“He is a tradesman. He has a shop in Lymport, I tell you, Harry, and his name on it. And he came here on purpose to catch Rose. And now he has caught her, he tells her. And his mother is now at one of the village inns, waiting to see him. Go to Mr. George Uplift; he knows the family. Yes, the Countess has turned your head, of course; but she has schemed, and schemed, and told such stories—God forgive her!” The girl had to veil her eyes in a spasm of angry weeping. “Oh, come! Juley!” murmured her killing cousin. Harry boasted an extraordinary weakness at the sight of feminine tears. “I say! Juley! you know if you begin crying I’m done for, and it isn’t fair.” He dropped his arm on her waist to console her, and generously declared to her that he always had been very fond of her. These scenes were not foreign to the youth. Her fits of crying, from which she would burst in a frenzy of contempt at him, had made Harry say stronger things; and the assurances of profound affection uttered in a most languid voice will sting the hearts of women. Harry still went on with his declarations, heating them rapidly, so as to bring on himself the usual outburst and check. She was longer in coming to it this time, and he had a horrid fear, that instead of dismissing him fiercely, and so annulling his words, the strange little person was going to be soft and hold him to them. There were her tears, however, which she could not stop. “Well, then, Juley, look. I do, upon my honour, yes—there, don’t cry any more—I do love you.” Harry held his breath in awful suspense. Juliana quietly disengaged her waist, and looking at him, said, “Poor Harry! You need not lie any more to please me.” Such was Harry’s astonishment, that he exclaimed, “It isn’t a lie! I say, I do love you.” And for an instant he thought and hoped that he did love her. “Well, then, Harry, I don’t love you,” said Juliana; which revealed to our friend that he had been mistaken in his own emotions. Nevertheless, his vanity was hurt when he saw she was sincere, and he listened to her, a moody being. This may account for his excessive wrath at Evan Harrington after Juliana had given him proofs of the truth of what she said. But the Countess was Harrington’s sister! The image of the Countess swam before him. Was it possible? Harry went about asking everybody he met. The initiated were discreet; those who had the whispers were open. A bare truth is not so convincing as one that discretion confirms. Harry found the detestable news perfectly true. “Stop it by all means if you can,” said his father. “Yes, try a fall with Rose,” said his mother. “And I must sit down to dinner to-day with a confounded fellow, the son of a tailor, who’s had the impudence to make love to my sister!” cried Harry. “I’m determined to kick him out of the house!—half.” “To what is the modification of your determination due?” Lady Jocelyn inquired, probably suspecting the sweet and gracious person who divided Harry’s mind.