beggar, with other elegances of
a similar kind. The man who had taken the Contessa's house for her, and
a great deal of trouble about all her arrangements, whom she described
as a very old friend, and whose rueful sense that house-agents and
livery stables might eventually look to him if she had no success in her
enterprise did not impair his fidelity, went so far as to speak
seriously to Montjoie on the subject. "Look here, Mont," he said, "don't
you think you are going it rather too strong? There is not a thing
against the girl, who is as nice as a girl can be, but then the aunt,
you know----"

"I'm glad she is the aunt," said Montjoie. "I thought she was the
mother: and I always heard you were devoted to her."

"We are very old friends," said this disinterested adviser. "There's
nothing I would not do for her. She is the best soul out, and was the
loveliest woman I can tell you--the girl is nothing to what she was.
Aunt or cousin, I am not sure what is the relationship; but that's not
the question. Don't you think you are coming it rather strong?"

"Oh, I've got my wits about me," said Montjoie; and then he added,
rather reluctantly--for it is the fashion of his kind to be vulgar and
to keep what generosity or nobleness there is in them carefully out of
sight--"and I've no relations, don't you know? I've got nobody to please
but myself----"

"Well, that is a piece of luck anyhow," the Mentor said; and he told the
Contessa the gist of the conversation next morning, who was highly
pleased by the news.

The curious point in all this was that Bice had not the least objection
to Montjoie. She was a clever girl and he was a stupid young man, but
whether it was that her entirely unawakened heart had no share at all in
the matter, or that her clear practical view of affairs influenced her
sentiments as well as her mind, it is certain that she was quite pleased
with her fate, and ready to embrace it without the least sense that it
was a sacrifice or anything but the happiest thing possible. He amused
her, as she had said to Jock. He made her laugh, most frequently at
himself; but what did that matter? He had a kind of good looks, and that
good nature which is the product of prosperity and well-being, and a
sense of general superiority to the world. Perhaps the girl saw no man
of a superior order to compare him with; but, as a matter of fact, she
was perfectly satisfied with Montjoie. Mr. Derwentwater and Jock were
more