hing of an intention to depreciate in the word "clerk."
Florence had not thought much of Mr. Anderson's worth, nor, as far as
she had seen them, of the duties generally performed at the British
Embassy. She was ignorant of the peculiar little niceties and
intricacies which required the residence at Brussels of a gentleman with
all the tact possessed by Sir Magnus. She did not know that while the
mere international work of the office might be safely intrusted to Mr.
Blow and Mr. Bunderdown, all those little niceties, that smiling and
that frowning, that taking off of hats and only half taking them off,
that genial, easy manner, and that stiff hauteur, formed the peculiar
branch of Sir Magnus himself,--and, under Sir Magnus, of Mr. Anderson.
She did not understand that even to that pair of ponies which was
promised to her were to be attached certain important functions, which
she was to control as the deputy of the great man's deputy And now she
had called the great man's deputy a clerk!

"Mr. Anderson is no such thing," said Lady Mountjoy.

"His young man, then,--or private secretary;--only somebody else is
that."

"You are very impertinent and very ungrateful. Mr. Anderson is second
secretary of legation. There is no officer attached to our establishment
of more importance. I believe you say it on purpose to anger me. And
then you compare this gentleman to Mr. Annesley, a man to whom no one
will speak."

"I will speak to him." Had Harry heard her say that, he ought to have
been a happy man in spite of his trouble.

"You! What good can you do him?" Florence nodded her head, almost
imperceptibly, but still there was a nod, signifying more than she could
possibly say. She thought that she could do him a world of good if she
were near him, and some good, too, though she were far away. If she were
with him she could hang on to his arm,--or perhaps at some future time
round his neck,--and tell him that she would be true to him though all
others might turn away. And she could be just as true where she was,
though she could not comfort him by telling him so with her own words.
Then it was that she resolved upon writing that letter. He should
already have what little comfort she might administer in his absence.
"Now, listen to me, Florence. He is a thorough reprobate."

"I will not hear him so called. He is no reprobate."

"He has behaved in such a way that all England is crying out about him.
He has done that which will