“And you will speak to this Mr. Harrington to-night, Harry. No allusion to the loan till you return it. Appeal to his sense of honour.”
The dinner-bell assembled the inmates of the house. Evan was not among them. He had gone, as the Countess said aloud, on a diplomatic mission to Fallowfield, with Andrew Cogglesby. The truth being that he had finally taken Andrew into his confidence concerning the letter, the annuity, and the bond. Upon which occasion Andrew had burst into a laugh, and said he could lay his hand on the writer of the letter.
“Trust old Tom for plots, Van! He’ll blow you up in a twinkling. Cunning old dog! He pretends to be hard—he’s as soft as I am, if it wasn’t for his crotchets. We’ll hand him back the cash, and that’s ended. And—eh? what a dear girl she is! Not that I’m astonished. My Harry might have married a lord—sit at top of any table in the land! And you’re as good as any man. That’s my opinion. But I say she’s a wonderful girl to see it.”
Chattering thus, Andrew drove with the dear boy into Fallowfield. Evan was still in his dream. To him the generous love and valiant openness of Rose, though they were matched and mated in his own bosom, seemed scarcely human. Almost as noble to him were the gentlemanly plain-speaking of Sir Franks and Lady Jocelyn’s kind common sense. But the more he esteemed them, the more unbounded and miraculous appeared the prospect of his calling their daughter by the sacred name, and kneeling with her at their feet. Did the dear heavens have that in store for him? The horizon edges were dimly lighted.
Harry looked about under his eyelids for Evan, trying at the same time to compose himself for the martyrdom he had to endure in sitting at table with the presumptuous fellow. The Countess signalled him to come within the presence. As he was crossing the room, Rose entered, and moved to meet him, with: “Ah, Harry! back again? Glad to see you.”
Harry gave her a blunt nod, to which she was inattentive.
“What!” whispered the Countess, after he pressed the tips of her fingers. “Have you brought back the grocer?”
Now this was hard to stand. Harry could forgive her her birth, and pass it utterly by if she chose to fall in love with him; but to hear the grocer mentioned, when he knew of the tailor, was a little too much, and what Harry felt his ingenuous countenance was accustomed to exhibit. The Countess saw it. She turned her head from him to the diplomatist, and he had to remain like a sentinel at her feet. He did not want to be thanked for the green box: still he thought she might have favoured him with one of her much-embracing smiles.
In the evening, after wine, when he was warm, and had almost forgotten the insult to his family and himself, their representative, the Countess snubbed him. It was unwise on her part: but she had the ghastly thought that facts were oozing out, and were already half known. She was therefore sensitive tenfold to appearances: savage if one failed to keep up her lie to her, and was guilty of a shadow of difference of behaviour. The pic-nic over, our General would evacuate Beckley Court, and shake the dust off her shoes, and leave the harvest of what she had sown to Providence. Till then, respect, and the honours of war! So the Countess snubbed him, and he being full of wine, fell into the hands of Juliana, who had witnessed the little scene.
“She has made a fool of others as well as of you,” said Juliana.
“How has she?” he inquired.
“Never mind. Do you want to make her humble and crouch to you?”
“I want to see Harrington,” said Harry.
“He will not return to-night from Fallowfield. He has gone there to get Mr. Andrew Cogglesby’s brother to do something for him. You won’t have such another chance of humbling them both—both! I told you his mother is at an inn here. The Countess has sent Mr. Harrington to Fallowfield to be out of the way, and she has told her mother all sorts of falsehoods.”
“How do you know all that?” quoth Harry. “By Jove, Juley! talk about plotters! No keeping anything from you, ever!”
“Never mind. The mother is here. She must be a vulgar woman. Oh! if you could manage, Harry, to get this woman to come—you could do it so easily!—while they are at the pic-nic to-morrow. It would have the best effect on Rose. She would then understand! And the Countess!”
“I could send the old woman a message!” cried Harry, rushing into the scheme, inspired by Juliana’s fiery eyes. “Send her a sort of message to say where we all were.”
“Let her know that her son is here, in some way,” Juley resumed.
“And, egad! what an explosion!” pursued Harry. “But, suppose—”
“No one shall know, if you leave it to me—if you do just as I tell you, Harry. You won’t be treated as you were this evening after that, if you bring down her pride. And, Harry, I hear you want money—I can give you some.”
“You’re a perfect trump, Juley!” exclaimed her enthusiastic cousin. “But, no; I can’t take it. I must kiss you, though.”
He put a kiss upon her cheek. Once his kisses had left a red waxen stamp; she was callous to these compliments now.
“Will you do what I advise you to-morrow?” she asked.
After a slight hesitation, during which the olive-hued visage flitted faintly in the distances of his brain, Harry said:
“It’ll do Rose good, and make Harrington cut. Yes! I declare I will!”
Then they parted. Juliana went to her bed-room, and flung herself upon the bed, hysterically. As the tears came thick and fast, she jumped up to lock the door, for this outrageous habit of crying had made her contemptible in the eyes of Lady Jocelyn, and an object o pity to Rose. Some excellent and noble natures cannot tolerate disease, and are mystified by its ebullitions. It was sad to see the slight thin frame grasped by