with the foreign
Count, which his penitent wife had privately confessed to that strict
Churchwoman.

'Thank Heaven that you have no children,' Mrs. Bonner had said; and the
Countess humbly replied:

'It is indeed my remorseful consolation!'

'Who knows that it is not your punishment?' added Mrs. Bonner; the
Countess weeping.

She went and attended morning prayers in Mrs. Bonner's apartments, alone
with the old lady. 'To make up for lost time in Catholic Portugal!' she
explained it to the household.

On the morning after Miss Current had come to shape the party, most of
the inmates of Beckley Court being at breakfast, Rose gave a lead to the
conversation.

'Aunt Bel! I want to ask you something. We've been making bets about
you. Now, answer honestly, we're all friends. Why did you refuse all
your offers?'

'Quite simple, child,' replied the unabashed ex-beauty.

'A matter of taste. I liked twenty shillings better than a sovereign.'

Rose looked puzzled, but the men laughed, and Rose exclaimed:

'Now I see! How stupid I am! You mean, you may have friends when you are
not married. Well, I think that's the wisest, after all. You don't lose
them, do you? Pray, Mr. Evan, are you thinking Aunt Bel might still
alter her mind for somebody, if she knew his value?'

'I was presuming to hope there might be a place vacant among the
twenty,' said Evan, slightly bowing to both. 'Am I pardoned?'

'I like you!' returned Aunt Bel, nodding at him. 'Where do you come
from? A young man who'll let himself go for small coin's a jewel worth
knowing.'

'Where do I come from?' drawled Laxley, who had been tapping an egg with
a dreary expression.

'Aunt Bel spoke to Mr. Harrington,' said Rose, pettishly.

'Asked him where he came from,' Laxley continued his drawl. 'He didn't
answer, so I thought it polite for another of the twenty to strike in.'

'I must thank you expressly,' said Evan, and achieved a cordial bow.

Rose gave Evan one of her bright looks, and then called the attention
of Ferdinand Laxley to the fact that he had lost a particular bet made
among them.

'What bet?' asked Laxley. 'About the profession?'

A stream of colour shot over Rose's face. Her eyes flew nervously from
Laxley to Evan, and then to Drummond. Laxley appeared pleased as a man
who has made a witty sally: Evan was outwardly calm, while Drummond
replied to the mute appeal of Rose, by saying:

'Yes; we've all lost. But who could hit it? The lad