Could he be his sister’s judge?  It is dangerous for young men to be too good.  They are so sweeping in their condemnations, so sublime in their conceptions of excellence, and the most finished Puritan cannot out-do their demands upon frail humanity.  Evan’s momentary self-examination saved him from this, and he told the Countess, with a sort of cold compassion, that he himself dared not blame her.

His tone was distinctly wanting in admiration of her, but she was somewhat over-wrought, and leaned her shoulder against him, and became immediately his affectionate, only too-zealous, sister; dearly to be loved, to be forgiven, to be prized:  and on condition of inserting a special petition for pardon in her orisons, to live with a calm conscience, and to be allowed to have her own way with him during the rest of her days.

It was a happy union—­a picture that the Countess was lured to admire in the glass.

Sad that so small a murmur should destroy it for ever!

‘What?’ cried the Countess, bursting from his arm.

‘Go?’ she emphasized with the hardness of determined unbelief, as if plucking the words, one by one, out of her reluctant ears.  ’Go to Lady Jocelyn, and tell her I wrote the letter?’

‘You can do no less, I fear,’ said Evan, eyeing the floor and breathing a deep breath.

’Then I did hear you correctly?  Oh, you must be mad-idiotic!  There, pray go away, Evan.  Come in the morning.  You are too much for my nerves.’

Evan rose, putting out his hand as if to take hers and plead with her.  She rejected the first motion, and repeated her desire for him to leave her; saying, cheerfully—­

‘Good night, dear; I dare say we shan’t meet till the morning.’

‘You can’t let this injustice continue a single night, Louisa?’ said he.

She was deep in the business of arrangeing a portion of her attire.

‘Go-go; please,’ she responded.

Lingering, he said:  ‘If I go, it will be straight to Lady Jocelyn.’

She stamped angrily.

‘Only go!’ and then she found him gone, and she stooped lower to the glass, to mark if the recent agitation were observable under her eyes.  There, looking at herself, her heart dropped heavily in her bosom.  She ran to the door and hurried swiftly after Evan, pulling him back speechlessly.

‘Where are you going, Evan?’

‘To Lady Jocelyn.’

The unhappy victim of her devotion stood panting.

‘If you go, I—­I take poison!’ It was for him now to be struck; but he was suffering too strong an anguish to be susceptible to mock tragedy.  The Countess paused to study him.  She began to fear her brother.  ’I will!’ she reiterated wildly, without moving him at all.  And the quiet inflexibility of his face forbade the ultimate hope which lies in giving men a dose of hysterics when they are obstinate.  She tried by taunts and angry vituperations to make him look fierce, if but an instant, to precipitate her into an exhibition she was so well prepared for.