do not conceive what the dread of baldness
is! To a woman death--death is preferable to baldness! Baldness is
death! And a wig--a wig! Oh, horror! total extinction is better than to
rise again in a wig! But you are young, and play with hair. But I was
saying, I went to see the Jocelyns. I was introduced to Sir Franks and
his lady and the wealthy grandmother. And I have an invitation for you,
Evan--you unmannered boy, that you do not bow! A gentle incline forward
of the shoulders, and the eyes fixed softly, your upper lids drooping
triflingly, as if you thanked with gentle sincerity, but were
indifferent. Well, well, if you will not! An invitation for you to spend
part of the autumn at Beckley Court, the ancestral domain, where there
will be company the nobles of the land! Consider that. You say it was
bold in me to face them after that horrible man committed us on board
the vessel? A Harrington is anything but a coward. I did go and because
I am devoted to your interests. That very morning, I saw announced in
the paper, just beneath poor Andrew's hand, as he held it up at the
breakfast-table, reading it, I saw among the deaths, Sir Abraham
Harrington, of Torquay, Baronet, of quinsy! Twice that good man has come
to my rescue! Oh! I welcomed him as a piece of Providence! I turned and
said to Harriet, "I see they have put poor Papa in the paper." Harriet
was staggered. I took the paper from Andrew, and pointed it to her.
She has no readiness. She has had no foreign training. She could not
comprehend, and Andrew stood on tiptoe, and peeped. He has a bad cough,
and coughed himself black in the face. I attribute it to excessive bad
manners and his cold feelings. He left the room. I reproached Harriet.
But, oh! the singularity of the excellent fortune of such an event at
such a time! It showed that our Harrington-luck had not forsaken us.
I hurried to the Jocelyns instantly. Of course, it cleared away any
suspicions aroused in them by that horrible man on board the vessel.
And the tears I wept for Sir Abraham, Evan, in verity they were tears of
deep and sincere gratitude! What is your mouth knitting the corners at?
Are you laughing?'

Evan hastily composed his visage to the melancholy that was no
counterfeit in him just then.

'Yes,' continued the Countess, easily reassured, 'I shall ever feel a
debt to Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay. I dare say we are related
to him. At least he has done us more service than many a rich