the palings and hold a communication
with his friends Franko and Fred. One took the whip, and after mutual
flourishes, drove away.

'Now!' mused the Countess, 'if Captain Evremonde should come!' It would
break up the pic-nic. Alas! the Countess had surrendered her humble
hopes of a day's pleasure. But if her mother came as well, what a
diversion that would be! If her mother came before the Captain, his
arrival would cover the retreat; if the Captain preceded her, she would
not be noticed. Suppose her mother refrained from coming? In that case
it was a pity, but the Jocelyns had brought it on themselves.

This mapping out of consequences followed the Countess's deeds, and did
not inspire them. Her passions sharpened her instincts, which produced
her actions. The reflections ensued: as in nature, the consequences
were all seen subsequently! Observe the difference between your male and
female Generals.

On reflection, too, the Countess praised herself for having done all
that could be done. She might have written to her mother: but her
absence would have been remarked: her messenger might have been
overhauled and, lastly, Mrs. Mel--'Gorgon of a mother!' the Countess
cried out: for Mrs. Mel was like a Fate to her. She could remember only
two occasions in her whole life when she had been able to manage her
mother, and then by lying in such a way as to distress her conscience
severely.

'If Mama has conceived this idea of coming, nothing will impede her. My
prayers will infuriate her!' said the Countess, and she was sure that
she had acted both rightly and with wisdom.

She put on her armour of smiles: she plunged into the thick of the
enemy. Since they would not allow her to taste human happiness--she had
asked but for the pic-nic! a small truce! since they denied her that,
rather than let them triumph by seeing her wretched, she took into her
bosom the joy of demons. She lured Mr. George Uplift away from
Miss Carrington, and spoke to him strange hints of matrimonial
disappointments, looking from time to time at that apprehensive lady,
doating on her terrors. And Mr. George seconded her by his clouded face,
for he was ashamed not to show that he did not know Louisa Harrington in
the Countess de Saldar, and had not the courage to declare that he
did. The Countess spoke familiarly, but without any hint of an ancient
acquaintance between them. 'What a post her husband's got!' thought Mr.
George, not envying the Count. He