think you do me injustice. A little reflection
will show that you do. I put myself a good
deal out of my way to help in that business;
and, do you know, I trace a chronic rheumatism
I have in this left arm to that cold night's journey
up to London!"

Fermor was a little ashamed. "I know," he
said, "and of course I did not mean—But it
would have been better, after all, to have kept to
that poor girl. She would have adored me, I
believe, and would have made me very happy."

The major shook his head.

"Never would have done," he said. "That
you know yourself. All very well for the
romantic part; but otherwise——"

"Well, otherwise," said Fermor, impatiently.
"Why not?"

"Society, I mean," said the major. "There's
the droll thing of Miss Manuel, with her parties
and her followers, and all the world—that is, a
certain set of the world—struggling to get
to them. But have you ever remarked, no
ladies, eh?"

"Yes," said Fermor, "I have. But why not?
She does not care for ladies."

"Ah! all very well," said the major, whose
face was gradually contracting, and assuming a
sharp and malicious expression. "That does to
give out, you know. People find these things.
She has taken some dislike to me, mainly, I
believe, because I did conceive it to be a duty,
in that affair of her sister's; and I cannot
describe to you the unchristian attempts she has
made to injure me. Thanks to Providence, I
have been enabled to defeat them without much
exertion. But of course I am under no obligation
to cushion the thing, and when asked, therefore,
I always tell the thing openly."

"But what thing?" said Fermor. "What do
you mean?"

"Did I never tell you?" said the major. "No,
I believe not. You never heard such a story,
such a business altogether. You know I make
no profession of being a friend of the Manuels.
I always had the one opinion. I am, therefore,
under no restraint. Such a disgraceful affair—
very bad indeed! Let me see. The old colonel
is in town now. We are sure to find him, for he
lives all day, and nearly all night, at his club.
He would tell you the whole story in half an
hour, and would like to tell it."

"And I should like to hear it," said Fermor,
bitterly. "The Manuels give themselves great
airs, and Miss Manuel, latterly, if she had been a
princess, could not behave more haughtily."

"Exactly," said Major Carter, vindictively.
"I don't dislike her, though she has injured me;
but then I am under no obligation to go out of
my way to bolster up her family affairs;" and the
major at that moment, thinking of Miss Manuel's
persecution of himself, and of his own trouble to
defeat it, was actually colouring, and contorted
in his face. "I will introduce you to Foley—you
would like to know Foley—and he has heard of
you."

Major Carter, in a day or two, brought Fermor
and Colonel Foley together, the latter of whom
had his sherry over again, and his abuse of the
servants over again, and his "dammys" over
again, and his stories over again.

"Would you believe," said Colonel Foley, winding
up his narrative, "not two months ago I was
going down a street, and who do you suppose I
came full on, going up the steps of a house, but
my Scotch doctor—a very old Scotch doctor now,
but stiff as ever. I never forget a figure, I can tell
you. I picked out a fellow of ours in Liverpool
one day, ten years, sir, after he had left us. I
did, upon my soul! It's all eye—every bit of it
eye. And, sir, I went up straight to my Scotch
doctor, and dammy if he didn't pretend not to
know me!"

"Ha! very good," said the major, "very good
indeed! Of course, naturally."

"Of course, naturally!" said the colonel,
suddenly illuminating his Bologna cheeks with
interior rage. "And wasn't it good of me to
notice such a disreputable old broken-down
scamp as that? He had his key in the latch, and
he looked round at me with the most natural air
in the world, and said something about 'having
the advantage of him.' 'Advantage!' I said to
him, 'By Jove, yes! and so had Manuel—a
pretty good deal, I should say. You recollect
those times, doctor?' A good hit, I say, but he
brought it on himself—dammy!" This strengthening
tonic for the sentence he added after a
short pause, as if he was a little doubtful about
the propriety of his conduct; but it quite
reassured him. "About more sherry—I don't know
—what d'ye say?" This he addressed, as it
were, with the pressure of hospitality, as though
he had been treating handsomely all round, and
all the time.

When they were in the street the major found
that he had forgotten one of his gloves in his
"old stupid way." "Just like me," he said, and
went back, hastily. He had left his glove, but
as he took it, he said to the colonel carelessly,
"Where was it that you met that doctor?"

The other told him. "Clarges-street—didn't I
say so?"

"Ah, yes, to be sure. And on the right hand
side, you said, too."

"Yes," said the colonel, gruffly.

The major joined his friend, and put his arm
in his. "A most curious bit of history," he said;
"just like a romance. But you see it bears out
a little what I said."

Fermor's mind was on another view of the
case. "So she dares to treat me in this lofty
way. I can bring her to her senses now. This
will level her a little."

"And that doctor, that stiff, grim, iron-looking
doctor," said the major, in a ruminating way,
"with the daughter, now of course grown up,
whom the colonel met in Clarges-street."

"Clarges-street," said Fermor, starting. "I
wonder! Good gracious! such an idea occurs to
me! Why, it must be the same."