Edgar, as he rushed out, saw heads peeping over the staircase, of which he took no notice, though one of them was no less than the curled and shining head of the future Lady Granton, destined Marchioness (one day or other) of Hauteville. He escaped from these anxious spies, and rushed through the hall, feeling himself safest out of the house. But on the threshold he met Harry Thornleigh, who looked at him from head to foot with an insolent surprise which made Edgar’s blood boil. “You here!” said Harry, with unmistakably disagreeable intention; then all at once his tone changed--Edgar could not imagine why--and he held out his hand in greeting. “Missed you at Tottenham’s,” said Harry; “they all want you. That little brute Phil is getting unendurable. I wish you’d whop him when you go back.” “I shall not be back for some days,” said Edgar shortly. “I have business----” “Here?” asked Harry, with well-simulated surprise. “If you’ll let me give you a little advice, Earnshaw, and won’t take it amiss--I can’t help saying you’ll get no good here.” “Thank you,” said Edgar, feeling a glow of offence mount to his face. “I suppose every man is the best judge in his own case; but, in the meantime, I am leaving town--for a day or two.” “_Au revoir_, then, at Tottenham’s,” said Harry, with a nod, half-hostile, half-friendly, and marched into his own house, or what would one day be his own house, with the air of a master. Edgar left it with a curious sense of the discouragement meant to be conveyed to him, which was half-whimsical, half-painful. Harry meant nothing less than to make him feel that his presence was undesired and inopportune, without, however, making any breach with him; he had his own reasons for keeping up a certain degree of friendship with Edgar, but he had no desire that it should go any further than he thought proper and suitable. As for his sister’s feelings in the matter, Harry ignored and scouted them with perfect calm and self-possession. If she went and entered a Sisterhood, as they had all feared at one time, why, she would make a fool of herself, and there would be an end of it! “I shouldn’t interfere,” Harry had said. “It would be silly; but there would be an end of her--no more responsibility, and that sort of thing. Let her, if she likes, so long as you’re sure she’ll stay.” But to allow her to make “a low marriage” was an entirely different matter. Therefore he set Edgar down, according to his own consciousness, even though he was quite disinclined to quarrel with Edgar. He was troubled by no meltings of heart, such as disturbed the repose of his mother. He liked the man well enough, but what had that to do with it? It was necessary that Gussy should marry well if she married at all--not so much for herself as for the future interests of the house of Thornleigh. Harry felt that to have a set of little beggars calling him “uncle,” in the future ages, and sheltering