 sad, sole pleasure. Feeling him linger,
the Countess relaxed her grasp. Hers were tears that dried as soon as they had
served their end; and, to give him the full benefit of his conduct, she said: »I
knew Evan would be persuaded by me.«
    Evan pitifully pressed her hand, and sighed.
    »Tea is on the table down-stairs,« said Mrs. Mel. »I have cooked something
for you, Louisa. Do you sleep here to-night?«
    »Can I tell you, Mama?« murmured the Countess. »I am dependent on our Evan.«
    »Oh! well, we will eat first,« said Mrs. Mel, and they went to the table
below, the Countess begging her mother to drop titles in designating her to the
servants, which caused Mrs. Mel to say:
    »There is but one. I do the cooking«; and the Countess, ever disposed to
flatter and be suave, even when stung by a fact or a phrase, added:
    »And a beautiful cook you used to be, dear Mama!«
    At the table, awaiting them, sat Mrs. Wishaw, Mrs. Fiske, and Mr. Goren, who
soon found themselves enveloped in the Countess's graciousness. Mr. Goren would
talk of trade, and compare Lymport business with London, and the Countess,
loftily interested in his remarks, drew him out to disgust her brother. Mrs.
Wishaw, in whom the Countess at once discovered a frivolous pretentious woman of
the moneyed trading class, she treated as one who was alive to society, and
surveyed matters from a station in the world, leading her to think that she
tolerated Mr. Goren, as a lady-Christian of the highest rank should tolerate the
insects that toil for us. Mrs. Fiske was not so tractable, for Mrs. Fiske was
hostile and armed. Mrs. Fiske adored the great Mel, and she had never loved
Louisa. Hence, she scorned Louisa on account of her late behaviour toward her
dead parent. The Countess saw through her, and laboured to be friendly with her,
while she rendered her disagreeable in the eyes of Mrs. Wishaw, and let Mrs.
Wishaw perceive that sympathy was possible between them; - manoeuvring a trifle
too delicate, perhaps, for the people present, but sufficient to blind its
keen-witted author to the something that was being concealed from herself, of
which something, nevertheless, her senses apprehensively warned her: and they
might have spoken to her wits, but that mortals cannot
