than human scorn.




CHAPTER XXXVII

THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY

Never would the Countess believe that brother of hers, idiot as by nature
he might be, and heir to unnumbered epithets, would so far forget what
she had done for him, as to drag her through the mud for nothing: and so
she told Caroline again and again, vehemently.

It was about ten minutes before the time for descending to the breakfast-
table. She was dressed, and sat before the glass, smoothing her hair,
and applying the contents of a pot of cold cream to her forehead between-
whiles. With perfect sincerity she repeated that she could not believe
it. She had only trusted Evan once since their visit to Beckley; and
that this once he should, when treated as a man, turn traitor to
their common interests, and prove himself an utter baby, was a piece of
nonsense her great intelligence indignantly rejected.

'Then, if true,' she answered Caroline's assurances finally, 'if true, he
is not his father's son!'

By which it may be seen that she had indeed taken refuge in the Castle of
Negation against the whole army of facts.

'He is acting, Carry. He is acting the ideas of his ridiculous empty