I can forgive him that, Evan!' The Countess pointed out her finger with mournful and impressive majesty, 'As we look down on that monkey, people of rank and consideration in society look on what poor dear Papa was.' This was partly true, for Jacko sat on a chair, in his favourite attitude, copied accurately from the workmen of the establishment at their labour with needle and thread.

Growing cognizant of the infamy of his posture, the Countess begged Evan to drive him out of her sight, and took a sniff at her smelling-bottle.
She went on: 'Now, dear Van, you would hear of your sweet Rose ?' 'Not a word!' Evan hastily answered.
'Why, what does this indicate?
Whims! Then you do love ?' 'I tell you, Louisa, I don't want to hear a word of any of them,' said Evan, with an angry gleam in his eyes.

'They are nothing to me, nor I to them.

I--my walk in life is not theirs.' 'Faint heart! faint heart!' the Countess lifted a proverbial forefinger.
'Thank heaven, I shall have the consolation of not going about, and bowing and smirking like an impostor!' Evan exclaimed.
There was a wider intelligence in the Countess's arrested gaze than she chose to fashion into speech.
'I knew,' she said, 'I knew how the air of this horrible Lymport would act on you.

But while I live, Evan, you shall not sink in the sludge.