Believe me." Harry was very far from believing her, and did not in the least require her friendship.

Her friendship, indeed! How could any decent English man or woman wish for the friendship of such a creature as that?
It was thus that he thought of her as he walked away from Mount Street, making heavy accusations, within his own breast, against Lady Ongar as he did so.
Julia! He repeated the name over to himself a dozen times, thinking that the flavor of it was lost since it had been contaminated so often by that vile tongue.

But what concern was it of his?
Let her be Julia to whom she would, she could never be Julia again to him.

But she was his friend--Lady Ongar, and he told himself plainly that his friend had been wrong in having permitted herself to hold any intimacy with such a woman as that.

No doubt Lady Ongar had been subjected to very trying troubles in the last months of her husband's life, but no circumstances could justify her, if she continued to endorse the false cordiality of that horribly vulgar and evil-minded little woman.