By this time Percy had returned to London. His mother remained; but the terms understood between her niece and herself were those of icy politeness and reserve. I learned afterwards that something of an understanding had also been arrived at between Percy and Harry; ever since learning the particulars of which, I have liked the young rascal a great deal better. So I will trouble my reader to take an interest in my report of the affair.  
Percy met Harry at the gate, after one of his professional visits, and accosted him thus:
 
"Mr. Armstrong, my mother says you have been rude to her."
 
"I am not in the least aware of it, Mr. Percy."
 
"Oh! I don't care much. She is provoking. Besides, she can take care of herself. That's not it."
 
"What is it, then?"
 
"What do you mean about Adela?"
 
"I have said nothing more than that she has had a sharp attack of intermittent fever, which is going off."
 
"Come, come—you know what I mean."
 
"I may suspect, but I don't choose to answer hints, the meaning of which I only suspect. I might make a fool of myself."
 
"Well, I'll be plain. Are you in love with her?"
 
"Suppose I were, you are not the first to whom I should think it necessary to confess."
 
"Well, are you paying your addresses to her?"
 
"I am sorry I cannot consent to make my answers as frank as your questions. You have the advantage of me in straightforwardness, I confess. Only you have got sun and wind of me both."
 
"Come, come—I hate dodging."
 
"I daresay you do. But just let me shift round a bit, and see what you will do then.—Are you in love with Miss Cathcart?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Upon my word, I shouldn't have thought it. Here have we been all positively conspiring to do her good, and you have been paying ten times the attention to the dogs and horses that you have paid to her."
 
"By Jove! it's quite true. But I couldn't somehow."
 
"Then she hasn't encouraged you?"
 
"By Jupiter! you are frank enough now.—No, damn it—not a bit.—But she used to like me, and she would again, if you would let her alone."
 
"Now, Mr. Percy, I'll tell you what.—I don't believe you are a bit in love with her."
 
"She's devilish pretty."
 
"Well?"
 
"And I declare I think she got prettier and prettier every day till this cursed ague took her.—Your fault too, my mother says."
 
"We'll leave your mother out of the question now, if you please. Do you know what made her look prettier and prettier—for you are quite right about that?"
 
"No. I suppose you were giving her arsenic."
 
"No. I was giving her the true elixir vitae, unknown even to the
Rosicrucians."
Percy stared.
 
"I will explain myself. Her friend, Mr. Smith—"
 
"Old fogie!"
 
"Old bachelor—yes.—Mr. Smith and I agreed that she was dying of ennui; and so we got up this story-cl............