Old Tom burst out vehemently:  ’He’s a damned good young fellow, though he isn’t a lord.’

‘Well,’ said Lady Jocelyn, ’I ’ve no doubt you’re in earnest, Tom.  It ’s curious, for this morning Rose has come to me and given me the first chapter of a botheration, which she declares is to end in the common rash experiment.  What is your “young fellow’s” name?  Who is he?  What is he?’

‘Won’t take my guarantee, my lady?’

‘Rose—­if she marries—­must have a name, you know?’

Old Tom hit his knee.  ’Then there’s a pill for ye to swallow, for he ain’t the son of a lord.’

‘That’s swallowed, Tom.  What is he?’

‘He’s the son of a tradesman, then, my lady.’  And Old Tom watched her to note the effect he had produced.

’More ‘s the pity,’ was all she remarked.

’And he ’ll have his thousand a year to start with; and he’s a tailor, my lady.’

Her ladyship opened her eyes.

’Harrington’s his name, my lady.  Don’t know whether you ever heard of it.’

Lady Jocelyn flung herself back in her chair.  ’The queerest thing I ever met!’ said she.

‘Thousand a year to start with,’ Old Tom went on, ’and if she marries—­I mean if he marries her, I’ll settle a thousand per ann. on the first baby-boy or gal.’

‘Hum!  Is this gross collusion, Mr. Tom?’ Lady Jocelyn inquired.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Have you spoken of this before to any one?’

’I haven’t, my lady.  Decided on it this morning.  Hem! you got a son, too.  He’s fond of a young gal, or he ought to be.  I’ll settle him when I’ve settled the daughter.’

‘Harry is strongly attached to a dozen, I believe,’ said his mother.  ’Well, Tom, we’ll think of it.  I may as well tell you:  Rose has just been here to inform me that this Mr. Harrington has turned her head, and that she has given her troth, and all that sort of thing.  I believe such was not to be laid to my charge in my day.’

‘You were open enough, my lady,’ said Old Tom.  ’She’s fond of the young fellow?  She’ll have a pill to swallow! poor young woman!’

Old Tom visibly chuckled.  Lady Jocelyn had a momentary temptation to lead him out, but she did not like the subject well enough to play with it.

‘Apparently Rose has swallowed it,’ she said.

‘Goose, shears, cabbage, and all!’ muttered Old Tom.  ’Got a stomach!—­she knows he’s a tailor, then?  The young fellow told her?  He hasn’t been playing the lord to her?’

’As far as he’s concerned, I think he has been tolerably honest, Tom, for a man and a lover.’

‘And told her he was born and bound a tailor?’

‘Rose certainly heard it from him.’

Slapping his knee, Old Tom cried:  ‘Bravo!’ For though one part of his nature was disappointed, and the best part of his plot disarranged, he liked Evan’s proceeding and felt warm at what seemed to him Rose’s scorn of rank.