Here the Countess breaks off to say, that from where she is writing, she can see Rose and Evan walking out to the cypress avenue, and that no eyes are on them; great praise being given to the absence of suspicion in the Jocelyn nature.

The communication is resumed the night of the same day.

’Two days at Beckley Court are over, and that strange sensation I had of being an intruder escaped from Dubbins’s, and expecting every instant the old schoolmistress to call for me, and expose me, and take me to the dark room, is quite vanished, and I feel quite at home, quite happy.  Evan is behaving well.  Quite the young nobleman.  With the women I had no fear of him; he is really admirable with the men—­easy, and talks of sport and politics, and makes the proper use of Portugal.  He has quite won the heart of his sister.  Heaven smiles on us, dearest Harriet!

’We must be favoured, my dear, for Evan is very troublesome—­ distressingly inconsiderate!  I left him for a day-remaining to comfort poor Mama—­and on the road he picked up an object he had known at school, and this creature, in shameful garments, is seen in the field where Rose and Evan are riding—­in a dreadful hat—­Rose might well laugh at it!—­he is seen running away from an old apple woman, whose fruit he had consumed without means to liquidate; but, of course, he rushes bolt up to Evan before all his grand company, and claims acquaintance, and Evan was base enough to acknowledge him!  He disengaged himself so far well by tossing his purse to the wretch, but if he knows not how to—­cut, I assure him it will be his ruin.  Resolutely he must cast the dust off his shoes, or he will be dragged down to their level.  By the way, as to hands and feet, comparing him with the Jocelyn men, he has every mark of better blood.  Not a question about it.  As Papa would say—­We have Nature’s proof.

’Looking out on a beautiful lawn, and the moon, and all sorts of trees, I must now tell you about the ladies here.

’Conning undid me to-night.  While Conning remains unattached, Conning is likely to be serviceable.  If Evan, would only give her a crumb, she would be his most faithful dog.  I fear he cannot be induced, and Conning will be snapped up by somebody else.  You know how susceptible she is behind her primness—­she will be of no use on earth, and I shall find excuse to send her back immediately.  After all, her appearance here was all that was wanted.

’Mrs. Melville and her dreadful juvenile are here, as you may imagine—­ the complete Englishwoman.  I smile on her, but I could laugh.  To see the crow’s-feet under her eyes on her white skin, and those ringlets, is really too ridiculous.  Then there is a Miss Carrington, Lady Jocelyn’s cousin, aged thirty-two—­if she has not tampered with the register of her birth.  I should think her equal to it.  Between dark and fair.  Always in love with some man, Conning tells me she hears.  Rose’s maid, Polly, hinted the same.  She has a little money.