no such
permission. He would tell her, I suppose, that her sister was no fit
companion for her."

"He could not say that now, as he has asked you there."

"Ah, I don't know that. He would say one thing first and another after,
just as it would suit him. He has some object in wishing that I should
go there, I suppose." Harry, who knew the object, and who was too
faithful to betray Lady Clavering, even though he was altogether hostile
to his cousin Archie's suit, felt a little proud of his position, but
said nothing in answer to this. "But I shall not go; nor will I see him,
or go to his house when he comes up to London. When do they come,
Harry?"

"He is in town, now."

"What a nice husband, is he not? And when does Hermione come?"

"I do not know; she did not say. Little Hughy is ill, and that may keep
her."

"After all, Harry, I may have to pack up and go to Clavering even
yet--that is, if the mistress of the house will have me."

"Never in the way you mean, Lady Ongar. Do not propose to kill all my
relations in order that I might have their property. Archie intends to
marry, and have a dozen children."

"Archie marry! Who will have him? But such men as he are often in the
way by marrying some cookmaid at last. Archie is Hugh's body-slave.
Fancy being body-slave to Hugh Clavering! He has two, and poor Hermy is
the other; only he prefers not to have Hermy near him, which is lucky
for her. Here is some tea. Let us sit down and be comfortable, and talk
no more about our horrid relations. I don't know what made me speak of
them. I did not mean it."

Harry sat down and took the cup from her hand, as she had bidden the
servant to leave the tray upon the table.

"So you saw Count Pateroff," she said.

"Yes, and his sister."

"So she told me. What do you think of them?" To this question Harry made
no immediate answer. "You may speak out. Though I lived abroad with such
as them for twelve months, I have not forgotten the sweet scent of our
English hedgerows, nor the wholesomeness of English household manners.
What do you think of them?"

"They are not sweet or wholesome," said he.

"Oh, Harry, you are so honest! Your honesty is beautiful. A spade will
ever be a spade with you."

He thought that she was laughing at him, and colored.

"You pressed me to speak," he said, "and I did but use your own words."

"Yes, but you used them with such straightforward violence! Well, you
shall use what words you please,