Caroline never knew that she had as much as told her the moral suicide Evan had committed at Beckley; so cunningly had she been probed at intervals with little casual questions; random interjections, that one who loved him could not fail to meet; petty doubts requiring elucidations. And the Countess, kind as her sentiments had grown toward the afflicted creature, was compelled to proclaim her densely stupid in material affairs. For the Countess had an itch of the simplest feminine curiosity to know whether the dear child had any notion of accomplishing a certain holy duty of the perishable on this earth, who might possess worldly goods; and no hints—not even plain speaking, would do. Juliana did not understand her at all. The Countess exhibited a mourning-ring on her finger, Mrs. Bonner’s bequest to her. “How fervent is my gratitude to my excellent departed friend for this! A legacy, however trifling, embalms our dear lost ones in the memory!” It was of no avail. Juliana continued densely stupid. Was she not worse? The Countess could not, “in decency,” as she observed, reveal to her who had prompted Mrs. Bonner so to bequeath the Beckley estates as to “ensure sweet Juliana’s future”; but ought not Juliana to divine it?—Juliana at least had hints sufficient. Cold Spring winds were now blowing. Juliana had resided no less than two months with the Cogglesbys. She was entreated still to remain, and she did. From Lady Jocelyn she heard not a word of remonstrance; but from Miss Carrington and Mrs. Shorne she received admonishing letters. Finally, Mr. Harry Jocelyn presented himself. In London, and without any of that needful subsistence which a young gentleman feels the want of in London more than elsewhere, Harry began to have thoughts of his own, without any instigation from his aunts, about devoting himself to business. So he sent his card up to his cousin, and was graciously met in the drawing-room by the Countess, who ruffled him and smoothed him, and would possibly have distracted his soul from business had his circumstances been less straitened. Juliana was declared to be too unwell to see him that day. He called a second time, and enjoyed a similar greeting. His third visit procured him an audience alone with Juliana, when, at once, despite the warnings of his aunts, the frank fellow plunged, “medias res”. Mrs. Bonner had left him totally dependent on his parents and his chances. “A desperate state of things, isn’t it, Juley? I think I shall go for a soldier—common, you know.” Instead of shrieking out against such a debasement of his worth and gentility, as was to be expected, Juliana said: “That’s what Mr. Harrington thought of doing.” “He! If he’d had the pluck he would.” “His duty forbade it, and he did not.” “Duty! a confounded tailor! What fools we were to have him at Beckley!” “Has the Countess been unkind to you Harry?” “I haven’t seen her to-day, and don’t want to. It’s my little dear old Juley I came for.”