He felt his consequence; he was a man of condition and of fortune; his pretensions he felt to be just, his views honourable. Yet to advance one step from the spot on which he stood, he could not,—awaiting Mrs. De Brooke's invitation to follow her.
Never having heard of a parallel instance, she was at a total loss how to act; from the predominating feeling, however, which influenced her, assuming an air of dignity, she said, "Sir, I presume you are mistaken in the house at which you have called, and have no doubt your presence here has been perfectly unintentional."
Intimidated, confounded, Harcourt remained silent; the manner of Mrs. De Brooke's address clearly bespoke that he had wounded both her pride and delicacy. To proceed might be deemed insolence. He must pursue other steps, or perhaps close the avenue to the good graces and favourable estimation of the daughter for ever; bowing respectfully, therefore, he withdrew.
A heavy shower of rain, lasting above an hour, precluded Mrs. Philimore from returning home; at her request, after a still longer interval, Rosilia opened the blinds to ascertain the state of the weather. But what was her surprise, not in the least doubting but that he had departed, when, spring-
