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60 know, you and I, Julia, argue from two distinct points. Girls may be shut up, as you propose. I don’t think nature intended to have them the obverse of men. I’m sure their mothers never designed that they should run away with footmen, riding-masters, chance curates, as they occasionally do, and wouldn’t, if they had points of comparison. My opinion is that Prospero was just saved by the Prince of Naples being wrecked on his island, from a shocking misalliance between his daughter and the son of Sycorax. I see it clearly. Poetry conceals the extreme probability, but from what I know of my sex, I should have no hesitation in turning prophet also, as to that.”

What could Mrs. Shorne do? Mrs. Melville, when she arrived to take part in the conference, which gradually swelled to a family one, was equally unable to make Lady Jocelyn perceive that her plan of bringing up Rose was, in the present result of it, other than unlucky.

Now the two generals—Rose Jocelyn and the Countess de Saldar—had brought matters to this pass; and from the two tactical extremes: the former by openness and dash: the latter by subtlety, and her own interpretations of the means extended to her by Providence. I will not be so bold as to state which of the two I think right. Good and evil work together in this world. If the Countess had not woven the tangle, and gained Evan time, Rose would never have seen his blood,—never have had her spirit hurried out of all shows and form, and habits of thought, up to the gates of existence, as it were, where she took him simply as God created him and her, and clave to him. Again, had Rose been secret, when this turn in her nature came, she would have forfeited the strange power she received from it, and which endowed her with decision to say what was in her heart, and stamp it lastingly there. The two generals were quite antagonistic, but no two, in perfect ignorance of one another’s proceedings, ever worked so harmoniously towards the main result. The Countess was the skilful engineer: Rose the general of cavalry. And it did really seem that with Tom Cogglesby and his thousands in reserve, the victory was about to be gained. The male Jocelyns, an easy race, decided that, if the worst came to the worst, and Rose proved a wonder, there was money, which was something.

But social prejudice was about to claim its champion. Hitherto there had been no general on the opposite side. Love, aided by the Countess, had engaged an inert mass. The champion was discovered in the person of the provincial Don Juan, Mr. Harry Jocelyn. Harry had gone on a mysterious business of his own to London. He returned with a green box under his arm, which, five minutes after his arrival, was entrusted to Conning, in company with a genial present for herself, of a kind not perhaps so fit for exhibition, at least they both thought so, for it was given in the shades. Harry then went to pay his respects to his mother, who received him with her customary ironical tolerance. His father, to whom he was an incarnation of bother, likewise nodded to him and gave him a finger. Duty done, Harry looked around him for pleasure, and observed nothing but glum faces. Even the face of Mr. John Raikes was heavy. He had been hovering about the Duke and Miss Current for an hour, hoping the Countess would come and give him a promised introduction. The Countess stirred not from above, and Jack drifted from group to group on the lawn, and grew conscious that wherever he went he brought silence with him. His isolation made him humble, and when Harry shook his hand, and said he remembered Fallowfield and the fun there, Mr. Raikes thanked him, and in a small speech, in which he contrived to introduce the curricle, remarked that the Hampshire air suited his genius, and that the friendship of Mr. Harry Jocelyn would be agreeable to him.

“Where’s the tailor?” cried Harry, laughing.

“Tailor!” Jack exclaimed, reprovingly, “oh! now, my dear fellow, you must positively drop that. Harrington’s sisters! consider! superb women! unmatched for style! No, no; Harrington’s father was an officer. I know it. A distant relative of Sir Abraham Harrington, the proud baronet of Torquay, who refused to notice them. Why? Because of the handle to his name. One could understand a man of genius!—a member of parliament! but proud of a baronetcy! His conduct was hideous. The Countess herself informed me.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Harry, “I was only joking. I shall see you again.” And Mr. Raikes was left to fresh meditation.

Harry made his way to join his friend Ferdinand, and furnished him with the latest London news not likely to appear in the papers. Laxley was distant and unamused. From the fact, too, that Harry was known to be the Countess’s slave, his presence produced the same effect in the different circles about the grounds, as did that of Mr. John Raikes. Harry began to yawn and wish very ardently for his sweet lady. She, however, had too fine an instinct to descend.

An hour before dinner, Juliana sent him a message that she desired to see him.

“Jove! I hope that girl’s not going to be blowing hot again,” sighed the conqueror.

He had nothing to fear from Juliana. The moment they were alone she asked him, “Have you heard of it?”

Harry shook his head and shrugged.

“They haven’t told you? Rose has engaged herself to Mr. Harrington, a tradesman, a tailor!”

“Pooh! have you got hold of that story?” said Harry. “But I’m sorry for old Ferdy. He was fond of Rosey. Here’s another bother!”

“You don’t believe me, Harry?”

Harry was mentally debating whether, in this new posture of affairs, his friend Ferdinand would press his claim for certain monies lent.

“Oh, I believe you,” he said. “Harrington has the knack with you women. Why, you made eyes at him. It was a toss-up between you and Rosey once.”

Juliana let this accusation pass.

“He is a tradesman. He has a shop in Lymport, I tell you, Harry, and his name on it. And he came here on purpose to catch Rose. And now he has caught her, he tells her. And his mother