ain’t tired of it, and then he becomes jealous.  But Lord Ongar was not jealous.  He was not man enough to be jealous.  Hor-r-rid wr-retch!” She then went on telling many things which, as he listened, almost made Harry Clavering’s hair stand on end, and which must not be repeated here.  She herself had met her brother in Paris, and had been with him when they encountered the Ongars in that capital.  According to her showing, they had, all of them, been together nearly from that time to the day of Lord Ongar’s ’death.  But Harry soon learned to feel that he could not believe all that the little lady told him.

“Edouard was always with him.  Poor Edouard!” she said.  “There was some money matter between them about ecarte.  When that wr-retch got to be so bad, he did not like parting with his money—­not even when he had lost it!  And Julie had been so good always!  Julie and Edouard had done everything for the nasty wr-retch.”  Harry did not at all like this mingling of the name of Julie and Edouard, though it did not for a moment fill his mind with any suspicion as to Lady Ongar.  It made him feel, however, that this woman was dangerous, and that her tongue might be very mischievous if she talked to others as she did to him.  As he looked at her—­and being now in her own room she was not dressed with scrupulous care—­and as he listened to her, he could not conceive what Lady Ongar had seen in her that she should have made a friend of her.  Her brother, the count, was undoubtedly a gentleman in his manners and way of life, but he did not know by what name to call this woman, who called Lady Ongar Julie.  She was altogether unlike any ladies whom he had known.

“You know that Julie will be in town next week?”

“No; I did not know when she was to return.”

“Oh, yes; she has business with those people in South Audley Street on Thursday.  Poor dear!  Those lawyers are so harassing!  But when people have seven—­thousand—­pounds a year, they must put up with lawyers.”  As she pronounced those talismanic words, which to her were almost celestial, Harry perceived for the first time that there was some sort of resemblance between her and the count.  He could see that they were brother and sister.  “I shall go to her directly she comes, and of course I will tell her how good you have been to come to me.  And Edouard has been dining with you?  How good of you.  He told me how charming you are”—­Harry was quite sure then that she was fibbing—­“and that it was so pleasant!  Edouard is very much attached to Julie; very much.  Though, of course, all that was mere nonsense; just lies told by that wicked lord.  Bah! what did he know?” Harry by this time was beginning to wish that he had never found his way to Mount Street.

“Of course they were lies,” he said roughly.

“Of course, mon cher.  Those things always are lies, and so wicked!  What good do they do?”

“Lies never do any good,” said Harry.