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424 door, where Old Tom Cogglesby and Lady Jocelyn appeared.

’Gad! he seems to have got his recompense—eh, my lady?” cried Old Tom.

However satisfactorily they might have explained the case, it certainly did seem so.

Lady Jocelyn looked not absolutely displeased. Old Tom was chuckling at her elbow. The two principal actors remained dumb.

“I suppose, if we leave young people to settle a thing, this is how they do it,” her ladyship remarked.

’Gad, and they do it well!” cried Old Tom.

Rose, with a deep blush on her cheeks, stepped from Evan to her mother. Not in effrontery, but earnestly, and as the only way of escaping from the position, she said: “I have succeeded, mama. He will take what I offer.”

“And what’s that, now?” Old Tom inquired.

Rose turned to Evan. He bent and kissed her hand.

“Call it ‘recompense’ for the nonce,” said Lady Jocelyn. “Do you still hold to your original proposition, Tom?”

“Every penny, my lady. I like the young fellow, and she’s a jolly little lass—if she means it—she’s a woman.”

“True,” said Lady Jocelyn. “Considering that fact, you will oblige me by keeping the matter quiet.”

“Does she want to try whether the tailor’s a gentleman still, my lady—eh?”

“No. I fancy she will have to see whether a certain nobleman may be one.”

The Countess now joined them. Sir Franks had informed her of her brother’s last fine performance. After a short, uneasy pause, she said, glancing at Evan:

“You know his romantic nature. I can assure you he was sincere; and even if you could not accept, at least—”

“But we have accepted, Countess,” said Rose.

“The estate!”

“The estate, Countess. And what is more, to increase the effect of his generosity, he has consented to take a recompense.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the Countess, directing a stony look at her brother. “May I presume to ask what recompense?”

Rose shook her head. “Such a very poor one, Countess! He has no idea of relative value.”

The Countess’s great mind was just then running hot on estates, and thousands, or she would not have played goose to them, you may be sure. She believed that Evan had been wheedled by Rose into the acceptance of a small sum of money, in return for his egregious gift! With an internal groan, the outward aspect of which she had vast difficulty in masking, she said: “You are right—he has no head. Easily cajoled!”

Old Tom sat down in a chair, and laughed outright. Lady Jocelyn in pity for the poor lady, who always amused her, thought it time to put an end to the scene.

“I hope your brother will come to us in about a week,” she said. “May I expect the favour of your company as well?”

The Countess felt her dignity to be far superior, as she responded. “Lady Jocelyn, when next enjoy the gratification of a visit to your hospitable mansion, I must know that I am not at a disadvantage. I cannot consent to be twice pulled down to my brother’s level.”

Evan’s heart was too full of its dim young happiness to speak, or care for words. The cold elegance of the Countess’s curtsey to Lady Jocelyn: her ladyship’s kindly pressure of his hand: Rose’s stedfast look into his eyes: Old Tom’s smothered exclamation that he was not such a fool as he seemed: all passed dream-like, and when he was left to the fury of the Countess, he did not ask her to spare him, nor did he defend himself. She bade adieu to him and their mutual relationship that very day. But her star had not forsaken her yet. Chancing to peep into the shop, to intrust a commission to Mr. John Raikes, who was there doing penance for his career as a gentleman, she heard Old Tom and Andrew laughing, utterly unlike bankrupts.

“Who’d have thought the women such fools! and the Countess, too!”

This was Andrew’s voice. He chuckled as one emancipated. The Countess had a short interview with him (before she took her departure to join her husband, under the roof of the Honourable Herbert Duffian), and Andrew chuckled no more.

Rome. “Let the post-mark be my reply to your letter received through the Consulate, and most courteously delivered with the consul’s compliments. We shall yet have an ambassador at Rome—mark your Louisa’s words. Yes, dearest! I am here, body and spirit! I have at last found a haven, a refuge, and let those who condemn me compare the peace of their spirits with mine. You think that you have quite conquered the dreadfulness of our origin. My love, I smile at you! I know it to be impossible for the Protestant heresy to offer a shade of consolation. Earthly-born, it rather encourages earthly distinctions. It is the sweet sovereign Pontiff alone who gathers all in his arms, not excepting tailors. Here, if they could know it, is their blessed comfort!

“Thank Harriet for her message. She need say nothing. By refusing me her hospitality, when she must have known that the house was as free of creditors as any foreigner under the rank of Count is of soap, she drove me to Mr. Duffian. Oh! how I rejoice at her exceeding unkindness! How warmly I forgive her the unsisterly—to say the least—vindictiveness of her unaccountable conduct! Her sufferings will one day be terrible. Good little Andrew supplies her place to me. Why do you refuse his easily afforded bounty? No one need know of it. I tell you candidly, I take double, and the small, good punch of a body is only too delighted. But then, I can be discreet.

“Oh! the gentlemanliness of these infinitely maligned Jesuits! They remind me immensely of Sir Charles Grandison, and those frontispiece pictures to the novels we read when girls—I mean in