clergyman--I obtrude

my profession on nobody--I only ask you to remember your birth and your

breeding. It is quite bad enough to cruelly and unjustly suspect an old

friend who has never forgotten what he owes to you and to himself. But

it is still more unworthy of you to acknowledge those suspicions in

the hearing of a woman whom your own choice has doubly bound you to

respect."

He stopped. The two eyed each other for a moment in silence.

It was impossible for Mercy to look at them, as she was looking now,

without drawing the inevitable comparison between the manly force and

dignity of Julian and the womanish malice and irritability of Horace.

A last faithful impulse of loyalty toward the man to whom she had

been betrothed impelled her to part them, before Horace had hopelessly

degraded himself in her estimation by contrast with Julian.

"You had better wait to speak to me," she said to him, "until we are

alone."

"Certainly," Horace answered with a sneer, "if Mr. Julian Gray will

permit it."

Mercy turned to Julian, with a look which said plainly, "Pity us both,

and leave us!"