e pleased with a familiar 'Ah,
brother!' and prating of their relationship everywhere. Strike had been
a fool: in revenge for it he laid out for himself a masterly career
of consequent wisdom. The brewer--uxorious Andrew Cogglesby--might and
would have bought the commission. Strike laughed at the idea of giving
money for what could be got for nothing. He told them to wait.

In the meantime Evan, a lad of seventeen, spent the hours not devoted
to his positive profession--that of gentleman--in the offices of the
brewery, toying with big books and balances, which he despised with the
combined zeal of the sucking soldier and emancipated tailor.

Two years passed in attendance on the astute brother-in-law, to whom
Fortune now beckoned to come to her and gather his laurels from the
pig-tails. About the same time the Countess sailed over from Lisbon on
a visit to her sister Harriet (in reality, it was whispered in the
Cogglesby saloons, on a diplomatic mission from the Court of Lisbon; but
that could not be made ostensible). The Countess narrowly examined Evan,
whose steady advance in his profession both her sisters praised.

'Yes,' said the Countess, in a languid alien accent. 'He has something
of his father's carriage--something. Something of his delivery--his
readiness.'

It was a remarkable thing that these ladies thought no man on earth
like their father, and always cited him as the example of a perfect
gentleman, and yet they buried him with one mind, and each mounted guard
over his sepulchre, to secure his ghost from an airing.

'He can walk, my dears, certainly, and talk--a little. Tete-a-tete, I do
not say. I should think there he would be--a stick! All you English are.
But what sort of a bow has he got, I ask you? How does he enter a room?
And, then his smile! his laugh! He laughs like a horse--absolutely!
There's no music in his smile. Oh! you should see a Portuguese nobleman
smile. O mio Deus! honeyed, my dears! But Evan has it not. None of you
English have. You go so.'

The Countess pressed a thumb and finger to the sides of her mouth, and
set her sisters laughing.

'I assure you, no better! not a bit! I faint in your society. I ask
myself--Where am I? Among what boors have I fallen? But Evan is no worse
than the rest of you; I acknowledge that. If he knew how to dress his
shoulders properly, and to direct his eyes--Oh! the eyes! you should see
how a Portuguese nobleman can use his eyes! Soul! my dears, sou