from his sofa. The cousins were staring awkwardly at each other. Mrs Morfly had closed her eyes, and seemed to feel the discord to her very finger-tips; while her husband peered with magpie cunning at Sebastian, as if he suspected him of concealing some delightful secret. Mr Archer had begun a conversation with Kerisen, who alone enjoyed the situation, and was delighted by his new acquaintance. Meanwhile Mr Bush regarded all his guests as if they were in a conspiracy to irritate him. It was too much for Dale, who abruptly bade his host farewell; asked Sebastian to visit him; begged Harefel, in a whisper, to come away; and with a bow to the lady, who half opened her eyes in acknowledgment, departed. Harefel, with a brief explanation to Mr Bush, who made no effort to detain him, followed his cousin, and found him in the street. "I shan't go there again," said Irvine curtly, as he took the other's arm. "Then you are not regularly in with that lot?" asked Ned, much relieved. "In with them!" cried his impulsive cousin. "Look there," and he pulled him up sharply at the corner of a court, which seemed to slink away from the dingy street. It was little more than the backyard of the gin-palace which was flaunting at the entrance. The afternoon was warm, and the dwellers had crept out of their houses to sun themselves; but the slanting sun-light, like rouge on a withered cheek, made the place more hideous. Young children, who did not know how to play, swarmed on the dirty door-steps, or crawled upon the rickety stairs within. Men, who looked both savage and stolid, leaned against the wall and smoked. There was no room for the women in the sun. Some of these seemed too tired to speak; others shrieked to each other across the court. There was a girl, too-little more than a childwho had been drinking early. She was laughing, and screaming foul jokes at the top of her voice; but nobody paid her any attention. "Let us advise these people to live for new sensations," said Irvine, with a bitter laugh. "Good God!" cried he, again, "just think of this place a few feet from Mr Rodney Bush's palace of art! When I see such things I feel as if I were not fit to live." "Dear old fellow," said Ned gently, and putting his arm through his cousin's; "you are not responsible for the state of the world." "Yes I am I mean, we all are,” said Irvine, who was somewhat taken aback by the unusual profundity of his cousin's remark. They walked on in silence towards a more fashionable part of the town, until the exercise and pleasant evening air began to soothe the unquiet mood of Mr Irvine Dale. He carried with him a question, which he longed to ask. He told himself that it was but the speaking of a few words, and fancied them spoken. Meanwhile he said nothing, and the two friends strode on together, silent as only two Englishmen can be. But Irvine could not march into his uncle's house without an explanation. A cold shiver ran through him as he remembered that she might be there. "When is it to be?" he asked, abruptly, with an excessive assumption of indifference. "What?" "The wedding, of course." "What wedding?" Harefel stopped in the street, and stared at his cousin, "Irvie," he cried, "you don't mean to say that you believed that story about Katharine?" "It is not true?" "Did you think that she would look at a fellow like that?" "It is not true," repeated Irvine to himself. Presently he asked carelessly if Lady Harefel could take him in. "Of course she can," said Ned. "I dine at home, and I will stay with you this evening. I don't care about Lady Raddley's dance." "My dear boy, I will go with you. She is sure to have sent me a card." Edward Harefel looked at his cousin with some surprise. There came to him an uncomfortable suspicion, which he had sometimes felt in old days, but had always dismissed as impossible. He now banished it again, being of a hopeful disposition, and apt to regard as impossible that which was only unpleasant. |