with it, only then did mankind, as represented at Beckley Court, open an internal eye and reflect that it was wonderful in a tailor’s daughter.  And she felt that mankind did so reflect.  Her instincts did not deceive her.  She knew not how much was known; in the depths of her heart she kept low the fear that possibly all might be known; and succeeding in this, she said to herself that probably nothing was known after all.  George Uplift, Miss Carrington, and Rose, were the three she abhorred.  Partly to be out of their way, and to be out of the way of chance shots (for she had heard names of people coming that reminded her of Dubbins’s, where, in past days, there had been on one awful occasion a terrific discovery made), the Countess selected Olympus for her station.  It was her last day, and she determined to be happy.  Doubtless, she was making a retreat, but have not illustrious Generals snatched victory from their pursuers?  Fair, then, sweet, and full of grace, the Countess moved.  As the restless shifting of colours to her motions was the constant interchange of her semisorrowful manner and ready archness.  Sir John almost capered to please her, and the diplomatist in talking to her forgot his diplomacy and the craft of his tongue.

It was the last day also of Caroline and the Duke.  The Countess clung to Caroline and the Duke more than to Evan and Rose.  She could see the first couple walking under an avenue of limes, and near them that young man or monkey, Raikes, as if in ambush.  Twice they passed him, and twice he doffed his hat and did homage.

‘A most singular creature!’ exclaimed the Countess.  ’It is my constant marvel where my brother discovered such a curiosity.  Do notice him.’

‘That man?  Raikes?’ said the diplomatist.  ’Do you know he is our rival?  Harry wanted an excuse for another bottle last night, and proposed the “Member” for Fallowfield.  Up got this Mr. Raikes and returned thanks.’

‘Yes?’ the Countess negligently interjected in a way she had caught from Lady Jocelyn.

‘Cogglesby’s nominee, apparently.’

‘I know it all,’ said the Countess.  ’We need have no apprehension.  He is docile.  My brother-in-law’s brother, you see, is most eccentric.  We can manage him best through this Mr. Raikes, for a personal application would be ruin.  He quite detests our family, and indeed all the aristocracy.’

Melville’s mouth pursed, and he looked very grave.

Sir John remarked:  ‘He seems like a monkey just turned into a man.’

‘And doubtful about the tail,’ added the Countess.