‘I came down in the coach, quite accidental, with this gentleman,’ said Mrs. Wishaw, fanning a cheek and nodding at Mr. Goren.  ’I’m an old flame of dear Mel’s.  I knew him when he was an apprentice in London.  Now, wasn’t it odd?  Your mother—­I suppose I must call you “my lady"?’

The Countess breathed a tender ‘Spare me,’ with a smile that added, ‘among friends!’

Mrs. Wishaw resumed:  ’Your mother was an old flame of this gentleman’s, I found out.  So there were two old flames, and I couldn’t help thinking!  But I was so glad to have seen dear Mel once more: 

‘Ah!’ sighed the Countess.

’He was always a martial-looking man, and laid out, he was quite imposing.  I declare, I cried so, as it reminded me of when I couldn’t have him, for he had nothing but his legs and arms—­and I married Wishaw.  But it’s a comfort to think I have been of some service to dear, dear Mel! for Wishaw ’s a man of accounts and payments; and I knew Mel had cloth from him, and, the lady suggested bills delayed, with two or three nods, ‘you know! and I’ll do my best for his son.’

‘You are kind,’ said the Countess, smiling internally at the vulgar creature’s misconception of Evan’s requirements.

‘Did he ever talk much about Mary Fence?’ asked Mrs. Wishaw. ’"Polly Fence,” he used to say, “sweet Polly Fence!"’

‘Oh!  I think so.  Frequently,’ observed the Countess.

Mrs. Fiske primmed her mouth.  She had never heard the great Mel allude to the name of Fence.

The Goren-croak was heard

’Painters have painted out “Melchisedec” this afternoon.  Yes,—­ah!  In and out-as the saying goes.’

Here was an opportunity to mortify the Countess.

Mrs. Fiske placidly remarked:  ’Have we the other put up in its stead?  It ‘s shorter.’

A twinge of weakness had made Evan request that the name of Evan Harrington should not decorate the shopfront till he had turned his back on it, for a time.  Mrs. Mel crushed her venomous niece.

’What have you to do with such things?  Shine in your own affairs first, Ann, before you meddle with others.’

Relieved at hearing that ‘Melchisedec’ was painted out, and unsuspicious of the announcement that should replace it, the Countess asked Mrs. Wishaw if she thought Evan like her dear Papa.

‘So like,’ returned the lady, ’that I would not be alone with him yet, for worlds.  I should expect him to be making love to me:  for, you know, my dear—­I must be familiar—­Mel never could be alone with you, without!  It was his nature.  I speak of him before marriage.  But, if I can trust myself with him, I shall take charge of Mr. Evan, and show him some London society.’