'I shall never get it--no chance,' Harry pursued. 'Lost my luck with the old lady long ago.' He waxed excited on a subject that drew him from his shamefacedness. 'It goes to Juley Bonner, or to Rosey; it's a toss-up which. If I'd stuck up to Juley, I might have had a pretty fair chance. They wanted me to, that's why I scout the premises. But fancy Juley Bonner!' 'You couldn't, upon your honour!' rhymed the Countess. (And Harry let loose a delighted 'Ha! ha !' as at a fine stroke of wit.) 'Are we enamoured of a beautiful maiden, Senor Harry?' 'Not a bit,' he assured her eagerly. 'I don't know any girl. I don't care for 'em. I don't, really.' The Countess impressively declared to him that he must be guided by her; and that she might the better act his monitress, she desired to hear the pedigree of the estate, and the exact relations in which it at present stood toward the Elburne family. Glad of any theme he could speak on, Harry informed her that Beckley Court was bought by his grandfather Bonner from the proceeds of a successful oil speculation. 'So we ain't much on that side,' he said. 'Oil!' was the Countess's weary exclamation. 'I imagined Beckley Court to be your ancestral mansion. Oil!' Harry deprecatingly remarked that oil was money. 'Yes,' she replied; 'but you are not one to mix oil with your Elburne blood. Let me see--oil! That, I conceive, is grocery. So, you are grocers on one side!' 'Oh, come! hang it!' cried Harry, turning red. 'Am I leaning on the grocer's side, or on the lord's?' Harry felt dreadfully taken down. 'One ranks with one's father,' he said. 'Yes,' observed the Countess; 'but you should ever be careful not to expose the grocer. When I beheld my brother bow to you, and that your only return was to stare at him in that singular way, I was not aware of this, and could not account for it.' I declare I'm very sorry,' said Harry, with a nettled air. 'Do just let me tell you how it happened. We were at an inn, where there was an odd old fellow gave a supper; and there was your brother, and another fellow --as thorough an upstart as I ever met, and infernally impudent. He got drinking, and wanted to fight us. Now I see it! Your brother, to save his friend's bones, said he was a tailor! Of course no gentleman could fight a tailor; and it blew over with my saying we'd order our clothes of him.' 'Said he was a--!' exclaimed the Countess, gazing blankly. 'I don't wonder at your feeling annoyed,' returned Harry. 'I saw him with Rosey next day, and began to smell a rat then, but Laxley won't give up the tailor. He's as proud as Lucifer. He wanted to order a suit of your brother to-day; but I said--not while he's in the house, however he came here.' The Countess had partially recovered. They were now in the village street, and Harry pointed out the post-office.