from a born lady. And as for her grammar, I’d soon teach her that.”
Harry began to whistle vacantly: a sign that he was thinking his hardest.
“I confess to being considerably impressed by the maid Wheedle,” said Mr. Raikes, very pompously.
“Would you throw yourself away on her, Jack?” Evan inquired.
Apparently forgetting his plate, Mr. Raikes replied:
“You ask, perhaps, a little too much of me. One owes some consideration to one’s position. In the world’s eyes a matrimonal slip outweighs a peccadillo. No. To much the maid might wheedle me, but not to Hymen! She’s decidedly fresh and pert—the most delicious little fat lips and cocky nose; but cease we to dwell on her, or of us two, lo! one will be undone.”
Harry burst into a laugh: “Is this the T. P. for Fallowfield?”
“M.P. I think you mean,” quoth Mr. Raikes, serenely; but a curious glance being directed towards him, and pursuing him pertinaciously, it was as if the pediment of the lofty monument Mr. Raikes stood on were smitten with violence. 
He stammered an excuse, and retreated somewhat as it is the fashion to do from the presence of royalty, followed by Harry’s roar of laughter, in which Evan cruelly joined.
“Gracious powers!” exclaimed the victim of ambition, “I’m laughed at by the son of a tailor!” and he edged once more into the shade of trees.
It was a strange sight for Harry’s relatives to see him arm-in-arm with the man he should have been kicking, challenging, denouncing, or whatever the code prescribes: to see him talking to this young man earnestly, clinging to him affectionately, and when he separated from him heartily wringing his hand. Well might they think that there was something extraordinary in these Harringtons. Convicted of Tailordom, these Harringtons appeared to shine with double lustre. How was it? They were at a loss to say. They certainly could say that the Countess was egregiously affected and vulgar; but who could be altogether complacent and sincere that had to fight so hard a fight? In this struggle with society I see one of the instances where success is entirely to be honoured and remains a proof of merit. For however boldly antagonism may storm the ranks of society, it will certainly be repelled, whereas affinity cannot be resisted; and they who, against obstacles of birth, claim and keep their position among the educated and refined, have that affinity. It is, on the whole, rare, so that society is not often invaded. I think it will have to front Jack Cade again before another Old Mel and his progeny shall appear. You refuse to believe in Old Mel? You know not nature’s cunning.
Mrs. Shorne, Mrs. Melville, Miss Carrington, and many of the guests who observed Evan moving from place to place, after the exposure, as they called it, were amazed at his audacity. There seemed such a quietly superb air about him. He would not look out of his element; and this, knowing what they knew, was his offence. He deserved some commendation for still holding up his head, but it was love and Rose who kept the fires of his heart alive.
The sun had sunk. The figures on the summit of Parnassus were seen bobbing in happy placidity against the twilight sky. The sun had sunk, and many of Mr. Raikes’ best things were unspoken. Wandering about in his gloom, he heard a feminine voice:
“Yes, I will trust to you.”
“You will not repent it,” was answered.
Recognising the Duke, Mr. Raikes cleared his throat.
“A-hem, your Grace! This is how the days should pass. I think we should diurnally station a good London band on high, and play his Majesty to bed—the sun. My opinion is, it would improve the crops. I am not, as yet, a landed proprietor.”
The Duke stepped aside with him, and Mr. John Raikes addressed no one for the next twenty minutes. When he next came forth Parnassus was half deserted. It was known that Old Mrs. Bonner had been taken with a dangerous attack, and under this third blow the pic-nic succumbed. Simultaneously with the messenger that brought the news to Lady Jocelyn, one approached Evan,