'Let me see: when was that?' she asked slyly. Harry coloured, for it related to a time when he had not behaved prettily to her. 'There, Juley, that 's all forgotten. I was a fool-a scoundrel, if you like. I 'm sorry for it now.' 'Do you want money, Harry?' 'Oh, money!' 'Have you repaid Mr. Harrington yet?' 'There--no, I haven't. Bother it! that fellow's name's always on your tongue. I'll tell you what, Juley--but it's no use. He's a low, vulgar adventurer.' 'Dear Harry,' said Juliana, softly; 'don't bring your aunts with you when you come to see me.' 'Well, then I'll tell you, Juley. It's enough that he's a beastly tailor.' 'Quite enough,' she responded; 'and he is neither a fool nor a scoundrel.' Harry's memory for his own speech was not quick. When Juliana's calm glance at him called it up, he jumped from his chair, crying: 'Upon my honour, I'll tell you what, Juley! If I had money to pay him to-morrow, I'd insult him on the spot.' Juliana meditated, and said: 'Then all your friends must wish you to continue poor.' This girl had once been on her knees to him. She had looked up to him with admiring love, and he had given her a crumb or so occasionally, thinking her something of a fool, and more of a pest; but now he could not say a word to her without being baffled in an elderly-sisterly tone exasperating him so far that he positively wished to marry her, and coming to the point, offered himself with downright sincerity, and was rejected. Harry left in a passion. Juliana confided the secret to Caroline, who suggested interested motives, which Juliana would not hear of. 'Ah,' said the Countess, when Caroline mentioned the case to her, 'of course the poor thing cherishes her first offer. She would believe a curate to be disinterested! But mind that Evan has due warning when she is to meet him. Mind that he is dressed becomingly.' Caroline asked why. 'Because, my dear, she is enamoured of his person. These little unhealthy creatures are always attracted by the person. She thinks it to be Evan's qualities. I know better: it is his person. Beckley Court may be lost by a shabby coat!' The Countess had recovered from certain spiritual languors into which she had fallen after her retreat. Ultimate victory hung still in the balance. Oh! if Evan would only marry this little sufferer, who was so sure to die within a year! or, if she lived (for marriage has often been as a resurrection to some poor female invalids), there was Beckley Court, a splendid basis for future achievements. Reflecting in this fashion, the Countess pardoned her brother. Glowing hopes hung fresh lamps in her charitable breast. She stepped across the threshold of Tailordom, won Mr. Goren's heart by her condescension, and worked Evan into a sorrowful mood concerning the invalid. Was not Juliana his only active friend? In return, he said things which only required a little colouring to be very acceptable to her.