her delight in seeing England again, and anything that belonged to her native land. Mr. Melville perceived that it pained the refugee Countess, and gave her the glance intelligible; but the Countess never missed glances, or failed to interpret them. She said:
“Let her. I love to hear the sweet child’s prattle.”
“It was fortunate” (she addressed the diplomatist) “that we touched at Southampton and procured fresh provision!”
“Very lucky for us!" said he, glaring shrewdly between a mouthful.
The Count heard the word “Southampton,” and wished to know how it was composed. A passage of Portuguese ensued, and then the Countess said:
“Silva, you know, desired to relinquish the vessel at Southampton. He does not comprehend the word ‘expense,’ but” (she shook a dumb Alas!) “I must think of that for him now!”
“Oh! always avoid expense,” said the Hon. Melville, accustomed to be paid for by his country.
“At what time shall we arrive, may I ask, do you think?” the Countess gently inquired.
The watch of a man who had his eye on Time was pulled out, and she was told it might be two hours before dark. Another reckoning, keenly balanced, informed the company that the day’s papers could be expected on board somewhere about three o’clock in the afternoon.
“And then,” said the Hon. Melville, nodding general gratulation, “we shall know how the world wags.”
How it had been wagging the Countess’s straining eyes under closed eyelids were eloquent of.
“Too late, I fear me, to wait upon Lord Livelyston to-night?” she suggested.
“To-night?” The Hon. Melville gazed blank astonishment at the notion. “Oh! certainly, too late to-night. A—hum! I think, madam, you had better not be in too great a hurry to see him. Repose a little. Recover your fatigue.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the Countess, with a beam of utter confidence in him, “I shall be too happy to place myself in your hands—believe me.”
This was scarcely more to the taste of the diplomatist. He put up his mouth, and said, blandly:
“I fear—you know, madam, I must warn you beforehand—I, personally, am but an insignificant unit over here, you know; I, personally, can’t guarantee much assistance to you—not positive. What I can do—of course, very happy!” And he fell to again upon the beef.
“Not so very insignificant!” said the Countess, smiling, as at a softly radiant conception of him.
“Have to bob and bow like the rest of them over here,” he added, proof against the flattery.
“But then you will not forsake Silva, that I am convinced,” said the Countess; and, paying little heed to his brief “Oh! what I can do,” continued, “for over here, in England, we are almost friendless. My relations—such as are left of them—are not in high place.” She turned to Mrs. Melville, and renewed the confession with a proud humility. “Truly, I have not a distant cousin in the Cabinet!”
Mrs. Melville met her sad smile, and returned it, as one who understood its entire import.
“My brother-in-law—my sister, I think, you know—married a—a brewer! He is rich; but, well! such was her taste! My brother-in-law is indeed in Parliament, and he—”
“Very little use, seeing he votes with the opposite party,” the diplomatist interrupted her.
“Ah! but he will not,” said the Countess, serenely. “I can trust with confidence that, if it is for Silva’s interest, he will assuredly so dispose of his influence as to suit the desiderations of his family, and not in any way oppose his opinions to the powers that would willingly stoop to serve us!”
It was impossible for the Hon. Melville to withhold a slight grimace at his beef, when he heard this extremely alienised idea of the nature of a member of the Parliament of Great Britain. He allowed her to enjoy her delusion, as she pursued:
“No. So much we could offer in repayment. It is little! But this, in verity, is a case. Silva’s wrongs have only to be known in England, and I am most assured that the English people will not permit it. In the days of his prosperity, Silva was a friend to England, and England should not—should not—forget it now. Had we money! But of that arm our enemies have deprived us; and, I fear, without it we cannot hope to have the justice of our cause pleaded in the English papers. Mr. Redner, you know, the correspondent in Lisbon, is a sworn foe to Silva. And why but because I would not procure him an invitation to Court! The man was so horridly vulgar; his gloves were never clean; I had to hold a bouquet to my nose when I talked to him. That, you say, was my fault! Truly so. But what woman can be civil to a low-bred, pretentious, offensive man?”
Mrs. Melville, again appealed to, smiled perfect sympathy, and said, to account for his character:
“Yes. He is the son of a small shopkeeper of some kind, in Southampton, I hear.”
“A very good fellow, in his way,” said her husband.
“Oh! I can’t bear that class of people,” Rose exclaimed. “I always keep out of their way. You can always tell them.”
The Countess smiled considerate approbation of her exclusiveness and discernment. So sweet a smile!
“You were on deck early, my dear?” she asked Evan, rather abruptly.
Master Alec answered for him: “Yes, he was, and so was Rose. They made an appointment, just as they used to do under the oranges.”
“Children!” the Countess smiled to Mrs. Melville.
“They always whisper when I’m by,” Alec appended.
“Children!” the Countess’s sweetened visage entreated Mrs. Melville to re-echo; but that lady thought it best for the moment to direct Rose to look to her packing, now that she had done breakfast.
“And I will take a walk with my brother on deck,” said the Countess. “Silva is too harassed for converse.”
