“Another history, indeed!” she said. “By the way, Van, love! was it out of Glamorganshire—were we Tudors, according to Papa? or only Powys chieftains? It’s of no moment, but it helps one in conversation.”
“Not half so much as good ale, though!” was Old Tom’s comment.
The Countess did not perceive its fitness, till Evan burst into a laugh, and then she said:
“Oh! we shall never be ashamed of the Brewery. Do not fear that, Mr. Cogglesby.”
Old Tom saw his farce reviving, and encouraged the Countess to patronize him. She did so to an extent that called on her Mrs. Mel’s reprobation, which was so cutting and pertinent, that Harriet was compelled to defend her sister, remarking that perhaps her mother would soon learn that Louisa was justified in not permitting herself and family to be classed too low. At this Andrew, coming from a private interview with Evan, threw up his hands and eyes as one who foretold astonishment but counselled humility. What with the effort of those who knew a little to imply a great deal; of those who knew all to betray nothing; and of those who were kept in ignorance to strain a fact out of the conflicting innuendos the general mystification waxed apace, and was at its height, when a name struck on Evan’s ear that went through his blood like a touch of the torpedo.
He had been called into the parlour to assist at a consultation over the Brewery affairs. Raikes opened the door, and announced, “Sir Franks and Lady Jocelyn.”
Them he could meet, though it was hard for his pride to pardon their visit to him there. But when his eyes discerned Rose behind them, the passions of his lower nature stood up armed. What could she have come for but to humiliate, or play with him?
A very few words enabled the Countess to guess the cause for this visit. Of course, it was to beg time! But they thanked Evan. For something generous, no doubt.
Sir Franks took him aside, and returning remarked to his wife that she perhaps would have greater influence with him. All this while Rose sat talking to Mrs. Andrew Cogglesby, Mrs. Strike, and Evan’s mother. She saw by his face the offence she had committed, and acted on by one of her impulses, said: “Mama, I think if I were to speak to Mr. Harrington—”
Ere her mother could make light of the suggestion, Old Tom had jumped up, and bowed out his arm.