“I suppose we shall meet the fortunate individual this evening?” observed Walter. “Mr. Harry Netterville, eh?”
“Yes, that's the name; and a very nice young fellow he is,” replied Mrs. Hartley. “I only wish he was a little richer.”
“Well, we must wait contentedly till he becomes so,” sighed Rose. “Poverty and happiness don't go together in married life.”
“Again I must compliment you on your good sense, Miss Rose,” remarked Walter.
“That's one of my mother's maxims,” she rejoined. “But don't call me Miss Rose, please. After the service you rendered me this morning, I shall always regard you as a friend, and so will Harry!”
“I think I told you that Romney, the insolent fellow by whom you were affronted, was one of those who mainly contributed to my ruin?” remarked Walter. “He is a great libertine, and I hope you may experience no more annoyance from him. I may not always be at hand to protect you.”
“Luckily, he doesn't know where I live, or I might feel some uneasiness,” said Rose.
“Ah, those rakes are dreadful—no keeping them off!” cried Mrs. Hartley.
At this moment there was a knock at the outer door.
Rather startled, Mrs. Hartley went to see who it was; and presently returned with a letter in her hand.