“And I don’t think it right now.  You must listen to me for a moment, Captain Clavering—­for fear of a mistake.  Believe me, any such plan as this is quite out of the question; quite.”  In uttering that last word she managed to use a tone of voice which did make an impression on him.  “I never can, under any circumstances, become your wife.  You might as well look upon that as altogether decided, because it will save us both annoyance.”

“You needn’t be so sure yet, Julia.”

“Yes, I must be sure.  And unless you will promise to drop the matter, I must—­to protect myself—­desire my servants not to admit you into the house again.  I shall be sorry to do that, and I think you will save me from the necessity.”

He did save her from that necessity, and before he went he gave her the required promise.  “That’s well,” said she, tendering him her hand; “and now we shall part friends.”

“I shall like to be friends,” said he, in a crestfallen voice, and with that he took his leave.  It was a great comfort to him that he had the scheme of Jack Stuart’s yacht and the trip to Norway for his immediate consolation.

Chapter XLIV

What Lady Ongar Thought About It

Mrs. Burton, it may perhaps be remembered, had formed in her heart a scheme of her own—­a scheme of which she thought with much trepidation, and in which she could not request her husband’s assistance, knowing well that he would not only not assist it, but that he would altogether disapprove of it.  But yet she could not put it aside from her thoughts, believing that it might be the means of bringing Harry Clavering and Florence together.  Her husband had now thoroughly condemned poor Harry, and passed sentence against him; not, indeed, openly to Florence herself; but very often in the hearing of his wife.  Cecilia, womanlike, was more angry with circumstances than with the offending man—­with circumstances and with the woman who stood in Florence’s way.  She was perfectly willing to forgive Harry, if Harry could only be made to go right at last.  He was good-looking and pleasant, and had nice ways in a house, and was altogether too valuable as a lover to be lost without many struggles.  So she kept to her scheme, and at last she carried it into execution.

She started alone from her house one morning, and, getting into an omnibus at Brompton, had herself put down on the rising ground in Piccadilly, opposite to the Green Park.  Why she had hesitated to tell the omnibus-man to stop at Bolton Street can hardly be explained; but she had felt that there would be almost a declaration of guilt in naming that locality.  So she got out on the little hill, and walked up in front of the prime minister’s house—­as it was then—­and of the yellow palace built by one of our merchant princes, and turned into the street that was all but interdicted to her by her own conscience.  She turned up Bolton Street, and with a trembling hand knocked at Lady Ongar’s door.