Harriet merely replied by one of her most scornful looks. Mr. Gage took up the newspaper, and Hubert, coming in at the moment, persuaded Elizabeth and Margaret to go with him to one of the hot-houses to see some beautiful American plants. Now on this very morning it chanced that Mrs. Somerton felt it her duty to call at Chirke Weston. For, as she said, it was impossible to know what that artful little creature, Margaret Capel was about with those two brothers, unless she went to see it with her own eyes; and that it was Blanche's business to counteract her as much as possible: that if Margaret had really entangled Hubert, to flirt with him would be a mere waste of time; but that although George was not an impressible subject, yet by management, something might be done with him. Even a little attention from so fastidious a person might be of service to her; for there were several men in the neighbourhood who took for gospel all that George Gage chose to say. "Ah!" said the amiable Blanche, "it is very well that I know how to manage matters without your help! See what you have done for my sister. Thank you! I don't wish to follow her example. I shall find a match for myself!" "You are looking very well to day," said Mrs. Somerton, putting up her glass, "if you would but wear your hair a little lower on your face." "Much obliged," retorted Blanche. "I say, look at my sister, as complete an old maid as ever lived; all owing to your valuable hints. She has nothing for it now but to go to Missionary meetings, and pick up a stray Methodist preacher." "There is one thing," said Mrs. Somerton, exasperated by this attack. "I don't believe anybody ever had such ill-disposed ungrateful children as mine!" "Chips of the old block, I suppose," returned Blanche laughing. "Come, come;" said Mrs. Somerton, as they reached the entrance to Chirke Weston, "this is not to the purpose; recollect that George is your object to-day." While this attack was preparing for the unconscious Mr. Gage, he was in the drawing-room pretending to read the paper, and employing himself in watching intently every movement of Harriet Conway. As soon as Elizabeth was gone, Harriet took up a book, drew a footstool close to the fire, and sat down upon it. She wore a beautiful morning gown of purple Cashemere, worked in floss silk, and trimmed, and tied with cords and tassels. Her attitude was striking and graceful, and as she slowly turned the leaves of her book, the light of the fire sparkled on the costly rings that adorned her slender fingers. Although Mr. Gage never removed his eyes from her, she feigned to be totally absorbed in her book, and unconscious of his presence. At last he approached her under pretence of mending the fire. She looked up and nodded to him. "What is that you are reading?" said he. "A French novel? I thought ladies never did such things in public."