“Lady Ongar!”

“You know the old story, that the drop which is ever dropping will wear the stone.  And after all why should your faith in me be as hard even as a stone?”

“Do you believe that what he said had any such effect?”

“It is very hard to look into another person’s heart; and the dearer and nearer that heart is to your own, the greater, I think, is the difficulty.  I know that man’s heart—­what he calls his heart—­but I don’t know yours.”

For a moment or two Clavering made no answer, and then, when he did speak, he went back from himself to the count.

“If what you surmise of him be true, he must be a very devil.  He cannot be a man—­”

“Man or devil, what matters which he be?  Which is the worst, Harry, and what is the difference?  The Fausts of this day want no Mephistopheles to teach them guile or to harden their hearts.”

“I do not believe that there are such men.  There may be one.”

“One, Harry!  What was Lord Ongar?  What is your cousin Hugh?  What is this Count Pateroff?  Are they not all of the same nature—­hard as stone, desirous simply of indulging their own appetites, utterly without one generous feeling, incapable even of the idea of caring for any one?  Is it not so?  In truth, this count is the best of the three I have named.  With him a woman would stand a better chance than with either of the others.”

“Nevertheless, if that was his motive, he is a devil.”

“He shall be a devil if you say so.  He shall be anything you please, so long as he has not made you think evil of me.”

“No, he has not done that.”

“Then I don’t care what he has done, or what he may do.  You would not have me see him, would you?” This she asked with a sudden energy, throwing herself forward from her seat with her elbows on the table, and resting her face on her hands, as she had already done more than once when he had been there; so that the attitude, which became her well, was now customary in his eyes.

“You will hardly be guided by my opinion in such a matter.”

“By whose, then, will I be guided?  Nay, Harry, since you put me to a promise, I will make the promise.  I will be guided by your opinion.  If you bid me see him, I will do it—­though, I own, it would be distressing to me.”

“Why should you see him, if you do not wish it?”

“I know no reason.  In truth there is no reason.  What he says about Lord Ongar is simply some part of his scheme.  You see what his scheme is, Harry?”

“What is his scheme?”

“Simply this—­that I should be frightened into becoming his wife.  My darling bosom friend Sophie, who, as I take it, has not quite managed to come to satisfactory terms with her brother—­and I have no doubt her price for assistance has been high—­has informed me more than once that her brother desires to do me so much honor.  The count, perhaps, thinks that he can manage such a bagatelle without any aid from his sister; and my dearest Sophie seems to feel that she can do better with me herself in my widowed state, than if I were to take another husband.  They are so kind and so affectionate; are they not?”