Then like a kite the Countess pounced upon his character. Would the Honourable and Reverend Mr. Duffian decline to participate in the sparest provender? Would he be guilty of the discourtesy of leaving table without a bow or an apology, even if reduced to extremest poverty? No, indeed! which showed that, under all circumstances, a gentleman was a gentleman. And, oh! how she pitied her poor Harriet—eternally tied to a most vulgar little man, without the gilding of wealth. “And a fool in his business to boot, dear!” “These comparisons do no good,” said Harriet. “Andrew at least is not a renegade, and never shall be while I live. I will do my duty by him, however poor we are. And now, Louisa, putting my husband out of the question, what are your intentions? I don’t understand bankruptcy, but I imagine they can do nothing to wife and children. My little ones must have a roof over their heads; and, besides, there is little Maxwell. You decline to go down to Lymport, of course.” “Decline!” cried the Countess, melodiously; “and do not you?” “As far as I am concerned—yes. But I am not to think of myself.” The Countess meditated, and said: “Dear Mr. Duffian has offered me his hospitality. Renegades are not absolutely inhuman. They may be generous. I have no moral doubt that Mr. Duffian would, upon my representation—dare I venture?” “Sleep in his house! break bread with him!” exclaimed Harriet. “What do you think I am made of? I would perish—go to the workhouse, rather!” “I see you trooping there,” said the Countess, intent on the vision. “And have you accepted his invitation for yourself, Louisa?” The Countess was never to be daunted by threatening aspects. She gave her affirmative with calmness and a deliberate smile. “You are going to live with him?” “Live with him! What expressions! My husband accompanies me.” Harriet drew up. “I know nothing, Louisa, that could give me more pain.” The Countess patted Harriet’s knee. “It succeeds to bankruptcy, assuredly. But would you have me drag Silva to the—the shop, Harriet, love? Alternatives!” Mrs. Andrew got up and rang the bell to have the remains of their dinner removed. When this was done, she said, “Louisa, I don’t know whether I am justified: you told me to-day I might keep my jewels, trinkets, and lace, and such like. To me, I know they do not belong now: but I will dispose of them to procure you an asylum somewhere—they will fetch, I should think, £400,—to prevent your going to Mr. Duffian.” No exhibition of great-mindedness which the Countess could perceive, ever found her below it. “Never, love, never!” she said. “Then, will you go to Evan?” “Evan? I hate him!” The olive-hued visage was dark. It brightened as she added, “At least as much as my religious sentiments permit me to. A boy who has thwarted me at every turn!—disgraced us! Indeed, I find it difficult to pardon you the supposition of such a possibility as your own consent to look on him ever again, Harriet.”