ontrol. Keenly sensible to humour as the Countess was, her face sidled
up to his immovably sweet. Harry looked, and looked away, and looked
again. The poor fellow was so profoundly aware of his foolishness that he
even doubted whether he was admired.

The Countess trifled with his English nature; quietly watched him bob
between tugging humility and airy conceit, and went on:

'Yes! I will trust you, and that is saying very much, for what protection
is a brother? I am alone here--defenceless!'

Men, of course, grow virtuously zealous in an instant on behalf of the
lovely dame who tells them bewitchingly, she is alone and defenceless,
with pitiful dimples round the dewy mouth that entreats their
guardianship and mercy!

The provincial Don Juan found words--a sign of clearer sensations within.
He said:

'Upon my honour, I'd look after you better than fifty brothers!'

The Countess eyed him softly, and then allowed herself the luxury of a
laugh.

'No, no! it is not the sheep, it is the wolf I fear.'

And she went through a bit of the concluding portion of the drama of
Little Red Riding Hood very prettily, and tickled him so that he became
somewhat less afraid of her.

'Are you truly so bad as report would have you to be, Mr. Harry?' she
asked, not at all in the voice of a censor.

'Pray don't think me--a--anything you wouldn't have me,' the youth
stumbled into an apt response.

'We shall see,' said the Countess, and varied her admiration for the
noble creature beside her with gentle ejaculations on the beauty of the
deer that ranged the park of Beckley Court, the grand old oaks and
beeches, the clumps of flowering laurel, and the rich air swarming
Summer.

She swept out her arm. 'And this most magnificent estate will be yours?
How happy will she be who is led hither to reside by you, Mr. Harry!'

'Mine? No; there's the bother,' he answered, with unfeigned chagrin.
'Beckley isn't Elburne property, you know. It belongs to old Mrs. Bonner,
Rose's grandmama.'

'Oh!' interjected the Countess, indifferently.

'I shall never get it--no chance,' Harry pursued. 'Lost my luck with the
old lady long ago.' He waxed excited on a subject that drew him from his
shamefacedness. 'It goes to Juley Bonner, or to Rosey; it's a toss-up
which. If I'd stuck up to Juley, I might have had a pretty fair chance.
They wanted me to, that's why I scout the premises. But fancy Juley
Bonner!'

'You couldn't, upon your honour!' rhymed