alked of at Greshamsbury, for that other affair of Mr Moffat and
Augusta monopolised the rural attention. Augusta, as we have said,
bore it well, and sustained the public gaze without much flinching.
Her period of martyrdom, however, did not last long, for soon
the news arrived of Frank's exploit in Pall Mall; and then the
Greshamsburyites forgot to think much more of Augusta, being fully
occupied in thinking of what Frank had done.

The tale, as it was first told, declared that Frank had followed Mr
Moffat up into his club; had dragged him thence into the middle of
Pall Mall, and had then slaughtered him on the spot. This was by
degrees modified till a sobered fiction became generally prevalent,
that Mr Moffat was lying somewhere, still alive, but with all his
bones in a general state of compound fracture. This adventure again
brought Frank into the ascendant, and restored to Mary her former
position as the Greshamsbury heroine.

"One cannot wonder at his being very angry," said Beatrice,
discussing the matter with Mary--very imprudently.

"Wonder--no; the wonder would have been if he had not been angry. One
might have been quite sure that he would have been angry enough."

"I suppose it was not absolutely right for him to beat Mr Moffat,"
said Beatrice, apologetically.

"Not right, Trichy? I think he was very right."

"Not to beat him so very much, Mary!"

"Oh, I suppose a man can't exactly stand measuring how much he does
these things. I like your brother for what he has done, and I say
so frankly--though I suppose I ought to eat my tongue out before I
should say such a thing, eh, Trichy?"

"I don't know that there's any harm in that," said Beatrice,
demurely. "If you both liked each other there would be no harm in
that--if that were all."

"Wouldn't there?" said Mary, in a low tone of bantering satire; "that
is so kind, Trichy, coming from you--from one of the family, you
know."

"You are well aware, Mary, that if I could have my wishes--"

"Yes: I am well aware what a paragon of goodness you are. If you
could have your way I should be admitted into heaven again; shouldn't
I? Only with this proviso, that if a stray angel should ever whisper
to me with bated breath, mistaking me, perchance, for one of his own
class, I should be bound to close my ears to his whispering, and
remind him humbly that I was only a poor mortal. You would trust me
so far, wouldn't you, Trichy?"

"I would trust you in any way,