nkets; but even for that
there was generally some wrangle between the rector and the steward. "If
there's to be all this row about it," the rector had said to the
steward, "I'll never ask for it again." "I wish my uncle would only be
as good as his word," Sir Hugh had said, when the rector's speech was
repeated to him. Therefore, there was not much of real rejoicing in the
parish on this occasion, though the bells were rung loudly, and though
the people, young and old, did cluster round the churchyard to see the
lord lead his bride out of the church. "A puir feckless thing, tottering
along like-not half the makings of a man. A stout lass like she could
a'most blow him away wi' a puff of her mouth." That was the verdict
which an old farmer's wife passed upon him, and that verdict was made
good by the general opinion of the parish.

But though the lord might be only half a man, Julia Brabazon walked out
from the church every inch a countess. Whatever price she might have
paid, she had at any rate got the thing which she had intended to buy.
And as she stepped into the chariot which carried her away to the
railway station on her way to Dover, she told herself that she had done
right. She had chosen her profession, as Harry Clavering had chosen his;
and having so far succeeded, she would do her best to make her success
perfect. Mercenary! Of course she had been mercenary. Were not all men
and women mercenary upon whom devolved the necessity of earning their
bread?

There was a great breakfast at the park--for the quality--and the rector
on this occasion submitted himself to become the guest of the nephew
whom he thoroughly disliked.

Chapter IV

Florence Burton

It was now Christmas time at Stratton, or rather Christmas time was near
at hand; not the Christmas next after the autumn of Lord Ongar's
marriage, but the following Christmas, and Harry Clavering had finished
his studies in Mr. Burton's office. He flattered himself that he had not
been idle while he was there, and was now about to commence his more
advanced stage of pupilage, under the great Mr. Beilby, in London, with
hopes which were still good, if they were not so magnificent as they
once had been.

When he first saw Mr. Burton in his office, and beheld the dusty
pigeonholes with dusty papers, and caught the first glimpse of things as
they really were in the workshop of that man of business, he had, to say
the truth, been disgusted. And Mrs. Bu