Mr. Gage brought it her; she took out of it what she wanted, and then returned him the box. He sat down beside her still holding it. "I think you don't often work," he said. "I do not remember to have seen you." "No. This is not work exactly; this is crochet," said Harriet, holding up a purse of blue and silver twist. "Don't you think it very handsome?" "Yes. Only so stiff; you could not draw it through a ring." "Of course not; it is to have a clasp. See, this will match it very well; silver and turquoise. Now, wrap it up again in the silver paper. Put it neatly away. Now who do you think it is for?" Mr. Gage's brow darkened. "Uncle Singleton! When he plays at cards, he always likes to have a handsome purse. Would you believe it? I think it is only that he may have the pleasure of saying, 'My niece Harriet made this for me.!'" "You are a great favourite there," said Mr. Gage, looking quite comfortable again. "Can you wonder?" said Harriet, looking very like a coquette into his face. "No indeed," replied Mr. Gage. "It was there I first met Lord Raymond," said Harriet, heaving a deep sigh. Mr. Gage put down her work-box, and rose from the sofa; but he did not return to Blanche, he went to his newspaper. "Too bad!" said Blanche to herself, swelling with rage and spite. "She does not want him for herself, and yet she must needs interfere with me, when I was getting on so nicely. A malicious creature! I should like to drown her! I don't think anything in this world so mean as to interrupt another's flirtation when you have no good reason for doing it." And Blanche crossed the room and tried very hard to detach Hubert from Margaret. George Gage did not at all recover this last attack before dinner-time; he was very grand and sullen. Harriet, on the contrary, was in the wildest spirits. In many respects Margaret thought these two very well suited to each other. Kind and cordial as Harriet was to her, nothing could exceed her pride; and she was as haughty and as distant to people, whom she did not consider on a level with herself, as Mr. Gage could be. Her manners that morning were merely a sample of her general style of behaviour. A cold stare, and a monosyllable were all she vouchsafed to any of the village people who happened to be on visiting terms at Chirke Weston, and the only subject on which she and George Gage were sure to sympathise, was disgust at the intrusion of such persons while they condescended to honour the house with their presence. At such times, their eyes would meet with an expression of endurance very different from the hostile looks they so frequently exchanged. Harriet came down to dinner looking like an old picture. She wore a high dress of black satin, ornamented with Spanish buttons of gold filigree. Her hair was frizzed out round her head like some of Van Dyck's early pictures, and the striped camellias put in just behind the ear--she seemed determined to look her best this last evening.