By this means he hoped to bring his hearers to a better opinion of so capital a fellow; and in Mrs. Basil’s case he apparently succeeded.  His mother still reiterated her opinion that Mr. Balfour was a dangerous personage, and not a fit companion for any young man.  Charles smiled at this, for it was the almost literal fulfillment of a prophecy which Balfour had made to him, and believed in that gentleman’s sagacity, accordingly, more than ever.  Women were so ludicrously prejudiced; the fact of Mrs. Basil’s—­“the white witch”—­not being so was an exception that proved the rule.  She had been evidently interested in his anecdotes, of one of which she had even requested to hear the particulars twice over; not that, in his own judgment, it was the best, but, being of a weird sort, it had probably struck her fancy.  It had lost in the telling, too—­for he did not pretend to have the gift of narrative, as Mr. Balfour had—­and his mother had seen in the story in question nothing at all.

Mrs. Basil came down stairs no more after that evening.  She grew worse and worse, and was not only confined to her room, but to her bed.  Harry was not much with her; she seized with avidity this opportunity of being alone with Charley to undo, as far as she could, Mr. Balfour’s work with him.  This was not hard, for the boy was a creature of impulse, and swayed for good or ill with equal ease.  But she discovered that it would be useless to attempt henceforth to conceal from him the nature of his future prospects.  He was now firmly convinced that he was the heir to a large fortune, and she regretted too late that she had left the disclosure to a stranger.  What grieved her much more, and with reason, was that an attempt which she now made to bring the influence of Agnes to hear upon him proved unsuccessful; the girl resolutely refused to come to the house in the absence of its master, and contrary, as she knew, to his express commandment.  Charley himself, too, whose visits to Mr. Aird’s studio had been intermitted for some time, was received in Soho with coldness.  It was not in Harry’s nature to understand this independence of spirit, and she deeply deplored it on her son’s account.  She had looked to this young girl to be his guardian angel, and had never anticipated that she could possibly decline to watch over a charge so precious.  She would not allow, even to herself, that her son’s own conduct was as much the cause of this as her husband’s ill favor; but she saw in it, clearly enough, the mark of the cloven hoof, the work of Balfour.

Sick Mrs. Basil could give her small comfort, though she did not attempt to defend their late visitor, as she had so unwarrantably appeared to do when discussing him with Charley.

“The man is gone, my dear,” said she, wearily; “perhaps he may never come back:  let us not meet troubles half-way.  Charley has a kind, good heart”—­for “the white witch” showed great favor to the lad at all times—­“and all will come right at last.”