Harry shook his head and shrugged.
“They haven’t told you? Rose has engaged herself to Mr. Harrington, a tradesman, a tailor!”
“Pooh! have you got hold of that story?” said Harry. “But I’m sorry for old Ferdy. He was fond of Rosey. Here’s another bother!”
“You don’t believe me, Harry?”
Harry was mentally debating whether, in this new posture of affairs, his friend Ferdinand would press his claim for certain moneys lent.
“Oh, I believe you,” he said. “Harrington has the knack with you women. Why, you made eyes at him. It was a toss-up between you and Rosey once.”
Juliana let this accusation pass.
“He is a tradesman. He has a shop in Lymport, I tell you, Harry, and his name on it. And he came here on purpose to catch Rose. And now he has caught her, he tells her. And his mother is now at one of the village inns, waiting to see him. Go to Mr. George Uplift; he knows the family. Yes, the Countess has turned your head, of course; but she has schemed, and schemed, and told such stories—God forgive her!”
The girl had to veil her eyes in a spasm of angry weeping.
“Oh, come! Juley!” murmured her killing cousin. Harry boasted an extraordinary weakness at the sight of feminine tears. “I say! Juley! you know if you begin crying I’m done for, and it isn’t fair.”