‘Never, love, never!’ she said.

‘Then, will you go to Evan?’

‘Evan?  I hate him!’ The olive-hued visage was dark.  It brightened as she added, ’At least as much as my religious sentiments permit me to.  A boy who has thwarted me at every turn!—­disgraced us!  Indeed, I find it difficult to pardon you the supposition of such a possibility as your own consent to look on him ever again, Harriet.’

‘You have no children,’ said Mrs. Andrew.

The Countess mournfully admitted it.

‘There lies your danger with Mr. Duffian, Louisa!’

‘What! do you doubt my virtue?’ asked the Countess.

’Pish!  I fear something different.  You understand me.  Mr. Duflian’s moral reputation is none of the best, perhaps.’

‘That was before he renegaded,’ said the Countess.

Harriet bluntly rejoined:  ‘You will leave that house a Roman Catholic.’

‘Now you have spoken,’ said the Countess, pluming. ’ Now let me explain myself.  My dear, I have fought worldly battles too long and too earnestly.  I am rightly punished.  I do but quote Herbert Duffian’s own words:  he is no flatterer though you say he has such soft fingers.  I am now engaged in a spiritual contest.  He is very wealthy!  I have resolved to rescue back to our Church what can benefit the flock of which we form a portion, so exceedingly!’

At this revelation of the Countess’s spiritual contest, Mrs. Andrew shook a worldly head.

‘You have no chance with men there, Louisa.’

‘My Harriet complains of female weakness!’

’Yes.  We are strong in our own element, Louisa.  Don’t be tempted out of it.’

Sublime, the Countess rose: 

’Element! am I to be confined to one?  What but spiritual solaces could assist me to live, after the degradations I have had heaped on me?  I renounce the world.  I turn my sight to realms where caste is unknown.  I feel no shame there of being a tailor’s daughter.  You see, I can bring my tongue to name the thing in its actuality.  Once, that member would have blistered.  Confess to me that, in spite of your children, you are tempted to howl at the idea of Lymport—­’

The Countess paused, and like a lady about to fire off a gun, appeared to tighten her nerves, crying out rapidly: 

‘Shop!  Shears!  Geese!  Cabbage!  Snip!  Nine to a man!’

Even as the silence after explosions of cannon, that which reigned in the room was deep and dreadful.

‘See,’ the Countess continued, ’you are horrified you shudder.  I name all our titles, and if I wish to be red in my cheeks, I must rouge.  It is, in verity, as if my senseless clay were pelted, as we heard of Evan at his first Lymport boys’ school.  You remember when he told us the story?  He lisped a trifle then.  “I’m the thon of a thnip.”  Oh! it was hell-fire to us, then; but now, what do I feel?  Why, I avowed it to Herbert Duffian openly, and he said, that the misfortune of dear Papa’s birth did not the less enable him to proclaim himself in conduct a nobleman’s offspring—­’