‘Now go back, Rose,’ said Laxley.  ’I have particular business with Mr. Harrington.’

‘I came to see him,’ said Rose, in a clear voice.

Laxley reddened angrily.

‘Then tell him at once you want to be rid of him,’ her brother called to her.

Rose looked at Evan.  Could he not see that she had no word in her soul for him of that kind?  Yes:  but love is not always to be touched to tenderness even at the sight of love.

‘Rose,’ he said, ’I hear from Lord Laxley, that you fancy yourself not at liberty; and that you require me to disengage you.’

He paused.  Did he expect her to say there that she wished nothing of the sort?  Her stedfast eyes spoke as much:  but misery is wanton, and will pull all down to it.  Even Harry was checked by his tone, and Laxley sat silent.  The fact that something more than a tailor was speaking seemed to impress them.

’Since I have to say it, Rose, I hold you in no way bound to me.  The presumption is forced upon me.  May you have all the happiness I pray God to give you.

Gentlemen, good night!’

He bowed and was gone.  How keenly she could have retorted on that false prayer for her happiness!  Her limbs were nerveless, her tongue speechless.  He had thrown her off—­there was no barrier now between herself and Ferdinand.  Why did Ferdinand speak to her with that air of gentle authority, bidding her return to the house?  She was incapable of seeing, what the young lord acutely felt, that he had stooped very much in helping to bring about such a scene.  She had no idea of having trifled with him and her own heart, when she talked feebly of her bondage to another, as one who would be warmer to him were she free.  Swiftly she compared the two that loved her, and shivered as if she had been tossed to the embrace of a block of ice.

‘You are cold, Rose,’ said Laxley, bending to lay his hand on her shoulder.

‘Pray, never touch me,’ she answered, and walked on hastily to the house.

Entering it, she remembered that Evan had dwelt there.  A sense of desolation came over her.  She turned to Ferdinand remorsefully, saying:  ‘Dear Ferdinand!’ and allowed herself to be touched and taken close to him.  When she reached her bed-room, she had time to reflect that he had kissed her on the lips, and then she fell down and shed such tears as had never been drawn from her before.

Next day she rose with an undivided mind.  Belonging henceforth to Ferdinand, it was necessary that she should invest him immediately with transcendent qualities.  The absence of character in him rendered this easy.  What she had done for Evan, she did for him.  But now, as if the Fates had been lying in watch to entrap her and chain her, that they might have her at their mercy, her dreams of Evan’s high nature—­hitherto dreams only—­were to be realized.  With the purposeless waywardness of her sex, Pony Wheedle, while dressing her young mistress, and though quite aware that the parting had been spoken, must needs relate her sister’s story and Evan’s share in it.  Rose praised him like one forever aloof from him.  Nay, she could secretly congratulate herself on not being deceived.  Upon that came a letter from Caroline: