soon became generally apparent, and also that her ladyship was angry: an exhibition so rare with her that it was the more remarked. Rose could see that she was a culprit in her mother’s eyes. She glanced from Evan to her. Lady Jocelyn’s mouth shut hard. The girl’s senses then perceived the something that was afloat at the table; she thought with a pang of horror: “Has Juliana told?” Juliana smiled on her; but the aspect of Mrs. Shorne, and of Miss Carrington, spoke for their knowledge of that which must henceforth be the perpetual reproof to her headstrong youth.
“At what hour do you leave us?” said Lady Jocelyn to Evan.
“When I leave the table, madam. The fly will call for my sisters at half-past eleven.”
“There is no necessity for you to start in advance?”
“I am going over to see my mother, madam.”
Rose burned to speak to him now. Oh! why had she delayed! Why had she swerved from her good rule of open, instant, explanations? But Evan’s heart was stern to his love. Not only had she, by not coming, shown her doubt of him,—she had betrayed him!
Between the Countess, Melville, Sir John, and the Duke, an animated dialogue was going on, over which Miss Current played like a lively iris. They could not part with the Countess. Melville said he should be left stranded, and numerous pretty things were uttered by other gentlemen: by the women not a word. Glancing from certain of them lingeringly to her admirers, the Countess smiled her thanks, and then Andrew, pressed to remain, said he was willing and happy, and so forth; and it seemed that her admirers had prevailed over her reluctance, for the Countess ended her little protests with a vanquished bow. Then there was a gradual rising from table. Evan pressed Lady Jocelyn’s hand, and turning from her bent his head to Sir Franks, who, without offering an exchange of cordialities, said, at arm’s length: “Good-bye, sir.” Melville also gave him that greeting stiffly. Harry was perceived to rush to the other end of the room in quest of a fly, apparently. Poor Caroline’s heart ached for her brother, to see him standing there in the shadow of many faces. But he was not left to stand alone. Andrew quitted the circle of Sir John, Seymour Jocelyn, Mr. George Uploft and others, and linked his arm to Evan’s. Rose had gone. While Evan looked for her despairingly to say his last word and hear her voice once more, Sir Franks said to his wife:
“See that Rose keeps up-stairs.”
“I wan’t to speak to her,” was her ladyship’s answer, and she moved to the door.
Evan made way for her, bowing.
“You will be ready at half-past eleven, Louisa,” he said with calm distinctness, and passed from that purgatory.
Now honest Andrew attributed the treatment Evan met with to the exposure of yesterday. He was frantic with democratic disgust.
“Why the devil don’t they serve me like that, eh? ’Cause I got a few coppers! There, Van! I’m a man of peace; but if you’ll call any man of ’em out I’ll stand your second—’pon my soul, I will. They must be cowards, so there isn’t much to fear. Confound the fellows, I tell ’em every day I’m the son of a cobbler, and egad, they grow civiller. What do they mean? Are cobblers ranked over tailors?”
“Perhaps that’s it,” said Evan.
“Hang your gentlemen!” Andrew cried.
“Let us have breakfast first,” uttered a melancholy voice near them, in the passage.
“Jack!” said Evan. “Where have you been?”
“I didn’t know the breakfast-room,” Jack returned, “and the fact is, my spirits are so down, I couldn’t muster up courage to ask one of the footmen. I delivered your letter. Nothing hostile took place. I bowed fiercely to let him know what he might expect. That generally stops it. You see, I talk prose. I shall never talk anything else!”
Andrew re-commenced his jests of yesterday with Jack. The latter bore them patiently, as one who had endured worse.
“She has rejected me!” he whispered to Evan. “Talk of ingratitude of women! Ten minutes ago I met her. She perked her eyebrows at me!—tried to run away. ‘Miss Wheedle!’ I said. ‘If you please, I’d rather not,’ says she. To cut it short, the sacrifice I made to her was the cause. It’s all over the house. She gave the most excruciating hint. Those low-born females are so horribly indelicate. I stood confounded. To-morrow I shall wear an independent pair—’gad, a rhyme! I’d borrow of you, but your legs are too long. I’m in earnest.”
Commending his new humour, Evan persuaded him to breakfast immediately, and hunger being one of Jack’s solitary incitements to a sensible course of conduct, the disconsolate gentleman followed its dictates.
“Go with him, Andrew,” said Evan. “He is here as my friend, and may be made uncomfortable.”
“Yes, yes,—ha! ha! I’ll follow the poor chap,” said Andrew. “But what is it all about? Louisa won’t go, you know. Has the girl given you up because she saw your mother, Van? I thought it was all right. Why the deuce are you running away?”
“Because I’ve just seen that I ought never to have come, I suppose,” Evan replied, controlling the wretched heaving of his chest.
“But Louisa won’t go, Van.”
“Understand, my dear Andrew, that I know it to be quite imperative. Be ready yourself with Caroline. Louisa will then make her choice. Pray help me in this. We must not stay a minute more than is necessary in this house.”
“It’s an awful duty,” breathed Andrew, after a pause. “I see nothing but hot water at home. Why—but it’s no use asking questions. My love to your mother. I say, Van,—now isn’t Lady Jocelyn a trump?”
“God bless her!” said Evan. And the moisture in Andrew’s eyes affected his own.
“She’s the staunchest piece of woman-goods I ever I know a hundred cases of her!”
“I know one, and that’s enough,” said Evan.
Not a sign of Rose! Can love die without its