[Illustration: "Look there, Doris--you see that path? Let's go on tothe moor a little. "] A Great Success By Mrs. Humphry WardAuthor of "Eltham House, " "Delia Blanchflower, " etc. New YorkHearst's International Library Co. 1916 PART I CHAPTER I "Arthur, --what did you give the man?" "Half a crown, my dear! Now don't make a fuss. I know exactly whatyou're going to say!" "_Half a crown!_" said Doris Meadows, in consternation. "The fare wasone and twopence. Of course he thought you mad. But I'll get it back!" And she ran to the open window, crying "Hi!" to the driver of ataxi-cab, who, having put down his fares, was just on the point ofstarting from the door of the small semi-detached house in a SouthKensington street, which owned Arthur and Doris Meadows for its masterand mistress. The driver turned at her call. "Hi!--Stop! You've been over-paid!" The man grinned all over, made her a low bow, and made off as fast as hecould. Arthur Meadows, behind her, went into a fit of laughter, and as hiswife, discomfited, turned back into the room he threw a triumphant armaround her. "I had to give him half a crown, dear, or burst. Just look at theseletters--and you know what a post we had this morning! Now don't botherabout the taxi! What does it matter? Come and open the post. " Whereupon Doris Meadows felt herself forcibly drawn down to a seat onthe sofa beside her husband, who threw a bundle of letters upon hiswife's lap, and then turned eagerly to open others with which his ownhands were full. "H'm!--Two more publishers' letters, asking for the book--don't theywish they may get it! But I could have made a far better bargain if I'donly waited a fortnight. Just my luck! One--two--four--autograph fiends!The last--a lady, of course!--wants a page of the first lecture. Calm!Invitations from the Scottish Athenaeum--the Newcastle Academy--theBirmingham Literary Guild--the Glasgow Poetic Society--the 'BritishPhilosophers'--the Dublin Dilettanti!--Heavens!--how many more! None ofthem offering cash, as far as I can see--only fame--pure and undefiled!Hullo!--that's a compliment!--the Parnassians have put me on theirCouncil. And last year, I was told, I couldn't even get in as anordinary member. Dash their impudence!... This is really astounding!What are yours, darling?" And tumbling all his opened letters on the sofa, Arthur Meadows rose--insheer excitement--and confronted his wife, with a flushed countenance. He was a tall, broadly built, loose-limbed fellow, with a fine shaggyhead, whereof various black locks were apt to fall forward over hiseyes, needing to be constantly thrown back by a picturesque action ofthe hand. The features were large and regular, the complexion dark, theeyes a pale blue, under bushy brows. The whole aspect of the man, indeed, was not unworthy of the adjective "Olympian, " already freelyapplied to it by some of the enthusiastic women students attending hisnow famous lectures. One girl artist learned in classical archaeology, and a haunter of the British Museum, had made a charcoal study of awell-known archaistic "Diespiter" of the Augustan period, on the samesheet with a rapid sketch of Meadows when lecturing; a performance whichhad been much handed about in the lecture-room, though always justavoiding--strangely enough--the eyes of the lecturer.... The expressionof slumbrous power, the mingling of dream and energy in the Olympiancountenance, had been, in the opinion of the majority, extremely wellcaught. Only Doris Meadows, the lecturer's wife, herself an artist, anda much better one than the author of the drawing, had smiled a littlequeerly on being allowed a sight of it. However, she was no less excited by the batch of letters her husband hadallowed her to open than he by his. Her bundle included, so it appeared, letters from several leading politicians: one, discussing in a mostanimated and friendly tone the lecture of the week before, on "LordGeorge Bentinck"; and two others dealing with the first lecture of theseries, the brilliant pen-portrait of Disraeli, which--partly owing tofeminine influence behind the scenes--had been given _verbatim_ and withmuch preliminary trumpeting in two or three Tory newspapers, and hadproduced a real sensation, of that mild sort which alone the Britishpublic--that does not love lectures--is capable of receiving from thereport of one. Persons in the political world had relished its plainspeaking; dames and counsellors of the Primrose League had read thepraise with avidity, and skipped the criticism; while the mere men andwomen of letters had appreciated a style crisp, unhackneyed, and alive. The second lecture on "Lord George Bentinck" had been crowded, and thecrowd had included several Cabinet Ministers, and those great ladies ofthe moment who gather like vultures to the feast on any similaroccasion. The third lecture, on "Palmerston and Lord John"--had been notonly crowded, but crowded out, and London was by now fully aware that itpossessed in Arthur Meadows a person capable of painting a series of LaBruyère-like portraits of modern men, as vivid, biting, and"topical"--_mutatis mutandis_--as the great French series were in theirday. Applications for the coming lecture on "Lord Randolph" were arriving byevery post, and those to follow after--on men just dead, and othersstill alive--would probably have to be given in a much larger hall thanthat at present engaged, so certain was intelligent London that in goingto hear Arthur Meadows on the most admired--or the mostdetested--personalities of the day, they at least ran no risk ofwishy-washy panegyric, or a dull caution. Meadows had proved himselfdaring both in compliment and attack; nothing could be sharper than histhrusts, or more Olympian than his homage. There were those indeed whotalked of "airs" and "mannerisms, " but their faint voices were lost inthe general shouting. "Wonderful!" said Doris, at last, looking up from the last of theseepistles. "I really didn't know, Arthur, you were such a great man. " Her eyes rested on him with a fond but rather puzzled expression. "Well, of course, dear, you've always seen the seamy side of me, " saidMeadows, with the slightest change of tone and a laugh. "Perhaps nowyou'll believe me when I say that I'm not always lazy when I seemso--that a man must have time to think, and smoke, and dawdle, if he'sto write anything decent, and can't always rush at the first job thatoffers. When you thought I was idling--I wasn't! I was gathering upimpressions. Then came an attractive piece of work--one that suitedme--and I rose to it. There, you see!" He threw back his Jovian head, with a look at his wife, half combative, half merry. Doris's forehead puckered a little. "Well, thank Heaven that it _has_ turned out well!" she said, with adeep breath. "Where we should have been if it hadn't I'm sure I don'tknow! And, as it is--By the way, Arthur, have you got that packet readyfor New York?" Her tone was quick and anxious. "What, the proofs of 'Dizzy'? Oh, goodness, that'll do any time. Don'tbother, Doris. I'm really rather done--and this post is--well, upon myword, it's overwhelming!" And, gathering up the letters, he threwhimself with an air of fatigue into a long chair, his hands behind hishead. "Perhaps after tea and a cigarette I shall feel more fit. " "Arthur!--you know to-morrow is the last day for catching the New Yorkmail. " "Well, hang it, if I don't catch it, they must wait, that's all!" saidMeadows peevishly. "If they won't take it, somebody else will. " "They" represented the editor and publisher of a famous New Yorkmagazine, who had agreed by cable to give a large sum for the "Dizzy"lecture, provided it reached them by a certain date. Doris twisted her lip. "Arthur, _do_ think of the bills!" "Darling, don't be a nuisance! If I succeed I shall make money. And ifthis isn't a success I don't know what is. " He pointed to the letters onhis lap, an impatient gesture which dislodged a certain number of them, so that they came rustling to the floor. "Hullo!--here's one you haven't opened. Another coronet! Gracious! Ibelieve it's the woman who asked us to dinner a fortnight ago, and wecouldn't go. " Meadows sat up with a jerk, all languor dispelled, and held out his handfor the letter. "Lady Dunstable! By George! I thought she'd ask us, --though you don'tdeserve it, Doris, for you didn't take any trouble at all about herfirst invitation--" "We were _engaged_!" cried Doris, interrupting him, her eyebrowsmounting. "We could have got out of it perfectly. But now, listen to this: "Dear Mr. Meadows, --I hope your wife will excuse my writing to you instead of to her, as you and I are already acquainted. Can I induce you both to come to Crosby Ledgers for a week-end, on July 16? We hope to have a pleasant party, a diplomat or two, the Home Secretary, and General Hichen--perhaps some others. You would, I am sure, admire our hill country, and I should like to show you some of the precious autographs we have inherited. "Yours sincerely, "RACHEL DUNSTABLE. "If your wife brings a maid, perhaps she will kindly let me know. " Doris laughed, and the amused scorn of her laugh annoyed her husband. However, at that moment their small house-parlourmaid entered with thetea-tray, and Doris rose to make a place for it. The parlourmaid put itdown with much unnecessary noise, and Doris, looking at her in alarm, saw that her expression was sulky and her eyes red. When the girl haddeparted, Mrs. Meadows said with resignation-- "There! that one will give me notice to-morrow!" "Well, I'm sure you could easily get a better!" said her husbandsharply. Doris shook her head. "The fourth in six months!" she said, sighing. "And she really is a goodgirl. " "I suppose, as usual, she complains of me!" The voice was that of aninjured man. "Yes, dear, she does! They all do. You give them a lot of extra workalready, and all these things you have been buying lately--oh, Arthur, if you _wouldn't_ buy things!--mean more work. You know that coppercoal-scuttle you sent in yesterday?" "Well, isn't it a beauty?--a real Georgian piece!" cried Meadows, indignantly. "I dare say it is. But it has to be cleaned. When it arrived Jane cameto see me in this room, shut the door, and put her back against it'There's another of them beastly copper coal-scuttles come!' You shouldhave seen her eyes blazing. 'And I should like to know, ma'am, who'sgoing to clean it--'cos I can't. ' And I just had to promise her it mightgo dirty. " "Lazy minx!" said Meadows, good-humouredly, with his mouth full oftea-cake. "At last I have something good to look at in this room. " Heturned his eyes caressingly towards the new coal-scuttle. "I suppose Ishall have to clean it myself!" Doris laughed again--this time almost hysterically--but was checked by afresh entrance of Jane, who, with an air of defiance, deposited a heavyparcel on a chair beside her mistress, and flounced out again. "What is this?" said Doris in consternation. "_Books_? More books?Heavens, Arthur, what have you been ordering now! I couldn't sleep lastnight for thinking of the book-bills. " "You little goose! Of course, I must buy books! Aren't they my tools, mystock-in-trade? Haven't these lectures justified the book-bills a dozentimes over?" This time Arthur Meadows surveyed his wife in real irritation anddisgust. "But, Arthur!--you could get them _all_ at the London Library--you knowyou could!" "And pray how much time do I waste in going backwards and forwards afterbooks? Any man of letters worth his salt wants a library of hisown--within reach of his hand. " "Yes, if he can pay for it!" said Doris, with plaintive emphasis, as sheruefully turned over the costly volumes which the parcel contained. "Don't fash yourself, my dear child! Why, what I'm getting for the Dizzylecture is alone nearly enough to pay all the book bills. " "It isn't! And just think of all the others! Well--never mind!" Doris's protesting mood suddenly collapsed. She sat down on a stoolbeside her husband, rested her elbow on his knee, and, chin in hand, surveyed him with a softened countenance. Doris Meadows was not abeauty; only pleasant-faced, with good eyes, and a strong, expressivemouth. Her brown hair was perhaps her chief point, and she wore itrippled and coiled so as to set off a shapely head and neck. It wasalways a secret grievance with her that she had so little positivebeauty. And her husband had never flattered her on the subject. In theearly days of their marriage she had timidly asked him, afterone of their bridal dinner-parties in which she had worn herwedding-dress--"Did I look nice to-night? Do you--do you ever think Ilook pretty, Arthur?" And he had looked her over, with an odd change ofexpression--careless affection passing into something critical andcool:--"I'm never ashamed of you, Doris, in any company. Won't you besatisfied with that?" She had been far from satisfied; the phrase hadburnt in her memory from then till now. But she knew Arthur had notmeant to hurt her, and she bore him no grudge. And, by now, she was toowell acquainted with the rubs and prose of life, too much occupied withhouse-books, and rough servants, and the terror of an overdrawn account, to have any time or thought to spare to her own looks. Fortunately shehad an instinctive love for neatness and delicacy; so that her littlefigure, besides being agile and vigorous--capable of much dignity too onoccasion--was of a singular trimness and grace in all its simpleappointments. Her trousseau was long since exhausted, and she rarely hada new dress. But slovenly she could not be. It was the matter of a new dress which was now indeed running in hermind. She took up Lady Dunstable's letter, and read it pensively throughagain. "You can accept for yourself, Arthur, of course, " she said, looking up. "But I can't possibly go. " Meadows protested loudly. "You have no excuse at all!" he declared hotly. "Lady Dunstable hasgiven us a month's notice. You _can't_ get out of it. Do you want me tobe known as a man who accepts smart invitations without his wife? Thereis no more caddish creature in the world. " Doris could not help smiling upon him. But her mouth was none the lessdetermined. "I haven't got a single frock that's fit for Crosby Ledgers. And I'm notgoing on tick for a new one!" "I never heard anything so absurd! Shan't we have more money in a fewweeks than we've had for years?" "I dare say. It's all wanted. Besides, I have my work to finish. " "My dear Doris!" A slight red mounted in Doris's cheeks. "Oh, you may be as scornful as you like! But ten pounds is ten pounds, and I like keeping engagements. " The "work" in question meant illustrations for a children's book. Dorishad accepted the commission with eagerness, and had been going regularlyto the Campden Hill studio of an Academician--her mother's brother--whowas glad to supply her with some of the "properties" she wanted for herdrawings. "I shall soon not allow you to do anything of the kind, " said Meadowswith decision. "On the contrary! I shall always take paid work when I can get it, " wasthe firm reply--"unless--" "Unless what?" "You know, " she said quietly. Meadows was silent a moment, then reachedout for her hand, which she gave him. They had no children; and, as hewell knew, Doris pined for them. The look in her eyes when she nursedher friends' babies had often hurt him. But after all, why despair? Itwas only four years from their wedding day. But he was not going to be beaten in the matter of Crosby Ledgers. Theyhad a long and heated discussion, at the end of which Doris surrendered. "Very well! I shall have to spend a week in doing up my old black gown, and it will be a botch at the end of it. But--_nothing--will induceme_--to get a new one!" She delivered this ultimatum with her hands behind her, a defeated, butstill resolute young person. Meadows, having won the main battle, leftthe rest to Providence, and went off to his "den" to read all hisletters through once more--agreeable task!--and to write a note ofacceptance to the Home Secretary, who had asked him to luncheon. Doriswas not included in the invitation. "But anybody may ask a husband--or awife--to lunch, separately. That's understood. I shan't do it often, however--that I can tell them!" And justified by this Spartan temper asto the future, he wrote a charming note, accepting the delights of thepresent, so full of epigram that the Cabinet Minister to whom it wasaddressed had no sooner read it than he consigned it instanter to hiswife's collection of autographs. Meanwhile Doris was occupied partly in soothing the injured feelings ofJane, and partly in smoothing out and inspecting her one evening frock. She decided that it would take her a week to "do it up, " and that shewould do it herself. "A week wasted!" she thought--"and all for nothing. What do we want with Lady Dunstable! She'll flatter Arthur, and make himlazy. They all do! And I've no use for her at all. _Maid_ indeed! Doesshe think nobody can exist without that appendage? How I should like tomake her live on four hundred a year, with a husband that will spendseven!" She stood, half amused, half frowning, beside the bed on which lay herone evening frock. But the frown passed away, effaced by an expressionmuch softer and tenderer than anything she had allowed Arthur to see oflate. Of course she delighted in Arthur's success; she was proud, indeed, through and through. Hadn't she always known that he had thisgift, this quick, vivacious power of narrative, this genius--for it wassomething like it--for literary portraiture? And now at last thestimulus had come--and the opportunity with it. Could she ever forgetthe anxiety of the first lecture--the difficulty she had had in makinghim finish it--his careless, unbusiness-like management of the wholeaffair? But then had come the burst of praise and popularity; andArthur was a new man. No difficulty--or scarcely--in getting him to worksince then! Applause, so new and intoxicating, had lured him on, as shehad been wont to lure the black pony of her childhood with a handful ofsugar. Yes, her Arthur was a genius; she had always known it. Andsomething of a child too--lazy, wilful, and sensuous--that, too, she hadknown for some time. And she loved him with all her heart. "But I won't have him spoilt by those fine ladies!" she said to herself, with frowning clear-sightedness. "They make a perfect fool of him. Now, then, I'd better write to Lady Dunstable. Of course she ought to havewritten to me!" So she sat down and wrote: Dear Lady Dunstable, --We have much pleasure in accepting your kind invitation, and I will let you know our train later. I have no maid, so-- But at this point Mrs. Meadows, struck by a sudden idea, threw down herpen. "Heavens!--suppose I took Jane? Somebody told me the other day thatnobody got any attention at Crosby Ledgers without a maid. And it mightbribe Jane into staying. I should feel a horrid snob--but it would berather fun--especially as Lady Dunstable will certainly be immenselysurprised. The fare would be only about five shillings--Jane would gether food for two days at the Dunstables' expense--and I should have afriend. I'll do it. " So, with her eyes dancing, Doris tore up her note, and began again: Dear Lady Dunstable, --We have much pleasure in accepting your kind invitation, and I will let you know our train later. As you kindly permit me, I will bring a maid. Yours sincerely, DORIS MEADOWS. * * * * * The month which elapsed between Lady Dunstable's invitation and theCrosby Ledgers party was spent by Doris first in "doing up" her frock, and then in taking the bloom off it at various dinner-parties to whichthey were already invited as the "celebrities" of the moment; in makingArthur's wardrobe presentable; in watching over the tickets and receiptsof the weekly lectures; in collecting the press cuttings about them; infinishing her illustrations; and in instructing the awe-struck Jane, nowperfectly amenable, in the mysteries that would be expected of her. Meanwhile Mrs. Meadows heard various accounts from artistic and literaryfriends of the parties at Crosby Ledgers. These accounts were generallyprefaced by the laughing remark, "But anything _I_ can say is ancienthistory. Lady Dunstable dropped us long ago!" Anyway, it appeared that the mistress of Crosby Ledgers could becharming, and could also be exactly the reverse. She was a creature ofwhims and did precisely as she pleased. Everything she did apparentlywas acceptable to Lord Dunstable, who admired her blindly. But in onepoint at least she was a disappointed woman. Her son, an unsatisfactoryyouth of two-and-twenty, was seldom to be seen under his parents' roof, and it was rumoured that he had already given them a great deal oftrouble. "The dreadful thing, my dear, is the _games_ they play!" said the wifeof a dramatist, whose one successful piece had been followed by years ofill-fortune. "_Games?_" said Doris. "Do you mean cards--for money?" "Oh, dear no! Intellectual games. _Bouts-rimés;_ translations--LadyDunstable looks out the bits and some people think thewords--beforehand; paragraphs on a subject--in a particularstyle--Pater's, or Ruskin's, or Carlyle's. Each person throws two slipsinto a hat. On one you write the subject, on another the name of theauthor whose style is to be imitated. Then you draw. Of course LadyDunstable carries off all the honours. But then everybody believes shespends all the mornings preparing these things. She never comes downtill nearly lunch. " "This is really appalling!" said Doris, with round eyes. "I haveforgotten everything I ever knew. " As for her own impressions of the great lady, she had only seen her oncein the semi-darkness of the lecture-room, and could only remember along, sallow face, with striking black eyes and a pointed chin, ageneral look of distinction and an air of one accustomed to the "chiefseat" at any board--whether the feasts of reason or those of a moreordinary kind. As the days went on, Doris, for all her sturdy self-reliance, began tofeel a little nervous inwardly. She had been quite well-educated, firstat a good High School, and then in the class-rooms of a provincialUniversity; and, as the clever daughter of a clever doctor in largepractice, she had always been in touch with the intellectual world, especially on its scientific side. And for nearly two years before hermarriage she had been a student at the Slade School. But since herimprudent love-match with a literary man had plunged her into thepractical work of a small household, run on a scanty and precariousincome, she had been obliged, one after another, to let the oldinterests go. Except the drawing. That was good enough to bring her alittle money, as an illustrator, designer of Christmas cards, etc. ; andshe filled most of her spare time with it. But now she feverishly looked out some of her old books--Pater's"Studies, " a volume of Huxley's Essays, "Shelley" and "Keats" in the"Men of Letters" series. She borrowed two or three of the politicalbiographies with which Arthur's shelves were crowded, having all thewhile, however, the dispiriting conviction that Lady Dunstable had beendandled on the knees of every English Prime Minister since her birth, and had been the blood relation of all of them, except perhaps Mr. G. , whose blood no doubt had not been blue enough to entitle him to theprivilege. However, she must do her best. She kept these feelings and preparationsentirely secret from Arthur, and she saw the day of the visit dawn in amood of mingled expectation and revolt. CHAPTER II It was a perfect June evening: Doris was seated on one of the spreadinglawns of Crosby Ledgers, --a low Georgian house, much added to at varioustimes, and now a pleasant medley of pillared verandahs, tiled roofs, cupolas, and dormer windows, apparently unpretending, but, as manypeople knew, one of the most luxurious of English country houses. Lady Dunstable, in a flowing dress of lilac crêpe and a large black hat, had just given Mrs. Meadows a second cup of tea, and was clearly doingher duty--and showing it--to a guest whose entertainment could not betrusted to go of itself. The only other persons at the tea-table--theMeadowses having arrived late--were an elderly man with long Dundrearywhiskers, in a Panama hat and a white waistcoat, and a lady of uncertainage, plump, kind-eyed, and merry-mouthed, in whom Doris had at oncedivined a possible harbour of refuge from the terrors of the situation. Arthur was strolling up and down the lawn with the Home Secretary, smoking and chatting--talking indeed nineteen to the dozen, and entirelyat his ease. A few other groups were scattered over the grass; whilegirls in white dresses and young men in flannels were playing tennis inthe distance. A lake at the bottom of the sloping garden made light andspace in a landscape otherwise too heavily walled in by thick woodland. White swans floated on the lake, and the June trees beyond were in theirfreshest and proudest leaf. A church tower rose appropriately in acorner of the park, and on the other side of the deer-fence beyond thelake a herd of red deer were feeding. Doris could not help feeling asthough the whole scene had been lately painted for a new "high life"play at the St. James's Theatre, and she half expected to see Sir GeorgeAlexander walk out of the bushes. "I suppose, Mrs. Meadows, you have been helping your husband with hislectures?" said Lady Dunstable, a little languidly, as though the heatoppressed her. She was making play with a cigarette and her half-shuteyes were fixed on the "lion's" wife. The eyes fascinated Doris. Surelythey were artificially blackened, above and below? And the lips--had artbeen delicately invoked, or was Nature alone responsible? "I copy things for Arthur, " said Doris. "Unfortunately, I can't type. " At the sound of the young and musical voice, the gentleman with theDundreary whiskers--Sir Luke Malford--who had seemed half asleep, turnedsharply to look at the speaker. Doris too was in a white dress, of thesimplest stuff and make; but it became her. So did the straw hat, withits wreath of wild roses, which she had trimmed herself that morning. There was not the slightest visible sign of tremor in the young woman;and Sir Luke's inner mind applauded her. "No fool!--and a lady, " he thought. "Let's see what Rachel will make ofher. " "Then you don't help him in the writing?" said Lady Dunstable, stillwith the same detached air. Doris laughed. "I don't know what Arthur would say if I proposed it. He never letsanybody go near him when he's writing. " "I see; like all geniuses, he's dangerous on the loose. " Was LadyDunstable's smile just touched with sarcasm? "Well!--has the success ofthe lectures surprised you?" Doris pondered. "No, " she said at last, "not really. I always thought Arthur had it inhim. " "But you hardly expected such a run--such an excitement!" "I don't know, " said Doris, coolly. "I think I did--sometimes. Thequestion is how long it will last. " She looked, smiling, at her interrogator. The gentleman with the whiskers stooped across the table. "Oh, nothing lasts in this world. But that of course is what makes agood time so good. " Doris turned towards him--demurring--for the sake of conversation. "Inever could understand how Cinderella enjoyed the ball. " "For thinking of the clock?" laughed Sir Luke. "No, no!--you can't meanthat. It's the expectation of the clock that doubles the pleasure. Ofcourse you agree, Rachel!"--he turned to her--"else why did you read methat very doleful poem yesterday, on this very theme?--that it's onlythe certainty of death that makes life agreeable? By the way, GeorgeEliot had said it before!" "The poem was by a friend of mine, " said Lady Dunstable, coldly. "I readit to you to see how it sounded. But I thought it poor stuff. " "How unkind of you! The man who wrote it says he lives upon yourfriendship. " "That, perhaps, is why he's so thin. " Sir Luke laughed again. "To be sure, I saw the poor man--after you had talked to him the othernight--going to Dunstable to be consoled. Poor George! he's alwayshealing the wounds you make. " "Of course. That's why I married him. George says all the civil things. That sets me free to do the rude ones. " "Rachel!" The exclamation came from the plump lady opposite, who wassmiling broadly, and showing some very white teeth. A signal passed fromher eyes to those of Doris, as though to say "Don't be alarmed!" But Doris was not at all alarmed. She was eagerly watching LadyDunstable, as one watches for the mannerisms of some well-knownperformer. Sir Luke perceived it, and immediately began to show off hishostess by one of the sparring matches that were apparently frequentbetween them. They fell to discussing a party of guests--landowners froma neighbouring estate--who seemed to have paid a visit to Crosby Ledgersthe day before. Lady Dunstable had not enjoyed them, and her tongue onthe subject was sharpness itself, restrained by none of the ordinarycompunctions. "Is this how she talks about all her guests--on Mondaymorning?" thought Doris, with quickened pulse as the biting sentencesflew about. ... "Mr. Worthing? Why did he marry her? Oh, because he wanted a stuffedgoose to sit by the fire while he went out and amused himself.... Whydid she marry him? Ah, that's more difficult to answer. Is one obligedto credit Mrs. Worthing with any reasons--on any subject? However, Ilike Mr. Worthing--he's what men ought to be. " "And that is--?" Doris ventured to put in. "Just--men, " said Lady Dunstable, shortly. Sir Luke laughed over his cigarette. "That you may fool them? Well, Rachel, all the same, you would die ofWorthing's company in a month. " "I shouldn't die, " said Lady Dunstable, quietly. "I should murder. " "Hullo, what's my wife talking about?" said a bluff and friendly voice. Doris looked up to see a handsome man with grizzled hair approaching. "Mrs. Meadows? How do you do? What a beautiful evening you've brought!Your husband and I have been having a jolly talk. My word!--he's aclever chap. Let me congratulate you on the lectures. Biggest successknown in recent days!" Doris beamed upon her host, well pleased, and he settled down besideher, doing his kind best to entertain her. In him, all those protectivefeelings towards a stranger, in which his wife appeared to beconspicuously lacking, were to be discerned on first acquaintance. Doriswas practically sure that his inner mind was thinking--"Poor littlething!--knows nobody here. Rachel's been scaring her. Must look afterher!" And look after her he did. He was by no means an amusing companion. Lazy, gentle, and ineffective, Doris quickly perceived that he wasentirely eclipsed by his wife, who, now that she was relieved of Mrs. Meadows, was soon surrounded by a congenial company--the Home Secretary, one or two other politicians, the old General, a literary Dean, LordStaines, a great racing man, Arthur Meadows, and one or two more. Thetalk became almost entirely political--with a dash of literature. Dorissaw at once that Lady Dunstable was the centre of it, and she was notlong in guessing that it was for this kind of talk that people came toCrosby Ledgers. Lady Dunstable, it seemed, was capable of talking like aman with men, and like a man of affairs with the men of affairs. Herpolitical knowledge was astonishing; so, evidently, was her backgroundof family and tradition, interwoven throughout with English politicalhistory. English statesmen had not only dandled her, they had taughther, walked with her, written to her, and--no doubt--flirted with her. Doris, as she listened to her, disliked her heartily, and at the sametime could not help being thrilled by so much knowledge, so much contactwith history in the making, and by such a masterful way, in a woman, with the great ones of the earth. "What a worm she must think me!"thought Doris--"what a worm she _does_ think me--and the likes of me!" At the same time, the spectator must needs admit there was somethingelse in Lady Dunstable's talk than mere intelligence or meremannishness. There was undoubtedly something of "the good fellow, " and, through all her hard hitting, a curious absence--in conversation--of thepersonal egotism she was quite ready to show in all the trifles of life. On the present occasion her main object clearly was to bring out ArthurMeadows--the new captive of her bow and spear; to find out what was inhim; to see if he was worthy of her inner circle. Throwing allcompliment aside, she attacked him hotly on certain statements--certainestimates--in his lectures. Her knowledge was personal; the knowledge ofone whose father had sat in Dizzy's latest Cabinet, while, through theendless cousinship of the English landed families, she was as muchrelated to the Whig as to the Tory leaders of the past. She talkedfamiliarly of "Uncle This" or "Cousin That, " who had been apparently theidols of her nursery before they had become the heroes of England; andMeadows had much ado to defend himself against her store of anecdote andreminiscence. "Unfair!" thought Doris, breathlessly watching the contestof wits. "Oh, if she weren't a woman, Arthur could easily beat her!" But she was a woman, and not at all unwilling, when hard pressed, totake advantage of that fact. All the same, Meadows was stirred to most unwonted efforts. He proved tobe an antagonist worth her steel; and Doris's heart swelled with secretpride as she saw how all the other voices died down, how more and morepeople came up to listen, even the young men and maidens, --throwingthemselves on the grass, around the two disputants. Finally LadyDunstable carried off the honours. Had she not seen Lord Beaconsfieldtwice during the fatal week of his last general election, when Englandturned against him, when his great rival triumphed, and all was lost?Had he not talked to her, as great men will talk to the young andcharming women whose flatteries soften their defeats; so that, from thewings, she had seen almost the last of that well-graced actor, caughthis last gestures and some of his last words? "Brava, brava!" said Meadows, when the story ceased, although it hadbeen intended to upset one of his own most brilliant generalisations;and a sound of clapping hands went round the circle. Lady Dunstable, alittle flushed and panting, smiled and was silent. Meadows, meanwhile, was thinking--"How often has she told that tale? She has it by heart. Every touch in it has been sharpened a dozen times. All the same--awonderful performance!" Lord Dunstable, meanwhile, sat absolutely silent, his hat on the backof his head, his attention fixed on his wife. As the group broke up, andthe chairs were pushed back, he said in Doris's ear--"Isn't she anawfully clever woman, my wife?" Before Doris could answer, she heard Lady Dunstable carelessly--but nonethe less peremptorily--inviting her women guests to see their rooms. Doris walked by her hostess's side towards the house. Every trace ofanimation and charm had now vanished from that lady's manner. She was aslanguid and monosyllabic as before, and Doris could only feel once againthat while her clever husband was an eagerly welcomed guest, she herselfcould only expect to reckon as his appendage--a piece of family luggage. Lady Dunstable threw open the door of a spacious bedroom. "No doubt youwill wish to rest till dinner, " she said, severely. "And of course yourmaid will ask for what she wants. " At the word "maid, " did Doris dreamit, or was there a satiric gleam in the hard black eyes? "Pretender, " itseemed to say--and Doris's conscience admitted the charge. And indeed the door had no sooner closed on Lady Dunstable before anagitated knock announced Jane--in tears. She stood opposite her mistress in desperation. "Please, ma'am--I'll have to have an evening dress--or I can't go in tosupper!" "What on earth do you mean?" said Doris, staring at her. "Every maid in this 'ouse, ma'am, 'as got to dress for supper. The maidsgo in the 'ousekeeper's room, an' they've all on 'em got dressesV-shaped, or cut square, or something. This black dress, ma'am, won't doat all. So I can't have no supper. I couldn't dream, ma'am, of goin' indifferent to the others!" "You silly creature!" said Doris, springing up. "Look here--I'll lendyou my spare blouse. You can turn it in at the neck, and wear my whitescarf. You'll be as smart as any of them!" And half laughing, half compassionate, she pulled her blouse out of thebox, adjusted the white scarf to it herself, and sent the bewilderedJane about her business, after having shown her first how to unpack hermistress's modest belongings, and strictly charged her to return half anhour before dinner. "Of course I shall dress myself, --but you may aswell have a lesson. " The girl went, and Doris was left stormily wondering why she had beensuch a fool as to bring her. Then her sense of humour conquered, and herbrow cleared. She went to the open window and stood looking over thepark beyond. Sunset lay broad and rich over the wide stretches of grass, and on the splendid oaks lifting their dazzling leaf to the purest ofskies. The roses in the garden sent up their scent, there was a plashingof water from an invisible fountain, and the deer beyond the fencewandered in and out of the broad bands of shadow drawn across the park. Doris's young feet fidgeted under her. She longed to be out exploringthe woods and the lake. Why was she immured in this stupid room, towhich Lady Dunstable had conducted her with a chill politeness which hadsaid plainly enough "Here you are--and here you stay!--till dinner!" "If I could only find a back-staircase, " she thought, "I would soon beenjoying myself! Arthur, lucky wretch, said something about playinggolf. No!--there he is!" And sure enough, on the farthest edge of the lawn going towards thepark, she saw two figures walking--Lady Dunstable and Arthur! "Deep intalk of course--having the best of times--while I am shut uphere--half-past six!--on a glorious evening!" The reflection, however, was, on the whole, good-humoured. She did not feel, as yet, eitherjealous or tragic. Some day, she supposed, if it was to be her lot tovisit country houses, she would get used to their ways. For Arthur, ofcourse, it was useful--perhaps necessary--to be put through his paces bya woman like Lady Dunstable. "And he can hold his own. But for me? Icontribute nothing. I don't belong to them--they don't want me--and whatuse have I for them?" Her meditations, however, were here interrupted by a knock. On hersaying "Come in"--the door opened cautiously to admit the face of thesubstantial lady, Miss Field, to whom Doris had been introduced at thetea-table. "Are you resting?" said Miss Field, "or only 'interned'?" "Oh, please come in!" cried Doris. "I never was less tired in my life. " Miss Field entered, and took the armchair that Doris offered her, fronting the open window and the summer scene. Her face would havesuited the Muse of Mirth, if any Muse is ever forty years of age. Thesmall, up-turned nose and full red lips were always smiling; so were theeyes; and the fair skin and still golden hair, the plump figure and gaydress of flower-sprigged muslin, were all in keeping with the part. "You have never seen my cousin before?" she inquired. "Lady Dunstable? Is she your cousin?" Miss Field nodded. "My first cousin. And I spend a great part of theyear here, helping in different ways. Rachel can't do without me now, soI'm able to keep her in order. Don't ever be shy with her! Don't everlet her think she frightens you!--those are the two indispensable ruleshere. " "I'm afraid I should break them, " said Doris, slowly. "She doesfrighten me--horribly!" "Ah, well, you didn't show it--that's the chief thing. You know she's amuch more human creature than she seems. " "Is she?" Doris's eyes pursued the two distant figures in the park. "You'd think, for instance, that Lord Dunstable was just a cipher? Notat all. He's the real authority here, and when he puts his foot downRachel always gives in. But of course she's stood in the way of hiscareer. " Doris shrank a little from these indiscretions. But she could not keepher curiosity out of her eyes, and Miss Field smilingly answered it. "She's absorbed him so! You see he watches her all the time. She's likean endless play to him. He really doesn't care for anything else--hedoesn't want anything else. Of course they're very rich. But he mighthave done something in politics, if she hadn't been so much moreimportant than he. And then, naturally, she's made enemies--powerfulenemies. Her friends come here of course--her old cronies--the peoplewho can put up with her. They're devoted to her. And the youngpeople--the very modern ones--who think nice manners 'early Victorian, 'and like her rudeness for the sake of her cleverness. But therest!--What do you think she did at one of these parties last year?" Doris could not help wishing to know. "She took a fancy to ask a girl near here--the daughter of a clergyman, a great friend of Lord Dunstable's, to come over for the Sunday. LordDunstable had talked of the girl, and Rachel's always on the look-outfor cleverness; she hunts it like a hound! She met the young woman toosomewhere, and got the impression--I can't say how--that she would 'go. 'So on the Saturday morning she went over in her pony-carriage--broke inon the little Rectory like a hurricane--of course you know the peopleabout here regard her as something semi-divine!--and told the girl shehad come to take her back to Crosby Ledgers for the Sunday. So the poorchild packed up, all in a flutter, and they set off together in thepony-carriage--six miles. And by the time they had gone four Rachel haddiscovered she had made a mistake--that the girl wasn't clever, andwould add nothing to the party. So she quietly told her that she wasafraid, after all, the party wouldn't suit her. And then she turned thepony's head, and drove her straight home again!" "Oh!" cried Doris, her cheeks red, her eyes aflame. "Brutal, wasn't it?" said the other. "All the same, there are finethings in Rachel. And in one point she's the most vulnerable of women!" "Her son?" Doris ventured. Miss Field shrugged her shoulders. "He doesn't drink--he doesn't gamble--he doesn't spend money--he doesn'trun away with other people's wives. He's just nothing!--just incurablyempty and idle. He comes here very little. His mother terrifies him. Andsince he was twenty-one he has a little money of his own. He hangs aboutin studios and theatres. His mother doesn't know any of his friends. What she suffers--poor Rachel! She'd have given everything in the worldfor a brilliant son. But you can't wonder. She's like some strong plantthat takes all the nourishment out of the ground, so that the plantsnear it starve. She can't help it. She doesn't mean to be a vampire!" Doris hardly knew what to say. Somehow she wished the vampire were notwalking with Arthur! That, however, was not a sentiment easilycommunicable; and she was just turning it into something else when MissField said--abruptly, like someone coming to the real point-- "Does your husband like her?" "Why yes, of course!" stammered Doris. "She's been awfully kind to usabout the lectures, and--he loves arguing with her. " "She loves arguing with _him_!" 'said Miss Field triumphantly. "Shelives just for such half-hours as that she gave us on the lawn aftertea--and all owing to him--he was so inspiring, so stimulating. Oh, you'll see, she'll take you up tremendously--if you want to be takenup!" The smiling blue eyes looked gaily into Doris's puzzled countenance. Evidently the speaker was much amused by the Meadowses' situation--moreamused than her sense of politeness allowed her to explain. Doris wasconscious of a vague resentment. "I'm afraid I don't see what Lady Dunstable will get out of me, " shesaid, drily. Miss Field raised her eyebrows. "Are you going then to let him come here alone? She'll be always askingyou! Oh, you needn't be afraid--" and this most candid of cousinslaughed aloud. "Rachel isn't a flirt--except of the intellectual kind. But she takes possession--she sticks like a limpet. " There was a pause. Then Miss Field added: "You mustn't think it odd that I say these things about Rachel. I haveto explain her to people. She's not like anybody else. " Doris did not quite see the necessity, but she kept the reflection toherself, and Miss Field passed lightly to the other guests--Sir Luke, atame cat of the house, who quarrelled with Lady Dunstable once a month, vowed he would never come near her again, and always reappeared; theDean, who in return for a general submission, was allowed to scold heroccasionally for her soul's health; the politicians whom she could notdo without, who were therefore handled more gingerly than the rest; themilitary and naval men who loved Dunstable and put up with his wife forhis sake; and the young people--nephews and nieces and cousins--wholiked an unconventional hostess without any foolish notions ofchaperonage, and always enjoyed themselves famously at Crosby Ledgers. "Now then, " said Miss Field, rising at last, "I think you have the_carte du pays_--and there they are, coming back. " She pointed toMeadows and Lady Dunstable, crossing the lawn. "Whatever you do, holdyour own. If you don't want to play games, don't play them. If you wantto go to church to-morrow, go to church. Lady Dunstable of course is aheathen. And now perhaps, you might _really_ rest. " "Such a jolly walk!" said Meadows, entering his wife's room flushedwith exercise and pleasure. "The place is divine, and really LadyDunstable is uncommonly good talk. Hope you haven't been dull, dear?" Doris replied, laughing, that Miss Field had taken pity on what wouldotherwise have been solitary confinement, and that now it was time todress. Meadows kissed her absently, and, with his head evidently stillfull of his walk, went to his dressing-room. When he reappeared, it wasto find Doris attired in a little black gown, with which he was alreadytoo familiar. She saw at once the dissatisfaction in his face. "I can't help it!" she said, with emphasis. "I did my best with it, Arthur, but I'm not a genius at dressmaking. Never mind. Nobody willtake any notice of me. " He quite crossly rebuked her. She really must spend more on her dress. It was unseemly--absurd. She looked as nice as anybody when she wasproperly got up. "Well, don't buy any more copper coal-scuttles!" she said slyly, as shestraightened his tie, and dropped a kiss on his chin. "Then we'll see. " They went down to dinner, and on the staircase Meadows turned to say tohis wife in a lowered voice: "Lady Dunstable wants me to go to them in Scotland--for two or threeweeks. I dare say I could do some work. " "Oh, does she?" said Doris. * * * * * What perversity drove Lady Dunstable during the evening and the Sundaythat followed to match every attention that was lavished on ArthurMeadows by some slight to his wife, will never be known. But the factwas patent. Throughout the diversions or occupations of the forty-eighthours' visit, Mrs. Meadows was either ignored, snubbed, orcontradicted. Only Arthur Meadows, indeed, measuring himself withdelight, for the first time, against some of the keenest brains in thecountry, failed to see it. His blindness allowed Lady Dunstable to run asomewhat dangerous course, unchecked. She risked alienating a man whomshe particularly wished to attract; she excited a passion of antagonismin Doris's generally equable breast, and was quite aware of it. Notwithstanding, she followed her whim; and by the Sunday evening thereexisted between the great lady and her guest a state of veiled war, inwhich the strokes were by no means always to the advantage of LadyDunstable. Doris, for instance, with other guests, expressed a wish to attendmorning service on Sunday at a famous cathedral some three miles away. Lady Dunstable immediately announced that everybody who wished to go tochurch would go to the village church within the park, for which alonecarriages would be provided. Then Doris and Sir Luke combined, andwalked to the cathedral, three miles there and three miles back--to thehuge delight of the other and more docile guests. Sunday evening, again, was devastated by what were called "games" at Crosby Ledgers. "Gad, if Iwouldn't sooner go in for the Indian Civil again!" said Sir Luke. Doris, with the most ingratiating manner, but quite firmly, begged to beexcused. Lady Dunstable bit her lip, and presently, _à propos debottes_, launched some observations on the need of co-operation insociety. It was shirking--refusing to take a hand, to do one'sbest--false shame, indeed!--that ruined English society and Englishtalk. Let everybody take a lesson from the French! After which the listswere opened, so to speak, and Lady Dunstable, Meadows, the Dean, andabout half the young people produced elegant pieces of translation, astounding copies of impromptu verse, essays in all the leading stylesof the day, and riddles by the score. The Home Secretary, who had beenlassoed by his hostess, escaped towards the middle of the ordeal, andwandered sadly into a further room where Doris sat chatting with LordDunstable. He was carrying various slips of paper in his hand, and askedher distractedly if she could throw any light on the question--"Why isLord Salisbury like a poker?" "I can't think of anything to say, " he said helplessly, "except 'becausethey are both upright. ' And here's another--'Why is the Pope like athermometer?' I did see some light on that!" His countenance cheered alittle. "Would this do? 'Because both are higher in Italy than inEngland. ' Not very good!--but I must think of something. " Doris put her wits to his. Between them they polished the riddle; but bythe time it was done the Home Secretary had begun to find Meadows'slittle wife, whose existence he had not noticed hitherto, more agreeablethan Lady Dunstable's table with its racked countenances, and its tooample supply of pencils and paper. A deadly crime! When Lady Dunstable, on the stroke of midnight, swept through the rooms to gather her guestsfor bed, she cast a withering glance on Doris and her companion. "So you despised our little amusements?" she said, as she handed Mrs. Meadows her candle. "I wasn't worthy of them, " smiled Doris, in reply. * * * * * "Well, I call that a delightful visit!" said Meadows as the train nextmorning pulled out of the Crosby Ledgers station for London. "I feelfreshened up all over. " Doris looked at him with rather mocking eyes, but said nothing. Shefully recognised, however, that Arthur would have been an ungratefulwretch if he had not enjoyed it. Lady Dunstable had been, so to speak, at his feet, and all her little court had taken their cue from her. Hehad been flattered, drawn out, and shown off to his heart's content, andhad been most naturally and humanly happy. "And I, " thought Doris withsudden repentance, "was just a spiky, horrid little toad! What was wrongwith me?" She was still searching, when Meadows said reproachfully: "I thought, darling, you might have taken a little more trouble to makefriends with Lady Dunstable. However, that'll be all right. I told her, of course, we should be delighted to go to Scotland. " "Arthur!" cried Doris, aghast. "Three weeks! I couldn't, Arthur! Don'task me!" "And, pray, why?" he angrily inquired. "Because--oh, Arthur, don't you understand? She is a man's woman. Shetook a particular dislike to me, and I just had to be stubborn andthorny to get on at all. I'm awfully sorry--but I _couldn't_ stay withher, and I'm certain you wouldn't be happy either. " "I should be perfectly happy, " said Meadows, with vehemence. "And sowould you, if you weren't so critical and censorious. Anyway"--hisJove-like mouth shut firmly--"I have promised. " "You couldn't promise for me!" cried Doris, holding her head very high. "Then you'll have to let me go without you?" "Which, of course, was what you swore not to do!" she said, provokingly. "I thought my wife was a reasonable woman! Lady Dunstable rouses all mypowers; she gives me ideas which may be most valuable. It is to theinterest of both of us that I should keep up my friendship with her. " "Then keep it up, " said Doris, her cheeks aflame. "But you won't wantme to help you, Arthur. " He cried out that it was only pride and conceit that made her behave so. In her heart of hearts, Doris mostly agreed with him. But she wouldn'tconfess it, and it was presently understood between them that Meadowswould duly accept the Dunstables' invitation for August, and that Doriswould stay behind. After which, Doris looked steadily out of the window for the rest of thejourney, and could not at all conceal from herself that she had neverfelt more miserable in her life. The only person in the trio whoreturned to the Kensington house entirely happy was Jane, who spent thegreater part of the day in describing to Martha, the cook-general, theglories of Crosby Ledgers, and her own genteel appearance in Mrs. Meadows's blouse. PART II CHAPTER III During the weeks that followed the Meadowses' first visit to CrosbyLedgers, Doris's conscience was by no means asleep on the subject ofLady Dunstable. She felt that her behaviour in that lady's house, andthe sudden growth in her own mind of a quite unmanageable dislike, werenot to be defended in one who prided herself on a general temper ofcoolness and common sense, who despised the rancour and whims of otherwomen, hated scenes, and had always held jealousy to be the smallest andmost degrading of passions. Why not laugh at what was odious, showoneself superior to personal slights, and enjoy what could be enjoyed?And above all, why grudge Arthur a woman friend? None of these arguments, however, availed at all to reconcile Doris tothe new intimacy growing under her eyes. The Dunstables came to town, and invitations followed. Mr. And Mrs. Meadows were asked to a largedinner-party, and Doris held her peace and went. She found herself atthe end of a long table with an inarticulate schoolboy of seventeen, award of Lord Dunstable's, on her left, and with an elderly colonel onher right, who, after a little cool examination of her through aneyeglass, decided to devote himself to the _débutante_ on his otherside, a Lady Rosamond, who was ready to chatter hunting and horses tohim through the whole of dinner. The girl was not pretty, but she wasfresh and gay, and Doris, tired with "much serving, " envied her spirits, her evident assumption that the world only existed for her tolaugh and ride in, her childish unspoken claim to the best ofeverything--clothes, food, amusements, lovers. Doris on her side madevaliant efforts with the schoolboy. She liked boys, and prided herselfon getting on with them. But this specimen had no conversation--at anyrate for the female sex--and apparently only an appetite. He atesteadily through the dinner, and seemed rather to resent Doris'sattempts to distract him from the task. So that presently Doris foundherself reduced to long tracts of silence, when her fan was her onlycompanion, and the watching of other people her only amusement. Lord and Lady Dunstable faced each other at the sides of the table, which was purposely narrow, so that talk could pass across it. LadyDunstable sat between an Ambassador and a Cabinet Minister, but Meadowswas almost directly opposite to her, and it seemed to be her chiefbusiness to make him the hero of the occasion. It was she who drew himinto political or literary discussion with the Cabinet Minister, so thatthe neighbours of each stayed their own talk to listen; she who wouldinsist on his repeating "that story you told me at Crosby Ledgers;" whoattacked him abruptly--rudely even, as she had done in the country--sothat he might defend himself; and when he had slipped into all her trapsone after the other, would fall back in her chair with a littlesatisfied smile. Doris, silent and forgotten, could not keep her eyesfor long from the two distant figures--from this new Arthur, and thesallow-faced, dark-eyed witch who had waved her wand over him. _Wasn't_ she glad to see her husband courted--valued as hedeserved--borne along the growing stream of fame? What matter, if shecould only watch him from the bank?--and if the impetuous stream werecarrying him away from her? No! She wasn't glad. Some cold and deadlything seemed to be twining about her heart. Were they leaving the dear, poverty-stricken, debt-pestered life behind for ever, in which, afterall, they had been so happy: she, everything to Arthur, and he, sodependent upon her? No doubt she had been driven to despair, often, byhis careless, shiftless ways; she had thirsted for success and money;just money enough, at least, to get along with. And now success hadcome, and money was coming. And here she was, longing for the old, hard, struggling past--hating the advent of the new and glittering future. Asshe sat at Lady Dunstable's table, she seemed to see the little room intheir Kensington house, with the big hole in the carpet, the piles ofpapers and books, the reading-lamp that would smoke, her work-basket, the house-books, Arthur pulling contentedly at his pipe, thefire crackling between them, his shabby coat, her shabbydress--Bliss!--compared to this splendid scene, with the great Vandyckslooking down on the dinner-table, the crowd of guests and servants, thecostly food, the dresses, and the diamonds--with, in the distance, _her_Arthur, divided, as it seemed, from her by a growing chasm, neverremembering to throw her a look or a smile, drinking in a tide offlattery he would once have been the first to scorn, captured, exhibited, befooled by an unscrupulous, egotistical woman, who woulddrop him like a squeezed orange when he had ceased to amuse her. And theworst of it was that the woman was not a mere pretender! She had a fine, hard brain, --"as good as Arthur's--nearly--and he knows it. It is thatwhich attracts him--and excites him. I can mend his socks; I can listenwhile he reads; and he used to like it when I praised. Now, what I saywill never matter to him any more; that was just sentiment and nonsense;now, he only wants to know what _she_ says;--that's business! He writeswith her in his mind--and when he has finished something he sends it offto her, straight. I may see it when all the world may--but she has thefirst-fruits!" And in poor Doris's troubled mind the whole scene--save the two centralfigures, Lady Dunstable and Arthur--seemed to melt away. She was not thefirst wife, by a long way, into whose quiet breast Lady Dunstable haddropped these seeds of discord. She knew it well by report; but it washateful, both to wifely feeling and natural vanity, that _she_ shouldnow be the victim of the moment, and should know no more than herpredecessors how to defend herself. "Why can't I be cool andcutting--pay her back when she is rude, and contradict her when she'sabsurd? She _is_ absurd often. But I think of the right things to sayjust five minutes too late. I have no nerve--that's the point!--only_l'esprit d'escalier_ to perfection. And she has been trained to thissort of campaigning from her babyhood. No good growling! I shall neverhold my own!" Then, into this despairing mood there dropped suddenly a fragment of herneighbour, the Colonel's, conversation--"Mrs. So-and-so? Impossiblewoman! Oh, one doesn't mind seeing her graze occasionally at the otherend of one's table--as the price of getting her husband, don't youknow?--but--" Doris's sudden laugh at the Colonel's elbow startled that gentleman sothat he turned round to look at her. But she was absorbed in the menu, which she had taken up, and he could only suppose that something in itamused her. A few days later arrived a letter for Meadows, which he handed to hiswife in silence. There had been no further discussion of Lady Dunstablebetween them; only a general sense of friction, warnings of hidden fireon Doris's side, and resentment on his, quite new in their relation toeach other. Meadows clearly thought that his wife was behaving verybadly. Lady Dunstable's efforts on his behalf had already done himsubstantial service; she had introduced him to all kinds of peoplelikely to help him, intellectually and financially; and to help him wasto help Doris. Why would she be such a little fool? So unlike her, too!--sensible, level-headed creature that she generally was. But he wasafraid of losing his own temper, if he argued with her. And indeed hislazy easy-goingness loathed argument of this domestic sort, loathedscenes, loathed doing anything disagreeable that could be put off. But here was Lady Dunstable's letter: Dear Mr. Arthur, --Will your wife forgive me if I ask you to come to a tiny _men's_ dinner-party next Friday at 8. 15--to meet the President of the Duma, and another Russian, an intimate friend of Tolstoy's? All males, but myself! So I hope Mrs. Meadows will let you come. Yours sincerely, RACHEL DUNSTABLE. "Of course, I won't go if you don't like it, Doris, " said Meadows withthe smile of magnanimity. "I thought you were angry with me--once--for even suggesting that youmight!" Doris's tone was light, but not pleasing to a husband's ears. She was busy at the moment in packing up the American proofs of theDisraeli lecture, which at last with infinite difficulty she hadpersuaded Meadows to correct and return. "Well--but of course--this is exceptional!" said Meadows, pacing up anddown irresolutely. "Everything's exceptional--in that quarter, " said Doris, in the sametone. "Oh, go, of course!--it would be a thousand pities not to go. " Meadows at once took her at her word. That was the first of a series of"male" dinners, to which, however, it seemed to Doris, if one mightjudge from Arthur's accounts, that a good many female exceptions wereadmitted, no doubt by way of proving the rule. And during July, Meadowslunched in town--in the lofty regions of St. James's or Mayfair--withother enthusiastic women admirers, most of them endowed with long pursesand long pedigrees, at least three or four times a week. Doris wasoccasionally asked and sometimes went. But she was suffering all thetime from an initial discouragement and depression, which took awayself-reliance, and left her awkwardly conscious. She struggled, but invain. The world into which Arthur was being so suddenly swept wasstrange to her, and in many ways antipathetic; but had she been happyand in spirits she could have grappled with it, or rather she could havelost herself in Arthur's success. Had she not always been his slave?But she was not happy! In their obscure days she had been Arthur's bestfriend, as well as his wife. And it was the old comradeship which wasfailing her; encroached upon, filched from her, by other women; andespecially by this exacting, absorbing woman, whose craze for ArthurMeadows's society was rapidly becoming an amusement and a scandal evento those well acquainted with her previous records of the same sort. * * * * * The end of July arrived. The Dunstables left town. At a concert, forwhich she had herself sent them tickets, Lady Dunstable met Doris andher husband, the night before she departed. "In ten days we shall expect you at Pitlochry, " she said, smiling, toArthur Meadows, as she swept past them in the corridor. Then, pausing, she held out a perfunctory hand to Doris. "And we really can't persuade you to come too?" The tone was careless and patronising. It brought the sudden red toDoris's cheek. For one moment she was tempted to say--"Thank you--sinceyou are so kind--after all, why not?"--just that she might see thechange in those large, malicious eyes--might catch their owner unawares, for once. But, as usual, nerve failed her. She merely said that herdrawing would keep her all August in town; and that London, empty, wasthe best possible place for work. Lady Dunstable nodded and passed on. The ten days flew. Meadows, kept to it by Doris, was very busy preparinganother lecture for publication in an English review. Doris, meanwhile, got his clothes ready, and affected a uniformly cheerful and indifferentdemeanour. On Arthur's last evening at home, however, he came suddenlyinto the sitting-room, where Doris was sewing on some final buttons, andafter fidgeting about a little, with occasional glances at his wife, hesaid abruptly: "I say, Doris, I won't go if you're going to take it like this. " She turned upon him. "Like what?" "Oh, don't pretend!" was the impatient reply. "You know very well thatyou hate my going to Scotland!" Doris, all on edge, and smarting under the too Jovian look and frownwith which he surveyed her from the hearthrug, declared that, as it wasnot a case of her going to Scotland, but of his, she was entirelyindifferent. If he enjoyed it, he was quite right to go. _She_ was goingto enjoy her work in Uncle Charles's studio. Meadows broke out into an angry attack on her folly and unkindness. Butthe more he lost his temper, the more provokingly Doris kept hers. Shesat there, surrounded by his socks and shirts, a trim, determined littlefigure--declining to admit that she was angry, or jealous, or offended, or anything of the kind. Would he please come upstairs and give her hislast directions about his packing? She thought she had put everythingready; but there were just a few things she was doubtful about. And all the time she seemed to be watching another Doris--a creaturequite different from her real self. What had come over her? If anybodyhad told her beforehand that she could ever let slip her power over herown will like this, ever become possessed with this silent, obstinatedemon of wounded love and pride, never would she have believed them! Shemoved under its grip like an automaton. She would not quarrel withArthur. But as no soft confession was possible, and no mending orundoing of what had happened, to laugh her way through the difficulthours was all that remained. So that whenever Meadows renewed theattempt to "have it out, " he was met by renewed evasion and "chaff" onDoris's side, till he could only retreat with as much offended dignityas she allowed him. It was after midnight before she had finished his packing. Then, biddinghim a smiling good night, she fell asleep--apparently--as soon as herhead touched the pillow. The next morning, early, she stood on the steps waving farewell toArthur, without a trace of ill-humour. And he, though vaguelyuncomfortable, had submitted at last to what he felt was her fixedpurpose of avoiding a scene. Moreover, the "eternal child" in him, whichmade both his charm and his weakness, had already scattered hiscompunctions of the preceding day, and was now aglow with the sheer joyof holiday and change. He had worked very hard, he had had a greatsuccess, and now he was going to live for three weeks in the lap ofluxury; intellectual luxury first and foremost--good talk, good company, an abundance of books for rainy days; but with the addition of a supreme_chef_, Lord Dunstable's champagne, and all the amenities of one of thebest moors in Scotland. Doris went back into the house, and, Arthur being no longer in theneighbourhood, allowed herself a few tears. She had never felt so lonelyin her life, nor so humiliated. "My moral character is gone, " she saidto herself. "I have no moral character. I thought I was a sensible, educated woman; and I am just an ''Arriet, ' in a temper with her''Arry. ' Well--courage! Three weeks isn't long. Who can say that Arthurmayn't come back disillusioned? Rachel Dunstable is a born tyrant. If, instead of flattering him, she begins to bully him, strange things mayhappen!" The first week of solitude she spent in household drudgery. Bills had tobe paid, and there was now mercifully a little money to pay them with. Though it was August, the house was to be "spring-cleaned, " and Dorishad made a compact with her sulky maids that when it began she would dono more than sleep and breakfast at home. She would spend her days inthe Campden Hill studio, and sup on a tray--anywhere. On these terms, they grudgingly allowed her to occupy her own house. The studio in which she worked was on the top of Campden Hill, andopened into one of the pleasant gardens of that neighbourhood. Heruncle, Charles Bentley, an elderly Academician, with an ugly, humorousface, red hair, red eyebrows, a black skull-cap, and a general weaknessfor the female sex, was very fond of his niece Doris, and inclined tothink her a neglected and underrated wife. He was too fond of his owncomfort, however, to let Meadows perceive this opinion of his; stillless did he dare express it to Doris. All he could do was to befriendher and make her welcome at the studio, to advise her about herillustrations, and correct her drawing when it needed it. He himself wasan old-fashioned artist, quite content to be "mid" or even "early"Victorian. He still cultivated the art of historical painting, and wasstill as anxious as any contemporary of Frith to tell a story. And ashis manner was no less behind the age than his material, his picturesremained on his hands, while the "vicious horrors, " as they seemed tohim, of the younger school held the field and captured the newspapers. But as he had some private means, and no kith or kin but his niece, theindifference of the public to his work caused him little disturbance. He pleased his own taste, allowing himself a good-natured contempt forthe work which supplanted him, coupled with an ever-generous hand forany post-Impressionist in difficulties. On the August afternoon when Doris, escaping at last from her maids andher accounts, made her way up to the studio, for some hours' work on thelast three or four illustrations wanted for a Christmas book, UncleCharles welcomed her with effusion. "Where have you been, child, all this time? I thought you must haveflitted entirely. " Doris explained--while she set up her easel--that for the first time intheir lives she and Arthur had been seeing something of the great world, and--mildly--"doing" the season. Arthur was now continuing the season inScotland, while she had stayed at home to work and rest. Throughout hertalk, she avoided mentioning the Dunstables. "H'm!" said Uncle Charles, "so you've been junketing!" Doris admitted it. "Did you like it?" Doris put on her candid look. "I daresay I should have liked it, if I'd made a success of it. Ofcourse Arthur did. " "Too much trouble!" said the old painter, shaking his head. "I was inthe swim, as they call it, for a year or two. I might have stayed there, I suppose, for I could always tell a story, and I wasn't afraid of thebig-wigs. But I couldn't stand it. Dress-clothes are the deuce! Andbesides, talk now is not what it used to be. The clever men who can saysmart things are too clever to say them. Nobody wants 'em! So let's'cultivate our garden, ' my dear, and be thankful. I'm beginning a newpicture--and I've found a topping new model. What can a man want more?Very nice of you to let Arthur go, and have his head. Where isit?--some smart moor? He'll soon be tired of it. " Doris laughed, let the question as to the "smart moor" pass, and cameround to look at the new subject that Uncle Charles was laying in. Heexplained it to her, well knowing that he spoke to unsympathetic ears, for whatever Doris might draw for her publishers, she was a passionateand humble follower of those modern experimentalists who have made theSlade School famous. The subject was, it seemed, to be a visit paid toJoanna the mad and widowed mother of Charles V. , at Tordesillas, by theenvoys of Henry VII. , who were thus allowed by Ferdinand, the Queen'sfather, to convince themselves that the Queen's profound melancholiaformed an insuperable barrier to the marriage proposals of the EnglishKing. The figure of the distracted Queen, crouching in white beside awindow from which she could see the tomb of her dead and adoredhusband, the Archduke Philip, and some of the splendid figures of theEnglish embassy, were already sketched. "I have been fit to hang myself over her!" said Bentley, pointing to theQueen. "I tried model after model. At last I've got the very thing! Shecomes to-day for the first time. You'll see her! Before she comes, Imust scrape out Joanna, so as to look at the thing quite fresh. But Idaresay I shall only make a few sketches of the lady to-day. " "Who is she, and where did you get her!" Bentley laughed. "You won't like her, my dear! Never mind. Herappearance is magnificent--whatever her mind and morals may be. " And he described how he had heard of the lady from an artist friend whohad originally seen her at a music-hall, and had persuaded her to comeand sit to him. The comic haste and relief with which he had nowtransferred her to Bentley lost nothing in Bentley's telling. Of courseshe had "a fiend of a temper. " "Wish you joy of her! Oh, don't ask meabout her! You'll find out for yourself. " "I can manage her, " said UncleCharles tranquilly. "I've had so many of 'em. " "She is Spanish?" "Not at all. She is Italian. That is to say, her mother was aNeapolitan, the daughter of a jeweller in Hatton Garden, and her fatheran English bank clerk. The Neapolitans have a lot of Spanish blood inthem--hence, no doubt, the physique. " "And she is a professional model!" "Nothing of the sort!--though she will probably become one. She is awriter--Heaven save the mark!--and I have to pay her vast sums to gether. It is the greatest favour. " "A _writer_?" "Poetess!--and journalist!" said Uncle Charles, enjoying Doris'spuzzled look. "She sent me her poems yesterday. As to journalism"--hiseyes twinkled--"I say nothing--but this. Watch her _hats_! She has thereputation--in certain circles--of being the best-hatted woman inLondon. All this I get from the man who handed her on to me. As I saidto him, it depends on what 'London' you mean. " "Married?" "Oh dear no, though of course she calls herself 'Madame' like the restof them--Madame Vavasour. I have reason, however, to believe that herreal name is Flink--Elena Flink. And I should say--very much on thelook-out for a husband; and meanwhile very much courted by boys--who goto what she calls her 'evenings. ' It is odd, the taste that some youthshave for these elderly Circes. " "Elderly?" said Doris, busy the while with her own preparations. "I washoping for something young and beautiful!" "Young?--no!--an unmistakable thirty-five. Beautiful? Well, wait tillyou see her ... H'm--that shoulder won't do!"--Doris had just placed apreliminary sketch of one of her "subjects" under his eyes--"and thatbit of perspective in the corner wants a lot of seeing to. Look here!"The old Academician, brought up in the spirit of Ingres--"le dessin, c'est la probité!--le dessin, c'est l'honneur!"--fell eagerly to work onthe sketch, and Doris watched. They were both absorbed, when there was a knock at the door. Doristurned hastily, expecting to see the model. Instead of which thereentered, in response to Bentley's "Come in!" a girl of four or five andtwenty, in a blue linen dress and a shady hat, who nodded a quiet "Goodafternoon" to the artist, and proceeded at once with an air of businessto a writing-table at the further end of the studio, covered withpapers. "Miss Wigram, " said the artist, raising his voice, "let me introduce youto my niece, Mrs. Meadows. " The girl rose from her chair again and bowed. Then Doris saw that shehad a charming tired face, beautiful eyes on which she had just placedspectacles, and soft brown hair framing her thin cheeks. "A novelty since you were here, " whispered Bentley in Doris's ear. "She's an accountant--capital girl! Since these Liberal budgets camealong, I can't keep my own accounts, or send in my own income-taxreturns--dash them! So she does the whole business for me--payseverything--sees to everything--comes once a week. We shall all be runby the women soon!" * * * * * The studio had grown very quiet. Through some glass doors open to thegarden came in little wandering winds which played with some loosepapers on the floor, and blew Doris's hair about her eyes as she stoopedover her easel, absorbed in her drawing. Apparently absorbed: hersubliminal mind, at least, was far away, wandering on a craggy Scotchmoor. A lady on a Scotch pony--she understood that Lady Dunstable oftenrode with the shooters--and a tall man walking beside her, carrying, nota gun, but a walking stick:--that was the vision in the crystal. Arthurwas too bad a shot to be tolerated in the Dunstable circle; had indeedwisely announced from the beginning that he was not to be included amongthe guns. All the more time for conversation, the give and take of wits, the pleasures of the intellectual tilting-ground; the whole watered bygood wine, seasoned with the best of cooking, and lapped in the generalease of a house where nobody ever thought of such a vulgar thing asmoney except to spend it. Doris had in general a severe mind as to the rich and aristocraticclasses. Her own hard and thrifty life had disposed her to see them _ennoir_. But the sudden rush of a certain section of them to crowdArthur's lectures had been certainly mollifying. If it had not been forthe Vampire, Doris was well aware that her standards might have givenway. As it was, Lady Dunstable's exacting ways, her swoop, straight andfierce, on the social morsel she desired, like that of an eagle on thesheepfold, had made her, in Doris's sore consciousness, therepresentative of thousands more; all greedy, able, domineering, inevitably getting what they wanted, and more than they deserved;against whom the starved and virtuous intellectuals of the professionalclasses were bound to contend to the death. The story of that poor girl, that clergyman's daughter, for instance--could anything have been moreinsolent--more cruel? Doris burned to avenge her. Suddenly--a great clatter and noise in the passage leading from thesmall house behind to the studio and garden. "Here she is!" Uncle Charles sprang up, and reached the studio door just as a shower ofknocks descended upon it from outside. He opened it, and on thethreshold there stood two persons; a stout lady in white, surmounted bya huge black hat with a hearse-like array of plumes; and, behind her, atall and willowy youth, with--so far as could be seen through the chinksof the hat--a large nose, fair hair, pale blue eyes, and a singulardeficiency of chin. He carried in his arms a tiny black Spitz with apink ribbon round its neck. The lady looked, frowning, into the interior of the studio. She held inher hand a very large fan, with the handle of which she had been rappingthe door; and the black feathers with which she was canopied seemed tobe nodding in her eyes. "Maestro, you are not alone!" she said in a deep, reproachful voice. "My niece, Mrs. Meadows--Madame Vavasour, " said Bentley, ushering in thenew-comer. Doris turned from her easel and bowed, only to receive a rather scowlingresponse. "And your friend?" As he spoke the artist looked blandly at the youngman. "I brought him to amuse me, Maestro. When I am dull my countenancechanges, and you cannot do it justice. He will talk to me--I shall beanimated--and you will profit. " "Ah, no doubt!" said Bentley, smiling. "And your friend's name?" "Herbert Dunstable--Honourable Herbert Dunstable!--Signor Bentley, " saidMadame Vavasour, advancing with a stately step into the room, and wavingperemptorily to the young man to follow. Doris sat transfixed and staring. Bentley turned to look at his niece, and their eyes met--his full of suppressed mirth. The son!--theunsatisfactory son! Doris remembered that his name was Herbert. In thetrain of this third-rate sorceress! Her thoughts ran excitedly to the distant moors, and that magnificentlady, with her circle of distinguished persons, holiday-makingstatesmen, peers, diplomats, writers, and the like. Here was a humblerscene! But Doris's fancy at once divined a score of links between it andthe high comedy yonder. Meanwhile, at the name of Dunstable, the girl accountant in the distancehad also moved sharply, so as to look at the young man. But in thebustle of Madame Vavasour's entrance, and her passage to the sitter'schair, the girl's gesture passed unnoticed. "I'm just worn out, Maestro!" said the model languidly, uplifting apair of tragic eyes to the artist. "I sat up half the night writing. Ihad a subject which tormented me. But I have done something _splendid_!Isn't it splendid, Herbert?" "Ripping!" said the young man, grinning widely. "Sit down!" said Madame, with a change of tone. And the youth sat down, on the very low chair to which she pointed him, doing his best todispose of his long legs. "Give me the dog!" she commanded. "You have no idea how to holdhim--poor lamb!" The dog was handed to her; she took off her enormous hat with many sighsof fatigue, and then, with the dog on her lap, asked how she was to sit. Bentley explained that he wished to make a few preliminary sketches ofher head and bust, and proceeded to pose her. She accepted hisdirections with a curious pettishness, as though they annoyed her; andpresently complained loudly that the chair was uncomfortable, and thepose irksome. He handled her, however, with a good-humoured mixture offlattery and persuasion, and at last, stepping back, surveyed theresult--well content. There was no doubt whatever that she was a very handsome woman, and thather physical type--that of the more lethargic and heavily builtNeapolitan--suggested very happily the mad and melancholy Queen. She hadsuperb black hair, eyes profoundly dark, a low and beautiful brow, lipsclassically fine, a powerful head and neck, and a complexion which, butfor the treatment given it, would have been of a clear and beautifulolive. She wore a draggled dress of cream-coloured muslin, verytransparent over the shoulders, somewhat scandalously wanting at thethroat and breast, and very frayed and dirty round the skirt. Her feet, which were large and plump, were cased in extremely pointed shoes withlarge paste buckles; and as she crossed them on the stool provided forthem she showed a considerable amount of rather clumsy ankle. The handstoo were large, common, and ill-kept, and the wrists laden withbracelets. She was adorned indeed with a great deal of jewellery, including some startling earrings of a bright green stone. The hat, which she had carefully placed on a chair beside her, was truly amonstrosity!--but, as Doris guessed, an expensive monstrosity, such asthe Rue de la Paix provides, at anything from a hundred and fifty to twohundred and fifty francs, for those of its cosmopolitan customers whomit pillages and despises. How did the lady afford it? The rest of herdress suggested a struggle with small means, waged by one who was greedyfor effect, obtained at a minimum of trouble. That she was rouged andpowdered goes without saying. And the young man? Doris perceived at once his likeness to his father--afeeble likeness. But he was evidently simple and good-natured, and toall appearance completely in the power of the enchantress. He fanned herassiduously. He picked up all the various belongings--gloves, handkerchiefs, handbag--which she perpetually let fall. He ran after thedog whenever it escaped from the lady's lap and threatened mischief inthe studio; and by way of amusing her--the purpose for which he had beenimported--he kept up a stream of small cryptic gossip about variouscommon acquaintances, most of whom seemed to belong to the music-hallprofession, and to be either "stars" or the satellites of "stars. "Madame listened to him with avidity, and occasionally broke into agiggling laugh. She had, however, two manners, and two kinds ofconversation, which she adopted with the young man and the Academicianrespectively. Her talk with the youth suggested the jealous ascendencyof a coarse-minded woman. She occasionally flattered him, but moregenerally she teased or "ragged" him. She seemed indeed to feel himsecurely in her grip; so that there was no need to pose for him, as--figuratively as well as physically--she posed for Bentley. To theartist she gave her opinions on pictures or books--on the novels of Mr. Wells, or the plays of Mr. Bernard Shaw--in the languid or drawling toneof accepted authority; dropping every now and then into a broad cockneyaccent, which produced a startling effect, like that of unexpectedgarlic in cookery. Bentley's gravity was often severely tried, and Dorisaltered the position of her own easel so that he and she could not seeeach other. Meanwhile Madame took not the smallest notice of Mr. Bentley's niece, and Doris made no advances to the young man, to whomher name was clearly quite unknown. Had Circe really got him in hertoils? Doris judged him soft-headed and soft-hearted; no match at allfor the lady. The thought of her walking the lawns or the drawing-roomsof Crosby Ledgers as the betrothed of the heir stirred in ArthurMeadows's wife a silent, and--be it confessed!--a malicious convulsion. Such mothers, so self-centred, so set on their own triumphs, with theirintellectual noses so very much in the clouds, deserved such sons! Shepromised herself to keep her own counsel, and watch the play. The sitting lasted for two hours. When it was over, Uncle Charles, allsmiles and satisfaction, went with his visitors to the front door. He was away some little time, and returned, bubbling, to the studio. "She's been cross-examining me about her poems! I had to confess Ihadn't read a word of them. And now she's offered to recite next timeshe comes! Good Heavens--how can I get out of it? I believe, Doris, she's hooked that young idiot! She told me she was engaged to him. Doyou know anything of his people?" The girl accountant suddenly came forward. She looked flushed anddistressed. "I do!" she said, with energy. "Can't somebody stop that? It will breaktheir hearts!" Doris and Uncle Charles looked at her in amazement. "Whose hearts?" said the painter. "Lord and Lady Dunstable's. " "You know them?" exclaimed Doris. "I used to know them--quite well, " said the girl, quietly. "My fatherhad one of Lord Dunstable's livings. He died last year. He didn't likeLady Dunstable. He quarrelled with her, because--because she once did avery rude thing to me. But this would be _too_ awful! And poor LordDunstable! Everybody likes him. Oh--it must be stopped!--it _must_!" CHAPTER IV When Doris reached home that evening, the little Kensington house, withhalf its carpets up and all but two of its rooms under dust-sheets, looked particularly lonely and unattractive. Arthur's study wasunrecognisable. No cheerful litter anywhere. No smell of tobacco, nosign of a male presence! Doris, walking restlessly from room to room, had never felt so forsaken, so dismally certain that the best of lifewas done. Moreover, she had fully expected to find a letter from Arthurwaiting for her; and there was nothing. It was positively comic that under such circumstances anybody shouldexpect her--Doris Meadows--to trouble her head about Lady Dunstable'saffairs. Of course she would feel it if her son made a ridiculous anddegrading marriage. But why not?--why shouldn't he come to grief likeanybody else's son? Why should heaven and earth be moved in order toprevent it?--especially by the woman to whose possible jealousy and painLady Dunstable had certainly never given the most passing thought. All the same, the distress shown by that odd girl, Miss Wigram, and herappeal both to the painter and his niece to intervene and save thefoolish youth, kept echoing in Doris's memory, although neither she norBentley had received it with any cordiality. Doris had soon made outthat this girl, Alice Wigram, was indeed the clergyman's daughter whomLady Dunstable had snubbed so unkindly some twelve months before. Shewas evidently a sweet-natured, susceptible creature, to whom LordDunstable had taken a fancy, in his fatherly way, during occasionalvisits to her father's rectory, and of whom he had spoken to his wife. That Lady Dunstable should have unkindly slighted this motherless girl, who had evidently plenty of natural capacity under her shyness, was justlike her, and Doris's feelings of antagonism to the tyrant were onlysharpened by her acquaintance with the victim. Why should Miss Wigramworry her self? Lord Dunstable? Well, but after all, capable men shouldkeep such wives in order. If Lord Dunstable had not been scandalouslyweak, Lady Dunstable would not have become a terror to her sex. As for Uncle Charles, he had simply declined all responsibility in thematter. He had never seen the Dunstables, wouldn't know them from Adam, and had no concern whatever in what happened to their son. The situationmerely excited in him one man's natural amusement at the folly ofanother. The boy was more than of age. Really he and his mother mustlook after themselves. To meddle with the young man's love affairs, simply because he happened to visit your studio in the company of alady, would be outrageous. So the painter laughed, shook his head, andwent back to his picture. Then Miss Wigram, looking despondently fromthe silent Doris to the artist at work, had said with sudden energy, "Imust find out about her! I'm--I'm sure she's a horrid woman! Can youtell me, sir"--she addressed Bentley--"the name of the gentleman who waspainting her before she came here?" Bentley had hummed and hawed a little, twisting his red moustache, andfinally had given the name and address; whereupon Miss Wigram hadgathered up her papers, some of which had drifted to the floor betweenher table and Doris's easel, and had taken an immediate departure, acouple of hours before her usual time, throwing, as she left thestudio, a wistful and rather puzzled look at Mrs. Meadows. Doris congratulated herself that she had kept her own counsel on thesubject of the Dunstables, both with Uncle Charles and Miss Wigram. Neither of them had guessed that she had any personal acquaintance withthem. She tried now to put the matter out of her thoughts. Jane broughtin a tray for her mistress, and Doris supped meagrely in Arthur'sdeserted study, thinking, as the sunset light came in across the dustystreet, of that flame and splendour which such weather must be kindlingon the moors, of the blue and purple distances, the glens of rockymountains hung in air, "the gleam, the shadow, and the peace supreme"!She remembered how on their September honeymoon they had wandered inRoss-shire, how the whole land was dyed crimson by the heather, and howimpossible it was to persuade Arthur to walk discreetly rather than, like any cockney tripper, with his arm round his sweetheart. Scotlandhad not been far behind the Garden of Eden under those circumstances. But Arthur was now pursuing the higher, the intellectual joys. She finished her supper, and then sat down to write to her husband. Wasshe going to tell him anything about the incident of the afternoon? Whyshould she? Why should she give him the chance of becoming more thanever Lady Dunstable's friend--pegging out an eternal claim upon hergratitude? Doris wrote her letter. She described the progress of the springcleaning; she reported that her sixth illustration was well forward, andthat Uncle Charles was wrestling with another historical picture, a_machine_ neither better nor worse than all the others. She thought thatafter all Jane would soon give warning; and she, Doris, had spent threepounds in petty cash since he went away; how, she could not remember, but it was all in her account book. And she concluded: I understand then that we meet at Crewe on Friday fortnight? I have heard of a lodging near Capel Curig which sounds delightful. We might do a week's climbing and then go on to the sea. I really _shall_ want a holiday. Has there not been ten minutes even--since you arrived--to write a letter in?--or a postcard? Shall I send you a few addressed? Having thus finished what seemed to her the dullest letter she had everwritten in her life, she looked at it a while, irresolutely, then put itin an envelope hastily, addressed, stamped it, and rang the bell forJane to run across the street with it and post it. After which, she satidle a little while with flushed cheeks, while the twilight gathered. * * * * * The gate of the trim front garden swung on its hinges. Doris turned tolook. She saw, to her astonishment, that the girl-accountant of themorning, Miss Wigram, was coming up the flagged path to the house. Whatcould she want? "Oh, Mrs. Meadows--I'm so sorry to disturb you--" said the visitor, insome agitation, as Doris, summoned by Jane, entered the dust-sheeteddrawing-room. "But you dropped an envelope with an address thisafternoon. I picked it up with some of my papers and never discovered ittill I got home. " She held out the envelope. Doris took it, and flushed vividly. It wasthe envelope with his Scotch address which Arthur had written out forher before leaving home--"care of the Lord Dunstable, Franick Castle, Pitlochry, Perthshire, N. B. " She had put it in her portfolio, out ofwhich it had no doubt slipped while she was at work. She and Miss Wigram eyed each other. The girl was evidently agitated. But she seemed not to know how to begin what she had to say. Doris broke the silence. "You were astonished to find that I know the Dunstables?" "Oh, no!--I didn't think--" stammered her visitor--"I supposed somefriend of yours might be staying there. " "My husband is staying there, " said Doris, quietly. Really it was toomuch trouble to tell a falsehood. Her pride refused. "Oh, I see!" cried Miss Wigram, though in fact she was more bewilderedthan before. Why should this extraordinary little lady have behaved atthe studio as if she had never heard of the Dunstables, and be nowconfessing that her husband was actually staying in their house? Doris smiled--with perfect self-possession. "Please sit down. You think it odd, of course, that I didn't tell you Iknew the Dunstables, while we were talking about them. The fact is Ididn't want to be mixed up with the affair at all. We have only latelymade acquaintance with the Dunstables. Lady Dunstable is my husband'sfriend. I don't like her very much. But neither of us knows her wellenough to go and tell her tales about her son. " Miss Wigram considered--her gentle, troubled eyes bent upon Doris. "Ofcourse--I know--how many people dislike Lady Dunstable. She dida--rather cruel thing to me once. The thought of it humiliated anddiscouraged me for a long time. It made me almost glad to leave home. And of course she hasn't won Mr. Herbert's confidence at all. She hasalways snubbed and disapproved of him. Oh, I knew him very little. Ihave hardly ever spoken to him. You saw he didn't recognise me thisafternoon. But my father used to go over to Crosby Ledgers to coach himin the holidays, and he often told me that as a boy he was _terrified_of his mother. She either took no notice of him at all, or she wasalways sneering at him, and scolding him. As soon as ever he came of ageand got a little money of his own, he declared he wouldn't live at home. His father wanted him to go into Parliament or the army, but he said hehated the army, and if he was such a dolt as his mother thought him itwould be ridiculous to attempt politics. And so he just drifted up totown and looked out for people that would make much of him, and wouldn'tsnub him. And that, of course, was how he got into the toils of a womanlike that!" The girl threw up her hands tragically. Doris sat up, with energy. "But what on earth, " she said, "does it matter to you or to me?" "Oh, can't you see?" said the other, flushing deeply, and with the tearsin her eyes. "My father had one of Lord Dunstable's livings. We lived onthat estate for years. Everybody loved Lord Dunstable. And though LadyDunstable makes enemies, there's a great respect for the _family_. They've been there since Queen Elizabeth's time. And it's _dreadful_ tothink of a woman like--well, like that!--reigning at Crosby Ledgers. Ithink of the poor people. Lady Dunstable's good to them; though ofcourse you wouldn't hear anything about it, unless you lived there. Shetries to do her duty to them--she really does--in her own way. And, ofcourse, they _respect_ her. No Dunstable has ever done anythingdisgraceful! Isn't there something in '_Noblesse oblige'? Think_ of thiswoman at the head of that estate!" "Well, upon my word, " said Doris, after a pause, "you _are_ feudal. Don't you feel yourself that you are old-fashioned?" Mrs. Meadows's half-sarcastic look at first intimidated her visitor, andthen spurred her into further attempts to explain herself. "I daresay it's old-fashioned, " she said slowly, "but I'm sure it'swhat father would have felt. Anyway, I went off to try and find out whatI could. I went first to a little club I belong to--for professionalwomen--near the Strand, and I asked one or two women I found there--whoknow artists--and models--and write for papers. And very soon I foundout a great deal. I didn't have to go to the man whose address Mr. Bentley gave me. Madame Vavasour _is_ a horrid woman! This is not thefirst young man she's fleeced--by a long way. There was a man--youngerthan Mr. Dunstable, a boy of nineteen--three years ago. She got him topromise to marry her; and the parents came down, and paid her enormouslyto let him go. Now she's got through all that money, and she boastsshe's going to marry young Dunstable before his parents know anythingabout it. She's going to make sure of a peerage this time. Oh, she'sodious! She's greedy, she's vulgar, she's false! And of course"--thegirl's eyes grew wide and scared--"there may be other things much worse. How do we know?" "How do we know indeed!" said Doris, with a shrug. "Well!"--she turnedher eyes full upon her guest--"and what are you going to do?" An eager look met hers. "Couldn't you--couldn't you write to Mr. Meadows, and ask him to warnLady Dunstable?" Doris shook her head. "Why don't you do it yourself?" The girl flushed uncomfortably. "You see, father quarrelled with herabout that unkind thing she did to me--oh, it isn't worth telling!--buthe wrote her an angry letter, and they never spoke afterwards. LadyDunstable never forgives that kind of thing. If people find fault withher, she just drops them. I don't believe she'd read a letter from me!" "_Les offensés_, etc. , " said Doris, meditating. "But what are the facts?Has the boy actually promised to marry her? She may have been tellinglies to my uncle. " "She tells everybody so. I saw a girl who knows her quite well. Theywrite for the same paper--it's a fashion paper. You saw that hat, by theway, she had on? She gets them as perquisites from the smart shops shewrites about. She has a whole cupboard of them at home, and when shewants money she sells them for what she can get. Well, she told me thatMadame--they all call her Madame, though they all know quite well thatshe's not married, and that her name is Flink--boasts perpetually of herengagement. It seems that he was ill in the winter--in his lodgings. Hismother knew nothing about it--he wouldn't tell her, and Madame nursedhim, and made a fuss of him. And Mr. Dunstable thought he owed her agreat deal--and she made scenes and told him she had compromised herselfby coming to nurse him--and all that kind of nonsense. And at last hepromised to marry her--in writing. And now she's so sure of him that shejust bullies him--you saw how she ordered him about to-day. " "Well, why doesn't he marry her, if he's such a fool--why hasn't hemarried her long ago?" cried Doris. Miss Wigram looked distressed. "I don't know. My friend thinks it's his father. She believes, at least, that he doesn't want to get married without telling Lord Dunstable; andthat, of course, means telling his mother. And he hates the thought ofthe letters and the scenes. So he keeps it hanging on; and lately Madamehas been furious with him, and is always teasing and sniffing at him. He's dreadfully weak, and my friend's afraid that before he's made uphis own mind what to do that woman will have carried him off to aregistry office--and got the horrid thing done for good and all. " There was silence a moment. After which Doris said, with a colddecision: "You can't imagine how absurd it seems to me that you should come andask me to help Lady Dunstable with her son. There is nobody in the worldless helpless than Lady Dunstable, and nobody who would be less gratefulfor being helped. I really cannot meddle with it. " She rose as she spoke, and Miss Wigram rose too. "Couldn't you--couldn't you--" said the girl pleadingly--"just ask Mr. Meadows to warn Lord Dunstable? I'm thinking of the villagers, and thefarmers, and the schools--all the people we used to love. Father wasthere twenty years! To think of the dear place given over--some day--tothat creature!" Her charming eyes actually filled with tears. Doris was touched, but atthe same time set on edge. This loyalty that people born and bred in thecountry feel to our English country system--what an absurd and unrealframe of mind! And when our country system produces Lady Dunstables! "They have such a pull!"--she thought angrily--"such a hideously unfairpull, over other people! The way everybody rushes to help them when theyget into a mess--to pick up the pieces--and sweep it all up! It'sirrational--it's sickening! Let them look after themselves--and pay fortheir own misdeeds like the rest of us. " "I can't interfere--I really can't!" she said, straightening her slimshoulders. "It is not as though we were old friends of Lord and LadyDunstable. Don't you see how very awkward it would be? Let me adviseyou just to watch the thing a little, and then to apply to somebody inthe Crosby Ledgers neighbourhood. You must have some friends oracquaintances there, who at any rate could do more than we could. Andperhaps after all it's a mare's nest, and the young man doesn't mean tomarry her at all!" The girl's anxious eyes scanned Doris's unyielding countenance; thenwith a sigh she gave up her attempt, and said "Good-bye. " Doris wentwith her to the door. "We shall meet to-morrow, shan't we?" she said, feeling a vaguecompunction. "And I suppose this woman will be there again. You can keepan eye on her. Are you living alone--or are you with friends?" "Oh, I'm in a boarding-house, " said Miss Wigram, hastily. Then as thoughshe recognised the new softness in Doris's look, she added, "I'm quitecomfortable there--and I've a great deal of work. Good night. " * * * * * "All alone!--with that gentle face--and that terrible amount ofconscience--hard lines!" thought Doris, as she reflected on her visitor. "I felt a black imp beside her!" All the same, the letter which Mrs. Meadows received by the followingmorning's post was not at all calculated to melt the "black imp"further. Arthur wrote in a great hurry to beg that she would not go onwith their Welsh plans--for the moment. Lady D---- has insisted on my going on a short yachting cruise with her and Miss Field, the week after next. She wants to show me the West Coast, and they have a small cottage in the Shetlands where we should stay a night or two and watch the sea-birds. It _may_ keep me away another week or fortnight, but you won't mind, dear, will you? I am getting famously rested, and really the house is very agreeable. In these surroundings Lady Dunstable is less of the _bas-bleu_, and more of the woman. You _must_ make up your mind to come another year! You would soon get over your prejudice and make friends with her. She looks after us all--she talks brilliantly--and I haven't seen her rude to anybody since I arrived. There are some very nice people here, and altogether I am enjoying it. Don't you work too hard--and don't let the servants harry you. Post just going. Good night! Another week or fortnight!--five weeks, or nearly, altogether. Doris wassorely wounded. She went to look at herself in the mirror over thechimney-piece. Was she not thin and haggard for want of rest andholiday? Would not the summer weather be all done by the time Arthurgraciously condescended to come back to her? Were there not dark linesunder her eyes, and was she not feeling a limp and wretched creature, unfit for any exertion? What was wrong with her? She hated herdrawing--she hated everything. And there was Arthur, proposing to goyachting with Lady Dunstable!--while she might toil and moil--allalone--in this August London! The tears rushed into her eyes. Her prideonly just saved her from a childish fit of crying. But in the end resentment came to her aid, together with an angry andredoubled curiosity as to what might be happening to Lady Dunstable'sprecious son while Lady Dunstable was thus absorbed in robbing otherwomen of their husbands. Doris hurried her small household affairs, thatshe might get off early to the studio; and as she put on her hat, herfancy drew vindictive pictures of the scene which any day mightrealise--the scene at Franick Castle, when Lady Dunstable, unsuspecting, should open the letter which announced to her the advent of herdaughter-in-law, Elena, _née_ Flink--or should gather the same unlovelyfact from a casual newspaper paragraph. As for interfering between herand her rich deserts, Doris vowed to herself she would not lift afinger. That incredibly forgiving young woman, Miss Wigram, might do asshe pleased. But when a mother pursues her own selfish ends so as tomake her only son dislike and shun her, let her take what comes. It wasin the mood of an Erinnys that Doris made her way northwards to CampdenHill, and nobody perceiving the slight erect figure in the corner of theomnibus could possibly have guessed at the storm within. The August day was hot and lifeless. Heat mist lay over the park, andover the gardens on the slopes of Campden Hill. Doris could hardly dragher weary feet along, as she walked from where the omnibus had set herdown to her uncle's studio. But it was soon evident that within thestudio itself there was animation enough. From the long passageapproaching it Doris heard someone shouting--declaiming--what appearedto be verse. Madame, of course, reciting her own poems--poor UncleCharles! Doris stopped outside the door, which was slightly open, tolisten, and heard these astonishing lines--delivered very slowly andpompously, in a thick, strained voice: "My heart is adamant! The tear-drops drip and drip-- Force their slow path, and tear their desperate way. The vulture Pain sits close, to snip--and snip--and snip My sad, sweet life to ruin--well-a-day! I am deceived--a bleating lamb bereft!--who goes Baa-baaing to the moon o'er lonely lands. Through all my shivering veins a tender fervour flows; I cry to Love--'Reach out, my Lord, thy hands! And save me from these ugly beasts who ramp and rage Around me all day long--beasts fell and sore-- Envy, and Hate, and Calumny!--do thou assuage Their impious mouths, O splendid Love, and floor Their hideous tactics, and their noisome spleen, Withering to dust the awful "Might-Have-Been!"'" "Goodness! 'Howls the Sublime' indeed!" thought Doris, gurgling withlaughter in the passage. As soon as she had steadied her face she openedthe studio door, and perceived Lady Dunstable's prospectivedaughter-in-law standing in the middle of the studio, head thrown backand hands outstretched, invoking the Cyprian. The shriek of the firstlines had died away in a stage whisper; the reciter was glaring fiercelyinto vacancy. Doris's merry eyes devoured the scene. On the chair from which the modelhad risen she had deposited yet another hat, so large, so audacious andbeplumed that it seemed to have a positive personality, a positiveswagger of its own, and to be winking roguishly at the audience. Meanwhile Madame's muslin dress of the day before had been exchanged forsomething more appropriate to the warmth of her poetry--a tawdryflame-coloured satin, in which her "too, too solid" frame was tightlysheathed. Her coal-black hair, tragically wild, looked as though no combhad been near it for a month, and the gloves drawn half-way up the barearms hardly remembered they had ever been white. A slovenly, dishevelled, vulgar woman, reciting bombastic nonsense! Andyet!--a touch of Southern magnificence, even of Southern grace, amid thecockney squalor and finery. Doris coolly recognised it, as she stood, herself invisible, behind her uncle's large easel. Thence she perceivedalso the other persons in the studio:--Bentley sitting in front of thepoetess, hiding his eyes with one hand, and nervously tapping the arm ofhis chair with the other; to the right of him--seen sideways--the lankyform, flushed face, and open mouth of young Dunstable; and in the fardistance, Miss Wigram. Then--a surprising thing! The awkward pause following the recitation wassuddenly broken by a loud and uncontrollable laugh. Doris, startled, turned to look at young Dunstable. For it was he who had laughed. Madamealso shook off her stage trance to look--a thunderous frown upon herhandsome face. The young man laughed on--laughed hysterically--buryinghis face in his hands. Madame Vavasour--all attitudes thrown aside--ranup to him in a fury. "Why are you laughing? You insult me!--you have done it before. And nowbefore strangers--it is too much! I insist that you explain!" She stood over him, her eyes blazing. The youth, still convulsed, didhis best to quiet the paroxysm which had seized him, and at last said, gasping: "I was--I was thinking--of your reciting that at Crosby Ledgers--to mymother--and--and what she would say. " Even under her rouge it could be seen that the poetess turned a greywhite. "And pray--what would she say?" The question was delivered with apparent calm. But Madame's eyes weredangerous. Doris stepped forward. Her uncle stayed her with a gesture. He himself rose, but Madame fiercely waved him aside. Miss Wigram, inthe distance, had also moved forward--and paused. "What would she say?" demanded Madame, again--at the sword's point. "I--I don't know--" said young Dunstable, helplessly, still shaking. "I--I think--she'd laugh. " And he went off again, hysterically, trying in vain to stop the fit. Madame bit her lip. Then came a torrent of Italian--evidently a torrentof abuse; and then she lifted a gloved hand and struck the young manviolently on the cheek. "Take that!--you insolent--you--you barbarian! You are my _fiancé_, --mypromised husband--and you mock at me; you will encourage your stuck-upmother to mock at me--I know you will! But I tell you--" The speaker, however, had stopped abruptly, and instead of sayinganything more she fell back panting, her eyes on the young man. ForHerbert Dunstable had risen. At the blow, an amazing change had passedover his weak countenance and weedy frame. He put his hand to hisforehead a moment, as though trying to collect his thoughts, and then heturned--quietly--to look for his hat and stick. "Where are you going, Herbert?" stammered Madame. "I--I was carriedaway--I forgot myself!" "I think not, " said the young man, who was extremely pale. "This is notthe first time. I bid you good morning, Madame--and good-bye!" He stood looking at the now frightened woman, with a strange, surprisedlook, like one just emerging from a semi-conscious state; and in thatmoment, as Doris seemed to perceive, the traditions of his birth andbreeding had returned upon him; something instinctive and inherited hadreappeared; and the gentlemanly, easy-going father, who yet, as Dorisremembered, when matters were serious "always got his way, " wasthere--strangely there--in the degenerate son. "Where are you going?" repeated Madame, eyeing him. "You promised togive me lunch. " "I regret--I have an engagement. Mr. Bentley--when the sitting isover--will you kindly see--Miss Flink--into a taxi? I thank you verymuch for allowing me to come and watch your work. I trust the picturewill be a success. Good-bye!" He held out his hand to Bentley, and bowed to Doris. Madame made a rushat him. But Bentley held her back. He seized her arms, indeed, quietlybut irresistibly, while the young man made his retreat. Then, with ashriek, Madame fell back on her chair, pretending to faint, and Bentley, in no hurry, went to her assistance, while Doris slipped out after youngDunstable. She overtook him on the door-step. "Mr. Dunstable, may I speak to you?" He turned in astonishment, showing a grim pallor which touched her pity. "I know your mother and father, " said Doris hurriedly; "at least myhusband and I were staying at Crosby Ledges some weeks ago, and myhusband is now in Scotland with your people. His name is Arthur Meadows. I am Mrs. Meadows. I--I don't know whether I could help you. Youseem"--her smile flashed out--"to be in a horrid mess!" The young man looked in perplexity at the small, trim lady before him, as though realising her existence for the first time. Her honest eyeswere bent upon him with the same expression she had often worn whenArthur had come to her with some confession of folly--the expressionwhich belongs to the maternal side of women, and is at once mocking andsweet. It said--"Of course you are a great fool!--most men are. Butthat's the _raison d'être_ of women! Suppose we go into the business!" "You're very kind--" he groaned--"awfully kind. I'm ashamed you shouldhave seen--such a thing. Nobody can help me--thank you very much. I amengaged to that lady--I've promised to marry her. Oh, she's got anyamount of evidence. I've been an ass--and worse. But I can't get out ofit. I don't mean to try to get out of it. I promised of my own freewill. Only I've found out now I can never live with her. Her temper isfiendish. It degrades her--and me. But you saw! She has made my life aburden to me lately, because I wouldn't name a day for us to be married. I wanted to see my father quietly first--without my mother knowing--andI have been thinking how to manage it--and funking it of course--Ialways do funk things. But what she did just now has settled it--it hasbeen blowing up for a long time. I shall marry her--at a registryoffice--as soon as possible. Then I shall separate from her, and--Ihope--never see her again. The lawyers will arrange that--and money!Thank you--it's awfully good of you to want to help me--but youcan't--nobody can. " Doris had drawn her companion into her uncle's small dining-room andclosed the door. She listened to his burst of confidence with a puzzledconcern. "Why must you marry her?" she said abruptly, when he paused. "Break itoff! It would be far best. " "No. I promised. I--" he stammered a little--"I seem to have done herharm--her reputation, I mean. There is only one thing could let me off. She swore to me that--well!--that she was a good woman--that there wasnothing in her past--you understand--" "And you know of nothing?" said Doris, gravely. "Nothing. And you don't think I'm going to try and ferret out thingsagainst her!" cried the youth, flushing. "No--I must just bear it. " "It's your parents that will have to bear it!" His face hardened. "My mother might have prevented it, " he said bitterly. "However, I won'tgo into that. My father will see I couldn't do anything else. I'd betterget it over. I'm going to my lawyers now. They'll take a few days overwhat I want. " "You'll tell your father?" "I--I don't know, " he said, irresolutely. She noticed that he did nottry to pledge her not to give him away. And she, on her side, did notthreaten to do so. She argued with him a little more, trying to get athis real thoughts, and to straighten them out for him. But it wasevident he had made up such mind as he had, and that his suddenresolution--even the ugly scene which had made him take it--had been arelief. He knew at last where he stood. So presently Doris let him go. They parted, liking each other decidedly. He thanked her warmly--though drearily--for taking an interest in him, and he said to her on the threshold: "Some day, I hope, you'll come to Crosby Ledgers again, Mrs. Meadows--and I'll be there--for once! Then I'll tell you--if youcare--more about it. Thanks awfully! Good-bye. " * * * * * Later on, when "Miss Flink, " in a state of sulky collapse, had been senthome in her taxi, Doris, Bentley, and Miss Wigram held a conference. Butit came to little. Bentley, the hater of "rows, " simply could not bemoved to take the thing up. "I kept her from scalping him!--" helaughed--"and I'm not due for any more!" Doris said little. A whirl ofarguments and projects were in her mind. But she kept her own counselabout them. As to the possibility of inducing the man to break it off, she repeated the only condition on which it could be done; at whichUncle Charles laughed, and Alice Wigram fell into a long and thoughtfulsilence. * * * * * Doris arrived at home rather early. What with the emotions of the day, the heat, and her work, she was strangely tired and over-done. After teashe strolled out into Kensington Gardens, and sat under the shade oftrees already autumnal, watching the multitude of children--children ofthe people--enjoying the nation's park all to themselves, in thecomplete absence of their social betters. What ducks they were, some ofthem--the little, grimy, round-faced things--rolling on the grass, ortoddling after their sisters and brothers. They turned large, inquisitive eyes upon her, which seemed to tease her heart-strings. And suddenly, --it was in Kensington Gardens that out of the heart of along and vague reverie there came a flash--an illumination--which whollychanged the life and future of Doris Meadows. After the thought in whichit took shape had seized upon her, she sat for some time motionless;then rising to her feet, tottering a little, like one in bewilderment, she turned northwards, and made her way hurriedly towards LancasterGate. In a house there, lived a lady, a widowed lady, who was Doris'sgodmother, and to whom Doris--who had lost her own mother in herchildhood--had turned for counsel before now. How long it was since shehad seen "Cousin Julia"!--nearly two months. And here she was, hasteningto her, and not able to bear the thought that in all human probabilityCousin Julia was not in town. But, by good luck, Doris found her godmother, perching in London betweena Devonshire visit and a Scotch one. They talked long, and Doris walkedslowly home across the park. A glory of spreading sun lay over thegrassy glades; the Serpentine held reflections of a sky barred withrose; London, transfigured, seemed a city of pearl and fire. And inDoris's heart there was a glory like that of the evening, --and, like theburning sky, bearing with it a promise of fair days to come. The gloryand the promise stole through all her thoughts, softening andtransmuting everything. "When _he_ grows up--if he were to marry such a woman--and I didn'tknow--if all _his_ life--and mine--were spoilt--and nobody said a word!" Her eyes filled with tears. She seemed to be walking with Arthur througha world of beauty, hand in hand. How many hours to Pitlochry? She ran into the Kensington house, askingfor railway guides, and peremptorily telling Jane to get down the smallsuitcase from the box-room at once. PART III CHAPTER V "'Barbarians, Philistines, Populace!'" The young golden-haired man of letters who was lounging on the grassbeside Arthur Meadows repeated the words to himself in an absent voice, turning over the pages meanwhile of a book lying before him, as thoughin search of a passage he had noticed and lost. He presently found itagain, and turned laughing towards Meadows, who was trifling with aFrench novel. "Do you remember this passage in _Culture and Anarchy_--'I often, therefore, when I want to distinguish clearly the aristocratic classfrom the Philistines proper, or middle class, name the former, in my ownmind, _the Barbarians_. And when I go through the country, and see thisor that beautiful and imposing seat of theirs crowning the landscape, "There, " I say to myself, "is a great fortified post of theBarbarians!"'" The youth pointed smiling to the fine Scotch house seen sideways on theother side of the lawn. Its turreted and battlemented front rose highabove the low and spreading buildings which made the bulk of the house, so that it was a feudal castle--by no means, however, so old as itlooked--on a front view, and a large and roomy villa from the rear. Meadows, looking at it, appreciated the fitness of the quotation, andlaughed in response. "Ungrateful wretch, " he said--"after that dinner last night!" "All the same, Matthew Arnold had that dinner in mind--_chef_ and all!Listen! 'The graver self of the Barbarian likes honours andconsideration; his more relaxed self, field-sports and pleasures. 'Isn't it exact? Grouse-driving in the morning--bridge, politics, Cabinet-making, and the best of food in the evening. And I should putour hostess very high--wouldn't you?--among the chatelaines of the'great fortified posts'?" Meadows assented, but rather languidly. The day was extremely hot; hewas tired, moreover, by a long walk with the guns the day before, and byconversation after dinner, led by Lady Dunstable, which had lasted up tonearly one o'clock in the morning. The talk had been brilliant, nodoubt. Meadows, however, did not feel that he had come off very well init. His hostess had deliberately pitted him against two of the ablestmen in England, and he was well aware that he had disappointed her. LadyDunstable had a way of behaving to her favourite author or artist of themoment as though she were the fancier and he the cock. She fought himagainst the other people's cocks with astonishing zeal and passion; andwhenever he failed to kill, or lost too many feathers in the process, her annoyance was evident. Meadows was in truth becoming a little tired of her dictation, althoughit was only ten days since he had arrived under her roof. There was alarge amount of lethargy combined with his ability; and he hated to beobliged to live at any pace but his own. But Rachel Dunstable was animperious friend, never tired herself, apparently, either in mind orbody; and those who could not walk, eat, and talk to please her were aptto know it. Her opinions too, both political and literary, were in somedirections extremely violent; and though, in general, argument andcontradiction gave her pleasure, she had her days and moods, and Meadowshad already suffered occasional sets-down, of a kind to which he was notaccustomed. But if he was--just a little--out of love with his new friend, in allother respects he was enjoying himself enormously. The long days on themoors, the luxurious life indoors, the changing and generally agreeablecompany, all the thousand easements and pleasures that wealth bringswith it, the skilled service, the motors, the costly cigars, thewines--there was a Sybarite in Meadows which revelled in them all. Hehad done without them; he would do without them again; but there theywere exceedingly good creatures of God, while they lasted; and only thehypocrites pretended otherwise. His sympathy, in the oldpoverty-stricken days, would have been all with the plaintiveAmerican--"There's d-----d good times in the world, and I ain't in'em. " All the same, the fleshpots of Pitlochry had by no means put his wifeout of his mind. His incurable laziness and procrastination in smallthings had led him to let slip post after post; but that very morning, at any rate, he had really written her a decent letter. And he wasbeginning to be anxious to hear from her about the yachting plan. IfLady Dunstable had asked him a few days later, he was not sure he wouldhave accepted so readily. After all, the voyage might be stormy, and thelady--difficult. Doris must be dull in London, --"poor little cat!" But then a very natural wrath returned upon him. Why on earth had shestayed behind? No doubt Lady Dunstable was formidable, but so was Dorisin her own way. "She'd soon have held her own. Lady D. Would have had tocome to terms!" However, he remembered with some compunction that Dorisdid seem to have been a good deal neglected at Crosby Ledgers, and thathe had not done much to help her. * * * * * It was an "off" day for the shooters, and Lady Dunstable's guests werelounging about the garden, writing letters or playing a little leisurelygolf on the lower reaches of the moor. Some of the ladies, indeed, hadnot yet appeared downstairs; a sleepy heat reigned over the valley withits winding stream, and veiled the distant hills. Meadows's companion, Ralph Barrow, a young novelist of promise, had gone fast asleep on thegrass; Meadows was drowsing over his book; the dogs slept on the terracesteps; and in the summer silence the murmur of the river far below stoleup the hill on which the house stood, and its soft song held the air. Suddenly there was a disturbance. The dogs sprang up and barked. Therewas a firm step on the gravel. Lady Dunstable, stick in hand, her shortleather-bound skirt showing boots and gaiters of the most business-likedescription, came quickly towards the seat on which Meadows sat. "Mr. Meadows, I summon you for a walk! Sir Luke and Mr. Frome arecoming. We propose to get to the tarn and back before lunch. " The tarn was at least two miles away, a stiff climb over difficult moor. Meadows, startled from something very near sleep, looked up, and aspirit of revolt seized upon him, provoked by the masterful tone andeyes of the lady. "Very sorry, Lady Dunstable!--but I must write some letters beforeluncheon. " "Oh no!--put them off! I have been thinking of what you told meyesterday of your scheme for your new set of lectures. I have a greatdeal to say to you about it. " "I really shouldn't be worth talking to now, " laughed Meadows; "thisheat has made me so sleepy. To-night--or after tea--by all means!" Lady Dunstable looked annoyed. "I am expecting the Duke's party at tea, " she said peremptorily. "Thiswill be my only chance to-day. " "Then let's put it off--till to-morrow!" said Meadows, as he rose, stillsmiling. "It is most kind of you, but I really must write my letters, and my brains are pulp. But I will escort you through the garden, if Imay. " His hostess turned sharply, and walked back towards the front of thehouse where Sir Luke and Mr. Frome, a young and rising Under-Secretary, were waiting for her. Meadows accompanied her, but found her exceedinglyungracious. She did, however, inform him, as they followed the other twotowards the exit from the garden, that she had come to the conclusionthat the subject he was proposing for his second series of lectures, tobe given at Dunstable House during the winter, "would never do. " "Famous Controversies of the Nineteenth Century--political andreligious. " The very sound of it was enough to keep people away! "Whatpeople expect from you is talk about _persons_--not ideas. Ideas are notyour line!" Meadows flushed a little. What his "line" might be, he said, he had notyet discovered. But he liked his subject, and meant to stick to it. Lady Dunstable turned on him a pair of sarcastic eyes. "That's so like you clever people. You would die rather than takeadvice. " "Advice!--yes. As much as you like, dear lady. But--" "But what--" she asked, imperatively, nettled in her turn. "Well--you must put it prettily!" said Meadows, smiling. "We want agreat deal of jam with the powder. " "You want to be flattered? I never flatter! It is the most despicable ofarts. " "On the contrary--one of the most skilled. And I have heard you do it toperfection. " His daring half irritated, half amused her. It was her turn to flush. Her thin, sallow face and dark eyes lit up vindictively. "One should never remind one's friends of their vices, " she said withanimation. "Ah--if they _are_ vices! But flattery is merely a virtue out ofplace--kindness gone wrong. From the point of view of the moralist, thatis. From the point of view of the ordinary mortal, it is what nomen--and few women--can do without!" She smiled grimly, enjoying the spar. They carried it on a little while, Meadows, now fairly on his mettle, administering a little deft thoughveiled castigation here and there, in requital for various acts ofrudeness of which she had been guilty towards him and others during thepreceding days. She grew restive occasionally, but on the whole she boreit well. Her arrogance was not of the small-minded sort; and the bestchance with her was to defy her. At the gate leading on to the moor, Meadows resolutely came to a stop. "Your letters are the merest excuse!" said Lady Dunstable. "I don'tbelieve you will write one of them! I notice you always put offunpleasant duties. " "Give me credit at least for the intention. " Smiling, he held the gate open for her, and she passed through, discomfited, to join Sir Luke on the other side. Mr. Frome, theUnder-Secretary, a young man of Jewish family and amazing talents, whohad been listening with amusement to the conversation behind him, turnedback to say to Meadows, at a safe distance--"Keep it up!--Keep it up!You avenge us all!" * * * * * Presently, as she and her two companions wound slowly up the moor, SirLuke Malford, who had only arrived the night before, inquired gaily ofhis hostess: "So she wouldn't come?--the little wife?" "I gave her every chance. She scorned us. " "You mean--'she funked us. ' Have you any idea, I wonder, how alarmingyou are?" Lady Dunstable exclaimed impatiently: "People represent me as a kind of ogre. I am nothing of the kind. I onlyexpect everybody to play up. " "Ah, but you make the rules!" laughed Sir Luke. "I thought that youngwoman might have been a decided acquisition. " "She hadn't the very beginnings of a social gift, " declared hiscompanion. "A stubborn and rather stupid little person. I am much afraidshe will stand in her husband's way. " "But suppose you blow up a happy home, by encouraging him to comewithout her? I bet anything she is feeling jealous and ill-used. Youought--I am sure you ought--to have a guilty conscience; but you lookperfectly brazen!" Sir Luke's banter was generally accepted with indifference, but on thisoccasion it provoked Lady Dunstable. She protested with vehemence thatshe had given Mrs. Meadows every chance, and that a young woman who wasboth trivial and conceited could not expect to get on in society. SirLuke gathered from her tone that she and Mrs. Meadows had somewhatcrossed swords, and that the wife might look out for consequences. Hehad been a witness of this kind of thing before in Lady Dunstable'scircle; and he was conscious of a passing sympathy with thepleasant-faced little woman he remembered at Crosby Ledgers. At the sametime he had been Rachel Dunstable's friend for twenty years; originally, her suitor. He spent a great part of his life in her company, and herways seemed to him part of the order of things. * * * * * Meanwhile Meadows walked back to the house. He had been a good dealnettled by Lady Dunstable's last remark to him. But he had taken painsnot to show it. Doris might say such things to him--but no one else. They were, of course, horribly true! Well--quarrelling with LadyDunstable was amusing enough--when there was room to escape her. But howwould it be in the close quarters of a yacht? On his way through the garden he fell in with Miss Field--Mattie Field, the plump and smiling cousin of the house, who was apparently asnecessary to the Dunstables in the Highlands, as in London, or at CrosbyLedgers. Her rôle in the Dunstable household seemed to Meadows to bethat of "shock absorber. " She took all the small rubs and jars on herown shoulders, so that Lady Dunstable might escape them. If the fish didnot arrive from Edinburgh, if the motor broke down, if a gun failed, ora guest set up influenza, it was always Miss Field who came to therescue. She had devices for every emergency. It was generally supposedthat she had no money, and that the Dunstables made her residence withthem worth while. But if so, she had none of the ways of the poorrelation. On the contrary, her independence was plain; she had a veryfree and merry tongue; and Lady Dunstable, who snubbed everybody, neversnubbed Mattie Field. Lord Dunstable was clearly devoted to her. She greeted Meadows rather absently. "Rachel didn't carry you off? Oh, then--I wonder if I may ask yousomething?" Meadows assured her she might ask him anything. "I wonder if you will save yourself for a walk with Lord Dunstable. Will you ask him? He's very low, and you would cheer him up. " Meadows looked at her interrogatively. He too had noticed that LordDunstable had seemed for some days to be out of spirits. "Why do people have sons!" said Miss Field, briskly. Meadows understood the reference. It was common knowledge among theDunstables' friends that their son was anything but a comfort to them. "Anything particularly wrong?" he asked her in a lowered voice, as theyneared the house. At the same time, he could not help wondering whether, under all circumstances--if her nearest and dearest were made mincemeatin a railway accident, or crushed by an earth-quake--this fair-haired, rosy-cheeked lady would still keep her perennial smile. He had never yetseen her without it. Miss Field replied in a joking tone that Lord Dunstable was depressedbecause the graceless Herbert had promised his parents a visit--a wholeweek--in August, and had now cried off on some excuse or other. Meadowsinquired if Lady Dunstable minded as much as her husband. "Quite!" laughed Miss Field. "It is not so much that she wants to seeHerbert as that she's found someone to marry him to. You'll see the ladythis afternoon. She comes with the Duke's party, to be looked at. " "But I understand that the young man is by no means manageable?" Miss Field's amusement increased. "That's Rachel's delusion. She knows very well that she hasn't been ableto manage him so far; but she's always full of fresh schemes formanaging him. She thinks, if she could once marry him to the right wife, she and the wife between them could get the whip hand of him. " "Does she care for him?" said Meadows, bluntly. Miss Field considered the question, and for the first time Meadowsperceived a grain of seriousness in her expression. But she emerged fromher meditations, smiling as usual. "She'd be hard hit if anything very bad happened!" "What could happen?" "Well, of course they never know whether he won't marry to pleasehimself--produce somebody impossible!" "And Lady Dunstable would suffer?" Miss Field chuckled. "I really believe you think her a kind of griffin--a stony creature witha hole where her heart ought to be. Most of her friends do. Rachel, ofcourse, goes through life assuming that none of the disagreeable thingsthat happen to other people will ever happen to her. But if they everdid happen--" "The very stones would cry out? But hasn't she lost all influence withthe youth?" "She won't believe it. She's always scheming for him. And when he's nothere she feels so affectionate and so good! And directly he comes--" "I see! A tragedy--and a common one! Well, in half an hour I shall beready for his lordship. Will you arrange it? I must write a letterfirst. " Miss Field nodded and departed. Meadows honestly meant to follow herinto the house and write some pressing business letters. But thesunshine was so delightful, the sight of the empty bench and theabandoned novel on the other side of the lawn so beguiling, that afterall he turned his lazy steps thither-ward, half ashamed, half amused tothink how well Lady Dunstable had read his character. The guests had all disappeared. Meadows had the garden to himself, andall its summer prospect of moor and stream. It was close on noon--a hotand heavenly day! And again he thought of Doris cooped up in London. Perhaps, after all, he would get out of that cruise! Ah! there was the morning train--the midnight express from King's Crossjust arriving in the busy little town lying in the valley at his feet. He watched it gliding along the valley, and heard the noise of thebrakes. Were any new guests expected by it? he wondered. Hardly! TheLodge seemed quite full. * * * * * Twenty minutes later he threw away the novel impatiently. Midway, thestory had gone to pieces. He rose from his feet, intending this time totackle his neglected duties in earnest. As he did so, he heard a motorclimbing the steep drive, and in front of it a lady, walking. He stood arrested--in a stupor of astonishment. Doris!--by all the gods!--_Doris_! It was indeed Doris. She came wearily, looking from side to side, likeone uncertain of her way. Then she too perceived Meadows, and stopped. Meadows was conscious of two mixed feelings--first, a very livelypleasure at the sight of her, and then annoyance. What on earth had shecome for? To recover him?--to protest against his not writing?--to makea scene, in short? His guilty imagination in a flash showed her to himthrowing herself into his arms--weeping--on this wide lawn--for all theworld to see. But she did nothing of the kind. She directed the motor, which wasreally a taxi from the station, to stop without approaching the frontdoor, and then she herself walked quickly towards her husband. "Arthur!--you got my letter? I could only write yesterday. " She had reached him, and they had joined hands mechanically. "Letter?--I got no letter! If you posted one, it has probably arrivedby your train. What on earth, Doris, is the meaning of this? Is thereanything wrong?" His expression was half angry, half concerned, for he saw plainly thatshe was tired and jaded. Of course! Long journeys always knocked her up. She meanwhile stood looking at him as though trying to read theimpression produced on him by her escapade. Something evidently in hismanner hurt her, for she withdrew her hand, and her face stiffened. "There is nothing wrong with me, thank you! Of course I did not comewithout good reason. " "But, my dear, are you come to stay?" cried Meadows, looking helplesslyat the taxi. "And you never wrote to Lady Dunstable?" For he could only imagine that Doris had reconsidered her refusal of theinvitation which had originally included them both, and--either tiredof being left alone, or angry with him for not writing--had devised this_coup de main_, this violent shake to the kaleidoscope. But what anextraordinary step! It could only cover them both with ridicule. Hischeeks were already burning. Doris surveyed him very quietly. "No--I didn't write to Lady Dunstable--I wrote to _you_--and sent her amessage. I suppose--I shall have to stay the night. " "But what on earth are we to say to her?" cried Meadows in desperation. "They're out walking now--but she'll be back directly. There isn't acorner in the house! I've got a little bachelor room in the attics. Really, Doris, if you were going to do this, you should have given bothher and me notice! There is a crowd of people here!" Frown and voice were Jovian indeed. Doris, however, showed no tremors. "Lady Dunstable will find somewhere to put me up, " she said, halfscornfully. "Is there a telegram for me?" "A telegram? Why should there be a telegram? What is the meaning of allthis? For heaven's sake, explain!" Doris, however, did not attempt to explain. Her mood had been very softon the journey. But Arthur's reception of her had suddenly stirred theroot of bitterness again; and it was shooting fast and high. Whatevershe had done or left undone, he ought _not_ to have been able to concealthat he was glad to see her--he ought _not_ to have been able to thinkof Lady Dunstable first! She began to take a pleasure in mystifying him. "I expected a telegram. I daresay it will come soon. You see I've askedsomeone else to come this afternoon--and she'll have to be put up too. " "Asked someone else!--to Lady Dunstable's house!" Meadows stoodbewildered. "Really, Doris, have you taken leave of your senses?" She stood with shining eyes, apparently enjoying his astonishment. Thenshe suddenly bethought herself. "I must go and pay the taxi. " Turning round, she coolly surveyed the"fortified post. " "It looks big enough to take me in. Arthur!--I thinkyou may pay the man. Just take out my bag, and tell the footman to putit in your room. That will do for the present. I shall sit down here andwait for Lady Dunstable. I'm pretty tired. " The thought of what the magnificent gentleman presiding over LadyDunstable's hall would say to the unexpected irruption of Mrs. Meadows, and Mrs. Meadows's bag, upon the "fortified post" he controlled, wassimply beyond expressing. Meadows tried to face his wife with dignity. "I think we'd better keep the taxi, Doris. Then you and I can go back tothe hotel together. We can't force ourselves upon Lady Dunstable likethis, my dear. I'd better go and tell someone to pack my things. But wemust, of course, wait and see Lady Dunstable--though how you willexplain your coming, and get yourself--and me--out of this absurdpredicament, I cannot even pretend to imagine!" Doris sat down--wearily. "Don't keep the taxi, Arthur. I assure you Lady Dunstable will be veryglad to keep both me--and my bag. Or if she won't--Lord Dunstable will. " Meadows came nearer--bent down to study her tired face. "There's some mystery, of course, Doris, in all this! Aren't you goingto tell me what it means?" His wife's pale cheeks flushed. "I would have told you--if you'd been the least bit glad to see me!But--if you don't pay the taxi, Arthur, it will run up like anything!" She pointed peremptorily to the ticking vehicle and the impatientdriver. Meadows went mechanically, paid the driver, shouldered the bag, and carried it into the hall of the Lodge. He then perceived that twogrinning and evidently inquisitive footmen, waiting in the hall foranything that might turn up for them to do, had been watching the wholescene--the arrival of the taxi, and the meeting between the unknown ladyand himself, through a side window. Burning to box someone's ears, Meadows loftily gave the bag to one ofthem with instructions that it should be taken to his room, and thenturned to rejoin his wife. As he crossed the gravel in front of the house, his mind ran through allpossible hypotheses. But he was entirely without a clue--except the clueof jealousy. He could not hide from himself that Doris had been jealousof Lady Dunstable, and had perhaps been hurt by his rather too numerousincursions into the great world without her, his apparent readiness todesert her for cleverer women. "Little goose!--as if I ever caredtwopence for any of them!"--he thought angrily. "And now she makes usboth laughing-stocks!" And yet, Doris being Doris--a proud, self-contained, well-bred littleperson, particularly sensitive to ridicule--the whole proceeding becamethe more incredible the more he faced it. One o'clock!--striking from the church tower in the valley! He hurriedtowards the slight figure on the distant seat. Lady Dunstable mightreturn at any moment. He foresaw the encounter--the great lady'sinsolence--Doris's humiliation--and his own. Well, at least let himagree with Doris on a common story, before his hostess arrived. He sped across the grass, very conscious, as he approached the seat, ofDoris's drooping look and attitude. Travelling all those hours!--and nodoubt without any proper breakfast! However Lady Dunstable mightbehave, he would carry Doris into the Lodge directly, and have herproperly looked after. Miss Field and he would see to that. Suddenly--a sound of talk and laughter, from the shrubbery which dividedthe flower garden from the woods and the moor. Lady Dunstable emerged, with her two companions on either hand. Her vivid, masculine face wasflushed with exercise and discussion. She seemed to be attacking theUnder-Secretary, who, however, was clearly enjoying himself; while SirLuke, walking a little apart, threw in an occasional gibe. "I tell you your land policy here in Scotland will gain you nothing; andin England it will lose you everything. --Hullo!" Lady Dunstable's exclamation, as she came to a stop and put up atortoise-shell eyeglass, was clearly audible. "Doris!" cried Meadows excitedly in his wife's ear--"Look here!--whatare you going to say!--what am I to say! that you got tired of London, and wanted some Scotch air?--that we intend to go off together?--Forgoodness' sake, what is it to be?" Doris rose, her lips breaking irrepressibly into smiles. "Never mind, Arthur; I'll get through somehow. " CHAPTER VI The two ladies advanced towards each other across the lawn, whileMeadows followed his wife in speechless confusion and annoyance, utterlyat a loss how to extricate either himself or Doris; compelled, indeed, to leave it all to her. Sir Luke and the Under-Secretary had paused inthe drive. Their looks as they watched Lady Dunstable's progress showedthat they guessed at something dramatic in the little scene. Nothing could apparently have been more unequal than the two chiefactors in it. Lady Dunstable, with the battlements of "the greatfortified post" rising behind her, tall and wiry of figure, her blackhawk's eyes fixed upon her visitor, might have stood for all her class;for those too powerful and prosperous Barbarians who have ruled andenjoyed England so long. Doris, small and slight, in a blue cotton coatand skirt, dusty from long travelling, and a childish garden hat, camehesitatingly over the grass, with colour which came and went. "How do you do, Mrs. Meadows! This is indeed an unexpected pleasure! Imust quarrel with your husband for not giving us warning. " Doris's complexion had settled into a bright pink as she shook handswith Lady Dunstable. But she spoke quite composedly. "My husband knew nothing about it, Lady Dunstable. My letter does notseem to have reached him. " "Ah? Our posts are very bad, no doubt; though generally, I must say, they arrive very punctually. Well, so you were tired of London?--youwanted to see how we were looking after your husband?" Lady Dunstable threw a sarcastic glance at Meadows standing tongue-tiedin the background. "I wanted to see you, " said Doris quietly, with a slight accent on the"you. " Lady Dunstable looked amused. "Did you? How very nice of you! And you've--you've brought yourluggage?" Lady Dunstable looked round her as though expecting to see itat the front door. "I brought a bag. Arthur took it in for me. " "I'm so sorry! I assure you, if I had only known--But we haven't acorner! Mr. Meadows will bear me out--it's absurd, but true. TheseScotch lodges have really no room in them at all!" Lady Dunstable pointed with airy insolence to the spreading pile behindher. Doris--for all the agitation of her hidden purpose--could havelaughed outright. But Meadows, rather roughly, intervened. "We shall, of course, go to the hotel, Lady Dunstable. My wife's letterseems somehow to have missed me, but naturally we never dreamed ofputting you out. Perhaps you will give us some lunch--my wife seemsrather tired--and then we will take our departure. " Doris turned--put a hand on his arm--but addressed Lady Dunstable. "Can I see you--alone--for a few minutes--before lunch?" "_Before_ lunch? We are all very hungry, I'm afraid, " said LadyDunstable, with a smile. Meadows was conscious of a rising fury. Hisquick sense perceived something delicately offensive in every word andlook of the great lady. Doris, of course, had done an incredibly foolishthing. What she had come to say to Lady Dunstable he could not conceive;for the first explanation--that of a silly jealousy--had by now entirelyfailed him. But it was evident to him that Lady Dunstable assumed it--orchose to assume it. And for the first time he thought her odious! Doris seemed to guess it, for she pressed his arm as though to keep himquiet. "Before lunch, please, " she repeated. "I think--you will soonunderstand. " With an odd, and--for the first time--slightly puzzled lookat her visitor, Lady Dunstable said with patronising politeness-- "By all means. Shall we come to my sitting-room?" She led the way to the house. Meadows followed, till a sign from Doriswaved him back. On the way Doris found herself greeted by Sir LukeMalford, bowed to by various unknown gentlemen, and her hand grasped byMiss Field. "You do look done! Have you come straight from London? What--is Rachelcarrying you off? I shall send you in a glass of wine and a biscuitdirectly!" Doris said nothing. She got somehow through all the curious eyes turnedupon her; she followed Lady Dunstable through the spacious passages ofthe Lodge, adorned with the usual sportsman's trophies, till she wasushered into a small sitting-room, Lady Dunstable's particular den, crowded with photographs of half the celebrities of the day--the poets, _savants_, and artists, of England, Europe, and America. On an easelstood a masterly small portrait of Lord Dunstable as a young man, byBastien Lepage; and not far from it--rather pushed into a corner--asketch by Millais of a fair-haired boy, leaning against a pony. By this time Doris was quivering both with excitement and fatigue. Shesank into a chair, and turned eagerly to the wine and biscuits withwhich Miss Field pursued her. While she ate and drank, Lady Dunstablesat in a high chair observing her, one long and pointed foot crossedover the other, her black eyes alive with satiric interrogation, towhich, however, she gave no words. The wine was reviving. Doris found her voice. As the door closed on MissField, she bent forward:-- "Lady Dunstable, I didn't come here on my own account, and had therebeen time of course I should have given you notice. I came entirely onyour account, because something was happening to you--and LordDunstable--which you didn't know, and which made me--very sorry foryou!" Lady Dunstable started slightly. "Happening to me?--and Lord Dunstable?" "I have been seeing your son, Lady Dunstable. " An instant change passed over the countenance of that lady. It darkened, and the eyes became cold and wary. "Indeed? I didn't know you were acquainted with him. " "I never saw him till a few days ago. Then I saw him--in my uncle'sstudio--with a woman--a woman to whom he is engaged. " Lady Dunstable started again. "I think you must be mistaken, " she said quickly, with a slight buthaughty straightening of her shoulders. Doris shook her head. "No, I am not mistaken. I will tell you--if you don't mind--exactly whatI have heard and seen. " And with a puckered brow and visible effort she entered on the story ofthe happenings of which she had been a witness in Bentley's studio. Shewas perfectly conscious--for a time--that she was telling it against adead weight of half scornful, half angry incredulity on Lady Dunstable'spart. Rachel Dunstable listened, indeed, attentively. But it was clearthat she resented the story, which she did not believe; resented thetelling of it, on her own ground, by this young woman whom shedisliked; and resented above all the compulsory discussion which itinvolved, of her most intimate affairs, with a stranger and her socialinferior. All sorts of suspicions, indeed, ran through her mind as tothe motives that could have prompted Mrs. Meadows to hurry up toScotland, without taking even the decently polite trouble to announceherself, bringing this unlikely and trumped-up tale. Most probably, amean jealousy of her husband, and his greater social success!--adetermination to force herself on people who had not paid the sameattention to herself as to him, to _make_ them pay attention, willy-nilly. Of course Herbert had undesirable acquaintances, and wascontent to go about with people entirely beneath him, in birth andeducation. Everybody knew it, alack! But he was really not such afool--such a heartless fool--as this story implied! Mrs. Meadows hadbeen taken in--willingly taken in--had exaggerated everything she saidfor her own purposes. The mother's wrath indeed was rapidly rising tothe smiting point, when a change in the narrative arrested her. "And then--I couldn't help it!"--there was a new note of agitation inDoris's voice--"but what had happened was so _horrid_--it was so likeseeing a man going to ruin under one's eyes, for, of course, one knewthat she would get hold of him again--that I ran out after your son andbegged him to break with her, not to see her again, to take theopportunity, and be done with her! And then he told me quite calmly thathe _must_ marry her, that he could not help himself, but he would neverlive with her. He would marry her at a registry office, provide for her, and leave her. And then he said he would do it _at once_--that he wasgoing to his lawyers to arrange everything as to money and so on--oncondition that she never troubled him again. He was eager to get itdone--that he might be delivered from her--from her company--which onecould see had become dreadful to him. I implored him not to do such athing--to pay any money rather than do it--but not to marry her! Ibegged him to think of you--and his father. But he said he was bound toher--he had compromised her, or some such thing; and he had given hisword in writing. There was only one thing which could stop it--if shehad told him lies about her former life. But he had no reason to thinkshe had; and he was not going to try and find out. So then--I saw a rayof daylight--" She stopped abruptly, looking full at the woman opposite, who was nowfollowing her every word--but like one seized against her will. "Do you remember a Miss Wigram, Lady Dunstable--whose father had aliving near Crosby Ledgers?" Lady Dunstable moved involuntarily--her eyelids flickered a little. "Certainly. Why do you ask?" "_She_ saw Mr. Dunstable--and Miss Flink--in my uncle's studio, and shewas so distressed to think what--what Lord Dunstable"--there was aperceptible pause before the name--"would feel, if his son married her, that she determined to find out the truth about her. She told me she hadone or two clues, and I sent her to a cousin of mine--a very cleversolicitor--to be advised. That was yesterday morning. Then I got myuncle to find out your son--and bring him to me yesterday afternoonbefore I started. He came to our house in Kensington, and I told him Ihad come across some very doubtful stories about Miss Flink. He was veryunwilling to hear anything. After all, he said, he was not going to livewith her. And she had nursed him--" "Nursed him!" said Lady Dunstable, quickly. She had risen, and wasleaning against the mantelpiece, looking sharply down upon her visitor. "That was the beginning of it all. He was ill in the winter--in hislodgings. " "I never heard of it!" For the first time, there was a touch ofsomething natural and passionate in the voice. Doris looked a little embarrassed. "Your son told me it was pneumonia. " "I never heard a word of it! And this--this creature nursed him?" Thetone of the robbed lioness at last!--singularly inappropriate under allthe circumstances. Doris struggled on. "An actor friend of your son brought her to see him. And she reallydevoted herself to him. He declared to me he owed her a great deal--" "He need have owed her nothing, " said Lady Dunstable, sternly. "He hadonly to send a postcard--a wire--to his own people. " "He thought--you were so busy, " said Doris, dropping her eyes to thecarpet. A sound of contemptuous anger showed that her shaft--her mild shaft--hadgone home. She hurried on--"But at last I got him to promise me to waita week. That was yesterday at five o'clock. He wouldn't promise me towrite to you--or his father. He seemed so desperately anxious to settleit all--in his own way. But I said a good deal about your name--and thefamily--and the horrible pain he would be giving--any way. Was itkind--was it right towards you, not only to give you _no_ opportunity ofhelping or advising him--but also to take no steps to find out whetherthe woman he was going to marry was--not only unsuitable, whollyunsuitable--that, of course, he knows--but _a disgrace_? I argued withhim that he must have some suspicion of the stories she has told him atdifferent times, or he wouldn't have tried to protect himself in thisparticular way. He didn't deny it; but he said she had looked after him, and been kind to him, when nobody else was, and he should feel a beastif he pressed her too hardly. " "'When nobody else was'!" repeated Lady Dunstable, scornfully, her voicetrembling with bitterness. "Really, Mrs. Meadows, it is very difficultfor me to believe that my son ever used such words!" Doris hesitated, then she raised her eyes, and with the happy feeling ofone applying the scourge, in the name of Justice, she said with carefulmildness:-- "I hope you will forgive me for telling you--but I feel as if I oughtn'tto keep back anything--Mr. Dunstable said to me: 'My mother might haveprevented it--but--she was never interested in me. '" Another indignant exclamation from Lady Dunstable. Doris hurried on. "Only this is the important point! At last I got his promise, and I gotit in writing. I have it here. " Dead silence. Doris opened her little handbag, took out a letter, in anopen envelope, and handed it to Lady Dunstable, who at first seemed asif she were going to refuse it. However, after a moment's hesitation, she lifted her long-handled eyeglass and read it. It ran as follows: DEAR MRS. MEADOWS, --I do not know whether I ought to do what you ask me. But you have asked me very kindly--you have really been awfully good to me, in taking so much trouble. I know I'm a stupid fool--they always told me so at home. But I don't want to do anything mean, or to go back on a woman who once did me a good turn; with whom also once--for I may as well be quite honest about it--I thought I was in love. However, I see there is something in what you say, and I will wait a week before marrying Miss Flink. But if you tell my people--I suppose you will--don't let them imagine they can break it off--except for that one reason. And _I_ shan't lift a finger to break it off. I shall make no inquiries--I shall go on with the lawyers, and all that. My present intention is to marry Miss Flink--on the terms I have stated--in a week's time. If you do see my people--especially my father--tell them I'm awfully sorry to be such a nuisance to them. I got myself into the mess without meaning it, and now there's really only one way out. Thank you again. Yours gratefully, HERBERT DUNSTABLE. Lady Dunstable crushed the letter in her hand. All pretence ofincredulity was gone. She began to walk stormily up and down. Doris sankback in her chair, watching her, conscious of the most strangely mingledfeelings, a touch of womanish triumph indeed, a pleasing sense ofretribution, but, welling up through it, something profound and tender. If _he_ should ever write such a letter to a stranger, while his motherwas alive! Lady Dunstable stopped. "What chance is there of saving my son?" she said, peremptorily. "Youwill, of course, tell us all you know. Lord Dunstable must go to town atonce. " She touched an electric bell beside her. "Oh no!" cried Doris, springing up. "He mustn't go, please, until wehave some more information. Miss Wigram is coming--this afternoon. " Rachel Dunstable stood stupefied--with her hand on the bell. "Miss Wigram--coming. " "Don't you see?" cried Doris. "She was to spend all yesterday afternoonand evening in seeing two or three people--people who know. There is afriend of my uncle's--an artist--who saw a great deal of Miss Flink, andgot to know a lot about her. Of course he may not have been willing tosay anything, but I think he probably would--he was so mad with her fora trick she played him in the middle of a big piece of work. And if hewas able to put us on any useful track, then Miss Wigram was to come uphere straight, and tell you everything she could. But I thought therewould have been a telegram--from her--" Her voice dropped on a note ofdisappointment. There was a knock at the door. The butler entered, and at the samemoment the luncheon gong echoed through the house. "Tell Miss Field not to wait luncheon for me, " said Lady Dunstablesharply. "And, Ferris, I want his lordship's things packed at once, forLondon. Don't say anything to him at present, but in ten minutes' timejust manage to tell him quietly that I should like to see him here. Youunderstand--I don't want any fuss made. Tell Miss Field that Mrs. Meadows is too tired to come in to luncheon, and that I will come inpresently. " The butler, who had the aspect of a don or a bishop, said "Yes, mylady, " in that dry tone which implied that for twenty years the house ofDunstable had been built upon himself, as its rock, and he was not goingto fail it now. He vanished, with just one lightning turn of the eyestowards the little lady in the blue linen dress; and Lady Dunstableresumed her walk, sunk in flushed meditation. She seemed to haveforgotten Doris, when she heard an exclamation:-- "Ah, there _is_ the telegram!" And Doris, running to the window, waved to a diminutive telegraph boy, who, being new to his job, had come up to the front entrance of theLodge instead of the back, and was now--recognising hismisdeed--retreating in alarm from the mere aspect of "the greatfortified post. " He saw the lady at the window, however, and checked hiscourse. "For me!" cried Doris, triumphantly--and she tore it open. Can't arrive till between eight and nine. Think I have got all we want. Please take a room for me at hotel. --ALICE WIGRAM. Doris turned back into the room, and handed the telegram to LadyDunstable, who read it slowly. "Did you say this was the Alice Wigram I knew?" "Her father had one of your livings, " repeated Doris. "He died lastyear. " "I know. I quarrelled with him. I cannot conceive why Alice Wigramshould do me a good turn!" Lady Dunstable threw back her head, herchallenging look fixed upon her visitor. Doris was certain she had it inher mind to add--"or you either!"--but refrained. "Lord Dunstable was always a friend to her father, " said Doris, with thesame slight emphasis on the "Lord" as before. "And she felt for theestate--the poor people--the tenants. " Rachel Dunstable shook her head impatiently. "I daresay. But I got into a scrape with the Wigrams. I expect that youwould think, Mrs. Meadows--perhaps most people would think, as of courseher father did--that I once treated Miss Wigram unkindly!" "Oh, what does it matter?" cried Doris, hastily, --"what _does_ itmatter? She wants to help--she's sorry for you. You should _see_ thatwoman! It would be too awful if your son was tied to her for life!" She sat up straight, all her soul in her eyes and in her pleasant face. There was a pause. Then Lady Dunstable, whose expression had changed, came a little nearer to her. "And you--I wonder why you took all this trouble?" Doris said nothing. She fell back slowly in her chair, lookingat the tall woman standing over her. Tears came into hereyes--brimmed--overflowed--in silence. Her lips smiled. Rachel Dunstablebent over her in bewilderment. "To have a son, " murmured Doris under her breath, "and then to see himruined like this! No love for him!--no children--no grandchildren foroneself, when one is old--" Her voice died away. "'To have a son'?" repeated Lady Dunstable, wondering--"but you havenone!" Doris said nothing. Only she put up her hand feebly, and wiped away thetears--still smiling. After which she shut her eyes. Lady Dunstable gasped. Then the long, sallow face flushed deeply. Shewalked over to a sofa on the other side of the room, arranged thepillows on it, and came back to Doris. "Will you, please, let me put you on that sofa? You oughtn't to have hadthis long journey. Of course you will stay here--and Miss Wigram too. Itseems--I shall owe you a great deal--and I could not have expectedyou--to think about me--at all. I can do rude things. But I can also--besorry for my sins!" Doris heard an awkward and rather tremulous laugh. Upon which sheopened her eyes, no less embarrassed than her hostess, and did as shewas told. Lady Dunstable made her as comfortable as a hand so littleused to the feminine arts could manage. "Now I will send you in some luncheon, and go and talk to LordDunstable. Please rest till I come back. " * * * * * Doris lay still. She wanted very much to see Arthur, and she wondered, till her head ached, whether he would think her a great fool for herpains. Surely he would come and find her soon. Oh, the time people spenton lunching in these big houses! The vibration of the train seemed to be still running through her limbs. She was indeed wearied out, and in a few minutes, what with the suddenquiet and the softness of the cushions which had been spread for her, she fell unexpectedly asleep. When she woke, she saw her husband sitting beside her--patiently--witha tray on his knee. "Oh, Arthur!--what time is it? Have I been asleep long?" "Nearly an hour. I looked in before, but Lady Dunstable wouldn't let mewake you. She--and he--and I--have been talking. Upon my word, Doris, you've been and gone and done it! But don't say anything! You've got toeat this chicken first. " He fed her with it, looking at her the while with affectionate andadmiring eyes. Somehow, Doris became dimly aware that she was going tobe a heroine. "Have they told you, Arthur?" "Everything that you've told her. (No--not everything!--thought Doris. )You _are_ a brick, Doris! And the way you've done it! That's whatimpresses her ladyship! She knows very well that she would have muffedit. You're the practical woman! Well, you can rest on your laurels, darling! You'll have the whole place at your feet--beginning with yourhusband--who's been dreadfully bored without you. There!" He put down his Jovian head, and rubbed his cheek tenderly against hers, till she turned round, and gave him the lightest of kisses. "Was he an abominable correspondent?" he said, repentantly. "Abominable!" "Did you hate him!" "Whenever I had time. When do you start on your cruise, Arthur!" "Any time--some time--never!" he said, gaily. "Give me that Capel Curigaddress, and I'll wire for the rooms this afternoon. I came to theconclusion this morning that the same yacht couldn't hold her ladyshipand me. " "Oh!--so she's been chastening _you_?" said Doris, well pleased. Meadows nodded. "The rod has not been spared--since Sunday. It was then she got tired ofme. I mark the day, you see, almost the hour. My goodness!--if you'renot always up to your form--epigrams, quotations--all pat--" "She plucks you--without mercy. Down you slither into the second class!"Doris's look sparkled. "There you go--rejoicing in my humiliations!" said Meadows, putting anarm round the scoffer. "I tell you, she proposes to write my next set oflectures for me. She gave me an outline of them this morning. " Then they both laughed together like children. And Doris, with her headon a strong man's shoulder, and a rough coat scrubbing her cheek, suddenly bethought her of the line--"Journeys end in lovers' meeting--"and was smitten with a secret wonder as to how much of her impulse tocome north had been due to an altruistic concern for the Dunstableaffairs, and how much to a firm determination to recapture Arthur fromhis Gloriana. But that doubt she would never reveal. It would be so badfor Arthur! She rose to her feet. "Where are they?" "Lord and Lady Dunstable? Gone off to Dunkeld to find their solicitorand bring him back to meet Miss Wigram. They'll be home by tea. I'm tolook after you. " "Are we going to an hotel?" Meadows laughed immoderately. "Come and look at your apartment, my dear. One of her ladyship's maidshas been told off to look after you. As I expect you have arrived withlittle more than a comb-and-brush bag, there will be a good deal to do. " Doris caught him by the coat-fronts. "You don't mean to say that I shall be expected to dine to-night! I have_not_ brought an evening dress. " "What does that matter? I met Miss Field in the passage, as I was comingin to you, and she said: 'I see Mrs. Meadows has not brought muchluggage. We can lend her anything she wants. I will send her a few ofRachel's tea-gowns to choose from. '" Doris's laugh was hysterical; then she sobered down. "What time is it? Four o'clock. Oh, I wish Miss Wigram was here! Youknow, Lord Dunstable must go to town to-night! And Miss Wigram can'tarrive till after the last train from here. " "They know. They've ordered a special, to take Lord Dunstable and thesolicitor to Edinburgh, to catch the midnight mail. " "Oh, well--if you can bully the fates like that!--" said Doris, with ashrug. "How did he take it?" Meadows's tone changed. "It was a great blow. I thought it aged him. " "Was she nice to him?" asked Doris, anxiously. "Nicer than I thought she could be, " said Meadows, quietly. "I heardher say to him--'I'm afraid it's been my fault, Harry. ' And he took herhand, without a word. " "I will _not_ cry!" said Doris, pressing her hands on her eyes. "If itcomes right, it will do them such a world of good! Now show me my room. " But in the hall, waiting to waylay them, they found Miss Field, beamingas usual. "Everything is ready for you, dear Mrs. Meadows, and if you wantanything you have only to ring. This way--" "The ground-floor?" said Doris, rather mystified, as they followed. "We have put you in what we call--for fun--our state-rooms. VariousRoyalties had them last year. They're in a special wing. We keep themfor emergencies. And the fact is we haven't got another corner. " Doris, in dismay, took the smiling lady by the arm. "I can't live up to it! Please let us go to the inn. " But Meadows and Miss Field mocked at her; and she was soon ushered intoa vast bedroom, in the midst of which, on a Persian carpet, sat herdiminutive bag, now empty. Various elegant "confections" in the shape oftea-gowns and dressing-gowns littered the bed and the chairs. Thetoilet-table showed an array of coroneted brushes. As for the superbEmpire bed, which had belonged to Queen Hortense, and was still hungwith the original blue velvet sprinkled with golden bees, Doris eyed itwith a firm hostility. "We needn't sleep in it, " she whispered in Meadows's ear. "There are twosofas. " Meanwhile Miss Field and others flitted about, adding all the luxuriesof daily use to the splendour of the rooms. Gardeners appeared bringingin flowers, and an anxious maid, on behalf of her ladyship, begged thatMrs. Meadows would change her travelling dress for a comfortable whitetea-gown, before tea-time, suggesting another "creation" in black andsilver for dinner. Doris, frowning and reluctant, would have refused;but Miss Field said softly "Won't you? Rachel will be so distressed ifshe mayn't do these little things for you. Of course she doesn't deserveit; but--" "Oh yes--I'll put them on--if she likes, " said Doris, hurriedly. "Itdoesn't matter. " Miss Field laughed. "I don't know where all these things come from, " shesaid, looking at the array. "Rachel buys half of them for her maids, Ishould think--she never wears them. Well, now I shall leave you tilltea-time. Tea will be on the lawn--Mr. Meadows knows where. By theway--" she looked, smiling, at Meadows--"they've put off the Duke. Ifyou only knew what that means. " She named a great Scotch name, the chief of the ancient house to whichLady Dunstable belonged. Miss Field described how this prince of Dukespaid a solemn visit every year to Franick Castle, and the eagersolicitude--almost agitation--with which the visit was awaited, by LadyDunstable in particular. "You don't mean, " cried Doris, "that there is anybody in the whole worldwho frightens Lady Dunstable?" "As she frightens us? Yes!--on this one day of the year we are allavenged. Rachel, metaphorically, sits on a stool and tries to please. Toput off 'the Duke' by telephone!--what a horrid indignity! But I've justinflicted it. " Mattie Field smiled, and was just going away when she was arrested by atimid question from Doris. "Please--shall Arthur go down to Pitlochry and engage a room for MissWigram?" Miss Field turned in amusement. "A room! Why, it's all ready! She is your lady-in-waiting. " And taking Doris by the arm she led her to inspect a spacious apartmenton the other side of a passage, where the Lady Alice or Lady Marywithout whom Royal Highnesses do not move about the world was generallyput up. "I feel like Christopher Sly, " said Doris, surveying the scene, with herhands in her jacket pockets. "So will she. But never mind!" * * * * * Events flowed on. Lord and Lady Dunstable came back by tea-time, bringing with them the solicitor, who was also the chief factor of theirScotch estate. Lord Dunstable looked old and wearied. He came to findDoris on the lawn, pressing her hand with murmured words of thanks. "If that child Alice Wigram--of course I remember her well!--brings usinformation we can go upon, we shall be all right. At least there'shope. My poor boy! Anyway, we can never be grateful enough to you. " As for Lady Dunstable, the large circle which gathered for tea under agroup of Scotch firs talked indeed, since Franick Castle existed forthat purpose, but they talked without a leader. Their hostess sat silentand sombre, with thoughts evidently far away. She took no notice ofMeadows whatever, and his attempts to draw her fell flat. A neighbourhad walked over, bringing with him--maliciously--a Radical M. P. Whoseviews on the Scotch land question would normally have struck fire andfury from Lady Dunstable. She scarcely recognised his name, and he andthe Under-Secretary launched into the most despicable land heresiesunder her very nose--unrebuked. She had not an epigram to throw atanyone. But her eyes never failed to know where Doris Meadows was, andindeed, though no one but the two or three initiated knew why, Doris wasin some mysterious but accepted way the centre of the party. Everybodyspoiled her; everybody smiled upon her. The white tea-gown which shewore--miracle of delicate embroidery--had never suited Lady Dunstable;it suited Doris to perfection. Under her own simple hat, her eyes--andthey were very fine eyes--shone with a soft and dancing humour. It wasall absurd--her being there--her dress--this tongue-tied hostess--andthese agreeable men who made much of her! She must get Arthur out of itas soon as possible, and they would look back upon it and laugh. But forthe moment it was pleasant, it was stimulating! She found herselfarguing about the new novels, and standing at bay against a whole groupof clever folk who were tearing Mr. Augustus John and other gods of heridolatry to pieces. She was not shy; she never really had been; and tofind that she could talk as well as other people--or most otherpeople--even in these critical circles, excited her. The circle roundher grew; and Meadows, standing on the edge of it, watched her withastonished eyes. * * * * * The northern evening sank into a long and glowing twilight. The hillsstood in purple against a tawny west, and the smoke from the little townin the valley rose clear and blue into air already autumnal. The guestsof Franick had scattered in twos and threes over the gardens and themoor, while Doris, her host and hostess, and the solicitor, sat andwaited for Alice Wigram. She came with the evening train, tired, dusty, and triumphant; and the information she brought with her was more thanenough to go upon. The past of Elena Flink--poor lady!--shone luridlyout; and even the countenance of the solicitor cleared. As for LordDunstable, he grasped the girl by both hands. "My dear child, what you have done for us! Ah, if your father werehere!" And bending over her, with the courtly grace of an old man, he kissedher on the brow. Alice Wigram flushed, turning involuntarily towardsLady Dunstable. "Rachel!--don't we owe her everything, " said Lord Dunstable withemotion--"her and Mrs. Meadows? But for them, our boy might have wreckedhis life. " "He appears to have been a most extraordinary fool!" said Lady Dunstablewith energy:--a recrudescence of the natural woman, which was positivelywelcome to everybody. And it did not prevent the passage of someembarrassed but satisfactory words between Herbert Dunstable's motherand Alice Wigram, after Lady Dunstable had taken her latest guest to"Lady Mary's" room, bidding her go straight to bed, and be waited on. Lord Dunstable and the lawyer departed after dinner to meet theirspecial train at Perth. Lady Dunstable, with variable spirits, kept theevening going, sometimes in a brown study, sometimes as brilliant andpugnacious as ever. Doris slipped out of the drawing-room once or twiceto go and gossip with Alice Wigram, who was lying under silkencoverings, inclined to gentle moralising on the splendours of the great, and much petted by Miss Field and the house-keeper. "How nice you look!" said the girl shyly, on one occasion, as Doris camestealing in to her. "I never saw such a pretty gown!" "Not bad!" said Doris complacently, throwing a glance at the largemirror near. It was still the white tea-gown, for she had firmlydeclined to sample anything else, in truth well aware that Arthur'seyes approved both it and her in it. "Lord Dunstable has been so kind, " whispered Miss Wigram. "He said Imust always henceforth look upon him as a kind of guardian. Of course Ishould never let him give me a farthing!" "Why no, that's the kind of thing one couldn't do!" said Doris withdecision. "But there are plenty of other ways of being nice. Well--herewe all are, as happy as larks; and what we've really done, I suppose, isto take a woman's character away, and give her another push toperdition. " "She hadn't any character!" cried Alice Wigram indignantly. "And shewould have gone to perdition without us, and taken that poor youth withher. Oh, I know, I know! But morals are a great puzzle to me. However, Ifirmly remind myself of that 'one in the eye, ' and then all my doubtsdepart. Good-night. Sleep well! You know very well that I should haveshirked it if it hadn't been for you!" * * * * * A little later the Meadowses stood together at the open window of theirroom, which led by a short flight of steps to a flowering garden below. All Franick had gone to bed, and this wing in which the "state-rooms"were, seemed to be remote from the rest of the house. They were alone;the night was balmy; and there was a flood of secret joy in Doris'sveins which gave her a charm, a beguilement Arthur had never seen in herbefore. She was more woman, and therefore more divine! He could hardlyrecall her as the careful housewife, harassed by lack of pence, knittingher brows over her butcher's books, mending endless socks, and trying tokeep the nose of a lazy husband to the grindstone. All that seemed tohave vanished. This white sylph was pure romance--pure joy. He saw heranew; he loved her anew. "Why did you look so pretty to-night? You little witch!" he murmured inher ear, as he held her close to him. "Arthur!"--she drew herself away from him. "_Did_ I look pretty? Honourbright!" "Delicious! How often am I to say it?" "You'd better not. Don't wake the devil in me, Arthur! It's all thistea-gown. If you go on like this, I shall have to buy one like it. " "Buy a dozen!" he said joyously. "Look there, Doris--you see that path?Let's go on to the moor a little. " Out they crept, like truant children, through the wood-path and out uponthe moor. Meadows had brought a shawl, and spread it on a rock, fullunder the moonlight. There they sat, close together, feeling all thegoodness and glory of the night, drinking in the scents of heather andfern, the sounds of plashing water and gently moving winds. Above them, the vault of heaven and the friendly stars; below them, the great hollowof the valley, the scattered lights, the sounds of distant trains. "She didn't kiss me when she said good-night!" said Doris suddenly. "Shewasn't the least sentimental--or ashamed--or grateful! Having said whatwas necessary, she let it alone. She's a real lady--though rather asavage. I like her!" "Who are you talking of? Lady Dunstable? I had forgotten all about her. All the same, darling, I should like to know what made you do all thisfor a woman you _said_ you detested!" "I did detest her. I shall probably detest her again. Leopards don'tchange their spots, do they? But I shan't--fear her any more!" Something in her tone arrested Meadows's attention. "What do you mean?" "Oh, what I say!" cried Doris, drawing herself a little from him, witha hand on his shoulder. "I shall never fear her, or anyone, any more. I'm safe! Why did I do it? Do you really want to know? I didit--because--I was so sorry for her--poor silly woman, --who can't get onwith her own son! Arthur!--if our son doesn't love me better than hersloves her--you may kill me, dear, and welcome!" "Doris! There is something in your voice--! What are you hiding fromme?" * * * * * But as to the rest of that conversation under the moon, let thoseimagine it who may have followed this story with sympathy. THE END