What difference did it make to Harriet Brandt herself, that she was marked with an hereditary taint? Did it render her less beautiful, less attractive, less graceful and accomplished? Were the sins of the fathers ever to be visited upon the children?--was no sympathetic fellow-creature to be found to say, “If it is so, let us forget it! It is not your fault nor mine! Our duty is to make each other’s lives as happy as possible and trust the rest to God.” He hoped as he sat there, that before long, Harriet Brandt would find a friend for life, who would never remind her of anything outside her own loveliness and loveable qualities. Presently he rose, with a sigh, and going to his bookcase drew thence an uncut copy of his last work, “God and the People.” It had been a tremendous success, having already reached the tenth edition. It dealt largely, as its title indicated, with his favourite theory, but it was light and amusing also, full of strong nervous language, and bristling every here and there, with wit--not strained epigrams, such as no Society conversationalists ever tossed backward and forward to each other--but honest, mirth-provoking humour, arising from the humorous side of Pennell’s own character, which ever had a good-humoured jest for the oddities and comicalities of everyday life. He regarded the volume for a moment as though he were considering if it were an offering worthy of its destination, and then he took up a pen and transcribed upon the fly leaf the name of Harriet Brandt--only her name, nothing more. “She seems intelligent,” he thought, “and she may like to read it. Who knows, if there is any fear of the sad destiny which Ralph prophesies for her, whether I may not be happy enough to turn her ideas into a worthier and more wholesome direction. With an independent fortune, how much good might she not accomplish, amongst those less happily situated than herself! But the other idea--No, I will not entertain it for a moment! She is too good, too pure, too beautiful, for so horrible a fate! Poor little girl! Poor, poor little girl!” CHAPTER XV. The holiday season being now over, and the less fashionable people returned to town, Harriet Brandt’s curiosity was much excited by the number of visitors who called at the Red House, but were never shewn into the drawing-room. As many as a dozen might arrive in the course of an afternoon and were taken by Miss Wynward straight upstairs to the room where Madame Gobelli and Mr. Milliken so often shut themselves up together. These mysterious visitors were not objects of charity either, but well-dressed men and women, some of whom came in their own carriages, and all of whom appeared to be of the higher class of society. The Baroness had left off going to the factory, also, and stayed at home every day, apparently with the sole reason of being at hand to receive her visitors.