‘I tell her she stands as if she’d been drilled for a soldier,’ Polly quietly continued.  ’You’re squeezing my arm with your elbow, Mr. Harrington.  It didn’t hurt me.  So when I had her nearly undressed, we were talking about this and that, and you amongst ’em—­and I, you know, rather like you, sir, if you’ll not think me too bold—­she started off by asking me what was the nickname people gave to tailors.  It was one of her whims.  I told her they were called snips—­I’m off!’

Polly gave a shriek.  The horse had reared as if violently stung.

‘Go on,’ said Evan.  ‘Hold hard, and go on.’

’Snips—­Oh! and I told her they were called snips.  It is a word that seems to make you hate the idea.  I shouldn’t like to hear my intended called snip.  Oh, he’s going to gallop!’

And off in a gallop Polly was borne.

‘Well,’ said Evan, ‘well?’

‘I can’t, Mr. Harrington; I have to press you so,’ cried Polly; ’and I’m bounced so—­I shall bite my tongue.’

After a sharp stretch, the horse fell to a canter, and then trotted slowly, and allowed Polly to finish.

’So Miss Rose was standing sideways to the glass, and she turned her neck, and just as I’d said “snip,” I saw her saying it in the glass; and you never saw anything so funny.  It was enough to make anybody laugh; but Miss Rose, she seemed as if she couldn’t forget how ugly it had made her look.  She covered her face with her hands, and she shuddered!  It is a word-snip! that makes you seem to despise yourself.’

Beckley was now in sight from the edge of the downs, lying in its foliage dark under the grey sky backed by motionless mounds of vapour.  Miss Wheedle to her great surprise was suddenly though safely dropped; and on her return to the ground the damsel instantly ‘knew her place,’ and curtseyed becoming gratitude for his kindness; but he was off in a fiery gallop, the gall of Demogorgon in his soul.

What ’s that the leaves of the proud old trees of Beckley Court hiss as he sweeps beneath them?  What has suddenly cut him short?  Is he diminished in stature?  Are the lackeys sneering?  The storm that has passed has marvellously chilled the air.

His sister, the Countess, once explained to him what Demogorgon was, in the sensation it entailed.  ‘You are skinned alive!’ said the Countess.  Evan was skinned alive.  Fly, wretched young man!  Summon your pride, and fly!  Fly, noble youth, for whom storms specially travel to tell you that your mistress makes faces in the looking-glass!  Fly where human lips and noses are not scornfully distorted, and get thee a new skin, and grow and attain to thy natural height in a more genial sphere!  You, ladies and gentlemen, who may have had a matter to conceal, and find that it is oozing out:  you, whose skeleton is seen stalking beside you, you know what it is to be breathed upon:  you, too, are skinned alive:  but this miserable youth is not