“Keep other sweethearts off,” put in Lord Cumnor, looking a good deal pleased at his own discernment. Lady Harriet went on—

“And I take a great interest in Miss Gibson.”

Mr. Preston saw from her manner that he was “in for it,” as he expressed it to himself. The question was, how much or how little did she know?

“I have no expectation or hope of ever having a nearer interest in Miss Gibson than I have at present. I shall be glad if this straightforward answer relieves your ladyship from your perplexity.”

He could not help the touch of insolence that accompanied these last words. It was not in the words themselves, nor in the tone in which they were spoken, nor in the look which accompanied them; it was in all; it implied a doubt of Lady Harriet’s right to question him as she did; and there was something of defiance in it as well. But this touch of insolence put Lady Harriet’s mettle up; and she was not one to check herself, in any course, for the opinion of an inferior.

“Then, sir! are you aware of the injury you may do to a young lady’s reputation, if you meet her, and detain her in long conversations, when she is walking by herself, unaccompanied by any one? You give rise—you have given rise to reports.”

“My dear Harriet, are not you going too far? You don’t know—Mr. Preston may have intentions—acknowledged intentions.”

“No, my lord. I have no intentions with regard to Miss Gibson. She may be a very worthy young lady—I have no doubt she is. Lady Harriet seems determined to push me into such a position that I cannot but acknowledge myself to be—it is not enviable—not pleasant to own—but I am, in fact, a jilted man; jilted by Miss Kirkpatrick, after a tolerably long engagement. My interviews with Miss Gibson were not of the most agreeable kind—as you may conclude, when I tell you she was, I believe, the instigator—certainly, she was the agent—in this last step of Miss Kirkpatrick’s. Is your ladyship’s curiosity” (with an emphasis on this last word) “satisfied with this rather mortifying confession of mine?”

“Harriet, my dear, you’ve gone too far—we had no right to pry into Mr. Preston’s private affairs.”

“No more I had,” said Lady Harriet, with a smile of winning frankness—the first smile she had accorded to Mr. Preston for many a long day; ever since the time, years ago, when, presuming on his handsomeness, he had assumed a tone of gallant familiarity with Lady Harriet, and paid her personal compliments as he would have done to an equal.

“But he will excuse me, I hope,” continued she, still in that gracious manner which made him feel that he now held a much higher place in her esteem than he had had at the beginning of their interview, “when he learns that the busy tongues of the Hollingford ladies have been speaking of my friend, Miss Gibson, in the most unwarrantable manner; drawing unjustifiable inferences from the facts of that intercourse with Mr. Preston, the nature of which he has just conferred such a real obligation on me by explaining.”

“I think I need hardly request Lady Harriet to consider this explanation of mine as confidential,” said Mr. Preston.

“Of course, of course!” said the earl: “every one will understand that.” And he rode home, and told his wife and Lady Cuxhaven the whole conversation between Lady Harriet and Mr. Preston; in the strictest confidence, of course. Lady Harriet had to stand a good many strictures on manners and proper dignity for a few days after this. However, she consoled herself by calling on the Gibsons; and, finding that Mrs. Gibson (who was still an invalid) was asleep at the time, she experienced no difficulty in carrying off the unconscious Molly for a walk, which Lady Harriet so contrived that they twice passed along the whole