Then had come the first blow, when Harry Annesley had come to Montpelier Place and had been welcomed by Florence.  Mrs. Mountjoy had seen it all long before Florence had been aware of it.  And the first coming of Harry had been long before the absolute disgrace of Captain Scarborough,—­at any rate, before the tidings of that disgrace had reached Cheltenham.  Mrs. Mountjoy had been still able to dream of Tretton Park, after the Jews had got their fingers on it,—­even after the Jews had been forced to relinquish their hold.  It can hardly be said that up to this very time Mrs. Mountjoy had lost all hope in her nephew, thinking that as the property had been entailed some portion of it must ultimately belong to him.  She had heard that Augustus was to have it, and her desires had vacillated between the two.  Then Harry had positively declared himself, and Augustus had given her to understand how wretched, how mean, how wicked had been Harry’s conduct.  And he fully explained to her that Harry would be penniless.  She had indeed been aware that Buston,—­quite a trifling thing compared to Tretton,—­was to belong to him.  But entails were nothing nowadays.  It was part of the radical abomination to which England was being subjected.  Not even Buston was now to belong to Harry Annesley.  The small income which he had received from his uncle was stopped.  He was reduced to live upon his fellowship,—­which would be stopped also if he married.  She even despised him because he was the fellow of a college;—­she had looked for a husband for her daughter so much higher than any college could produce.  It was not from any lack of motherly love that she was opposed to Florence, or from any innate cruelty that she handed her daughter over to the tender mercies of Lady Mountjoy.

And since she had been at Brussels there had come up farther hopes.  Another mode had shown itself of escaping Harry Annesley, who was of all catastrophes the most dreaded and hated.  Mr. Anderson, the second secretary of legation,—­he whose business it was to ride about the boulevard with Sir Magnus,—­had now declared himself in form.  “Never saw a fellow so bowled over,” Sir Magnus had declared, by which he had intended to signify that Mr. Anderson was now truly in love.  “I’ve seen him spooney a dozen times,” Sir Magnus had said, confidentially, to his sister-in-law, “but he has never gone to this length.  He has asked a lot of girls to have him, but he has always been off it again before the week was over.  He has written to his mother now.”

And Mr. Anderson showed his love by very unmistakable signs.  Sir Magnus too, and Lady Mountjoy, were evidently on the same side as Mr. Anderson.  Sir Magnus thought there was no longer any good in waiting for his nephew, the captain, and of that other nephew, Augustus, he did not entertain any very high idea.  Sir Magnus had corresponded lately with Augustus, and was certainly not on his side.  But he so painted Mr. Anderson’s prospects in life, as did also Lady Mountjoy, as to make it appear that if Florence could put up with young Anderson she would do very well with herself.