Timidly the Countess inspected the furniture of the apartment, taking chills at the dingy articles she saw, in the midst of her heat.  That she should have sprung from this!  The thought was painful; still she could forgive Providence so much.  But should it ever be known she had sprung from this!  Alas! she felt she never could pardon such a dire betrayal.  She had come in good spirits, but the mention of Evan’s backsliding had troubled her extremely, and though she did not say to herself, What was the benefit resulting from her father’s dying, if Evan would be so base-minded? she thought the thing indefinitely, and was forming the words on her mouth, One Harrington in a shop is equal to all! when Evan appeared alone.

‘Why, goodness gracious! where’s your moustache?’ cried the Countess.

‘Gone the way of hair!’ said Evan, coldly stooping to her forehead.

‘Such a distinction!’ the Countess continued, reproachfully.  ’Why, mon Dieu! one could hardly tell you; as you look now, from the very commonest tradesman—­if you were not rather handsome and something of a figure.  It’s a disguise, Evan—­do you know that?’

’And I ’ve parted with it—­that ‘s all,’ said Evan.  ’No more disguises for me!’

The Countess immediately took his arm, and walked with him to a window.  His face was certainly changed.  Murmuring that the air of Lymport was bad for him, and that he must leave it instantly, she bade him sit and attend to what she was about to say.

While you have been here, degenerating, Evan, day by day—­as you always do out of my sight—­degenerating! no less a word!—­I have been slaving in your interests.  Yes; I have forced the Jocelyns socially to acknowledge us.  I have not slept; I have eaten bare morsels.  Do abstinence and vigils clear the wits?  I know not! but indeed they have enabled me to do more in a week than would suffice for a lifetime.  Hark to me.  I have discovered Rose’s secret.  Si!  It is so!  Rose loves you.  You blush; you blush like a girl.  She loves you, and you have let yourself be seen in a shop!  Contrast me the two things.  Oh! in verity, dreadful as it is, one could almost laugh.  But the moment I lose sight of you, my instructions vanish as quickly as that hair on your superior lip, which took such time to perfect.  Alas! you must grow it again immediately.  Use any perfumer’s contrivance.  Rowland!  I have great faith in Rowland.  Without him, I believe, there would have been many bald women committing suicide!  You remember the bottle I gave to the Count de Villa Flor?  “Countess,” he said to me, “you have saved this egg-shell from a crack by helping to cover it”—­for so he called his head—­the top, you know, was beginning to shine like an egg.  And I do fear me he would have done it.  Ah! you do not conceive what the dread of baldness is!  To a woman death —­death is preferable to baldness!  Baldness is death!  And a wig—­