But social prejudice was about to claim its champion. Hitherto there had been no General on the opposite side. Love, aided by the Countess, had engaged an inert mass. The champion was discovered in the person of the provincial Don Juan, Mr. Harry Jocelyn. Harry had gone on a mysterious business of his own to London. He returned with a green box under his arm, which, five minutes after his arrival, was entrusted to Conning, in company with a genial present for herself, of a kind not perhaps so fit for exhibition; at least they both thought so, for it was given in the shades. Harry then went to pay his respects to his mother, who received him with her customary ironical tolerance. His father, to whom he was an incarnation of bother, likewise nodded to him and gave him a finger. Duty done, Harry looked round him for pleasure, and observed nothing but glum faces. Even the face of John Raikes was heavy. He had been hovering about the Duke and Miss Current for an hour, hoping the Countess would come and give him a promised introduction. The Countess stirred not from above, and Jack drifted from group to group on the lawn, and grew conscious that wherever he went he brought silence with him. His isolation made him humble, and when Harry shook his hand, and said he remembered Fallowfield and the fun there, Mr. Raikes thanked him. Harry made his way to join his friend Ferdinand, and furnished him with the latest London news not likely to appear in the papers. Laxley was distant and unamused. From the fact, too, that Harry was known to be the Countess’s slave, his presence produced the same effect in the different circles about the grounds, as did that of John Raikes. Harry began to yawn and wish very ardently for his sweet lady. She, however, had too fine an instinct to descend. An hour before dinner, Juliana sent him a message that she desired to see him. “Jove! I hope that girl’s not going to be blowing hot again,” sighed the conqueror. He had nothing to fear from Juliana. The moment they were alone she asked him, “Have you heard of it?” Harry shook his head and shrugged. “They haven’t told you? Rose has engaged herself to Mr. Harrington, a tradesman, a tailor!” “Pooh! have you got hold of that story?” said Harry. “But I’m sorry for old Ferdy. He was fond of Rosey. Here’s another bother!” “You don’t believe me, Harry?” Harry was mentally debating whether, in this new posture of affairs, his friend Ferdinand would press his claim for certain moneys lent. “Oh, I believe you,” he said. “Harrington has the knack with you women. Why, you made eyes at him. It was a toss-up between you and Rosey once.” Juliana let this accusation pass.