“He owed his first seat in parliament to the votes of two near relations of mine, and when I called upon him some time ago, in his office, he absolutely ordered me out of the room. Hang his impertinence; if ever I can pay him off, I guess I shan’t fail for want of good-will!” “Ordered you out of the room? That’s not like Egerton, who is civil, if formal—at least to most men. You must have offended him in his weak point.” “A man whom the public pays so handsomely should have no weak point. What is Egerton’s?” “Oh, he values himself on being a thorough gentleman—a man of the nicest honor,” said Levy, with a sneer. “You must have ruffled his plumes there. How was it?” “I forget now,” answered Mr. Avenel, who was far too well versed in the London scale of human dignities since his marriage, not to look back with a blush at his desire of knighthood. “No use bothering our heads now about the plumes of an arrogant popinjay. To return to the subject we were discussing. You must be sure to let me have this money next week.” “Rely on it.” “And you’ll not let my bills get into the market: keep them under lock and key.” “So we agreed.” “It is but a temporary difficulty—royal mourning, such nonsense—panic in trade, lest these precious minsters go out. I shall soon float over the troubled waters.” “By the help of a paper boat” said the Baron, laughing: and the two gentlemen shook hands and parted. Chapter VI. Meanwhile Audley Egerton’s carriage had deposited him at the door of Lord Lansmere’s house, at Knightsbridge. He asked for the Countess, and was shown into the drawing-room which was deserted. Egerton was paler than usual; and as the door opened, he wiped the unwonted moisture from his forehead, and there was a quiver in his firm lip. The Countess too, on entering, showed an emotion almost equally unusual to her self-control. She pressed Audley’s hand in silence, and seating herself by his side, seemed to collect her thoughts. At length she said. “It is rarely indeed that we meet, Mr. Egerton, in spite of your intimacy with Lansmere and Harley. I go so little into your world, and you will not voluntarily come to me.” “Madam,” replied Egerton, “I might evade your kind reproach by stating that my hours are not at my disposal; but I answer you with plain truth—it must be painful to both of us to meet.” The Countess colored and sighed, but did not dispute the assertion. Audley resumed. “And therefore, I presume that, on sending for me, you have something of moment to communicate.” “It relates to Harley,” said the Countess, as if in apology; “and I would take your advice.” “To Harley! speak on, I beseech you.” “My son has probably told you that he has educated and reared a young girl, with the intention to make her Lady L’Estrange, and hereafter Countess of Lansmere.” “Harley has no secrets from me,” said Egerton, mournfully. “This young lady has arrived in England—is here—in this house.” “And Harley too?”