wife. As he walked up and down the hill of Stratton Street, with the
kiss of the dear, modest, affectionate girl still warm upon his lips, he
told himself that a marriage with such a one as Julia Brabazon would
have been altogether fatal to his chance of happiness.

And things had occurred and rumors had reached him which assisted him
much in adopting this view of the subject. It was known to all the
Claverings--and even to all others who cared about such things--that
Lord and Lady Ongar were not happy together, and it had been already
said that Lady Ongar had misconducted herself. There was a certain count
whose name had come to be mingled with hers in a way that was, to say
the least of it, very unfortunate. Sir Hugh Clavering had declared, in
Mrs. Clavering's hearing, though but little disposed in general to make
any revelations to any of the family at the rectory, "that he did not
intend to take his sister-in-law's part. She had made her own bed, and
she must lie upon it. She had known what Lord Ongar was before she had
married him, and the fault was her own." So much Sir Hugh had said, and,
in saying it, had done all that in him lay to damn his sister-in-law's
fair fame. Harry Clavering, little as he had lived in the world during
the last twelve months, still knew that some people told a different
story. The earl, too, and his wife had not been in England since their
marriage; so that these rumors had been filtered to them at home through
a foreign medium. During most of their time they had been in Italy, and
now, as Harry knew, they were at Florence. He had heard that Lord Ongar
had declared his intention of suing for a divorce; but that he supposed
to be erroneous, as the two were still living under the same roof. Then
he heard that Lord Ongar was ill; and whispers were spread abroad darkly
and doubtingly, as though great misfortunes were apprehended.

Harry could not fail to tell himself that had Julia become his wife, as