k into the garden. It was Ralph Newton who did
it, and nobody quite understood how it was done. "Certainly, my
dears; certainly," said the old lady. "I dare say the moon is very
beautiful. Yes; I see Mr. Ralph. You are not going to take me out,
I can tell you. The moon is all very well, but I like to see it
through the window. Don't mind me. Mr. Truepeny will stay with me."
Mr. Truepeny, who was turned eighty, put out his hand and patted Mrs.
Brownlow's arm, and assured her that he wanted nothing better than
to stay with her for ever. The witty gentleman did not like the move,
because it had been brought about by a newcomer, who had, as it were,
taken the wind out of his sails. He lingered awhile, hoping to have
weight enough to control the multitude;--in which he failed, and at
last made one of the followers. And Clarissa lingered also, because
Ralph had been the first to stir. Ralph had gone out with Mary
Bonner, and therefore Clarissa had held back. So it came to pass
that she found herself walking round the garden with the witty,
exhilarating, middle-aged gentleman,--whom, for the present at least,
she most cordially hated. "I am not quite sure that our dear old
friend isn't right," said the witty man, whose name was Poojean;--"a
chair to sit down upon, and a wall or two around one, and a few
little knick-nacks about,--carpets and tables and those sort of
things,--are comfortable at times."

"I wonder you should leave them then," said Clarissa.

"Can there be a wonder that I leave them with such temptation as
this," said the gallant Poojean. Clarissa hated him worse than ever,
and would not look at him, or even make the faintest sign that she
heard him. The voice of Ralph Newton through the trees struck her
ears; and yet the voice wasn't loud,--as it would not be if it were
addressed with tenderness to Mary. And there was she bound by some
indissoluble knot to,--Mr. Poojean. "That Mr. Newton is a friend of
yours?" asked Mr. Poojean.

"Yes;--a friend of ours," said Clarissa.

"Then I will express my intense admiration for his wit, general
character, and personal appearance. Had he been a stranger to you, I
should, of course, have insinuated an opinion that he was a fool, a
coxcomb, and the very plainest young man I had ever seen. That is the
way of the world,--isn't it, Miss Underwood?"

"I don't know," said Clarissa.

"Oh, yes,--you do. That's the way we all go on. As he is your friend,
I can't dare to begin