ow I see it! Your brother, to
save his friend's bones, said he was a tailor! Of course no gentleman
could fight a tailor; and it blew over with my saying we'd order our
clothes of him.'

'Said he was a--!' exclaimed the Countess, gazing blankly.

'I don't wonder at your feeling annoyed,' returned Harry. 'I saw him
with Rosey next day, and began to smell a rat then, but Laxley won't
give up the tailor. He's as proud as Lucifer. He wanted to order a suit
of your brother to-day; but I said--not while he's in the house, however
he came here.'

The Countess had partially recovered. They were now in the village
street, and Harry pointed out the post-office.

'Your divination with regard to my brother's most eccentric behaviour
was doubtless correct,' she said. 'He wished to succour his wretched
companion. Anywhere--it matters not to him what!--he allies himself with
miserable mortals. He is the modern Samaritan. You should thank him for
saving you an encounter with some low creature.'

Swaying the letter to and fro, she pursued archly: 'I can read your
thoughts. You are dying to know to whom this dear letter is addressed!'

Instantly Harry, whose eyes had previously been quite empty of
expression, glanced at the letter wistfully.

Shall I tell you?'

'Yes, do.'

'It's to somebody I love.'

'Are you in love then?' was his disconcerted rejoinder.

'Am I not married?'

'Yes; but every woman that's married isn't in love with her husband, you
know.'

'Oh! Don Juan of the provinces!' she cried, holding the seal of the
letter before him in playful reproof. 'Fie!'

'Come! who is it?' Harry burst out.

'I am not, surely, obliged to confess my correspondence to you?
Remember!' she laughed lightly. 'He already assumes the airs of a lord
and master! You are rapid, Mr. Harry.'

'Won't you really tell me?' he pleaded.

She put a corner of the letter in the box. 'Must I?'

All was done with the archest elegance: the bewildering condescension of
a Goddess to a boor.

'I don't say you must, you know: but I should like to see it,' returned
Harry.

'There!' She showed him a glimpse of 'Mrs.,' cleverly concealing
plebeian 'Cogglesby,' and the letter slid into darkness. 'Are you
satisfied?'

'Yes,' said Harry, wondering why he felt a relief at the sight of 'Mrs.'
written on a letter by a lady he had only known half an hour.

'And now,' said she, 'I shall demand a boon of you, Mr. Harry. Will it
be accorded?'

She