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Rh his disfavour than that he had apparently been fed on buttermilk, "dans le Devonshire."

Elizabeth had no recollection of ever having seen him. In point of fact, she had only done so once, it may be remembered, in going through Mr. Twisden's office, two years before. On her last visit there, she had brushed past a young man on the stairs without even looking at him. His face now pleased her; it seemed to her frank and ingenuous; and his manner certainly contrasted favourably with that of every other man in the pension. She could not except Mr. Baring; she wished she could. She had the highest respect and, indeed, admiration for a great deal in the American's character, as revealed by Hatty; but he was difficult to get on with. He never "let himself go." This young Englishman, on the contrary, was prodigal of his personality. He talked freely, he laughed merrily; there was nothing compassé (to use Madame de Belcour's phrase) about him. Perhaps the contrast to her adored brother was too great to please Miss Baring. Certain it is that she was the only woman who was not greatly taken by Mr. George. She said rather crossly—as Elizabeth thought—that no one could be quite as candid as that young man looked.

Whether Alaric Baring conceived a prejudice thus early against the new-comer I cannot say, but it soon became apparent that a fresh cause for his irritation and his taciturnity was likely to arise. What with one thing and another, he was not having "a good time." The unspeakable Frenchman was, indeed, dropped into the limbo of things despised, no longer dreaded. But the very lightness with which she treated that whole episode