Juliana answers this—­

’If you love me—­I sometimes hope that you do—­but the feeling of being loved is so strange to me that I can only believe it at times—­but, Caroline—­there, I have mustered up courage to call you by your Christian name at last—­Oh, dear Caroline! if you do love me, do not tell Mr. Harrington.  I go on my knees to you to beg you not to tell him a word.  I have no reasons indeed not any; but I implore you again never even to hint that I am anything but the person he knew at Beckley.

’Rose has gone to Elburne House, where Ferdinand, her friend, is to meet her.  She rides and sings the same, and keeps all her colour.

’She may not, as you imagine, have much sensibility.  Perhaps not enough.  I am afraid that Rose is turning into a very worldly woman!

’As to what you kindly say about inviting me to London, I should like it, and I am my own mistress.  Do you know, I think I am older than your brother!  I am twenty-three.  Pray, when you write, tell me if he is older than that.  But should I not be a dreadful burden to you?  Sometimes I have to keep to my chamber whole days and days.  When that happens now, I think of you entirely.  See how I open my heart to you.  You say that you do to me.  I wish I could really think it.’

A postscript begs Caroline ‘not to forget about the ages.’

In this fashion the two ladies open their hearts, and contrive to read one another perfectly in their mutual hypocrisies.

Some letters bearing the signatures of Mr. John Raikes, and Miss Polly Wheedle, likewise pass.  Polly inquires for detailed accounts of the health and doings of Mr. Harrington.  Jack replies with full particulars of her own proceedings, and mild corrections of her grammar.  It is to be noted that Polly grows much humbler to him on paper, which being instantly perceived by the mercurial one, his caressing condescension to her is very beautiful.  She is taunted with Mr. Nicholas Frim, and answers, after the lapse of a week, that the aforesaid can be nothing to her, as he ‘went in a passion to church last Sunday and got married.’  It appears that they had quarrelled, ‘because I danced with you that night.’  To this Mr. Raikes rejoins in a style that would be signified by ‘ahem!’ in language, and an arrangement of the shirt collar before the looking-glass, in action.

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM

There was peace in Mr. Goren’s shop.  Badgered Ministers, bankrupt merchants, diplomatists with a headache—­any of our modern grandees under difficulties, might have envied that peace over which Mr. Goren presided:  and he was an enviable man.  He loved his craft, he believed that he had not succeeded the millions of antecedent tailors in vain; and, excepting that trifling coquetry with shirt-fronts, viz., the red crosses, which a shrewd rival had very soon