“Oh, I don't say she has laid any plans; but these things are always extemporized the moment the chance comes. You can count beforehand on the instinct of every woman who is clever and needy, and on Vizard's peculiar weakness for women out of the common. He is hard upon the whole sex; but he is no match for individuals. He owned as much himself to me one day. You are not angry with me!” “No, no. Angry with _you?”_ “It is you I think of in all this. He is a fine fellow, and you are proud of him. I wouldn't have him marry to mortify you. For myself, while the sister honors me with her regard, I really don't much care who has the brother and the acres. I have the best of the bargain.” Zoe disputed this--in order to make him say it several times. He did, and proved it in terms that made her cheeks red with modesty and gratified pride; and by the time they had got home, he had flattered everything but pride, love, and happiness out of her heart, poor girl. The world is like the Law, full of implied contracts: we give and take, without openly agreeing to. Subtle Severne counted on this, and was not disappointed. Zoe rewarded him for his praises, and her happiness, by falling into his views about Rhoda Gale. Only she did it in her own lady-like way, and not plump. She came up to Harrington and kissed him, and said, “Thank you, dear, for sending me on a good errand. I found her in a very mean apartment, without fire or candle.” “I thought as much,” said Vizard. “Did she take the money?” “Yes--as a loan.” “Make any difficulties?” “A little, dear.” Severne put in his word. “Now, if you want to know all the tact and delicacy with which it was done, you must come to me; for Miss Vizard is not going to give you any idea of it.” “Be quiet, sir, or I shall be very angry. I lent her the money, dear, and her troubles are at an end; for her mother will certainly join her before she has spent your twenty pounds. Oh! and she had not parted with her ring; that is a comfort, is it not?” “You are a good-hearted girl, Zoe,” said Vizard, approvingly; then, recovering himself, “But don't you be blinded by sentiment. She deserves a good hiding for not parting with her ring. Where is the sense of starving, with thirty pounds on your finger?” Zoe smiled, and said his words were harder than his deeds. “Because he doesn't mean a word he says,” put in Fanny Dover, uneasy at the long cessation of her tongue, for all conversation with Don Cigar had proved impracticable. “Are you there still, my Lady Disdain?” said Vizard. “I thought you were gone to bed.” “You might well think that. I had nothing to keep me up.”