manners would freeze the heart out of her; and if you have more guineas
than you can spend, where's the joy of sweating to get 'em, or of hiding
'em under the flag-stones against a lean year? No, no, she knew better
than you, and did better. A gentleman may play the beggar for a while,
but sooner or later his own will have him--and what's Virginia to do
then? Do you dare," she said sternly, "do you dare to blame her for what
she has done? She has done incredibly well; and if you in all the rest
of your life can prove a tithe of her nobility, you will be a greater
man than I have reason to believe you."

"I cannot blame her, Miriam," I said, "I love her too much. I shall
never rest until I find her." The tears stood in my eyes--I was indeed
humiliated; but my shame, though bitter, was not without fruit.

Shortly afterwards, in order to clear up the affairs of my inheritance,
I presented myself before Sir John Macartney, the English Minister, at
his weekly levee in the Palazzo C----. A bluff, soldierly man, of Irish
birth and English opinions, he received me with particular civility, in
which curiosity may perhaps have played its part. He deplored my loss of
an excellent father, rejoiced in my gain of an excellent estate, hoped I
should return to England, cry for King George, hunt the country, and
keep a good head of game. He alluded, as delicately as he could, to
religious differences. "I know very well that you're no turncoat, Mr.
Strelley," he said; "no, dammy, your house is inveterate for the Pope.
But your father was never a Stuart's man, and I hope you'll follow him
there. You'll stand apart--'tis only natural--but, curse me, let us have
no Jesuit rogues in our women's quarters--hey? No, no--you must uphold
the Protestant succession, Mr. Strelley, like your father before you."

My reply, I fancy, somewhat sobered the heart of Sir John. I said that I