"My Lady," said he, "what is an insult? I should think little indeed of
any one who could not forgive them by the score. But to leave one's
friends; to tear up the bonds of affection----"

He was unable to continue, for his emotion choked him, and he began to
weep.

Lady Vandeleur looked at him with a curious expression.

"This little fool," she thought, "imagines himself to be in love with
me. Why should he not become my servant instead of the General's? He is
good-natured, obliging, and understands dress; and besides, it will keep
him out of mischief. He is positively too pretty to be unattached."

That night she talked over the General, who was already somewhat ashamed
of his vivacity; and Harry was transferred to the feminine department,
where his life was little short of heavenly. He was always dressed with
uncommon nicety, wore delicate flowers in his button-hole, and could
entertain a visitor with tact and pleasantry. He took a pride in
servility to a beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur's commands as so
many marks of favour; and was pleased to exhibit himself before other
men, who derided and despised him, in his character of male lady's-maid
and man-milliner. Nor could he think enough of his existence from a
moral point of view. Wickedness seemed to him an essentially male
attribute, and to pass one's days with a delicate woman, and principally
occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit an enchanted isle among the
storms of life.

One fine morning he came into the drawing-room and began to arrange some
music on the top of the piano. Lady Vandeleur, at the other end of the
apartment, was speaking somewhat eagerly with her brother, Charlie
Pendragon, an elderly young man, much broken with dissipation, and very
lame of one foot. The private secretary, to whose entrance they paid no
regard, could not avoid overhearing a part of their conversation.

"To-day or never," said the lady. "Once and for all, it shall be done
to-day."

"To-day, if it must be," replied the brother, with a sigh. "But it is a
false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shall live to repent it
dismally."

Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and somewhat strangely in the
face.

"You forget," she said; "the man must die at last."

"Upon my word, Clara," said Pendragon, "I believe you are the most
heartless rascal in England."

"You men," she returned, "are so coarsely built, that you can never
appreciate a shade of meanin