l not go into a corner complaining, it will fight its duel on the
field or die. Did the young lady know his origin, and scorn him? He
resolved to stay and teach her that the presumption she had imputed to
him was her own mistake. And from this Evan graduated naturally enough
the finer stages of self-deception downward.

A lover must have his delusions, just as a man must have a skin. But here
was another singular change in Evan. After his ale-prompted speech in
Fallow field, he was nerved to face the truth in the eyes of all save
Rose. Now that the truth had enmeshed his beloved, he turned to battle
with it; he was prepared to deny it at any moment; his burnt flesh was as
sensitive as the Countess's.

Let Rose accuse him, and he would say, 'This is true, Miss Jocelyn--what
then?' and behold Rose confused and dumb! Let not another dare suspect
it. For the fire that had scorched him was in some sort healing, though
horribly painful; but contact with the general air was not to be
endured--was death! This, I believe, is common in cases of injury by
fire. So it befell that Evan, meeting Rose the next morning was playfully
asked by her what choice he had made between the white and the red; and
he, dropping on her the shallow eyes of a conventional smile, replied,
that unable to decide and form a choice, he had thrown both away; at
which Miss Jocelyn gave him a look in the centre of his brows, let her
head slightly droop, and walked off.

'She can look serious as well as grimace,' was all that Evan allowed
himself to think, and he strolled out on the lawn with the careless
serenity of lovers when they fancy themselves heart-free.

Rose, whipping the piano in the drawing-room, could see him go to sit by
Mrs. Evremonde, till they were joined by Drummond, when he left her and
walked with Harry, and apparently shadowed the young gentleman's
unreflective face; after which Harry was drawn away by the appearance of
that dark star, the Countess de Saldar, whom Rose was beginning to
detest. Jenny glided by William Harvey's side, far off. Rose, the young
Queen of Friendship, was left deserted on her music-stool for a throne,
and when she ceased to hammer the notes she was insulted by a voice that
cried from below:

'Go on, Rose, it's nice in the sun to hear you,' causing her to close her
performances and the instrument vigorously.

Rose was much behind her age: she could not tell what was the matter with
her. In these little torme