A MODERN CHRONICLE

By Winston Churchill

CONTENTS

 BOOK I. 

 Volume 1. I. WHAT'S IN HEREDITY? II. PERDITA RECALLED III. CONCERNING PROVIDENCE IV. OF TEMPERAMENT V. IN WHICH PROVIDENCE BEEPS FAITH VI. HONORA HAS A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD

 Volume 2. VII. THE OLYMPIAN ORDER VIII. A CHAPTER OF CONQUESTS IX. IN WHICH THE VICOMTE CONTINUES HIS STUDIES X. IN WHICH HONORA WIDENS HER HORIZON XI. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN XII. WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE FOR MRS. HOLT

 BOOK II. Volume 3. I. SO LONG AS YE BOTH SHALL LIVE II. "STAFFORD PARK" III. THE GREAT UNATTACHED IV. THE NEW DOCTRINE V. QUICKSANDS VI. GAD AND MENI. Volume 4. VII. OF CERTAIN DELICATE MATTERS VIII. OF MENTAL PROCESSES-FEMININE AND INSOLUBLE IX. INTRODUCING A REVOLUTIONIZING VEHICLE X. ON THE ART OF LION TAMING XI. CONTAINING SOME REVELATIONS

 BOOK III. Volume 5. I. ASCENDI II. THE PATH OF PHILANTHROPY III. VINELAND IV. THE VIKING V. THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

 Volume 6. VI. CLIO, OR THALIA? VII "LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS" VIII. IN WHICH THE LAW BETRAYS A HEART IX. WYLIE STREET X. THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

 Volume 7. XI. IN WHICH IT IS ALL DONE OVER AGAIN XII. THE ENTRANCE INTO EDEN XIII. OF THE WORLD BEYOND THE GATES. XIV. CONTAINING PHILOSOPHY FROM MR. GRAINGER XV. THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY

 Volume 8. XVI. IN WHICH A MIRROR IS HELD UP XVII. THE RENEWAL OF AN ANCIENT HOSPITALITY XVIII. IN WHICH MR. ERWIN SEES PARIS

A MODERN CHRONICLE

CHAPTER I. WHAT'S IN HEREDITY

Honora Leffingwell is the original name of our heroine. She was born inthe last quarter of the Nineteenth Century, at Nice, in France, and shespent the early years of her life in St. Louis, a somewhat conservativeold city on the banks of the Mississippi River. Her father was RandolphLeffingwell, and he died in the early flower of his manhood, whilefilling with a grace that many remember the post of United States Consulat Nice. As a linguist he was a phenomenon, and his photograph in thetortoise-shell frame proves indubitably, to anyone acquainted with thefashions of 1870, that he was a master of that subtlest of all arts, dress. He had gentle blood in his veins, which came from Virginiathrough Kentucky in a coach and six, and he was the equal in appearanceand manners of any duke who lingered beside classic seas. 

Honora has often pictured to herself a gay villa set high above thecurving shore, the amethyst depths shading into emerald, laced withmilk-white foam, the vivid colours of the town, the gay costumes; theexcursions, the dinner-parties presided over by the immaculate youngconsul in three languages, and the guests chosen from the haute noblesseof Europe. Such was the vision in her youthful mind, added to by degreesas she grew into young-ladyhood and surreptitiously became familiarwith the writings of Ouida and the Duchess, and other literature of aneducating cosmopolitan nature. 

Honora's biography should undoubtedly contain a sketch of Mrs. RandolphLeffingwell. Beauty and dash and a knowledge of how to seat a table seemto have been the lady's chief characteristics; the only daughter ofa carefully dressed and carefully, preserved widower, likewise alinguist, --whose super-refined tastes and the limited straits to whichhe, the remaining scion of an old Southern family, had been reduced by agentlemanly contempt for money, led him 'to choose Paris rather thanNew York as a place of residence. One of the occasional and carefullyplanned trips to the Riviera proved fatal to the beautiful but recklessMyrtle Allison. She, who might have chosen counts or dukes from theTagus to the Danube, or even crossed the Channel; took the dashingbut impecunious American consul, with a faith in his future that wassublime. Without going over too carefully the upward path which led tothe post of their country's representative at the court of St. James, neither had the slightest doubt that Randolph Leffingwell would treadit. 

It is needless to dwell upon the chagrin of Honora's maternalgrandfather, Howard Allison Esquire, over this turn of affairs, thisunexpected bouleversement, as he spoke of it in private to his friendsin his Parisian club. For many years he had watched the personalattractions of his daughter grow, and a brougham and certain otherdelights not to be mentioned had gradually become, in his mind, synonymous with old age. The brougham would have on its panels theAllison crest, and his distinguished (and titled) son-in-law would dropin occasionally at the little apartment on the Boulevard Haussmann. Alas, for visions, for legitimate hopes shattered forever! On the daythat Randolph Leffingwell led Miss Allison down the aisle of the Englishchurch the vision of the brougham and the other delights faded. HowardAllison went back to his club. 

Three years later, while on an excursion with Sir Nicholas Baker and amerry party on the Italian aide, the horses behind which Mr. And Mrs. Leffingwell were driving with their host ran away, and in the flightmanaged to precipitate the vehicle, and themselves, down the side of oneof the numerous deep valleys of the streams seeking the Mediterranean. Thus, by a singular caprice of destiny Honors was deprived of both herparents at a period which--some chose to believe--was the height oftheir combined glories. Randolph Leffingwell lived long enough to betaken back to Nice, and to consign his infant daughter and sundry otherunsolved problems to his brother Tom. 

Brother Tom--or Uncle Tom, as we must call him with Honora--cheerfullyaccepted the charge. For his legacies in life had been chieflyblessings in disguise. He was paying teller of the Prairie Bank, and thethermometer registered something above 90 deg. Fahrenheit on the Julymorning when he stood behind his wicket reading a letter from HowardAllison, Esquire, relative to his niece. Mr. Leffingwell was at thisperiod of his life forty-eight, but the habit he had acquired ofassuming responsibilities and burdens seemed to have had the effect ofmaking his age indefinite. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, hismustache and hair already turning; his eyebrows were a trifle bushy, andhis eyes reminded men of one eternal and highly prized quality--honesty. They were blue grey. Ordinarily they shed a light which sent peopleaway from his window the happier without knowing why; but they had beenknown, on rare occasions, to flash on dishonesty and fraud like thelightnings of the Lord. Mr. Isham, the president of the bank, coined aphrase about him. He said that Thomas Leffingwell was constitutionallyhonest. 

Although he had not risen above the position of paying teller, ThomasLeffingwell had a unique place in the city of his birth; and the esteemin which he was held by capitalists and clerks proves that charactercounts for something. On his father's failure and death he had enteredthe Prairie Bank, at eighteen, and never left it. If he had owned it, he could not have been treated by the customers with more respect. Thecity, save for a few notable exceptions, like Mr. Isham, called him Mr. Leffingwell, but behind his back often spoke of him as Tom. 

On the particular hot morning in question, as he stood in his seersuckercoat reading the unquestionably pompous letter of Mr. Allison announcingthat his niece was on the high seas, he returned the greetings of hisfriends with his usual kindness and cheer. In an adjoining compartment along-legged boy of fourteen was busily stamping letters. 

"Peter, " said Mr. Leffingwell, "go ask Mr. Isham if I may see him. "

It is advisable to remember the boy's name. It was Peter Erwin, andhe was a favourite in the bank, where he had been introduced by Mr. Leffingwell himself. He was an orphan and lived with his grandmother, an impoverished old lady with good blood in her veins who boarded inGraham's Row, on Olive Street. Suffice it to add, at this time, that heworshipped Mr. Leffingwell, and that he was back in a twinkling with theinformation that Mr. Isham was awaiting him. 

The president was seated at his desk. In spite of the thermometerhe gave no appearance of discomfort in his frock-coat. He had scant, sandy-grey whiskers, a tightly closed and smooth-shaven upper lip, anose with-a decided ridge, and rather small but penetrating eyes inwhich the blue pigment had been used sparingly. His habitual mode ofspeech was both brief and sharp, but people remarked that he modified ita little for Tom Leffingwell. 

"Come in, Tom, " he said. "Anything the matter?"

"Mr. Isham, I want a week off, to go to New York. "

The request, from Tom Leffingwell, took Mr. Isham's breath. One of thebank president's characteristics was an extreme interest in the privateaffairs of those who came within his zone of influence and especiallywhen these affairs evinced any irregularity. 

"Randolph again?" he asked quickly. 

Tom walked to the window, and stood looking out into the street. Hisvoice shook as he answered:

"Ten days ago I learned that my brother was dead, Mr. Isham. "

The president glanced at the broad back of his teller. Mr. Isham's voicewas firm, his face certainly betrayed no feeling, but a flitting gleamof satisfaction might have been seen in his eye. 

"Of course, Tom, you may go, " he answered. 

Thus came to pass an event in the lives of Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary, thatjourney to New York (their first) of two nights and two days to fetchHonora. We need not dwell upon all that befell them. The first view ofthe Hudson, the first whiff of the salt air on this unwonted holiday, the sights of this crowded city of wealth, --all were tempered by thethought of the child coming into their lives. They were standing onthe pier when the windows were crimson in the early light, and atnine o'clock on that summer's morning the Albania was docked, and thepassengers came crowding down the gang-plank. Prosperous tourists, mostof them, with servants and stewards carrying bags of English design andchecked steamer rugs; and at last a ruddy-faced bonne with streamersand a bundle of ribbons and laces--Honora--Honora, aged eighteen months, gazing at a subjugated world. 

"What a beautiful child! exclaimed a woman on the pier. "

Was it instinct or premonition that led them to accost the bonne?

"Oui, Leffingwell!" she cried, gazing at them in some perplexity. Threechildren of various sizes clung to her skirts, and a younger nursecarried a golden-haired little girl of Honora's age. A lady andgentleman followed. The lady was beginning to look matronly, and nosecond glance was required to perceive that she was a person of opinionand character. Mr. Holt was smaller than his wife, neat in dress andunobtrusive in appearance. In the rich Mrs. Holt, the friend of theRandolph Leffingwells, Aunt Mary was prepared to find a more vapidlyfashionable personage, and had schooled herself forthwith. 

"You are Mrs. Thomas Leffingwell?" she asked. "Well, I am relieved. " Thelady's eyes, travelling rapidly over Aunt Mary's sober bonnet and broochand gown, made it appear that these features in Honora's future guardiangave her the relief in question. "Honora, this is your aunt. "

Honora smiled from amidst the laces, and Aunt Mary, only too ready tocapitulate, surrendered. She held out her arms. Tears welled up in theFrenchwoman's eyes as she abandoned her charge. 

"Pauvre mignonne!" she cried. 

But Mrs. Holt rebuked the nurse sharply, in French, --a language withwhich neither Aunt Mary nor Uncle Tom was familiar. Fortunately, perhaps. Mrs. Holt's remark was to the effect that Honora was going to asensible home. 

"Hortense loves her better than my own children, " said that lady. 

Honora seemed quite content in the arms of Aunt Mary, who was gazingso earnestly into the child's face that she did not at first hear Mrs. Holt's invitation to take breakfast with them on Madison Avenue, andthen she declined politely. While grossing on the steamer, Mrs. Holt haddecided quite clearly in her mind just what she was going to say to thechild's future guardian, but there was something in Aunt Mary's voiceand manner which made these remarks seem unnecessary--although Mrs. Holtwas secretly disappointed not to deliver them. 

"It was fortunate that we happened to, be in Nice at the time, " she saidwith the evident feeling that some explanation was due. "I did notknow poor Mrs. Randolph Leffingwell very--very intimately, or Mr. Leffingwell. It was such a sudden--such a terrible affair. But Mr. Holtand I were only too glad to do what we could. "

"We feel very grateful to you, " said Aunt Mary, quietly. 

Mrs. Holt looked at her with a still more distinct approval, beingtolerably sure that Mrs. Thomas Leffingwell understood. She had clearedher skirts of any possible implication of intimacy with the late Mrs. Randolph, and done so with a master touch. 

In the meantime Honora had passed to Uncle Tom. After securing thelittle trunk, and settling certain matters with Mr. Holt, they saidgood-by to her late kind protectors, and started off for the neareststreet-cars, Honora pulling Uncle Tom's mustache. More than onepedestrian paused to look back at the tall man carrying the beautifulchild, bedecked like a young princess, and more than one passenger inthe street cars smiled at them both. 

CHAPTER II. PERDITA RECALLED

Saint Louis, or that part of it which is called by dealers in realestate the choice residence section, grew westward. And Uncle Tom mightbe said to have been in the vanguard of the movement. In the days beforeHonora was born he had built his little house on what had been a farm onthe Olive Street Road, at the crest of the second ridge from the river. Up this ridge, with clanking traces, toiled the horse-cars that carriedUncle Tom downtown to the bank and Aunt Mary to market. 

Fleeing westward, likewise, from the smoke, friends of Uncle Tom's andAunt Mary's gradually surrounded them--building, as a rule, the highVictorian mansions in favour at that period, which were placed in thecentre of commodious yards. For the friends of Uncle Tom and Aunt Marywere for the most part rich, and belonged, as did they, to the olderfamilies of the city. Mr. Dwyer's house, with its picture gallery, wasacross the street. 

In the midst of such imposing company the little dwelling which becamethe home of our heroine sat well back in a plot that might almost becalled a garden. In summer its white wooden front was nearly hidden bythe quivering leaves of two tall pear trees. On the other side of thebrick walk, and near the iron fence, was an elm and a flower bed thatwas Uncle Tom's pride and the admiration of the neighbourhood. Honorahas but to shut her eyes to see it aflame with tulips at Eastertide. Theeastern wall of the house was a mass of Virginia creeper, and beneaththat another flower bed, and still another in the back-yard behindthe lattice fence covered with cucumber vine. There were, besides, twomaples and two apricot trees, relics of the farm, and of blessed memory. Such apricots! Visions of hot summer evenings come back, with Uncle Tom, in his seersucker coat, with his green watering-pot, bending over thebeds, and Aunt Mary seated upright in her chair, looking up from herknitting with a loving eye. 

Behind the lattice, on these summer evenings, stands the militant figureof that old retainer, Bridget the cook, her stout arms akimbo, ready toengage in vigorous banter should Honora deign to approach. 

"Whisht, 'Nora darlint, it's a young lady yell be soon, and the beauxa-comin' 'round!" she would cry, and throw back her head and laugh untilthe tears were in her eyes. 

And the princess, a slim figure in an immaculate linen frock with redribbons which Aunt Mary had copied from Longstreth's London catalogue, would reply with dignity:

"Bridget, I wish you would try to remember that my name is Honora. "

Another spasm of laughter from Bridget. 

"Listen to that now!" she would cry to another ancient retainer, MaryAnn, the housemaid, whose kitchen chair was tilted up against the sideof the woodshed. "It'll be Miss Honora next, and George Hanbury hereto-day with his eye through a knothole in the fence, out of his head fora sight of ye. "

George Hanbury was Honora's cousin, and she did not deem his admirationa subject fit for discussion with Bridget. 

"Sure, " declared Mary Ann, "it's the air of a princess the child has. "

That she should be thought a princess did not appear at all remarkableto Honora at twelve years of age. Perdita may have had such dreams. She had been born, she knew, in some wondrous land by the shores of thesummer seas, not at all like St. Louis, and friends and relativeshad not hesitated to remark in her hearing that she resembled--herfather, --that handsome father who surely must have been a prince, whosebefore-mentioned photograph in the tortoise-shell frame was on thebureau in her little room. So far as Randolph Leffingwell was concerned, photography had not been invented for nothing. Other records of himremained which Honora had likewise seen: one end of a rose-coveredvilla--which Honora thought was a wing of his palace; a coach andfour he was driving, and which had chanced to belong to an Englishman, although the photograph gave no evidence of this ownership. NeitherAunt Mary nor Uncle Tom had ever sought--for reasons perhaps obvious--tocorrect the child's impression of an extraordinary paternity. 

Aunt Mary was a Puritan of Southern ancestry, and her father had been aPresbyterian minister, Uncle Tom was a member of the vestry of a churchstill under Puritan influences. As a consequence for Honora, there wereSunday afternoons--periods when the imaginative faculty, in which shewas by no means lacking, was given full play. She would sit by thehour in the swing Uncle Tom had hung for her under the maple near thelattice, while castles rose on distant heights against blue skies. Therewas her real home, in a balconied chamber that overlooked mile upon mileof rustling forest in the valley; and when the wind blew, the sound ofit was like the sea. Honora did not remember the sea, but its music wasoften in her ears. 

She would be aroused from these dreams of greatness by the appearance ofold Catherine, her nurse, on the side porch, reminding her that itwas time to wash for supper. No princess could have had a more humbletiring-woman than Catherine. 

Honora cannot be unduly blamed. When she reached the "little houseunder the hill" (as Catherine called the chamber beneath the eaves), shebeheld reflected in the mirror an image like a tall, white flower thatmight indeed have belonged to a princess. Her hair, the colour ofburnt sienna, fell evenly to her shoulders; her features even then hadregularity and hauteur; her legs, in their black silk stockings, werestraight; and the simple white lawn frock made the best of a slenderfigure. Those frocks of Honora's were a continual source of wonder andsometimes of envy--to Aunt Mary's friends; who returned from the seasidein the autumn, after a week among the fashions in Boston or New York, to find Honora in the latest models, and better dressed than their ownchildren. Aunt Mary made no secret of the methods by which these seemingmiracles were performed, and showed Cousin Eleanor Hanbury the fashionplates in the English periodicals. Cousin Eleanor sighed. 

"Mary, you are wonderful, " she would say. "Honora's clothes arebetter-looking than those I buy in the East, at such fabulous prices, from Cavendish. "

Indeed, no woman was ever farther removed from personal vanity than AuntMary. She looked like a little Quakeress. Her silvered hair was partedin the middle and had, in spite of palpable efforts towards tightnessand repression, a perceptible ripple in it. Grey was her only concessionto colour, and her gowns and bonnets were of a primness which belongedto the past. Repression, or perhaps compression, was her note, for theenergy confined within her little body was a thing to have astoundedscientists: And Honora grew to womanhood and reflection before she had. Guessed or considered that her aunt was possessed of intense emotionswhich had no outlet. Her features were regular, her shy eye had theclearness of a forest pool. She believed in predestination, which isto say that she was a fatalist; and while she steadfastly continued toregard this world as a place of sorrow and trials, she concerned herselfvery little about her participation in a future life. Old Dr. Ewing, therector of St. Anne's, while conceding that no better or more charitablewoman existed, found it so exceedingly difficult to talk to her, on thesubject of religion that he had never tried it but once. 

Such was Aunt Mary. The true student of human nature should not find itsurprising that she spoiled Honora and strove--at what secret expense, care, and self-denial to Uncle Tom and herself, none will ever know--toadorn the child that she might appear creditably among companions whoseparents were more fortunate in this world's goods; that she deniedherself to educate Honora as these other children were educated. Nor isit astonishing that she should not have understood the highly complexorganism of the young lady we have chosen for our heroine, who wasshaken, at the age of thirteen, by unfulfilled longings. 

Very early in life Honora learned to dread the summer, when one by onethe families of her friends departed until the city itself seemed aremote and distant place from what it had been in the spring andwinter. The great houses were closed and blinded, and in the evening theservants who had been left behind chattered on the front steps. Honoracould not bear the sound of the trains that drifted across the night, and the sight of the trunks piled in the Hanburys' hall, in WaylandSquare, always filled her with a sickening longing. Would the day evercome when she, too, would depart for the bright places of the earth?Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she was filled with a fiercebelief in a destiny to sit in the high seats, to receive homage anddispense bounties, to discourse with great intellects, to know Londonand Paris and the marts and centres of the world as her father had. Toescape--only to escape from the prison walls of a humdrum existence, andto soar!

Let us, if we can, reconstruct an August day when all (or nearly all)of Honora's small friends were gone eastward to the mountains or theseaside. In "the little house under the hill, " the surface of which wasa hot slate roof, Honora would awake about seven o'clock to find oldCatherine bending over her in a dun-coloured calico dress, with thelight fiercely beating against the closed shutters that braved it sounflinchingly throughout the day. 

"The birds are before ye, Miss Honora, honey, and your uncle waterin'his roses this half-hour. "

Uncle Tom was indeed an early riser. As Honora dressed (Catherineassisting as at a ceremony), she could see him, in his seersucker coat, bending tenderly over his beds; he lived enveloped in a peace which hassince struck wonder to Honora's soul. She lingered in her dressing, evenin those days, falling into reveries from which Catherine gently anddeferentially aroused her; and Uncle Tom would be carving the beefsteakand Aunt Mary pouring the coffee when she finally arrived in the diningroom to nibble at one of Bridget's unforgettable rolls or hot biscuits. Uncle Tom had his joke, and at quarter-past eight precisely he wouldkiss Aunt Mary and walk to the corner to wait for the ambling horse-carthat was to take him to the bank. Sometimes Honora went to the cornerwith him, and he waved her good-by from the platform as he felt in hispocket for the nickel that was to pay his fare. 

When Honora returned, Aunt Mary had donned her apron, and wasindustriously aiding Mary Ann to wash the dishes and maintain thecustomary high polish on her husband's share of the Leffingwell silverwhich, standing on the side table, shot hither and thither rays of greenlight that filtered through the shutters into the darkened room. Thechild partook of Aunt Mary's pride in that silver, made for a Kentuckygreat-grandfather Leffingwell by a famous Philadelphia silversmiththree-quarters of a century before. Honora sighed. 

"What's the matter, Honora?" asked Aunt Mary, without pausing in hervigorous rubbing. 

"The Leffingwells used to be great once upon a time, didn't they, AuntMary?"

"Your Uncle Tom, " answered Aunt Mary, quietly, "is the greatest man Iknow, child. "

"And my father must have been a great man, too, " cried Honora, "to havebeen a consul and drive coaches. "

Aunt Mary was silent. She was not a person who spoke easily on difficultsubjects. 

"Why don't you ever talk to me about my father, Aunt Mary? Uncle Tomdoes. "

"I didn't know your father, Honora. "

"But you have seen him?"

"Yes, " said Aunt Mary, dipping her cloth into the whiting; "I saw him atmy wedding. But he was very, young. "

"What was he like?" Honora demanded. "He was very handsome, wasn't he?"

"Yes, child. "

"And he had ambition, didn't he, Aunt Mary?"

Aunt Mary paused. Her eyes were troubled as she looked at Honora, whosehead was thrown back. 

"What kind of ambition do you mean, Honora?"

"Oh, " cried Honora, "to be great and rich and powerful, and to besomebody. "

"Who has been putting such things in your head, my dear?"

"No one, Aunt Mary. Only, if I were a man, I shouldn't rest until Ibecame great. "

Alas, that Aunt Mary, with all her will, should have such limited powersof expression! She resumed her scrubbing of the silver before she spoke. 

"To do one's duty, to accept cheerfully and like a Christian theresponsibilities and burdens of life, is the highest form of greatness, my child. Your Uncle Tom has had many things to trouble him; he hasalways worked for others, and not for himself. And he is respected andloved by all who know him. "

"Yes, I know, Aunt Mary. But--"

"But what, Honora?"

"Then why isn't he rich, as my father was?"

"Your father wasn't rich, my dear, " said Aunt Mary, sadly. 

"Why, Aunt Mary!" Honora exclaimed, "he lived in a beautiful house, andowned horses. Isn't that being rich?"

Poor Aunt Mary!

"Honora, " she answered, "there are some things you are too young tounderstand. But try to remember, my dear, that happiness doesn't consistin being rich. "

"But I have often heard you say that you wished you were rich, AuntMary, and had nice things, and a picture gallery like Mr. Dwyer. "

"I should like to have beautiful pictures, Honora. "

"I don't like Mr. Dwyer, " declared Honora, abruptly. 

"You mustn't say that, Honora, " was Aunt Mary's reproof. "Mr. Dwyeris an upright, public-spirited man, and he thinks a great deal of yourUncle Tom. "

"I can't help it, Aunt Mary, " said Honora. "I think he enjoysbeing--well, being able to do things for a man like Uncle Tom. "

Neither Aunt Mary nor Honora guessed what a subtle criticism this wasof Mr. Dwyer. Aunt Mary was troubled and puzzled; and she began tospeculate (not for the first time) why the Lord had given a person withso little imagination a child like Honora to bring up in the straightand narrow path. 

"When I go on Sunday afternoons with Uncle Tom to see Mr. Dwyer'spictures, " Honora persisted, "I always feel that he is so glad to havewhat other people haven't or he wouldn't have any one to show them to. "

Aunt Mary shook her head. Once she had given her loyal friendship, suchfaults as this became as nothing. 

"And when" said Honora, "when Mrs. Dwyer has dinner-parties forcelebrated people who come here, why does she invite you in to see thetable?"

"Out of kindness, Honora. Mrs. Dwyer knows that I enjoy looking atbeautiful things. "

"Why doesn't she invite you to the dinners?" asked Honora, hotly. "Ourfamily is just as good as Mrs. Dwyer's. "

The extent of Aunt Mary's distress was not apparent. 

"You are talking nonsense, my child, " she said. "All my friends knowthat I am not a person who can entertain distinguished people, and thatI do not go out, and that I haven't the money to buy evening dresses. And even if I had, " she added, "I haven't a pretty neck, so it's just aswell. "

A philosophy distinctly Aunt Mary's. 

Uncle Tom, after he had listened without comment that evening to heraccount of this conversation, was of the opinion that to take Honorato task for her fancies would be waste of breath; that they would rightthemselves as she grew up. 

"I'm afraid it's inheritance, Tom, " said Aunt Mary, at last. "And ifso, it ought to be counteracted. We've seen other signs of it. Youknow Honora has little or no idea of the value of money--or of itsownership. "

"She sees little enough of it, " Uncle Tom remarked with a smile. 

"Tom. "

"Well. "

"Sometimes I think I've done wrong not to dress her more simply. I'mafraid it's given the child a taste for--for self-adornment. "

"I once had a fond belief that all women possessed such a taste, " saidUncle Tom, with a quizzical look at his own exception. "To tell you thetruth, I never classed it as a fault. "

"Then I don't see why you married me, " said Aunt Mary--a periodicalremark of hers. "But, Tom, I do wish her to appear as well as the otherchildren, and (Aunt Mary actually blushed) the child has good looks. "

"Why don't you go as far as old Catherine, and call her a princess?" heasked. 

"Do you want me to ruin her utterly?" exclaimed Aunt Mary. 

Uncle Tom put his hands on his wife's shoulders and looked down into herface, and smiled again. Although she held herself very straight, the topof her head was very little above the level of his chin. 

"It strikes me that you are entitled to some little indulgence in life, Mary, " he said. 

One of the curious contradictions of Aunt Mary's character was a neverdying interest, which held no taint of envy, in the doings of peoplemore fortunate than herself. In the long summer days, after her silverwas cleaned and her housekeeping and marketing finished, she read in thebook-club periodicals of royal marriages, embassy balls, of great townand country houses and their owners at home and abroad. And she knew, by means of a correspondence with Cousin Eleanor Hanbury and otherintimates, the kind of cottages in which her friends sojourned at theseashore or in the mountains; how many rooms they had, and how manyservants, and very often who the servants were; she was likewiseinformed on the climate, and the ease with which it was possible toobtain fresh vegetables. And to all of this information Uncle Tom wouldlisten, smiling but genuinely interested, while he carved at dinner. 

One evening, when Uncle Tom had gone to play piquet with Mr. Isham, whowas ill, Honora further surprised her aunt by exclaiming: "How can youtalk of things other people have and not want them, Aunt Mary?"

"Why should I desire what I cannot have, my dear? I take such pleasureout of my friends' possessions as I can. "

"But you want to go to the seashore, I know you do. I've heard you sayso, " Honora protested. 

"I should like to see the open ocean before I die, " admitted Aunt Mary, unexpectedly. "I saw New York harbour once, when we went to meet you. And I know how the salt water smells--which is as much, perhaps, as Ihave the right to hope for. But I have often thought it would be nice tosit for a whole summer by the sea and listen to the waves dashing uponthe beach, like those in the Chase picture in Mr. Dwyer's gallery. "

Aunt Mary little guessed the unspeakable rebellion aroused in Honora bythis acknowledgment of being fatally circumscribed. Wouldn't Uncle Tomever be rich?

Aunt Mary shook her head--she saw no prospect of it. 

But other men, who were not half so good as Uncle Tom, got rich. 

Uncle Tom was not the kind of man who cared for riches. He was contentto do his duty in that sphere where God had placed him. 

Poor Aunt Mary. Honora never asked her uncle such questions: to do sonever occurred to her. At peace with all men, he gave of his best tochildren, and Honora remained a child. Next to his flowers, walking wasUncle Tom's chief recreation, and from the time she could be guided bythe hand she went with him. His very presence had the gift of dispellinglongings, even in the young; the gift of compelling delight in simplethings. Of a Sunday afternoon, if the heat were not too great, he wouldtake Honora to the wild park that stretches westward of the city, andsomething of the depth and intensity of his pleasure in the birds, the forest, and the wild flowers would communicate itself to her. Shelearned all unconsciously (by suggestion, as it were) to take delight inthem; a delight that was to last her lifetime, a never failing resourceto which she was to turn again and again. In winter, they went to thebotanical gardens or the Zoo. Uncle Tom had a passion for animals, andMr. Isham, who was a director, gave him a pass through the gates. Thekeepers knew him, and spoke to him with kindly respect. Nay, it seemedto Honora that the very animals knew him, and offered themselvesingratiatingly to be stroked by one whom they recognized as friend. Jaded horses in the street lifted their noses; stray, homeless catsrubbed against his legs, and vagrant dogs looked up at him trustfullywith wagging tails. 

Yet his goodness, as Emerson would have said, had some edge to it. Honora had seen the light of anger in his blue eye--a divine ray. Oncehe had chastised her for telling Aunt Mary a lie (she could not havelied to him) and Honora had never forgotten it. The anger of such a manhad indeed some element in it of the divine; terrible, not in volume, but in righteous intensity. And when it had passed there was no occasionfor future warning. The memory of it lingered. 

CHAPTER III. CONCERNING PROVIDENCE

What quality was it in Honora that compelled Bridget to stop her ironingon Tuesdays in order to make hot waffles for a young woman who was lateto breakfast? Bridget, who would have filled the kitchen with righteouswrath if Aunt Mary had transgressed the rules of the house, which werelike the laws of the Medes and Persians! And in Honora's early youthMary Ann, the housemaid, spent more than one painful evening writinghome for cockle shells and other articles to propitiate our princess, who rewarded her with a winning smile and a kiss, which invariablymelted the honest girl into tears. The Queen of Scots never had a moredevoted chamber woman than old Catherine, --who would have gone to thestake with a smile to save her little lady a single childish ill, andwho spent her savings, until severely taken to task by Aunt Mary, upon objects for which a casual wish had been expressed. The saintsthemselves must at times have been aweary from hearing Honora's name. 

Not to speak of Christmas! Christmas in the little house was one wilddelirium of joy. The night before the festival was, to all outwardappearances, an ordinary evening, when Uncle Tom sat by the fire in hisslippers, as usual, scouting the idea that there would be any Christmasat all. Aunt Mary sewed, and talked with maddening calmness of the newsof the day; but for Honora the air was charged with coming events ofthe first magnitude. The very furniture of the little sitting-room hada different air, the room itself wore a mysterious aspect, and thecannel-coal fire seemed to give forth a special quality of unearthlylight. 

"Is to-morrow Christmas?" Uncle Tom would exclaim. "Bless me! Honora, Iam so glad you reminded me. "

"Now, Uncle Tom, you knew it was Christmas all the time!"

"Kiss your uncle good night, Honora, and go right to sleep, dear, "--fromAunt Mary. 

The unconscious irony in that command of Aunt Mary's!--to go right tosleep! Many times was a head lifted from a small pillow, straining afterthe meaning of the squeaky noises that came up from below! Not SantaClaus. Honora's belief in him had merged into a blind faith in a largerand even more benevolent, if material providence: the kind of providencewhich Mr. Meredith depicts, and which was to say to Beauchamp: "Here'syour marquise;" a particular providence which, at the proper time, gaveUncle Tom money, and commanded, with a smile, "Buy this for Honora--shewants it. " All-sufficient reason! Soul-satisfying philosophy, to whichHonora was to cling for many years of life. It is amazing how muchcan be wrung from a reluctant world by the mere belief in this kind ofprovidence. 

Sleep came at last, in the darkest of the hours. And still in thedark hours a stirring, a delicious sensation preceding reason, and theconsciousness of a figure stealing about the room. Honora sat up in bed, shivering with cold and delight. 

"Is it awake ye are, darlint, and it but four o'clock the morn!"

"What are you doing, Cathy?"

"Musha, it's to Mass I'm going, to ask the Mother of God to give ye manyhappy Christmases the like of this, Miss Honora. " And Catherine's armswere about her. 

"Oh, it's Christmas, Cathy, isn't it? How could I have forgotten it!"

"Now go to sleep, honey. Your aunt and uncle wouldn't like it at all atall if ye was to make noise in the middle of the night--and it's littlebetter it is. "

Sleep! A despised waste of time in childhood. Catherine went to Mass, and after an eternity, the grey December light began to sift throughthe shutters, and human endurance had reached its limit. Honora, stillshivering, seized a fleecy wrapper (the handiwork of Aunt Mary)and crept, a diminutive ghost, down the creaking stairway to thesitting-room. A sitting-room which now was not a sitting-room, butfor to-day a place of magic. As though by a prearranged salute of thegods, --at Honora's entrance the fire burst through the thick blanketof fine coal which Uncle Tom had laid before going to bed, and with alittle gasp of joy that was almost pain, she paused on the threshold. That one flash, like Pizarro's first sunrise over Peru, gilded the edgeof infinite possibilities. 

Needless to enumerate them. The whole world, as we know, was in aconspiracy to spoil Honora. The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent theirtributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the familymansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square--of which somethinganon. A miniature mahogany desk, a prayer-book and hymnal which theDwyers had brought home from New York, endless volumes of a more secularand (to Honora) entrancing nature; roller skates; skates for real ice, when it should appear in the form of sleet on the sidewalks; a sled;humbler gifts from Bridget, Mary Ann, and Catherine, and a wonderfulcoat, with hat to match, of a certain dark green velvet. When Aunt Maryappeared, an hour or so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence inthe glass. 

"Oh, Aunt Mary!" she cried, with her arms tightly locked around heraunt's neck, "how lovely! Did you send all the way to New York for it?"

"No, Honora, " said her aunt, "it didn't come from New York. " Aunt Marydid not explain that this coat had been her one engrossing occupationfor six weeks, at such times when Honora was out or tucked away safelyin bed. 

Perhaps Honora's face fell a little. Aunt Mary scanned it ratheranxiously. 

"Does that cause you to like it any less, Honora?" she asked. 

"Aunt Mary!" exclaimed Honora, in a tone of reproval. And added after alittle, "I suppose Mademoiselle made it. "

"Does it make any difference who made it, Honora?"

"Oh, no indeed, Aunt Mary. May I wear it to Cousin Eleanor's to-day?"

"I gave it to you to wear, Honora. "

Not in Honora's memory was there a Christmas breakfast during whichPeter Erwin did not appear, bringing gifts. Peter Erwin, of whom wecaught a glimpse doing an errand for Uncle Tom in the bank. With thecomplacency of the sun Honora was wont to regard this most constant ofher satellites. Her awakening powers of observation had discoveredhim in bondage, and in bondage he had been ever since: for theiracquaintance had begun on the first Sunday afternoon after Honora'sarrival in St. Louis at the age of eighteen months. It will beremembered that Honora was even then a coquette, and as she sat in hernew baby-carriage under the pear tree, flirted outrageously with Peter, who stood on one foot from embarrassment. 

"Why, Peter, " Uncle Tom had said slyly, "why don't you kiss her?"

That kiss had been Peter's seal of service. And he became, on Sundayafternoons, a sort of understudy for Catherine. He took an amazingdelight in wheeling Honora up and down the yard, and up and down thesidewalk. Brunhilde or Queen Elizabeth never wielded a power moreabsolute, nor had an adorer more satisfactory; and of all his remarkabletalents, none were more conspicuous than his abilities to tell a storyand to choose a present. Emancipated from the perambulator, Honorawould watch for him at the window, and toddle to the gate to meet him, agentleman-in-waiting whose zeal, however arduous, never flagged. 

On this particular Christmas morning, when she heard the gate slam, Honora sprang up from the table to don her green velvet coat. PoorPeter! As though his subjugation could be more complete!

"It's the postman, " suggested Uncle Tom, wickedly. 

"It's Peter!" cried Honora, triumphantly, from the hall as she flunkopen the door, letting in a breath of cold Christmas air out of thesunlight. 

It was Peter, but a Peter who has changed some since perambulatordays, --just as Honora has changed some. A Peter who, instead offourteen, is six and twenty; a full-fledged lawyer, in the office ofthat most celebrated of St. Louis practitioners, Judge Stephen Brice. For the Peter Erwins of this world are queer creatures, and move rapidlywithout appearing to the Honoras to move at all. A great many thingshave happened to Peter since he had been a messenger boy in the bank. 

Needless to say, Uncle Tom had taken an interest in him. And, accordingto Peter, this fact accounted for all the good fortune which hadfollowed. Shortly before the news came of his brother's death, Uncle Tomhad discovered that the boy who did his errands so willingly was goingto night school, and was the grandson of a gentleman who had fought withcredit in the Mexican War, and died in misfortune: the grandmotherwas Peter's only living relative. Through Uncle Tom, Mr. Isham becameinterested, and Judge Brice. There was a certain scholarship in theWashington University which Peter obtained, and he worked his waythrough the law school afterwards. 

A simple story, of which many a duplicate could be found in this countryof ours. In the course of the dozen years or so of its unravelling thegrandmother had died, and Peter had become, to all intents and purposes, a member of Uncle Tom's family. A place was set for him at Sundaydinner; and, if he did not appear, at Sunday tea. Sometimes at both. Andhere he was, as usual, on Christmas morning, his arms so full that hehad had to push open the gate with his foot. 

"Well, well, well, well!" he said, stopping short on the doorstep andsurveying our velvet-clad princess, "I've come to the wrong house. "

The princess stuck her finger into her cheek. 

"Don't be silly, Peter!" she said; "and Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" he replied, edging sidewise in at the door anddepositing his parcels on the mahogany horsehair sofa. He chose one, andseized the princess--velvet coat and all!--in his arms and kissed her. When he released her, there remained in her hand a morocco-bound diary, marked with her monogram, and destined to contain high matters. 

"How could you know what I wanted, Peter?" she exclaimed, after she haddivested it of the tissue paper, holly, and red ribbon in which he hadso carefully wrapped it. For it is a royal trait to thank with the samegraciousness and warmth the donors of the humblest and the greatestofferings. 

There was a paper-knife for Uncle Tom, and a workbasket for Aunt Mary, and a dress apiece for Catherine, Bridget, and Mary Ann, none of whomPeter ever forgot. Although the smoke was even at that period beginningto creep westward, the sun poured through the lace curtains into thelittle dining-room and danced on the silver coffeepot as Aunt Marypoured out Peter's cup, and the blue china breakfast plates were bluerthan ever because it was Christmas. The humblest of familiar articlestook on the air of a present. And after breakfast, while Aunt Maryoccupied herself with that immemorial institution, --which was tolure hitherwards so many prominent citizens of St. Louis during theday, --eggnogg, Peter surveyed the offerings which transformed thesitting-room. The table had been pushed back against the bookcases, the chairs knew not their time-honoured places, and white paper and redribbon littered the floor. Uncle Tom, relegated to a corner, pretendedto read his newspaper, while Honora flitted from Peter's knees tohis, or sat cross-legged on the hearth-rug investigating a bottomlessstocking. 

"What in the world are we going to do with all these things?" saidPeter. 

"We?" cried Honora. 

"When we get married, I mean, " said Peter, smiling at Uncle Tom. "Let'ssee!" and he began counting on his fingers, which were long but verystrong--so strong that Honora could never loosen even one of them whenthey gripped her. "One--two--three--eight Christmases before you aretwenty-one. We'll have enough things to set us up in housekeeping. Orperhaps you'd rather get married when you are eighteen?"

"I've always told you I wasn't going to marry you, Peter, " said Honora, with decision. 

"Why by not?" He always asked that question. 

Honora sighed. 

"I'll make a good husband, " said Peter; "I'll promise. Ugly men arealways good husbands. "

"I didn't say you were ugly, " declared the ever considerate Honora. 

"Only my nose is too big, " he quoted; "and I am too long one way and notwide enough. "

"You have a certain air of distinction in spite of it, " said Honora. 

Uncle Tom's newspaper began to shake, and he read more industriouslythan ever. 

"You've been reading--novels!" said Peter, in a terrible judicial voice. 

Honora flushed guiltily, and resumed her inspection of the stocking. Miss Rossiter, a maiden lady of somewhat romantic tendencies, waslibrarian of the Book Club that year. And as a result a book called"Harold's Quest, " by an author who shall be nameless, had come to thehouse. And it was Harold who had had "a certain air of distinction. "

"It isn't very kind of you to make fun of me when I pay you acompliment, " replied Honora, with dignity. 

"I was naturally put out, " he declared gravely, "because you said youwouldn't marry me. But I don't intend to give up. No man who is worthhis salt ever gives up. "

"You are old enough to get married now, " said Honora, still considerate. 

"But I am not rich enough, " said Peter; "and besides, I want you. "

One of the first entries in the morocco diary--which had a lock and keyto it--was a description of Honora's future husband. We cannot violatethe lock, nor steal the key from under her pillow. But this much, alas, may be said with discretion, that he bore no resemblance to Peter Erwin. It may be guessed, however, that he contained something of Harold, andmore of Randolph Leffingwell; and that he did not live in St. Louis. 

An event of Christmas, after church, was the dinner of which Uncle Tomand Aunt Mary and Honora partook with Cousin Eleanor Hanbury, who hadbeen a Leffingwell, and was a first cousin of Honora's father. Honoraloved the atmosphere of the massive, yellow stone house in WaylandSquare, with its tall polished mahogany doors and thick carpets, withits deferential darky servants, some of whom had been the slaves of hergreat uncle. To Honora, gifted with imagination, the house had an odourall its own; a rich, clean odour significant, in later life, of wealthand luxury and spotless housekeeping. And she knew it from top tobottom. The spacious upper floor, which in ordinary dwellings would havebeen an attic, was the realm of young George and his sisters, Edith andMary (Aunt Mary's namesake). Rainy Saturdays, all too brief, Honora hadpassed there, when the big dolls' house in the playroom became the sceneof domestic dramas which Edith rehearsed after she went to bed, althoughMary took them more calmly. In his tenderer years, Honora even firedGeorge, and riots occurred which took the combined efforts of CousinEleanor and Mammy Lucy to quell. It may be remarked, in passing, thatCousin Eleanor looked with suspicion upon this imaginative gift ofHonora's, and had several serious conversations with Aunt Mary on thesubject. 

It was true, in a measure, that Honora quickened to life everything shetouched, and her arrival in Wayland Square was invariably greetedwith shouts of joy. There was no doll on which she had not bestowed ahistory, and by dint of her insistence their pasts clung to them withall the reality of a fate not by any means to be lived down. If Georgerode the huge rocking-horse, he was Paul Revere, or some equallyhistoric figure, and sometimes, to Edith's terror, he was compelled toassume the role of Bluebeard, when Honora submitted to decapitation witha fortitude amounting to stoicism. Hide and seek was altogether too tamefor her, a stake of life and death, or imprisonment or treasure, beinga necessity. And many times was Edith extracted from the recesses of thecellar in a condition bordering on hysterics, the day ending tamely witha Bible story or a selection from "Little Women" read by Cousin Eleanor. 

In autumn, and again in spring and early summer before the annualdeparture of the Hanbury family for the sea, the pleasant yard with itswide shade trees and its shrubbery was a land of enchantment threatenedby a genie. Black Bias, the family coachman, polishing the fat carriagehorses in the stable yard, was the genie; and George the intrepid knightwho, spurred by Honora, would dash in and pinch Bias in a part of hisanatomy which the honest darky had never seen. An ideal genie, for hecould assume an astonishing fierceness at will. 

"I'll git you yit, Marse George!"

Had it not been for Honora, her cousins would have found the paradise inwhich they lived a commonplace spot, and indeed they never couldrealize its tremendous possibilities in her absence. What would theMediterranean Sea and its adjoining countries be to us unless thewanderings of Ulysses and AEneas had made them real? And what wouldCousin Eleanor's yard have been without Honora? Whatever there was ofromance and folklore in Uncle Tom's library Honora had extracted at anearly age, and with astonishing ease had avoided that which was dry anduninteresting. The result was a nomenclature for Aunt Eleanor's yard, inwhich there was even a terra incognita wherefrom venturesome travellersnever returned, but were transformed into wild beasts or monkeys. 

Although they acknowledged her leadership, Edith and Mary were sorry forHonora, for they knew that if her father had lived she would have had ahouse and garden like theirs, only larger, and beside a blue sea whereit was warm always. Honora had told them so, and colour was lent to herassertions by the fact that their mother, when they repeated this toher, only smiled sadly, and brushed her eyes with her handkerchief. Shewas even more beautiful when she did so, Edith told her, --a remark whichcaused Mrs. Hanbury to scan her younger daughter closely; it smacked ofHonora. 

"Was Cousin Randolph handsome?" Edith demanded. Mrs. Hanbury started, sovividly there arose before her eyes a brave and dashing figure, clad ingrey English cloth, walking by her side on a sunny autumn morning in theRue de la Paix. Well she remembered that trip abroad with her mother, Randolph's aunt, and how attentive he was, and showed them the bestrestaurants in which to dine. He had only been in France a short time, but his knowledge of restaurants and the world in general had beenamazing, and his acquaintances legion. He had a way, which there was noresisting, of taking people by storm. 

"Yes, dear, " answered Mrs. Hanbury, absently, when the child repeatedthe question, "he was very handsome. "

"Honora says he would have been President, " put in George. "Of courseI don't believe it. She said they lived in a palace by the sea in thesouth of France, with gardens and fountains and a lot of things likethat, and princesses and princes and eunuchs--"

"And what!" exclaimed Mrs. Hanbury, aghast. 

"I know, " said George, contemptuously, "she got that out of the ArabianNights. " But this suspicion did not prevent him, the next time Honoraregaled them with more adventures of the palace by the summer seas, from listening with a rapt attention. No two tales were ever alike. Hisadmiration for Honora did not wane, but increased. It differed from thatof his sisters, however, in being a tribute to her creative faculties, while Edith's breathless faith pictured her cousin as having passedthrough as many adventures as Queen Esther. George paid her acharacteristic compliment, but chivalrously drew her aside to bestow it. He was not one to mince matters. 

"You're a wonder, Honora, " he said. "If I could lie like that, Iwouldn't want a pony. "

He was forced to draw back a little from the heat of the conflagrationhe had kindled. 

"George Hanbury, " she cried, "don't you ever speak to me again! Never!Do you understand?"

It was thus that George, at some cost, had made a considerable discoverywhich, for the moment, shook even his scepticism. Honora believed it allherself. 

Cousin Eleanor Hanbury was a person, or personage, who took a deepand abiding interest in her fellow-beings, and the old clothes of theHanbury family went unerringly to the needy whose figures mostresembled those of the original owners. For Mrs. Hanbury had a wide butcomparatively unknown charity list. She was, secretly, one of the manyprovidence which Honora accepted collectively, although it is by nomeans certain whether Honora, at this period, would have thanked hercousin for tuition at Miss Farmer's school, and for her daily tasks atFrench and music concerning which Aunt Mary was so particular. On thememorable Christmas morning when, arrayed in green velvet, she arrivedwith her aunt and uncle for dinner in Wayland Square, Cousin Eleanordrew Aunt Mary into her bedroom and shut the door, and handed her asealed envelope. Without opening it, but guessing with much accuracy itscontents, Aunt Mary handed it back. 

"You are doing too much, Eleanor, " she said. 

Mrs. Hanbury was likewise a direct person. 

"I will, take it back on one condition, Mary. If you will tell me thatTom has finished paying Randolph's debts. "

Mrs. Leffingwell was silent. 

"I thought not, " said Mrs. Hanbury. "Now Randolph was my own cousin, andI insist. "

Aunt Mary turned over the envelope, and there followed a few moments'silence, broken only by the distant clamour of tin horns and othermusical instruments of the season. 

"I sometimes think, Mary, that Honora is a little like Randolph, and-Mrs. Randolph. Of course, I did not know her. "

"Neither did I, " said Aunt Mary. 

"Mary, " said Mrs. Hanbury, again, "I realize how you worked to make thechild that velvet coat. Do you think you ought to dress her that way?"

"I don't see why she shouldn't be as well dressed as the children of myfriends, Eleanor. "

Mrs. Hanbury laid her hand impulsively on Aunt Mary's. 

"No child I know of dresses half as well, " said Mrs. Hanbury. "Thetrouble you take--"

"Is rewarded, " said Aunt Mary. 

"Yes, " Mrs. Hanbury agreed. "If my own daughters were half as goodlooking, I should be content. And Honora has an air of race. Oh, Mary, can't you see? I am only thinking of the child's future. "

"Do you expect me to take down all my mirrors, Eleanor? If she has goodlooks, " said Aunt Mary, "she has not learned it from my lips. "

It was true: Even Aunt Mary's enemies, and she had some, could notaccuse her of the weakness of flattery. So Mrs. Hanbury smiled, anddropped the subject. 

CHAPTER IV. OF TEMPERAMENT

We have the word of Mr. Cyrus Meeker that Honora did not have to learnto dance. The art came to her naturally. Of Mr. Cyrus Meeker, whosemustaches, at the age of five and sixty, are waxed as tight as ever, andwhose little legs to-day are as nimble as of yore. He has a memory likeMr. Gladstone's, and can give you a social history of the city that iswell worth your time and attention. He will tell you how, for instance, he was kicked by the august feet of Mr. George Hanbury on the occasionof his first lesson to that distinguished young gentleman; and how, although Mr. Meeker's shins were sore, he pleaded nobly for Mr. George, who was sent home in the carriage by himself, --a punishment, by the way, which Mr. George desired above all things. 

This celebrated incident occurred in the new ballroom at the top of thenew house of young Mrs. Hayden, where the meetings of the dancing classwere held weekly. Today the soot, like the ashes of Vesuvius, spoutingfrom ten thousand soft-coal craters, has buried that house and the wholedistrict fathoms deep in social obscurity. And beautiful Mrs. Haydenwhat has become of her? And Lucy Hayden, that doll-like darling of thegods?

All this belongs, however, to another history, which may some day bewritten. This one is Honora's, and must be got on with, for it is to bea chronicle of lightning changes. Happy we if we can follow Honora, andwe must be prepared to make many friends and drop them in the process. 

Shortly after Mrs. Hayden had built that palatial house (which had ahigh fence around its grounds and a driveway leading to a porte-cochere)and had given her initial ball, the dancing class began. It was on ablue afternoon in late November that Aunt Mary and Honora, with CousinEleanor and the two girls, and George sulking in a corner of thecarriage, were driven through the gates behind Bias and the fat horsesof the Hanburys. 

Honora has a vivid remembrance of the impression the house made onher, with its polished floors and spacious rooms filled with a newand mysterious and altogether inspiring fashion of things. Mrs. Haydenrepresented the outposts in the days of Richardson and Davenport--hadHonora but known it. This great house was all so different from anythingshe (and many others in the city) had ever seen. And she stood gazinginto the drawing room, with its curtains and decorously drawn shades, ina rapture which her aunt and cousins were far from guessing. 

"Come, Honora, " said her aunt. "What's the matter, dear?"

How could she explain to Aunt Mary that the sight of beautiful thingsgave her a sort of pain--when she did not yet know it herself? There wasthe massive stairway, for instance, which they ascended, softly lightedby a great leaded window of stained glass on the first landing; andthe spacious bedrooms with their shining brass beds and lace spreads(another innovation which Honora resolved to adopt when she married);and at last, far above all, its deep-set windows looking out abovethe trees towards the park a mile to the westward, the ballroom, --theballroom, with its mirrors and high chandeliers, and chairs of gilt andblue set against the walls, all of which made no impression whateverupon George and Mary and Edith, but gave Honora a thrill. No wonder thatshe learned to dance quickly under such an inspiration!

And how pretty Mrs. Hayden looked as she came forward to greet them andkissed Honora! She had been Virginia Grey, and scarce had had a gown toher back when she had married the elderly Duncan Hayden, who had builther this house and presented her with a checkbook, --a check-book whichVirginia believed to be like the widow's cruse of oil-unfailing. Alas, those days of picnics and balls; of dinners at that recent innovation, the club; of theatre-parties and excursions to baseball games betweenthe young men in Mrs. Hayden's train (and all young men were) who playedat Harvard or Yale or Princeton; those days were too care-free to haveendured. 

"Aunt Mary, " asked Honora, when they were home again in the lamplightof the little sitting-room, "why was it that Mr. Meeker was so polite toCousin Eleanor, and asked her about my dancing instead of you?"

Aunt Mary smiled. 

"Because, Honora, " she said, "because I am a person of no importance inMr. Meeker's eyes. "

"If I were a man, " cried Honora, fiercely, "I should never rest until Ihad made enough money to make Mr. Meeker wriggle. "

"Honora, come here, " said her aunt, gazing in troubled surprise at thetense little figure by the mantel. "I don't know what could have putsuch things into your head, my child. Money isn't everything. In timesof real trouble it cannot save one. "

"But it can save one from humiliation!" exclaimed Honora, unexpectedly. Another sign of a peculiar precociousness, at fourteen, with which AuntMary was finding herself unable to cope. "I would rather be killed thanhumiliated by Mr. Meeker. "

Whereupon she flew out of the room and upstairs, where old Catherine, indismay, found her sobbing a little later. 

Poor Aunt Mary! Few people guessed the spirit which was bound up in her, aching to extend its sympathy and not knowing how, save by an unswervingand undemonstrative devotion. Her words of comfort were as few as hersilent deeds were many. 

But Honora continued to go to the dancing class, where she treated Mr. Meeker with a hauteur that astonished him, amused Virginia Hayden, andperplexed Cousin Eleanor. Mr. Meeker's cringing soul responded, and ina month Honora was the leading spirit of the class, led the marches, andwas pointed out by the little dancing master as all that a lady shouldbe in deportment and bearing. 

This treatment, which succeeded so well in Mr. Meeker's case, Honora hadpreviously applied to others of his sex. Like most people with a future, she began young. Of late, for instance, Mr. George Hanbury had showna tendency to regard her as his personal property; for George had ahigh-handed way with him, --boys being an enigma to his mother. Even inthose days he had a bullet head and a red face and square shoulders, andwas rather undersized for his age--which was Honora's. 

Needless to say, George did not approve of the dancing class; and let itbe known, both by words and deeds, that he was there under protest. Nor did he regard with favour Honora's triumphal progress, but sat in acorner with several congenial spirits whose feelings ranged from scornto despair, commenting in loud whispers upon those of his sex to whomthe terpsichorean art came more naturally. Upon one Algernon Cartwright, for example, whose striking likeness to the Van Dyck portrait of a youngking had been more than once commented upon by his elders, and whosevelveteen suits enhanced the resemblance. Algernon, by the way, wasthe favourite male pupil of Mr. Meeker; and, on occasions, Algernon andHonora were called upon to give exhibitions for the others, the sight ofwhich filled George with contemptuous rage. Algernon danced altogethertoo much with Honora, --so George informed his cousin. 

The simple result of George's protests was to make Honora dance withAlgernon the more, evincing, even at this period of her career, acommendable determination to resent dictation. George should have livedin the Middle Ages, when the spirit of modern American womanhood was asyet unborn. Once he contrived, by main force, to drag her out into thehall. 

"George, " she said, "perhaps, if you'd let me alone perhaps I'd like youbetter. "

"Perhaps, " he retorted fiercely, "if you wouldn't make a fool ofyourself with those mother's darlings, I'd like you better. "

"George, " said Honora, "learn to dance. "

"Never!" he cried, but she was gone. While hovering around the door heheard Mrs. Hayden's voice. 

"Unless I am tremendously mistaken, my dear, " that lady was remarkingto Mrs. Dwyer, whose daughter Emily's future millions were powerless tocompel youths of fourteen to dance with her, although she is now happilymarried, "unless I am mistaken, Honora will have a career. The childwill be a raving beauty. And she has to perfection the art of managingmen. "

"As her father had the art of managing women, " said Mrs. Dwyer. "Dearme, how well I remember Randolph! I would have followed him to--toCheyenne. "

Mrs. Hayden laughed. "He never would have gone to Cheyenne, I imagine, "she said. 

"He never looked at me, and I have reason to be profoundly thankful forit, " said Mrs. Dwyer. 

Virginia Hayden bit her lip. She remembered a saying of Mrs. Brice, "Blessed are the ugly, for they shall not be tempted. "

"They say that poor Tom Leffingwell has not yet finished paying hisdebts, " continued Mrs. Dwyer, "although his uncle, Eleanor Hanbury'sfather, cancelled what Randolph had had from him in his will. It wastwenty-five thousand dollars. James Hanbury, you remember, had himappointed consul at Nice. Randolph Leffingwell gave the impression ofconferring a favour when he borrowed money. I cannot understand why hemarried that penniless and empty-headed beauty. "

"Perhaps, " said Mrs. Hayden, "it was because of his ability to borrowmoney that he felt he could afford to. "

The eyes of the two ladies unconsciously followed Honora about the room. 

"I never knew a better or a more honest woman than Mary Leffingwell, butI tremble for her. She is utterly incapable of managing that child. IfHonora is a complicated mechanism now, what will she be at twenty? Shehas elements in her which poor Mary never dreamed of. I overheard herwith Emily, and she talks like a grown-up person. "

Mrs. Hayden's dimples deepened. 

"Better than some grown-up women, " she said. "She sat in my room whileI dressed the other afternoon. Mrs. Leffingwell had sent her with anote about that French governess. And, by the way, she speaks French asthough she had lived in Paris. "

Little Mrs. Dwyer raised her hands in protest. 

"It doesn't seem natural, somehow. It doesn't seem exactly--moral, mydear. "

"Nonsense, " said Mrs. Hayden. "Mrs. Leffingwell is only giving the childthe advantages which her companions have--Emily has French, hasn't she?"

"But Emily can't speak it--that way, " said Mrs. Dwyer. "I don't blameMary Leffingwell. She thinks she is doing her duty, but it has alwaysseemed to me that Honora was one of those children who would better havebeen brought up on bread and butter and jam. "

"Honora would only have eaten the jam, " said Mrs. Hayden. "But I loveher. "

"I, too, am fond of the child, but I tremble for her. I am afraid shehas that terrible thing which is called temperament. "

George Hanbury made a second heroic rush, and dragged Honora out oncemore. 

"What is this disease you've got?" he demanded. 

"Disease?" she cried; "I haven't any disease. "

"Mrs Dwyer says you have temperament, and that it is a terrible thing. "

Honora stopped him in a corner. 

"Because people like Mrs. Dwyer haven't got it, " she declared, with awarmth which George found inexplicable. 

"What is it?" he demanded. 

"You'll never know, either, George, " she answered; "it's soul. "

"Soul!" he repeated; "I have one, and its immortal, " he added promptly. 

In the summer, that season of desolation for Honora, when George Hanburyand Algernon Cartwright and other young gentlemen were at the seashorelearning to sail boats and to play tennis, Peter Erwin came to his own. Nearly every evening after dinner, while the light was still lingeringunder the shade trees of the street, and Aunt Mary still placidlysewing in the wicker chair on the lawn, and Uncle Tom making the tourof flowers with his watering pot, the gate would slam, and Peter's tallform appear. 

It never occurred to Honora that had it not been for Peter thoseevenings would have been even less bearable than they were. To sitindoors with a light and read in a St. Louis midsummer was not to bethought of. Peter played backgammon with her on the front steps, andlater on--chess. Sometimes they went for a walk as far as Grand Avenue. And sometimes when Honora grew older--she was permitted to go with himto Uhrig's Cave. Those were memorable occasions indeed!

What Saint Louisan of the last generation does not remember Uhrig'sCave? nor look without regret upon the thing which has replaced it, called a Coliseum? The very name, Uhrig's Cave, sent a shiver of delightdown one's spine, and many were the conjectures one made as to whatmight be enclosed in that half a block of impassible brick wall, overwhich the great trees stretched their branches. Honora, from comparativeinfancy, had her own theory, which so possessed the mind of EdithHanbury that she would not look at the wall when they passed in thecarriage. It was a still and sombre place by day; and sometimes, if youlistened, you could hear the whisperings of the forty thieves on theother side of the wall. But no one had ever dared to cry "Open, Sesame!"at the great wooden gates. 

At night, in the warm season, when well brought up children were at homeor at the seashore, strange things were said to happen at Uhrig's Cave. 

Honora was a tall slip of a girl of sixteen before it was given her toknow these mysteries, and the Ali Baba theory a thing of the past. Othertheories had replaced it. Nevertheless she clung tightly to Peter's armas they walked down Locust Street and came in sight of the wall. Aboveit, and under the big trees, shone a thousand glittering lights: therewas a crowd at the gate, and instead of saying, "Open, Sesame, " Peterslipped two bright fifty-cent pieces to the red-faced German ticketman, and in they went. 

First and most astounding of disillusions of passing childhood, it wasnot a cave at all! And yet the word "disillusion" does not apply. Itwas, after all, the most enchanting and exciting of spots, to make one'seye shine and one's heart beat. Under the trees were hundreds of tablessurrounded by hovering ministering angels in white, and if you wereGerman, they brought you beer; if American, ice-cream. Beyond the tableswas a stage, with footlights already set and orchestra tuning up, and acurtain on which was represented a gentleman making decorous love to alady beside a fountain. As in a dream, Honora followed Peter to a table, and he handed her a programme. 

"Oh, Peter, " she cried, "it's going to be 'Pinafore'!"

Honora's eyes shone like stars, and elderly people at the neighbouringtables turned more than once to smile at her that evening. And Peterturned more than once and smiled too. But Honora did not consider Peter. He was merely Providence in one of many disguises, and Providence isaccepted by his beneficiaries as a matter of fact. 

The rapture of a young lady of temperament is a difficult thing topicture. The bird may feel it as he soars, on a bright August morning, high above amber cliffs jutting out into indigo seas; the novelist mayfeel it when the four walls of his room magically disappear andthe profound secrets of the universe are on the point of revealingthemselves. Honora gazed, and listened, and lost herself. She was nolonger in Uhrig's Cave, but in the great world, her soul a-quiver withharmonies. 

"Pinafore, " although a comic opera, held something tragic for Honora, and opened the flood-gates to dizzy sensations which she did notunderstand. How little Peter, who drummed on the table to the tune of:

 "Give three cheers and one cheer more For the hearty captain of the Pinafore, "

imagined what was going on beside him! There were two factors in hispleasure; he liked the music, and he enjoyed the delight of Honora. 

What is Peter? Let us cease looking at him through Honora's eyes andtaking him like daily bread, to be eaten and not thought about. Fromone point of view, he is twenty-nine and elderly, with a sense of humourunsuspected by young persons of temperament. Strive as we will, we haveonly been able to see him in his role of Providence, or of the piper. Has he no existence, no purpose in life outside of that perpetualgentleman in waiting? If so, Honora has never considered it. 

After the finale had been sung and the curtain dropped for the lasttime, Honora sighed and walked out of the garden as one in a trance. Once in a while, as he found a way for them through the crowd, Peterglanced down at her, and something like a smile tugged at the cornersof a decidedly masculine mouth, and lit up his eyes. Suddenly, at LocustStreet, under the lamp, she stopped and surveyed him. She saw a veryreal, very human individual, clad in a dark nondescript suit of clotheswhich had been bought ready-made, and plainly without the bestowal ofmuch thought, on Fifth Street. The fact that they were a comparativefit was in itself a tribute to the enterprise of the Excelsior ClothingCompany, for Honora's observation that he was too long one way hadbeen just. He was too tall, his shoulders were too high, his nose tooprominent, his eyes too deep-set; and he wore a straw hat with the brimturned up. 

To Honora his appearance was as familiar as the picture of the Popewhich had always stood on Catherine's bureau. But to-night, by grace ofsome added power of vision, she saw him with new and critical eyes. Shewas surprised to discover that he was possessed of a quality withwhich she had never associated him--youth. Not to put it toostrongly--comparative youth. 

"Peter, " she demanded, "why do you dress like that?"

"Like what?" he said. 

Honora seized the lapel of his coat. 

"Like that, " she repeated. "Do you know, if you wore different clothes, you might almost be distinguished looking. Don't laugh. I think it'shorrid of you always to laugh when I tell you things for your own good. "

"It was the idea of being almost distinguished looking that--that gaveme a shock, " he assured her repentantly. 

"You should dress on a different principle, " she insisted. 

Peter appeared dazed. 

"I couldn't do that, " he said. 

"Why not?"

"Because--because I don't dress on any principle now. "

"Yes, you do, " said Honora, firmly. "You dress on the principle ofthe wild beasts and fishes. It's all in our natural history at MissFarmer's. The crab is the colour of the seaweed, and the deer of thethicket. It's a device of nature for the protection of weak things. "

Peter drew himself up proudly. 

"I have always understood, Miss Leffingwell, that the king of beasts wassomewhere near the shade of the jungle. "

Honora laughed in spite of this apparent refutation of her theory of hisapparel, and shook her head. 

"Do be serious, Peter. You'd make much more of an impression on peopleif you wore clothes that had--well, a little more distinction. "

"What's the use of making an impression if you can't follow it up?" hesaid. 

"You can, " she declared. "I never thought of it until to-night, but youmust have a great deal in you to have risen all the way from an errandboy in the bank to a lawyer. "

"Look out!" he cautioned her; "I shall become insupportably conceited. "

"A little more conceit wouldn't hurt you, " said Honora, critically. "You'll forgive me, Peter, if I tell you from time to time what I think. It's for your own good. "

"I try to realize that, " replied Peter, humbly. "How do you wish me todress--like Mr. Rossiter?"

The picture evoked of Peter arrayed like Mr. Harland Rossiter, who hadsent flowers to two generations and was preparing to send more to athird, was irresistible. Every city, hamlet, and village has its HarlandRossiter. He need not be explained. But Honora soon became grave again. 

"No, but you ought to dress as though you were somebody, and differentfrom the ordinary man on the street. "

"But I'm not, " objected Peter. 

"Oh, " cried Honora, "don't you want to be? I can't understand any mannot wanting to be. If I were a man, I wouldn't stay here a day longerthan I had to. "

Peter was silent as they went in at the gate and opened the door, for onthis festive occasion they were provided with a latchkey. He turned upthe light in the hall to behold a transformation quite as wonderful asany contained in the "Arabian Nights" or Keightley's "Fairy Mythology. "This was not the Honora with whom he had left the house scarce threehours before! The cambric dress, to be sure, was still no longer thanthe tops of her ankles and the hair still hung in a heavy braid down herback. These were positively all that remained of the original Honora, and the change had occurred in the incredibly brief space required forthe production of the opera "Pinafore. " This Honora was a woman in astrange and disturbing state of exaltation, whose eyes beheld a vision. And Peter, although he had been the subject of her conversation, wellknew that he was not included in the vision. He smiled a little ashe looked at her. It is becoming apparent that he is one of thoseunfortunate unimaginative beings incapable of great illusions. 

"You're not going!" she exclaimed. 

He glanced significantly at the hall clock. 

"Why, it's long after bedtime, Honora. "

"I don't want to go to bed. I feel like talking, " she declared. "Come, let's sit on the steps awhile. If you go home, I shan't go to sleep forhours, Peter. "

"And what would Aunt Mary say to me?" he inquired. 

"Oh, she wouldn't care. She wouldn't even know it. "

He shook his head, still smiling. 

"I'd never be allowed to take you to Uhrig's Cave, or anywhere else, again, " he replied. "I'll come to-morrow evening, and you can talk to methen. "

"I shan't feel like it then, " she said in a tone that implied hisopportunity was now or never. But seeing him still obdurate, withstartling suddenness she flung her arms mound his neck--a method whichat times had succeeded marvellously--and pleaded coaxingly: "Only aquarter of an hour, Peter. I've got so many things to say, and I know Ishall forget them by to-morrow. "

It was a night of wonders. To her astonishment the hitherto pliantPeter, who only existed in order to do her will, became transformedinto a brusque masculine creature which she did not recognize. With amovement that was almost rough he released himself and fled, callingback a "good night" to her out of the darkness. He did not even waitto assist her in the process of locking up. Honora, profoundly puzzled, stood for a while in the doorway gazing out into the night. When atlength she turned, she had forgotten him entirely. 

It was true that she did not sleep for hours, and on awaking the nextmorning another phenomenon awaited her. The "little house under thehill" was immeasurably shrunken. Poor Aunt Mary, who did not understandthat a performance of "Pinafore" could give birth to the unfulfilledlongings which result in the creation of high things, spoke to Uncle Toma week later concerning an astonishing and apparently abnormal access ofindustry. 

"She's been reading all day long, Tom, or else shut up in her room, where Catherine tells me she is writing. I'm afraid Eleanor Hanbury isright when she says I don't understand the child. And yet she is thesame to me as though she were my own. "

It was true that Honora was writing, and that the door was shut, andthat she did not feel the heat. In one of the bookcases she had chancedupon that immortal biography of Dr. Johnson, and upon the letters ofanother prodigy of her own sex, Madame d'Arblay, whose romantic debutas an authoress was inspiration in itself. Honora actually quivered whenshe read of Dr. Johnson's first conversation with Miss Burney. To writea book of the existence of which even one's own family did not know, topublish it under a nom de plume, and to awake one day to fetes and famewould be indeed to live!

Unfortunately Honora's novel no longer exists, or the world might havediscovered a second Evelina. A regard for truth compels the statementthat it was never finished. But what rapture while the fever lasted!Merely to take up the pen was to pass magically through marble portalsinto the great world itself. 

The Sir Charles Grandison of this novel was, needless to say, not PeterErwin. He was none other than Mr. Randolph Leffingwell, under a verythin disguise. 

CHAPTER V. IN WHICH PROVIDENCE BEEPS FAITH

Two more years have gone by, limping in the summer and flying in thewinter, two more years of conquests. For our heroine appears to beone of the daughters of Helen, born to make trouble for warriors andothers--and even for innocent bystanders like Peter Erwin. Peter wasdebarred from entering those brilliant lists in which apparel playedso great a part. George Hanbury, Guy Rossiter, Algernon Cartwright, Eliphalet Hopper Dwyer--familiarly known as "Hoppy"--and other younggentlemen whose names are now but memories, each had his brief day oftriumph. Arrayed like Solomon in wonderful clothes from the mysteriousand luxurious East, they returned at Christmas-tide and Easter fromcollege to break lances over Honora. Let us say it boldly--she was likethat: she had the world-old knack of sowing discord and despair in thesouls of young men. She was--as those who had known that fascinatinggentleman were not slow to remark--Randolph Leffingwell over again. 

During the festival seasons, Uncle Tom averred, they wore out the latchon the front gate. If their families possessed horses to spare, theytook Honora driving in Forest Park; they escorted her to those anomalousdances peculiar to their innocent age, which are neither children'sparties nor full-fledged balls; their presents, while of no intrinsicvalue--as one young gentleman said in a presentation speech--had anenormous, if shy, significance. 

"What a beautiful ring you are wearing, Honora, " Uncle Tom remarkedslyly one April morning at breakfast; "let me see it. "

Honora blushed, and hid her hand under the table-cloth. 

And the ring-suffice it to say that her little finger was exactlyinsertable in a ten-cent piece from which everything had been removedbut the milling: removed with infinite loving patience by Mr. Rossiter, and at the expense of much history and philosophy and other lessimportant things, in his college bedroom at New Haven. Honora wore itfor a whole week; a triumph indeed for Mr. Rossiter; when it was placedin a box in Honora's bedroom, which contained other gifts--not all fromhim--and many letters, in the writing of which learning had likewisesuffered. The immediate cause of the putting away of this ring was saidto be the renowned Clinton Howe, who was on the Harvard football eleven, and who visited Mr. George Hanbury that Easter. Fortunate indeed thetailor who was called upon to practise his art on an Adonis like Mr. Howe, and it was remarked that he scarcely left Honora's side at thegarden party and dance which Mrs. Dwyer gave in honour of the returningheroes, on the Monday of Easter week. 

This festival, on which we should like to linger, but cannot, tookplace at the new Dwyer residence. For six months the Victorian mansionopposite Uncle Tom's house had been sightless, with blue blinds drawndown inside the plate glass windows. And the yellow stone itself wasnot so yellow as it once had been, but had now the appearance of soiledmanilla wrapping paper, with black streaks here and there where the soothad run. The new Dwyer house was of grey stone, Georgian and palatial, with a picture-gallery twice the size of the old one; a magnificent andfitting pioneer in a new city of palaces. 

Westward the star of Empire--away from the smoke. The Dwyer mansion, with its lawns and gardens and heavily balustraded terrace, faced thepark that stretched away like a private estate to the south and west. That same park with its huge trees and black forests that was UltimaThule in Honora's childhood; in the open places there had been realfarms and hayricks which she used to slide down with Peter while UncleTom looked for wild flowers in the fields. It had been separated fromthe city in those days by an endless country road, like a Via Claudiastretching towards mysterious Germanian forests, and it was deemed afeat for Peter to ride thither on his big-wheeled bicycle. ForestPark was the country, and all that the country represented in Honora'schildhood. For Uncle Tom on a summer's day to hire a surrey atBraintree's Livery Stable and drive thither was like--to what shall thatbliss be compared in these days when we go to Europe with indifference?

And now Lindell Road--the Via Claudia of long, ago--had become LindellBoulevard, with granitoid sidewalks. And the dreary fields throughwhich it had formerly run were bristling with new houses in no senseVictorian, and which were the first stirrings of a national sense of theartistic. The old horse-cars with the clanging chains had disappeared, and you could take an electric to within a block of the imposing grillethat surrounded the Dwyer grounds. Westward the star!

Fading fast was the glory of that bright new district on top of thesecond hill from the river where Uncle Tom was a pioneer. Soot hadkilled the pear trees, the apricots behind the lattice fence hadwithered away; asphalt and soot were slowly sapping the vitality of themaples on the sidewalk; and sometimes Uncle Tom's roses looked as thoughthey might advantageously be given a coat of paint, like those in Alicein Wonderland. Honora should have lived in the Dwyers' mansion-peoplewho are capable of judging said so. People who saw her at the gardenparty said she had the air of belonging in such surroundings much morethan Emily, whom even budding womanhood had not made beautiful. AndEliphalet Hopper Dwyer, if his actions meant anything, would havewelcomed her to that house, or built her another twice as fine, had shedeigned to give him the least encouragement. 

Cinderella! This was what she facetiously called herself one Julymorning of that summer she was eighteen. 

Cinderella in more senses than one, for never had the city seemedmore dirty or more deserted, or indeed, more stifling. Winter and itsfestivities were a dream laid away in moth balls. Surely Cinderella'slife had held no greater contrasts! To this day the odour of mattingbrings back to Honora the sense of closed shutters; of a stifling southwind stirring their slats at noonday; the vision of Aunt Mary, cool andplacid in a cambric sacque, sewing by the window in the upper hall, andthe sound of fruit venders crying in the street, or of ragmen in thealley--"Rags, bottles, old iron!" What memories of endless, burning, lonely days come rushing back with those words!

When the sun had sufficiently heated the bricks of the surroundinghouses in order that he might not be forgotten during the night, heslowly departed. If Honora took her book under the maple tree in theyard, she was confronted with that hideous wooden sign "To Let" on theDwyer's iron fence opposite, and the grass behind it was unkempt andovergrown with weeds. Aunt Mary took an unceasing and (to Honora's mind)morbid interest in the future of that house. 

"I suppose it will be a boarding-house, " she would say, "it's much toolarge for poor people to rent, and only poor people are coming into thisdistrict now. "

"Oh, Aunt Mary!"

"Well, my dear, why should we complain? We are poor, and it isappropriate that we should live among the poor. Sometimes I think it isa pity that you should have been thrown all your life with rich people, my child. I am afraid it has made you discontented. It is no disgrace tobe poor. We ought to be thankful that we have everything we need. "

Honora put down her sewing. For she had learned to sew--Aunt Maryhad insisted upon that, as well as French. She laid her hand upon heraunt's. 

"I am thankful, " she said, and her aunt little guessed the intensity ofthe emotion she was seeking to control, or imagined the hiddenfires. "But sometimes--sometimes I try to forget that we are poor. Perhaps--some day we shall not be. "

It seemed to Honora that Aunt Mary derived a real pleasure from thecontradiction of this hope. She shook her head vigorously. 

"We shall always be, my child. Your Uncle Tom is getting old, and he hasalways been too honest to make a great deal of money. And besides, " sheadded, "he has not that kind of ability. "

Uncle Tom might be getting old, but he seemed to Honora to be of thesame age as in her childhood. Some people never grow old, and Uncle Tomwas one of these. Fifteen years before he had been promoted to be thecashier of the Prairie Bank, and he was the cashier to-day. He had thesame quiet smile, the same quiet humour, the same calm acceptance oflife. He seemed to bear no grudge even against that ever advancingenemy, the soot, which made it increasingly difficult for him to raisehis flowers. Those which would still grow he washed tenderly night andmorning with his watering-pot. The greatest wonders are not at the endsof the earth, but near us. It was to take many years for our heroine torealize this. 

Strong faith alone could have withstood the continued contact with sucha determined fatalism as Aunt Mary's, and yet it is interesting to notethat Honora's belief in her providence never wavered. A prince was tocome who was to bear her away from the ragmen and the boarding-housesand the soot: and incidentally and in spite of herself, Aunt Mary wasto come too, and Uncle Tom. And sometimes when she sat reading of anevening under the maple, her book would fall to her lap and the adventof this personage become so real a thing that she bounded when the gateslammed--to find that it was only Peter. 

It was preposterous, of course, that Peter should be a prince indisguise. Peter who, despite her efforts to teach him distinction indress, insisted upon wearing the same kind of clothes. A mild kind ofprovidence, Peter, whose modest functions were not unlike those of thethird horse which used to be hitched on to the street car at the footof the Seventeenth-Street hill: it was Peter's task to help pull Honorathrough the interminable summers. Uhrig's Cave was an old story now:mysteries were no longer to be expected in St. Louis. There was a greatpanorama--or something to that effect--in the wilderness at the end ofone of the new electric lines, where they sometimes went to behold theWhite Squadron of the new United States Navy engaged in battle withmimic forts on a mimic sea, on the very site where the country placeof Madame Clement had been. The mimic sea, surrounded by wooden standsfilled with common people eating peanuts and popcorn, was none otherthan Madame Clement's pond, which Honora remembered as a spot ofenchantment. And they went out in the open cars with these same people, who stared at Honora as though she had got in by mistake, but alwayspolitely gave her a seat. And Peter thanked them. Sometimes he fell intoconversations with them, and it was noticeable that they nearlyalways shook hands with him at parting. Honora did not approve of thisfamiliarity. 

"But they may be clients some day, " he argued--a frivolous answer towhich she never deigned to reply. 

Just as one used to take for granted that third horse which pulled thecar uphill, so Peter was taken for granted. He might have been on thehighroad to a renown like that of Chief Justice Marshall, and Honora hadbeen none the wiser. 

"Well, Peter, " said Uncle Tom at dinner one evening of that memorablesummer, when Aunt Mary was helping the blackberries, and incidentallydeploring that she did not live in the country, because of the cream onegot there, "I saw Judge Brice in the bank to-day, and he tells me youcovered yourself with glory in that iron foundry suit. "

"The Judge must have his little joke, Mr. Leffingwell, " replied Peter, but he reddened nevertheless. 

Honora thought winning an iron foundry suit a strange way to cover one'sself with glory. It was not, at any rate, her idea of glory. What werelawyers for, if not to win suits? And Peter was a lawyer. 

"In five years, " said Uncle Tom, "the firm will be 'Brice and Erwin'. You mark my words. And by that time, " he added, with a twinkle in hiseye, "you'll be ready to marry Honora. "

"Tom, " reproved Aunt Mary, gently, "you oughtn't to say such things. "

This time there was no doubt about Peter's blush. He fairly burned. Honora looked at him and laughed. 

"Peter is meant for an old bachelor, " she said. 

"If he remains a bachelor, " said Uncle Tom, "he'll be the greatest wasteof good material I know of. And if you succeed in getting him, Honora, you'll be the luckiest young woman of my acquaintance. "

"Tom, " said Aunt Mary, "it was all very well to talk that way whenHonora was a child. But now--she may not wish to marry Peter. And Petermay not wish to marry her. "

Even Peter joined in the laughter at this literal and characteristicstatement of the case. 

"It's more than likely, " said Honora, wickedly. "He hasn't kissed me fortwo years. "

"Why, Peter, " said Uncle Tom, "you act as though it were warm to-night. It was only seventy when we came in to dinner. "

"Take me out to the park, " commanded Honora. 

"Tom, " said Aunt Mary, as she stood on the step and watched them crossthe street, "I wish the child would marry him. Not now, of course, " sheadded hastily, --a little frightened by her own admission, "but later. Sometimes I worry over her future. She needs a strong and sensible man. I don't understand Honora. I never did. I always told you so. SometimesI think she may be capable of doing something foolish like--likeRandolph. "

Uncle Tom patted his wife on the shoulder. 

"Don't borrow trouble, Mary, " he said, smiling a little. "The child isonly full of spirits. But she has a good heart. It is only human thatshe should want things that we cannot give her. "

"I wish, " said Aunt Mary, "that she were not quite so good-looking. "

Uncle Tom laughed. "You needn't tell me you're not proud of it, " hedeclared. 

"And I have given her, " she continued, "a taste for dress. "

"I think, my dear, " said her husband, "that there were others whocontributed to that. "

"It was my own vanity. I should have combated the tendency in her, " saidAunt Mary. 

"If you had dressed Honora in calico, you could not have changed her, "replied Uncle Tom, with conviction. 

In the meantime Honora and Peter had mounted the electric car, and werespeeding westward. They had a seat to themselves, the very first oneon the "grip"--that survival of the days of cable cars. Honora's eyesbrightened as she held on to her hat, and the stray wisps of hair abouther neck stirred in the breeze. 

"Oh, I wish we would never stop, until we came to the Pacific Ocean!"she exclaimed. 

"Would you be content to stop then?" he asked. He had a trick of lookingdownward with a quizzical expression in his dark grey eyes. 

"No, " said Honora. "I should want to go on and see everything in theworld worth seeing. Sometimes I feel positively as though I should dieif I had to stay here in St. Louis. "

"You probably would die--eventually, " said Peter. 

Honora was justifiably irritated. 

"I could shake you, Peter!"

He laughed. 

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good, " he answered. 

"If I were a man, " she proclaimed, "I shouldn't stay here. I'd go to NewYork--I'd be somebody--I'd make a national reputation for myself. "

"I believe you would, " said Peter sadly, but with a glance ofadmiration. 

"That's the worst of being a woman--we have to sit still until somethinghappens to us. "

"What would you like to happen?" he asked, curiously. And there was anote in his voice which she, intent upon her thoughts, did not remark. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she said; "anything--anything to get out of this rutand be something in the world. It's dreadful to feel that one has powerand not be able to use it. "

The car stopped at the terminal. Thanks to the early hour of Aunt Mary'sdinner, the western sky was still aglow with the sunset over the forestsas they walked past the closed grille of the Dwyer mansion into thepark. Children rolled on the grass, while mothers and fathers, tiredout from the heat and labour of a city day, sat on the benches. Peterstooped down and lifted a small boy, painfully thin, who had fallen, weeping, on the gravel walk. He took his handkerchief and wiped thescratch on the child's forehead. 

"There, there!" he said, smiling, "it's all right now. We must expect afew tumbles. "

The child looked at him, and suddenly smiled through his tears. 

The father appeared, a red-headed Irishman. 

"Thank you, Mr. Erwin; I'm sure it's very kind of you, sir, to botherwith him, " he said gratefully. "It's that thin he is with the heat, Itake him out for a bit of country air. "

"Why, Tim, it's you, is it?" said Peter. "He's the janitor of ourbuilding down town, " he explained to Honora, who had remained a silentwitness to this simple scene. She had been, in spite of herself, impressed by it, and by the mingled respect and affection in thejanitor's manner towards Peter. It was so with every one to whom hespoke. They walked on in silence for a few moments, into a path leadingto a lake, which had stolen the flaming green-gold of the sky. 

"I suppose, " said Honora, slowly, "it would be better for me to wish tobe contented where I am, as you are. But it's no use trying, I can't. "

Peter was not a preacher. 

"Oh, " he said, "there are lots of things I want. "

"What?" demanded Honora, interested. For she had never conceived of himas having any desires whatever. 

"I want a house like Mr. Dwyer's, " he declared, pointing at the distantimposing roof line against the fading eastern sky. 

Honora laughed. The idea of Peter wishing such a house was indeedridiculous. Then she became grave again. 

"There are times when you seem to forget that I have at last grown up, Peter. You never will talk over serious things with me. "

"What are serious things?" asked Peter. 

"Well, " said Honora vaguely, "ambitions, and what one is going to makeof themselves in life. And then you make fun of me by saying you wantMr. Dwyer's house. " She laughed again. "I can't imagine you in thathouse!"

"Why not?" he asked, stopping beside the pond and thrusting his handsin his pockets. He looked very solemn, but she knew he was smilinginwardly. 

"Why--because I can't, " she said, and hesitated. The question had forcedher to think about Peter. "I can't imagine you living all alone in allthat luxury. It isn't like you. "

"Why I all alone?" asked Peter. 

"Don't--Don't be ridiculous, " she said; "you wouldn't build a houselike that, even if you were twice as rich as Mr. Dwyer. You knowyou wouldn't. And you're not the marrying kind, " she added, with thesuperior knowledge of eighteen. 

"I'm waiting for you, Honora, " he announced. 

"You know I love you, Peter, "--so she tempered her reply, for Honora'sfeelings were tender. What man, even Peter, would not have married herif he could? Of course he was in earnest, despite his bantering tone, "but I never could--marry you. "

"Not even if I were to offer you a house like Mr. Dwyer's?" he said. A remark which betrayed--although not to her--his knowledge of certainearthly strains in his goddess. 

The colours faded from the water, and it blackened. 

As they walked on side by side in the twilight, a consciousness ofrepressed masculine force, of reserve power, which she had never beforefelt about Peter Erwin, invaded her; and she was seized with a strangeuneasiness. Ridiculous was the thought (which she lost no time inrejecting) that pointed out the true road to happiness in marrying sucha man as he. In the gathering darkness she slipped her hand through hisarm. 

"I wish I could marry you, Peter, " she said. 

He was fain to take what comfort he could from this expression ofgood-will. If he was not the Prince Charming of her dreams, she wouldhave liked him to be. A little reflection on his part ought to haveshown him the absurdity of the Prince Charming having been there all thetime, and in ready-made clothes. And he, too, may have had dreams. Weare not concerned with them. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 

If we listen to the still, small voice of realism, intense longing isalways followed by disappointment. Nothing should have happened thatsummer, and Providence should not have come disguised as the postman. It was a sultry day in early September-which is to say that it wascomparatively cool--a blue day, with occasional great drops of rainspattering on the brick walk. And Honora was reclining on the hallsofa, reading about Mr. Ibbetson and his duchess, when she perceived thepostman's grey uniform and smiling face on the far side of the screendoor. He greeted her cordially, and gave her a single letter for AuntMary, and she carried it unsuspectingly upstairs. 

"It's from Cousin Eleanor, " Honora volunteered. 

Aunt Mary laid down her sewing, smoothed the ruffles of her sacque, adjusted her spectacles, opened the envelope, and began to read. Presently the letter fell to her lap, and she wiped her glasses andglanced at Honora, who was deep in her book once more. And in Honora'sbrain, as she read, was ringing the refrain of the prisoner:

 "Orleans, Beaugency! Notre Dame de Clery! Vendome! Vendome! Quel chagrin, quel ennui De compter toute la nuit Les heures, les heures!". 

The verse appealed to Honora strangely; just as it had appealed toIbbetson. Was she not, too, a prisoner. And how often, during the summerdays and nights, had she listened to the chimes of the Pilgrim Churchnear by?

 "One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"

After Uncle Tom had watered his flowers that evening, Aunt Mary followedhim upstairs and locked the door of their room behind her. Silently sheput the letter in his hand. Here is one paragraph of it:

 "I have never asked to take the child from you in the summer, because she has always been in perfect health, and I know how lonely you would have been without her, my dear Mary. But it seems to me that a winter at Sutcliffe, with my girls, would do her a world of good just now. I need not point out to you that Honora is, to say the least, remarkably good looking, and that she has developed very rapidly. And she has, in spite of the strict training you have given her, certain ideas and ambitions which seem to me, I am sorry to say, more or less prevalent among young American women these days. You know it is only because I love her that I am so frank. Miss Turner's influence will, in my opinion, do much to counteract these tendencies. "

Uncle Tom folded the letter, and handed it back to his wife. 

"I feel that we ought not to refuse, Tom. And I am afraid Eleanor isright. "

"Well, Mary, we've had her for seventeen years. We ought to be willingto spare her for--how many months?"

"Nine, " said Aunt Mary, promptly. She had counted them. "And Eleanorsays she will be home for two weeks at Christmas. Seventeen years! Itseems only yesterday when we brought her home, Tom. It was just aboutthis time of day, and she was asleep in your arms, and Bridget openedthe door for us. " Aunt Mary looked out of the window. "And do youremember how she used to play under the maple there, with her dolls?"

Uncle Tom produced a very large handkerchief, and blew his nose. 

"There, there, Mary, " he said, "nine months, and two weeks out atChristmas. Nine months in eighteen years. "

"I suppose we ought to be very thankful, " said Aunt Mary. "But, Tom, thetime is coming soon--"

"Tut tut, " exclaimed Uncle Tom. He turned, and his eyes beheld a work ofart. Nothing less than a porcelain plate, hung in brackets on the wall, decorated by Honora at the age of ten with wild roses, and presentedwith much ceremony on an anniversary morning. He pretended not to noticeit, but Aunt Mary's eyes were too quick. She seized a photograph on herbureau, a photograph of Honora in a little white frock with a red sash. 

"It was the year that was taken, Tom. "

He nodded. The scene at the breakfast table came back to him, and thesight of Catherine standing respectfully in the hall, and of Honora, inthe red sash, making the courtesy the old woman had taught her. 

Honora recalled afterwards that Uncle Tom joked even more than usualthat evening at dinner. But it was Aunt Mary who asked her, at length, how she would like to go to boarding-school. Such was the matter-of-factmanner in which the portentous news was announced. 

"To boarding-school, Aunt Mary?"

Her aunt poured out her uncle's after-dinner coffee. 

"I've spilled some, my dear. Get another saucer for your uncle. "

Honora went mechanically to the china closet, her heart thumping. Shedid not stop to reflect that it was the rarest of occurrences for AuntMary to spill the coffee. 

"Your Cousin Eleanor has invited you to go this winter with Edith andMary to Sutcliffe. "

Sutcliffe! No need to tell Honora what Sutcliffe was--her cousins hadtalked of little else during the past winter; and shown, if the truth betold, just a little commiseration for Honora. Sutcliffe was not only afamous girls' school, Sutcliffe was the world--that world which, sinceher earliest remembrances, she had been longing to see and know. In adesperate attempt to realize what had happened to her, she found herselfstaring hard at the open china closet, at Aunt Mary's best gold dinnerset resting on the pink lace paper that had been changed only last week. That dinner set, somehow, was always an augury of festival--when, onthe rare occasions Aunt Mary entertained, the little dining room wastransformed by it and the Leffingwell silver into a glorified andaltogether unrecognizable state, in which any miracle seemed possible. 

Honora pushed back her chair. 

Her lips were parted. 

"Oh, Aunt Mary, is it really true that I am going?" she said. 

"Why, " said Uncle Tom, "what zeal for learning!"

"My dear, " said Aunt Mary, who, you may be sure, knew all about thatschool before Cousin Eleanor's letter came, "Miss Turner insists uponhard work, and the discipline is very strict. "

"No young men, " added Uncle Tom. 

"That, " declared Aunt Mary, "is certainly an advantage. "

"And no chocolate cake, and bed at ten o'clock, " said Uncle Tom. 

Honora, dazed, only half heard them. She laughed at Uncle Tom becauseshe always had, but tears were shining in her eyes. Young men andchocolate cake! What were these privations compared to that magic wordChange? Suddenly she rose, and flung her arms about Uncle Tom's neckand kissed his rough cheek, and then embraced Aunt Mary. They would belonely. 

"Aunt Mary, I can't bear to leave you--but I do so want to go! And itwon't be for long--will it? Only until next spring. "

"Until next summer, I believe, " replied Aunt Mary, gently; "June is asummer month-isn't it, Tom?"

"It will be a summer month without question next year, " answered UncleTom, enigmatically. 

It has been remarked that that day was sultry, and a fine rain was nowwashing Uncle Tom's flowers for him. It was he who had applied that term"washing" since the era of ultra-soot. Incredible as it may seem, lifeproceeded as on any other of a thousand rainy nights. The lampswere lighted in the sitting-room, Uncle Tom unfolded his gardeningperiodical, and Aunt Mary her embroidery. The gate slammed, with itsmore subdued, rainy-weather sound. 

"It's Peter, " said Honora, flying downstairs. And she caught him, astonished, as he was folding his umbrella on the step. "Oh, Peter, if you tried until to-morrow morning, you never could guess what hashappened. "

He stood for a moment, motionless, staring at her, a tall figure, careless of the rain. 

"You are going away, " he said. 

"How did you guess it?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Yes--toboarding-school. To Sutcliffe, on the Hudson, with Edith and Mary. Aren't you glad? You look as though you had seen a ghost. "

"Do I?" said Peter. 

"Don't stand there in the rain, " commanded Honora; "come into theparlour, and I'll tell you all about it. "

He came in. She took the umbrella from him, and put it in the rack. 

"Why don't you congratulate me?" she demanded. 

"You'll never come back, " said Peter. 

"What a horrid thing to say! Of course I shall come back. I shall comeback next June, and you'll be at the station to meet me. "

"And--what will Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary do--without you?"

"Oh, " said Honora, "I shall miss them dreadfully. And I shall miss you, Peter. "

"Very much?" he asked, looking down at her with such a queer expression. And his voice, too, sounded queer. He was trying to smile. 

Suddenly Honora realized that he was suffering, and she felt the pangsof contrition. She could not remember the time when she had been awayfrom Peter, and it was natural that he should be stricken at the news. Peter, who was the complement of all who loved and served her, of AuntMary and Uncle Tom and Catherine, and who somehow embodied them all. Peter, the eternally dependable. 

She found it natural that the light should be temporarily removed fromhis firmament while she should be at boarding-school, and yet in thetenderness of her heart she pitied him. She put her hands impulsivelyupon his shoulders as he stood looking at her with that queer expressionwhich he believed to be a smile. 

"Peter, you dear old thing, indeed I shall miss you! I don't know what Ishall do without you, and I'll write to you every single week. "

Gently he disengaged her arms. They were standing under that which, forcourtesy's sake, had always been called the chandelier. It was in thecentre of the parlour, and Uncle Tom always covered it with holly andmistletoe at Christmas. 

"Why do you say I'll never come back?" asked Honora. "Of course I shallcome back, and live here all the rest of my life. "

Peter shook his head slowly. He had recovered something of his customaryquizzical manner. 

"The East is a strange country, " he said. "The first thing we knowyou'll be marrying one of those people we read about, with more millionsthan there are cars on the Olive Street line. "

Honora was a little indignant. 

"I wish you wouldn't talk so, Peter, " she said. "In the first place, Ishan't see any but girls at Sutcliffe. I could only see you for a fewminutes once a week if you were there. And in the second place, it isn'texactly--Well--dignified to compare the East and the West the way youdo, and speak about people who are very rich and live there as thoughthey were different from the people we know here. Comparisons, asShakespeare said, are odorous. "

"Honora, " he declared, still shaking his head, "you're a fraud, but Ican't help loving you. "

For a long time that night Honora lay in bed staring into the darkness, and trying to realize what had happened. She heard the whistling and thepuffing of the trains in the cinder-covered valley to the southward, butthe quality of these sounds had changed. They were music now. 

CHAPTER VI. HONORA HAS A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD

It is simply impossible to give any adequate notion of the industry ofthe days that followed. No sooner was Uncle Tom out of the house in themorning than Anne Rory marched into the sitting-room and took command, and turned it, into a dressmaking establishment. Anne Rory, who deservesmore than a passing mention, one of the institutions of Honora's youth, who sewed for the first families, and knew much more about them than Mr. Meeker, the dancing-master. If you enjoyed her confidence, --as AuntMary did, --she would tell you of her own accord who gave their servantsenough to eat, and who didn't. Anne Rory was a sort of inquisitionall by herself, and would have made a valuable chief of police. Thereputations of certain elderly gentlemen of wealth might have remainedto this day intact had it not been for her; she had a heaven-sent knackof discovering peccadilloes. Anne Rory knew the gentlemen by sight, andthe gentlemen did not know Anne Rory. Uncle Tom she held to be somewherein the calendar of the saints. 

There is not time, alas, to linger over Anne Rory or the new historieswhich she whispered to Aunt Mary when Honora was out of the room. Atlast the eventful day of departure arrived. Honora's new trunk--herfirst--was packed by Aunt Mary's own hands, the dainty clothes and thedresses folded in tissue paper, while old Catherine stood sniffing by. After dinner--sign of a great occasion--a carriage came from Braintree'sLivery Stable, and Uncle Tom held the horses while the driver carriedout the trunk and strapped it on. Catherine, Mary Ann, and Bridget, allweeping, were kissed good-by, and off they went through the dusk to thestation. Not the old Union Depot, with its wooden sheds, where Honorahad gone so often to see the Hanburys off, that grimy gateway to thefairer regions of the earth. This new station, of brick and stone andglass and tiles, would hold an army corps with ease. And when theyalighted at the carriage entrance, a tall figure came forward out of theshadow. It was Peter, and he had a package under his arm. Peterchecked Honora's trunk, and Peter had got the permission--through JudgeBrice--which enabled them all to pass through the grille and down thelong walk beside which the train was standing. 

They entered that hitherto mysterious conveyance, a sleeping-car, and spoke to old Mrs. Stanley, who was going East to see her marrieddaughter, and who had gladly agreed to take charge of Honora. Afterwardsthey stood on the platform, but in spite of the valiant efforts of UncleTom and Peter, conversation was a mockery. 

"Honora, " said Aunt Mary, "don't forget that your trunk key is in thelittle pocket on the left side of your bag. "

"No, Aunt Mary. "

"And your little New Testament at the bottom. And your lunch is arrangedin three packages. And don't forget to ask Cousin Eleanor about thewalking shoes, and to give her my note. "

Cries reverberated under the great glass dome, and trains pulled outwith deafening roars. Honora had a strange feeling, as of pressure fromwithin, that caused her to take deep breaths of the smoky air. She buthalf heard what was being said to her: she wished that the train wouldgo, and at the same time she had a sudden, surprising, and fiercelonging to stay. She had been able to eat scarcely a mouthful of thatfestal dinner which Bridget had spent the afternoon in preparing, comprised wholly of forbidden dishes of her childhood, for which Bridgetand Aunt Mary were justly famed. Such is the irony of life. Visionsof one of Aunt Mary's rare lunch-parties and of a small girl peepingcovetously through a crack in the dining-room door, and of the goldchina set, rose before her. But she could not eat. 

"Bread and jam and tea at Miss Turner's, " Uncle Tom had said, and shehad tried to smile at him. 

And now they were standing on the platform, and the train might start atany moment. 

"I trust you won't get like the New Yorkers, Honora, " said Aunt Mary. "Do you remember how stiff they were, Tom?" She was still in the habitof referring to that memorable trip when they had brought Honora home. "And they say now that they hold their heads higher than ever. "

"That, " said Uncle Tom, gravely, "is a local disease, and comes fromstaring at the tall buildings. "

"Uncle Tom!"

Peter presented the parcel under his arm. It was a box of candy, andvery heavy, on which much thought had been spent. 

"They are some of the things you like, " he said, when he had returnedfrom putting it in the berth. 

"How good of you, Peter! I shall never be able to eat all that. "

"I hope there is a doctor on the train, " said Uncle Tom. 

"Yassah, " answered the black porter, who had been listening with evidentrelish, "right good doctah--Doctah Lov'ring. "

Even Aunt Mary laughed. 

"Peter, " asked Honora, "can't you get Judge Brice to send you on to NewYork this winter on law business? Then you could come up to Sutcliffe tosee me. "

"I'm afraid of Miss Turner, " declared Peter. 

"Oh, she wouldn't mind you, " exclaimed Honora. "I could say you were anuncle. It would be almost true. And perhaps she would let you take medown to New York for a matinee. "

"And how about my ready-made clothes?" he said, looking down at her. Hehad never forgotten that. 

Honora laughed. 

"You don't seem a bit sorry that I'm going, " she replied, a littlebreathlessly. "You know I'd be glad to see you, if you were in rags. "

"All aboard!" cried the porter, grinning sympathetically. 

Honora threw her arms around Aunt Mary and clung to her. How small andfrail she was! Somehow Honora had never realized it in all her lifebefore. 

"Good-by, darling, and remember to put on your thick clothes on the cooldays, and write when you get to New York. "

Then it was Uncle Tom's turn. He gave her his usual vigorous hug andkiss. 

"It won't be long until Christmas, " he whispered, and was gone, helpingAunt Mary off the train, which had begun to move. 

Peter remained a moment. 

"Good-by, Honora. I'll write to you often and let you know how they are. And perhaps--you'll send me a letter once in a while. "

"Oh, Peter, I will, " she cried. "I can't bear to leave you--I didn'tthink it would be so hard--"

He held out his hand, but she ignored it. Before he realized what hadhappened to him she had drawn his face to hers, kissed it, and waspushing him off the train. Then she watched from the platform the threereceding figures in the yellow smoky light until the car slippedout from under the roof into the blackness of the night. Some faint, premonitory divination of what they represented of immutable love in achanging, heedless, selfish world came to her; rocks to which one mightcling, successful or failing, happy or unhappy. For unconsciously shethought of them, all three, as one, a human trinity in which her faithhad never been betrayed. She felt a warm moisture on her cheeks, andrealized that she was crying with the first real sorrow of her life. 

She was leaving them--for what? Honora did not know. There had beennothing imperative in Cousin Eleanor's letter. She need not have goneif she had not wished. Something within herself, she felt, was impellingher. And it is curious to relate that, in her mind, going to school hadlittle or nothing to do with her journey. She had the feeling of faringforth into the world, and she had known all along that it was destinedshe should. What was the cause of this longing to break the fetters andfly away? fetters of love, they seemed to her now--and were. And theworld which she had seen afar, filled with sunlit palaces, seemed verydark and dreary to her to-night. 

"The lady's asking for you, Miss, " said the porter. 

She made a heroic attempt to talk to Mrs. Stanley. But at the sightof Peter's candy, when she opened it, she was blinded once more. DearPeter! That box was eloquent with the care with which he had studiedher slightest desires and caprices. Marrons glaces, and Langtrys, andcertain chocolates which had received the stamp of her approval--and shecould not so much as eat one! The porter made the berths. And there hadbeen a time when she had asked nothing more of fate than to travel in asleeping-car! Far into the night she lay wide awake, dry-eyed, watchingthe lamp-lit streets of the little towns they passed, or staring at thecornfields and pastures in the darkness; thinking of the home she hadleft, perhaps forever, and wondering whether they were sleeping there;picturing them to-morrow at breakfast without her, and Uncle Tom leavingfor the bank, Aunt Mary going through the silent rooms alone, anddear old Catherine haunting the little chamber where she had slept forseventeen years--almost her lifetime. A hundred vivid scenes of herchildhood came back, and familiar objects oddly intruded themselves; thered and green lambrequin on the parlour mantel--a present many years agofrom Cousin Eleanor; the what-not, with its funny curly legs, and thebare spot near the lock on the door of the cake closet in the diningroom!

Youth, however, has its recuperative powers. The next day the excitementof the journey held her, the sight of new cities and a new countryside. But when she tried to eat the lunch Aunt Mary had so carefully putup, new memories assailed her, and she went with Mrs. Stanley into thedining car. The September dusk was made lurid by belching steel-furnacesthat reddened the heavens; and later, when she went to bed, sharp airand towering contours told her of the mountains. Mountains which hergreat-grandfather had crossed on horse back, with that very familysilver in his saddle-bags which shone on Aunt Mary's table. Andthen--she awoke with the light shining in her face, and barely had timeto dress before the conductor was calling out "Jersey City. "

Once more the morning, and with it new and wonderful sensations thatdispelled her sorrows; the ferry, the olive-green river rolling in themorning sun, alive with dodging, hurrying craft, each bent upon itsdestination with an energy, relentlessness, and selfishness of purposethat fascinated Honora. Each, with its shrill, protesting whistle, seemed to say: "My business is the most important. Make way for me. " Andyet, through them all, towering, stately, imperturbable, a great oceansteamer glided slowly towards the bay, by very might and majesty holdingher way serene and undisturbed, on a nobler errand. Honora thrilled asshe gazed, as though at last her dream were coming true, and she feltwithin her the pulse of the world's artery. That irksome sense ofspectatorship seemed to fly, and she was part and parcel now of thegreat, moving things, with sure pinions with which to soar. Standingrapt upon the forward deck of the ferry, she saw herself, not an atom, but one whose going and coming was a thing of consequence. It seemedbut a simple step to the deck of that steamer when she, too, would betravelling to the other side of the world, and the journey one of thesmall incidents of life. 

The ferry bumped into its slip, the windlasses sang loudly as they tookup the chains, the gates folded back, and Honora was forced with thecrowd along the bridge-like passage to the right. Suddenly she sawCousin Eleanor and the girls awaiting her. 

"Honora, " said Edith, when the greetings were over and they were allfour in the carriage, which was making its way slowly across the dirtyand irregularly paved open space to a narrow street that opened betweentwo saloons, "Honora, you don't mean to say that Anne Rory made thatstreet dress? Mother, I believe it's better-looking than the one I gotat Bremer's. "

"It's very simple, ", said Honora. 

"And she looks fairly radiant, " cried Edith, seizing her cousin's hand. "It's quite wonderful, Honora; nobody would ever guess that you werefrom the West, and that you had spent the whole summer in St. Louis. "

Cousin Eleanor smiled a little as she contemplated Honora, who sat, fascinated, gazing out of the window at novel scenes. There was acolour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. They had reached MadisonSquare. Madison Square, on a bright morning in late September, seen forthe first time by an ambitious young lady who had never been out ofSt. Louis! The trimly appointed vehicles, the high-stepping horses, theglittering shops, the well-dressed women and well-groomed men--all hadan esprit de corps which she found inspiring. On such a morning, and amidst such a scene, she felt that there was no limit to thepossibilities of life. 

Until this year, Cousin Eleanor had been a conservative in the matter ofhotels, when she had yielded to Edith's entreaties to go to one of the"new ones. " Hotels, indeed, that revolutionized transient existence. This one, on the Avenue, had a giant in a long blue livery coat whoopened their carriage door, and a hall in yellow and black onyx, andmaids and valets. After breakfast, when Honora sat down to write to AuntMary, she described the suite of rooms in which they lived, --the brassbeds, the electric night lamps, the mahogany French furniture, theheavy carpets, and even the white-tiled bathroom. There was a marvellousarrangement in the walls with which Edith was never tired of playing, a circular plate covered with legends of every conceivable want, from anewspaper to a needle and thread and a Scotch whiskey highball. 

At breakfast, more stimulants--of a mental nature, of course. Solomon inall his glory had never broken eggs in such a dining room. It had onyxpillars, too, and gilt furniture, and table after table of the whitestnapery stretched from one end of it to the other. The glass and silverwas all of a special pattern, and an obsequious waiter handed Honoraa menu in a silver frame, with a handle. One side of the menu was inEnglish, and the other in French. All around them were well-dressed, well-fed, prosperous-looking people, talking and laughing in subduedtones as they ate. And Honora had a strange feeling of being oneof them, of being as rich and prosperous as they, of coming into along-deferred inheritance. 

The mad excitement of that day in New York is a faint memory now, somuch has Honora lived since then. We descendants of rigid Puritans, ofpioneer tobacco-planters and frontiersmen, take naturally to a luxurysuch as the world has never seen--as our right. We have abolished kings, in order that as many of us as possible may abide in palaces. In one dayHonora forgot the seventeen years spent in the "little house under thehill, " as though these had never been. Cousin Eleanor, with a delightfulsense of wrong-doing, yielded to the temptation to adorn her; and thesaleswomen, who knew Mrs. Hanbury, made indiscreet-remarks. Such afigure and such a face, and just enough of height! Two new gowns wereordered, to be tried on at Sutcliffe, and as many hats, and an ulster, and heaven knows what else. Memory fails. 

In the evening they went to a new comic opera, and it is the music ofthat which brings back the day most vividly to Honora's mind. 

In the morning they took an early train to Sutcliffe Manors, on theHudson. It is an historic place. First of all, after leaving thestation, you climb through the little town clinging to the hillside; andHonora was struck by the quaint houses and shops which had been placesof barter before the Revolution. The age of things appealed to her. Itwas a brilliant day at the very end of September, the air sharp, andhere and there a creeper had been struck crimson. Beyond the town, onthe slopes, were other new sights to stimulate the imagination: countryhouses--not merely houses in the country, but mansions--enticinglyhidden among great trees in a way to whet Honora's curiosity as shepictured to herself the blissful quality of the life which their ownersmust lead. Long, curving driveways led up to the houses from occasionallodges; and once, as though to complete the impression, a young manand two women, superbly mounted, came trotting out of one of thesedriveways, talking and laughing gayly. Honora took a good look at theman. He was not handsome, but had, in fact, a distinguished and hauntingugliness. The girls were straight-featured and conventional to the lastdegree. 

Presently they came to the avenue of elms that led up to the long, lowbuildings of the school. 

Little more will be necessary, in the brief account of Honora's life atboarding-school, than to add an humble word of praise on the excellenceof Miss Turner's establishment. That lady, needless to say, did notadvertise in the magazines, or issue a prospectus. Parents were moreor less in the situation of the candidates who desired the honour andprivilege of whitewashing Tom Sawyer's fence. If you were a parent, and were allowed to confide your daughter to Miss Turner, instead ofdemanding a prospectus, you gave thanks to heaven, and spoke about it toyour friends. 

The life of the young ladies, of course, was regulated on the strictestprinciples. Early rising, prayers, breakfast, studies; the daily walk, rain or shine, under the watchful convoy of Miss Hood, the girls incolumns of twos; tennis on the school court, or skating on the schoolpond. Cotton Mather himself could not have disapproved of the Sundays, nor of the discourse of the elderly Doctor Moale (which you heard if youwere not a Presbyterian), although the reverend gentleman was distinctlyAnglican in appearance and manners. Sometimes Honora felt devout, andwould follow the service with the utmost attention. Her religion camein waves. On the Sundays when the heathen prevailed she studied thecongregation, grew to distinguish the local country families; and, ifthe truth must be told, watched for several Sundays for that uglyyet handsome young man whom she had seen on horseback. But he neverappeared, and presently she forgot him. 

Had there been a prospectus (which is ridiculous!), the great secret ofMiss Turner's school could not very well have been mentioned in it. TheEnglish language, it is to be feared, is not quite flexible enough tomention this secret with delicacy. Did Honora know it? Who can say?Self-respecting young ladies do not talk about such things, and Honorawas nothing if not self-respecting. 

 "SUTCLIFFE MANORS, October 15th. 

 "DEAREST AUNT MARY: As I wrote you, I continue to miss you and Uncle Tom dreadfully, --and dear old Peter, too; and Cathy and Bridget and Mary Ann. And I hate to get up at seven o'clock. And Miss Hood, who takes us out walking and teaches us composition, is such a ridiculously strict old maid--you would laugh at her. And the Sundays are terrible. Miss Turner makes us read the Bible for a whole hour in the afternoon, and reads to us in the evening. And Uncle Tom was right when he said we should have nothing but jam and bread and butter for supper: oh, yes, and cold meat. I am always ravenously hungry. I count the days until Christmas, when I shall have some really good things to eat again. And of course I cannot wait to see you all. 

 "I do not mean to give you the impression that I am not happy here, and I never can be thankful enough to dear Cousin Eleanor for sending me. Some of the girls are most attractive. Among others, I have become great friends with Ethel Wing, who is tall and blond and good-looking; and her clothes, though simple, are beautiful. To hear her imitate Miss Turner or Miss Hood or Dr. Moale is almost as much fun as going to the theatre. You must have heard of her father--he is the Mr. Wing who owns all the railroads and other things, and they have a house in Newport and another in New York, and a country place and a yacht. 

 "I like Sarah Wycliffe very much. She was brought up abroad, and we lead the French class together. Her father has a house in Paris, which they only use for a month or so in the year: an hotel, as the French call it. And then there is Maude Capron, from Philadelphia, whose father is Secretary of War. I have now to go to my class in English composition, but I will write to you again on Saturday. 

 "Your loving niece, "HONORA. "

The Christmas holidays came, and went by like mileposts from the windowof an express train. There was a Glee Club: there were dances, and private theatricals in Mrs. Dwyer's new house, in which it wasimperative that Honora should take part. There was no such thing asgetting up for breakfast, and once she did not see Uncle Tom fortwo whole days. He asked her where she was staying. It was the firstChristmas she remembered spending without Peter. His present appeared, but perhaps it was fortunate, on the whole, that he was in Texas, tryinga case. It seemed almost no time at all before she was at the stationagain, clinging to Aunt Mary: but now the separation was not so hard, and she had Edith and Mary for company, and George, a dignified andresponsible sophomore at Harvard. 

Owing to the sudden withdrawal from school of little Louise Simpson, theCincinnati girl who had shared her room during the first term, Honorahad a new room-mate after the holidays, Susan Holt. Susan was notbeautiful, but she was good. Her nose turned up, her hair Honoradescribed as a negative colour, and she wore it in defiance of allprevailing modes. If you looked very hard at Susan (which few peopleever did), you saw that she had remarkable blue eyes: they were the eyesof a saint. She was neither tall nor short, and her complexion was notall that it might have been. In brief, Susan was one of those girlswho go through a whole term at boarding--school without any particularnotice from the more brilliant Honoras and Ethel Wings. 

In some respects, Susan was an ideal room-mate. She read the Bible everynight and morning, and she wrote many letters home. Her ruling passion, next to religion, was order, and she took it upon herself to arrangeHonora's bureau drawers. It is needless to say that Honora acceptedthese ministrations and that she found Susan's admiration an entirelynatural sentiment. Susan was self-effacing, and she enjoyed listening toHonora's views on all topics. 

Susan, like Peter, was taken for granted. She came from somewhere, andafter school was over, she would go somewhere. She lived in New York, Honora knew, and beyond that was not curious. We never know when we areentertaining an angel unawares. One evening, early in May, when she wentup to prepare for supper she found Susan sitting in the window readinga letter, and on the floor beside her was a photograph. Honora pickedit up. It was the picture of a large country house with many chimneys, taken across a wide green lawn. 

"Susan, what's this?"

Susan looked up. 

"Oh, it's Silverdale. My brother Joshua took it. "

"Silverdale?" repeated Honora. 

"It's our place in the country, " Susan replied. "The family moved uplast week. You see, the trees are just beginning to bud. "

Honora was silent a moment, gazing at the picture. 

"It's very beautiful, isn't it? You never told me about it. "

"Didn't I?" said Susan. "I think of it very often. It has always seemedmuch more like home to me than our house in New York, and I love itbetter than any spot I know. "

Honora gazed at Susan, who had resumed her reading. 

"And you are going there when school is over. "

"Oh, yes, " said Susan; "I can hardly wait. " Suddenly she put down herletter, and looked at Honora. 

"And you, " she asked, "where are you going?"

"I don't know. Perhaps--perhaps I shall go to the sea for a while withmy cousins. "

It was foolish, it was wrong. But for the life of her Honora could notsay she was going to spend the long hot summer in St. Louis. The thoughtof it had haunted her for weeks: and sometimes, when the other girlswere discussing their plans, she had left them abruptly. And now she wasaware that Susan's blue eyes were fixed upon her, and that they had astrange and penetrating quality she had never noticed before: a certaintenderness, an understanding that made Honora redden and turn. 

"I wish, " said Susan, slowly, "that you would come and stay awhile withme. Your home is so far away, and I don't know when I shall see youagain. "

"Oh, Susan, " she murmured, "it's awfully good of you, but I'm afraid--Icouldn't. "

She walked to the window, and stood looking out for a moment at thebudding trees. Her heart was beating faster, and she was strangelyuncomfortable. 

"I really don't expect to go to the sea, Susan, " she said. "You see, my aunt and uncle are all alone in St. Louis, and I ought to go back tothem. If--if my father had lived, it might have been different. He died, and my mother, when I was little more than a year old. "

Susan was all sympathy. She slipped her hand into Honora's. 

"Where did he live?" she asked. 

"Abroad, " answered Honora. "He was consul at Nice, and had a villathere when he died. And people said he had an unusually brilliantcareer before him. My aunt and uncle brought me up, and my cousin, Mrs. Hanbury, Edith's mother, and Mary's, sent me here to school. "

Honora breathed easier after this confession, but it was long beforesleep came to her that night. She wondered what it would be like tovisit at a great country house such as Silverdale, what it would be liketo live in one. It seemed a strange and cruel piece of irony on the partof the fates that Susan, instead of Honora, should have been chosenfor such a life: Susan, who would have been quite as happy spending hersummers in St. Louis, and taking excursions in the electric cars: Susan, who had never experienced that dreadful, vacuum-like feeling, who had noambitious craving to be satisfied. Mingled with her flushes of affectionfor Susan was a certain queer feeling of contempt, of which Honora wasashamed. 

Nevertheless, in the days that followed, a certain metamorphosisseemed to have taken place in Susan. She was still the same modest, self-effacing, helpful roommate, but in Honora's eyes she hadchanged--Honora could no longer separate her image from the visionof Silverdale. And, if the naked truth must be told, it was due toSilverdale that Susan owes the honour of her first mention in thosedescriptive letters from Sutcliffe, which Aunt Mary has kept to thisday. 

Four days later Susan had a letter from her mother containing anastonishing discovery. There could be no mistake, --Mrs. Holt had broughtHonora to this country as a baby. 

"Why, Susan, " cried Honora, "you must have been the other baby. "

"But you were the beautiful one, " replied Susan, generously. "I haveoften heard mother tell about it, and how every one on the ship noticedyou, and how Hortense cried when your aunt and uncle took you away. Andto think we have been rooming together all these months and did not knowthat we were really--old friends. 

"And Honora, mother says you must come to Silverdale to pay us avisit when school closes. She wants to see you. I think, " added Susan, smiling, "I think she feels responsible, for you. She says that you mustgive me your aunts address, and that she will write to her. "

"Oh, I'd so like to go, Susan. And I don't think Aunt Mary wouldobject---for a little while. "

Honora lost no time in writing the letter asking for permission, andit was not until after she had posted it that she felt a sudden, sharpregret as she thought of them in their loneliness. But the postponementof her homecoming would only be for a fortnight at best. And she hadseen so little!

In due time Aunt Mary's letter arrived. There was no mention ofloneliness in it, only of joy that Honora was to have the opportunity tovisit such a place as Silverdale. Aunt Mary, it seems, had seen picturesof it long ago in a magazine of the book club, in an article concerningone of Mrs. Holt's charities--a model home for indiscreet young women. At the end of the year, Aunt Mary added, she had bought the number ofthe magazine, because of her natural interest in Mrs. Holt on Honora'saccount. Honora cried a little over that letter, but her determinationto go to Silverdale was unshaken. 

June came at last, and the end of school. The subject of Miss Turner'sannual talk was worldliness. Miss Turner saw signs, she regretted tosay, of a lowering in the ideals of American women: of a restlessness, of a desire for what was a false consideration and recognition; forpower. Some of her own pupils, alas! were not free from this fault. Ethel Wing, who was next to Honora, nudged her and laughed, and passedher some of Maillard's chocolates, which she had in her pocket. Woman'splace, continued Miss Turner, was the home, and she hoped they wouldall make good wives. She had done her best to prepare them to besuch. Independence, they would find, was only relative: no one had itcompletely. And she hoped that none of her scholars would ever descendto that base competition to outdo one's neighbours, so characteristic ofthe country to-day. 

The friends, and even the enemies, were kissed good-by, with pledges ofeternal friendship. Cousin Eleanor Hanbury came for Edith and Mary, andhoped Honora would enjoy herself at Silverdale. Dear Cousin Eleanor!Her heart was large, and her charity unpretentious. She slipped intoHonora's fingers, as she embraced her, a silver-purse with some goldcoins in it, and bade her not to forget to write home very often. 

"You know what pleasure it will give them, my dear, " she said, as shestepped on the train for New York. 

"And I am going home soon, Cousin Eleanor, " replied Honora, with alittle touch of homesickness in her voice. 

"I know, dear, " said Mrs. Hanbury. But there was a peculiar, almostwistful expression on her face as she kissed Honora again, as of one whoassents to a fiction in order to humour a child. 

As the train pulled out, Ethel Wing waved to her from the midst of agroup of girls on the wide rear platform of the last car. It was Mr. Wing's private car, and was going to Newport. 

"Be good, Honora!" she cried. 

Volume 2. 

CHAPTER VII. THE OLYMPIAN ORDER

Lying back in the chair of the Pullman and gazing over the wide Hudsonshining in the afternoon sun, Honora's imagination ran riot until theseeming possibilities of life became infinite. At every click of therails she was drawing nearer to that great world of which she haddreamed, a world of country houses inhabited by an Olympian order. To besure, Susan, who sat reading in the chair behind her, was but a humblerepresentative of that order--but Providence sometimes makes use of suchinstruments. The picture of the tall and brilliant Ethel Wing standingbehind the brass rail of the platform of the car was continuallyrecurring to Honora as emblematic: of Ethel, in a blue tailor-madegown trimmed with buff braid, and which fitted her slender figure withmilitary exactness. Her hair, the colour of the yellowest of gold, inthe manner of its finish seemed somehow to give the impression of thatmetal; and the militant effect of the costume had been heightened bya small colonial cocked hat. If the truth be told, Honora had secretlyidealized Miss Wing, and had found her insouciance, frankness, andtendency to ridicule delightful. Militant--that was indeed Ethel'snote--militant and positive. 

"You're not going home with Susan!" she had exclaimed, making a littleface when Honora had told her. "They say that Silverdale is as slow asa nunnery--and you're on your knees all the time. You ought to have cometo Newport with me. "

It was characteristic of Miss Wing that she seemed to have taken noaccount of the fact that she had neglected to issue this alluringinvitation. Life at Silverdale slow! How could it be slow amidst suchbeauty and magnificence?

The train was stopping at a new little station on which hung the legend, in gold letters, "Sutton. " The sun was well on his journey towards thewestern hills. Susan had touched her on the shoulder. 

"Here we are, Honora, " she said, and added, with an unusual tremor inher voice, "at last!"

On the far side of the platform a yellow, two-seated wagon was waiting, and away they drove through the village, with its old houses and itssleepy streets and its orchards, and its ancient tavern dating fromstage-coach days. Just outside of it, on the tree-dotted slope of a longhill, was a modern brick building, exceedingly practical in appearance, surrounded by spacious grounds enclosed in a paling fence. That, Susansaid, was the Sutton Home. 

"Your mother's charity?"

A light came into the girl's eyes. 

"So you have heard of it? Yes, it is the thing that interests mothermore than anything else in the world. "

"Oh, " said Honora, "I hope she will let me go through it. "

"I'm sure she will want to take you there to-morrow, " answered Susan, and she smiled. 

The road wound upwards, by the valley of a brook, through the hills, nowwooded, now spread with pastures that shone golden green in the eveninglight, the herds gathering at the gate-bars. Presently they came to agothic-looking stone building, with a mediaeval bridge thrown acrossthe stream in front of it, and massive gates flung open. As they passed, Honora had a glimpse of a blue driveway under the arch of the forest. An elderly woman looked out at them through the open half of a leadedlattice. 

"That's the Chamberlin estate, " Susan volunteered. "Mr. Chamberlin hasbuilt a castle on the top of that hill. "

Honora caught her breath. 

"Are many of the places here like that?" she asked. Susan laughed. 

"Some people don't think the place is very--appropriate, " she contentedherself with replying. 

A little later, as they climbed higher, other houses could be discerneddotted about the country-side, nearly all of them varied expressionsof the passion for a new architecture which seemed to possess the rich. Most of them were in conspicuous positions, and surrounded by wideacres. Each, to Honora, was an inspiration. 

"I had no idea there were so many people here, " she said. 

"I'm afraid Sutton is becoming fashionable, " answered Susan. 

"And don't you want it to?" asked Honora. 

"It was very nice before, " said Susan, quietly. 

Honora was silent. They turned in between two simple stone pillars thatdivided a low wall, overhung from the inside by shrubbery growing underthe forest. Susan seized her friend's hand and pressed it. 

"I'm always so glad to get back here, " she whispered. "I hope you'lllike it. "

Honora returned the pressure. 

The grey road forked, and forked again. Suddenly the forest came to anend in a sort of premeditated tangle of wild garden, and across a widelawn the great house loomed against the western sky. Its architecturewas of the '60's and '70's, with a wide porte-cochere that shelteredthe high entrance doors. These were both flung open, a butler and twofootmen were standing impassively beside them, and a neat maid within. Honora climbed the steps as in a dream, followed Susan through a hallwith a black-walnut, fretted staircase, and where she caught a glimpseof two huge Chinese vases, to a porch on the other side of the housespread with wicker chairs and tables. Out of a group of people at thefarther end of this porch arose an elderly lady, who came forward andclasped Susan in her arms. 

"And is this Honora? How do you do, my dear? I had the pleasure ofknowing you when you were much younger. "

Honora, too, was gathered to that ample bosom. Released, she beheld alady in a mauve satin gown, at the throat of which a cameo broochwas fastened. Mrs. Holt's face left no room for conjecture as to thecharacter of its possessor. Her hair, of a silvering blend, parted inthe middle, fitted tightly to her head. She wore earrings. In short, herappearance was in every way suggestive of momentum, of a force which thewise would respect. 

"Where are you, Joshua?" she said. "This is the baby we brought fromNice. Come and tell me whether you would recognize her. "

Mr. Holt released his--daughter. He had a mild blue eye, whitemutton-chop whiskers, and very thin hands, and his tweed suit wasdecidedly the worse for wear. 

"I can't say that I should, Elvira, " he replied; "although it is nothard to believe that such a beautiful baby should, prove to be sucha--er--good-looking young woman. "

"I've always felt very grateful to you for bringing me back, " saidHonora. 

"Tut, tut, child, " said Mrs. Holt; "there was no one else to do it. Andbe careful how you pay young women compliments, Joshua. They growvain enough. By the way, my dear, what ever became of your maternalgrandfather, old Mr. Allison--wasn't that his name?"

"He died when I was very young, " replied Honora. 

"He was too fond of the good things of this life, " said Mrs. Holt. 

"My dear Elvira!" her husband protested. 

"I can't help it, he was, " retorted that lady. "I am a judge of humannature, and I was relieved, I can tell you, my dear" (to Honora), "whenI saw your uncle and aunt on the wharf that morning. I knew that I hadconfided you to good hands. "

"They have done everything for me, Mrs. Holt, " said Honora. 

The good lady patted her approvingly on the shoulder. 

"I'm sure of it, my dear, " she said. "And I am glad to see youappreciate it. And now you must renew your acquaintance with thefamily. "

A sister and a brother, Honora had already learned from Susan, had diedsince she had crossed the ocean with them. Robert and Joshua, Junior, remained. Both were heavyset, with rather stern faces, both hadclose-cropped, tan-coloured mustaches and wide jaws, with blue eyeslike Susan's. Both were, with women at least, what the French would calldifficult--Robert less so than Joshua. They greeted Honora reservedlyand--she could not help feeling--a little suspiciously. And theirappearance was something of a shock to her; they did not, somehow, "gowith the house, " and they dressed even more carelessly than Peter Erwin. This was particularly true of Joshua, whose low, turned-down collarrevealed a porous, brick-red, and extremely virile neck, and whoseclothes were creased at the knees and across the back. 

As for their wives, Mrs. Joshua was a merry, brown-eyed little ladyalready inclining to stoutness, and Honora felt at home with her atonce. Mrs. Robert was tall and thin, with an olive face and dark eyeswhich gave the impression of an uncomfortable penetration. She wasdressed simply in a shirtwaist and a dark skirt, but Honora thought herstriking looking. 

The grandchildren, playing on and off the porch, seemed legion, and theywere besieging Susan. In reality there were seven of them, of all sizesand sexes, from the third Joshua with a tennis-bat to the youngest whowas weeping at being sent to bed, and holding on to her Aunt Susan withdesperation. When Honora had greeted them all, and kissed some of them, she was informed that there were two more upstairs, safely tucked awayin cribs. 

"I'm sure you love children, don't you?" said Mrs. Joshua. She spokeimpulsively, and yet with a kind of childlike shyness. 

"I adore them, " exclaimed Honora. 

A trellised arbour (which some years later would have been called apergola) led from the porch up the hill to an old-fashioned summer-houseon the crest. And thither, presently, Susan led Honora for a view ofthe distant western hills silhouetted in black against a flaming westernsky, before escorting her to her room. The vastness of the house, thewidth of the staircase, and the size of the second-story hall impressedour heroine. 

"I'll send a maid to you later, dear, " Susan said. "If you care to liedown for half an hour, no one will disturb you. And I hope you will becomfortable. "

Comfortable! When the door had closed, Honora glanced around her andsighed, "comfort" seemed such a strangely inadequate word. She wasreminded of the illustrations she had seen of English country houses. The bed alone would almost have filled her little room at home. On thefarther side, in an alcove, was a huge dressing-table; a fire was laidin the grate of the marble mantel, the curtains in the bay window weretightly drawn, and near by was a lounge with a reading-light. A hugemahogany wardrobe occupied one corner; in another stood a pier glass, and in another, near the lounge, was a small bookcase filled withbooks. Honora looked over them curiously. "Robert Elsmere" and a lifeof Christ, "Mr. Isaacs, " a book of sermons by an eminent clergyman, "Innocents Abroad, " Hare's "Walks in Rome, " "When a Man's Single, " byBarrie, a book of meditations, and "Organized Charities for Women. "

Adjoining the bedroom was a bathroom in proportion, evidently all herown, --with a huge porcelain tub and a table set with toilet bottlescontaining liquids of various colours. 

Dreamily, Honora slipped on the new dressing-gown Aunt Mary had made forher, and took a book out of the bookcase. It was the volume of sermons. But she could not read: she was forever looking about the room, andthinking of the family she had met downstairs. Of course, when one livedin a house like this, one could afford to dress and act as one liked. She was aroused from her reflections by the soft but penetrating notesof a Japanese gong, followed by a gentle knock on the door and theentrance of an elderly maid, who informed her it was time to dress fordinner. 

"If you'll excuse me, Miss, " said that hitherto silent individual whenthe operation was completed, "you do look lovely. "

Honora, secretly, was of that opinion too as she surveyed herself in thelong glass. The simple summer silk, of a deep and glowing pink, rivalledthe colour in her cheeks, and contrasted with the dark and shiningmasses of her hair; and on her neck glistened a little pendant of hermother's jewels, which Aunt Mary, with Cousin Eleanor's assistance, hadhad set in New York. Honora's figure was that of a woman of five andtwenty: her neck was a slender column, her head well set, and the lookof race, which had been hers since childhood, was at nineteen moreaccentuated. All this she saw, and went down the stairs in a kind ofexultation. And when on the threshold of the drawing-room she paused, the conversation suddenly ceased. Mr. Holt and his sons got up somewhatprecipitately, and Mrs. Holt came forward to meet her. 

"I hope you weren't waiting for me, " said Honora, timidly. 

"No indeed, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt. Tucking Honora's hand under herarm, she led the way majestically to the dining-room, a large apartmentwith a dimly lighted conservatory at the farther end, presided over bythe decorous butler and his assistants. A huge chandelier with prismshung over the flowers at the centre of the table, which sparkled withglass and silver, while dishes of vermilion and yellow fruits relievedthe whiteness of the cloth. Honora found herself beside Mr. Holt, wholooked more shrivelled than ever in his evening clothes. And she wasabout to address him when, with a movement as though to forestall her, he leaned forward convulsively and began a mumbling grace. 

The dinner itself was more like a ceremony than a meal, and as itproceeded, Honora found it increasingly difficult to rid herself of acurious feeling of being on probation. 

Joshua, who sat on her other side and ate prodigiously, scarcelyaddressed a word to her; but she gathered from his remarks to his fatherand brother that he was interested in cows. And Mr. Holt was almostexclusively occupied in slowly masticating the special dishes which thebutler impressively laid before him. He asked her a few questions aboutMiss Turner's school, but it was not until she had admired the massof peonies in the centre of the table that his eyes brightened, and hesmiled. 

"You like flowers?" he asked. 

"I love them, " slid Honora. 

"I am the gardener here, " he said. "You must see my garden, MissLeffingwell. I am in it by half-past six every morning, rain or shine. "

Honora looked up, and surprised Mrs. Robert's eyes fixed on her withthe same strange expression she had noticed on her arrival. And for somesenseless reason, she flushed. 

The conversation was chiefly carried on by kindly little Mrs. Joshua andby Mrs. Holt, who seemed at once to preside and to dominate. She praisedHonora's gown, but left a lingering impression that she thought heroverdressed, without definitely saying so. And she made innumerable--andoften embarrassing--inquiries about Honora's aunt and uncle, and herlife in St. Louis, and her friends there, and how she had happened to goto Sutcliffe to school. Sometimes Honora blushed, but she answered themall good-naturedly. And when at length the meal had marched sedatelydown to the fruit, Mrs. Holt rose and drew Honora out of the diningroom. 

"It is a little hard on you, my dear, " she said, "to give you somuch family on your arrival. But there are some other people comingto-morrow, when it will be gayer, I hope, for you and Susan. "

"It is so good of you and Susan to want me, Mrs. Holt, " replied Honora, "I am enjoying it so much. I have never been in a big country houselike this, and I am glad there is no one else here. I have heard my auntspeak of you so often, and tell how kind you were to take charge of me, that I have always hoped to know you sometime or other. And it seemsthe strangest of coincidences that I should have roomed with Susan atSutcliffe. "

"Susan has grown very fond of you, " said Mrs. Holt, graciously. "We arevery glad to have you, my dear, and I must own that I had a curiosity tosee you again. Your aunt struck me as a good and sensible woman, and itwas a positive relief to know that you were to be confided to her care. "Mrs. Holt, however, shook her head and regarded Honora, and her nextremark might have been taken as a clew to her thoughts. "But we are notvery gay at Silverdale, Honora. "

Honora's quick intuition detected the implication of a frivolity whicheven her sensible aunt had not been able to eradicate. 

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " she cried, "I shall be so happy here, just seeingthings and being among you. And I am so interested in the little bit Ihave seen already. I caught a glimpse of your girls' home on my way fromthe station. I hope you will take me there. "

Mrs. Holt gave her a quick look, but beheld in Honora's clear eyes onlyeagerness and ingenuousness. 

The change in the elderly lady's own expression, and incidentally in theatmosphere which enveloped her, was remarkable. 

"Would you really like to go, my dear?"

"Oh, yes indeed, " cried Honora. "You see, I have heard so much of it, and I should like to write my aunt about it. She is interested in thework you are doing, and she has kept a magazine with an article in it, and a picture of the institution. "

"Dear me!" exclaimed the lady, now visibly pleased. "It is a very modestlittle work, my dear. I had no idea that--out in St. Louis--that thebeams of my little candle had carried so far. Indeed you shall see it, Honora. We will go down the first thing in the morning. "

Mrs. Robert, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, roseabruptly and came towards them. There was something very like a smileon her face, --although it wasn't really a smile--as she bent over andkissed her mother-in-law on the cheek. 

"I am glad to hear you are interested in--charities, Miss Leffingwell, "she said. 

Honora's face grew warm. 

"I have not so far had very much to do with them, I am afraid, " sheanswered. 

"How should she?" demanded Mrs. Holt. "Gwendolen, you're not going upalready?"

"I have some letters to write, " said Mrs. Robert. 

"Gwen has helped me immeasurably, " said Mrs. Holt, looking after thetall figure of her daughter-in-law, "but she has a curious, reservedcharacter. You have to know her, my dear. She is not at all like Susan, for instance. "

Honora awoke the next morning to a melody, and lay for some minutes ina delicious semi-consciousness, wondering where she was. Presently shediscovered that the notes were those of a bird on a tree immediatelyoutside of her window--a tree of wonderful perfection, the lowerbranches of which swept the ground. Other symmetrical trees, of manyvarieties, dotted a velvet lawn, which formed a great natural terraceabove the forested valley of Silver Brook. On the grass, dew-drenchedcobwebs gleamed in the early sun, and the breeze that stirred thecurtains was charged with the damp, fresh odours of the morning. Voicescaught her ear, and two figures appeared in the distance. One sherecognized as Mr. Holt, and the other was evidently a gardener. The giltclock on the mantel pointed to a quarter of seven. 

It is far too late in this history to pretend that Honora was, bypreference, an early riser, and therefore it must have been theexcitement caused by her surroundings that made her bathe and dresswith alacrity that morning. A housemaid was dusting the stairs as shedescended into the empty hall. She crossed the lawn, took a path throughthe trees that bordered it, and came suddenly upon an old-fashionedgarden in all the freshness of its early morning colour. In one of thewinding paths she stopped with a little exclamation. Mr. Holt rose fromhis knees in front of her, where he had been digging industriously witha trowel. His greeting, when contrasted with his comparative taciturnityat dinner the night before, was almost effusive--and a little pathetic. 

"My dear young lady, " he exclaimed, "up so early?" He held upforbiddingly a mould-covered palm. "I can't shake hands with you. "

Honora laughed. 

"I couldn't resist the temptation to see your garden, " she said. 

A gentle light gleamed in his blue eyes, and he paused before a trellisof June roses. With his gardening knife he cut three of them, and heldthem gallantly against her white gown. Her sensitive colour responded asshe thanked him, and she pinned them deftly at her waist. 

"You like gardens?" he said. 

"I was brought up with them, " she answered; "I mean, " she correctedherself swiftly, "in a very modest way. My uncle is passionately fond offlowers, and he makes our little yard bloom with them all summer. But ofcourse, " Honora added, "I've never seen anything like this. "

"It has been a life work, " answered Mr. Holt, proudly, "and yet I feelas though I had not yet begun. Come, I will show you the peonies--theyare at their best--before I go in and make myself respectable forbreakfast. "

Ten minutes later, as they approached the house in amicable and evenlively conversation, they beheld Susan and Mrs. Robert standing on thesteps under the porte-cochere, watching them. 

"Why, Honora, " cried Susan, "how energetic you are! I actually had ashock when I went to your room and found you'd gone. I'll have to writeMiss Turner. "

"Don't, " pleaded Honora; "you see, I had every inducement to get up. "

"She has been well occupied, " put in Mr. Holt. "She has been admiring mygarden. "

"Indeed I have, " said Honora. 

"Oh, then, you have won father's heart!" cried Susan. Gwendolen Holtsmiled. Her eyes were fixed upon the roses in Honora's belt. 

"Good morning, Miss Leffingwell, " she said, simply. 

Mr. Holt having removed the loam from his hands, the whole family, excepting Joshua, Junior, and including an indefinite number ofchildren, and Carroll, the dignified butler, and Martha, the elderlymaid, trooped into the library for prayers. Mr. Holt sat down beforea teak-wood table at the end of the room, on which reposed a great, morocco-covered Bible. Adjusting his spectacles, he read, in a mild butimpressive voice, a chapter of Matthew, while Mrs. Joshua tried toquiet her youngest. Honora sat staring at a figure on the carpet, uncomfortably aware that Mrs. Robert was still studying her. Mr. Holtclosed the Bible reverently, and announced a prayer, whereupon thefamily knelt upon the floor and leaned their elbows on the seats oftheir chairs. Honora did likewise, wondering at the facility with whichMr. Holt worded his appeal, and at the number of things he found to prayfor. Her knees had begun to ache before he had finished. 

At breakfast such a cheerful spirit prevailed that Honora began almostto feel at home. Even Robert indulged occasionally in raillery. 

"Where in the world is Josh?" asked Mrs. Holt, after they were seated. 

"I forgot to tell you, mother, " little Mrs. Joshua chirped up, "that hegot up at an unearthly hour, and went over to Grafton to look at a cow. "

"A cow!" sighed Mrs. Holt. "Oh, dear, I might have known it. You mustunderstand, Honora, that every member of the Holt family has a hobby. Joshua's is Jerseys. "

"I'm sure I should adore them if I lived in the country, " Honoradeclared. 

"If you and Joshua would only take that Sylvester farm, and builda house, Annie, " said Mr. Holt, munching the dried bread which wasspecially prepared for him, "I should be completely happy. Then, " headded, turning to Honora, "I should have both my sons settled on theplace. Robert and Gwen are sensible in building. "

"It's cheaper to live with you, granddad, " laughed Mrs. Joshua. "Joshsays if we do that, he has more money to buy cows. "

At this moment a footman entered, and presented Mrs. Holt with some mailon a silver tray. 

"The Vicomte de Toqueville is coming this afternoon, Joshua, " sheannounced, reading rapidly from a sheet on which was visible a largecrown. "He landed in New York last week, and writes to know if I couldhave him. "

"Another of mother's menagerie, " remarked Robert. 

"I don't think that's nice of you, Robert, " said his mother. "TheVicomte was very kind to your father and me in Paris, and invited us tohis chateau in Provence. "

Robert was sceptical. 

"Are you sure he had one?" he insisted. 

Even Mr. Holt laughed. 

"Robert, " said his mother, "I wish Gwen could induce you to travel more. Perhaps you would learn that all foreigners aren't fortune-hunters. "

"I've had an opportunity to observe the ones who come over here, mother. "

"I won't have a prospective guest discussed, " Mrs. Holt declared, withfinality. "Joshua, you remember my telling you last spring that MarthaSpence's son called on me?" she asked. "He is in business with a mannamed Dallam, I believe, and making a great deal of money for a youngman. He is just a year younger than you, Robert. "

"Do you mean that fat, tow-headed boy that used to come up here and eatmelons and ride my pony?" inquired Robert. "Howard Spence?"

Mrs. Holt smiled. 

"He isn't fat any longer, Robert. Indeed, he's quite good-looking. Sincehis mother died, I had lost trace of him. But I found a photograph ofhers when I was clearing up my desk some months ago, and sent it to him, and he came to thank me. I forgot to tell you that I invited him for afortnight any time he chose, and he has just written to ask if he maycome now. I regret to say that he's on the Stock Exchange--but I wasvery fond of his mother. It doesn't seem to me quite a legitimatebusiness. "

"Why!" exclaimed little Mrs. Joshua, unexpectedly, "I'm given tounderstand that the Stock Exchange is quite aristocratic in these days. "

"I'm afraid I am old-fashioned, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt, rising. "Ithas always seemed to me little better than a gambling place. Honora, ifyou still wish to go to the Girls' Home, I have ordered the carriage ina quarter of an hour. "

CHAPTER VIII. A CHAPTER OF CONQUESTS

Honora's interest in the Institution was so lively, and she asked somany questions and praised so highly the work with which the indiscreetyoung women were occupied that Mrs. Holt patted her hand as they drovehomeward. 

"My dear, " she said, "I begin to wish I'd adopted you myself. Perhaps, later on, we can find a husband for you, and you will marry and settledown near us here at Silverdale, and then you can help me with thework. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " she replied, "I should so like to help you, I mean. Andit would be wonderful to live in such a place. And as for marriage, itseems such a long way off that somehow I never think of it. "

"Naturally, " ejaculated Mrs. Holt, with approval, "a young girl of yourage should not. But, my dear, I am afraid you are destined to have manyadmirers. If you had not been so well brought up, and were not naturallyso sensible, I should fear for you. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt!" exclaimed Honora, deprecatingly, and blushing veryprettily. 

"Whatever else I am, " said Mrs. Holt, vigorously, "I am not a flatterer. I am telling you something for your own good--which you probably knowalready. "

Honora was discreetly silent. She thought of the proud and unsusceptibleGeorge Hanbury, whom she had cast down from the tower of his sophomoredignity with such apparent ease; and of certain gentlemen at home, young and middle-aged, who had behaved foolishly during the Christmasholidays. 

At lunch both the Roberts and the Joshuas were away. 

Afterwards, they romped with the children--she and Susan. They wereshy at first, especially the third Joshua, but Honora captivated himby playing two sets of tennis in the broiling sun, at the end of whichexercise he regarded her with a new-born admiration in his eyes. He wasthirteen. 

"I didn't think you were that kind at all, " he said. 

"What kind did you think I was?" asked Honora, passing her arm aroundhis shoulder as they walked towards the house. 

The boy grew scarlet. 

"Oh, I didn't think you--you could play tennis, " he stammered. 

Honora stopped, and seized his chin and tilted his face upward. 

"Now, Joshua, " she said, "look at me and say that over again. "

"Well, " he replied desperately, "I thought you wouldn't want to get allmussed up and hot. "

"That's better, " said Honora. "You thought I was vain, didn't you?"

"But I don't think so any more, " he avowed passionately. "I think you'rea trump. And we'll play again to-morrow, won't we?"

"We'll play any day you like, " she declared. 

It is unfair to suppose that the arrival of a real vicomte and ofa young, good-looking, and successful member of the New York StockExchange were responsible for Honora's appearance, an hour later, in theembroidered linen gown which Cousin Eleanor had given her thatspring. Tea was already in progress on the porch, and if a hush in theconversation and the scraping of chairs is any sign of a sensation, thishappened when our heroine appeared in the doorway. And Mrs. Holt, in theact of lifting the hot-water kettle; put it down again. Whether or notthere was approval in the lady's delft-blue eye, Honora could nothave said. The Vicomte, with the graceful facility of his race, haddifferentiated himself from the group and stood before her. As soonas the words of introduction were pronounced, he made a bow that was atribute in itself, exaggerated in its respect. 

"It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle, " he murmured, but his eyes were moreeloquent. 

A description of him in his own language leaped into Honora's mind, somuch did he appear to have walked out of one of the many yellow-backednovels she had read. He was not tall, but beautifully made, and his coatwas quite absurdly cut in at the waist; his mustache was en-croc, andits points resembled those of the Spanish bayonets in the conservatory:he might have been three and thirty, and he was what the novelsdescribed as 'un peu fane' which means that he had seen the world: hiseyes were extraordinarily bright, black, and impenetrable. 

A greater contrast to the Vicomte than Mr. Howard Spence would havebeen difficult to find. He was Honora's first glimpse of Finance, of thepowers that travelled in private cars and despatched ships across theocean. And in our modern mythology, he might have stood for the godof Prosperity. Prosperity is pink, and so was Mr. Spence, in twoplaces, --his smooth-shaven cheeks and his shirt. His flesh had a certainfirmness, but he was not stout; he was merely well fed, as Prosperityshould be. His features were comparatively regular, his mustache alight brown, his eyes hazel. The fact that he came from that mysteriousmetropolis, the heart of which is Wall Street, not only excused butlegitimized the pink shirt and the neatly knotted green tie, thepepper-and-salt check suit that was loose and at the same timewell-fitting, and the jewelled ring on his plump little finger. On thewhole, Mr. Spence was not only prepossessing, but he contrived to giveHonora, as she shook his hand, the impression of being brought a stepnearer to the national source of power. Unlike the Vicomte, he did notappear to have been instantly and mortally wounded upon her arrival onthe scene, but his greeting was flattering, and he remained by her sideinstead of returning to that of Mrs. Robert. 

"When did you come up?" he asked. 

"Only yesterday, " answered Honora. 

"New York, " said Mr. Spence, producing a gold cigarette case on whichhis monogram was largely and somewhat elaborately engraved, "New Yorkis played out this time of year--isn't it? I dropped in at Sherry's lastnight for dinner, and there weren't thirty people there. "

Honora had heard of Sherry's as a restaurant where one dined fabulously, and she tried to imagine the cosmopolitan and blissful existence whichpermitted "dropping in at" such a place. Moreover, Mr. Spence wasplainly under the impression that she too "came up" from New York, andit was impossible not to be a little pleased. 

"It must be a relief to get into the country, " she ventured. 

Mr. Spence glanced around him expressively, and then looked at her witha slight smile. The action and the smile--to which she could not refrainfrom responding--seemed to establish a tacit understanding between them. It was natural that he should look upon Silverdale as a slow place, andthere was something delicious in his taking, for granted that she sharedthis opinion. She wondered a little wickedly what he would say when heknew the truth about her, and this was the birth of a resolution thathis interest should not flag. 

"Oh, I can stand the country when it is properly inhabited, " he said, and their eyes met in laughter. 

"How many inhabitants do you require?" she asked. 

"Well, " he said brazenly, "the right kind of inhabitant is worth athousand of the wrong kind. It is a good rule in business, when you comeacross a gilt-edged security, to make a specialty of it. "

Honora found the compliment somewhat singular. But she was prepared toforgive New York a few sins in the matter of commercial slang: New York, which evidently dressed as it liked, and talked as it liked. But notknowing any more of a gilt-edged security than that it was something toMr. Spence's taste, a retort was out of the question. Then, as thoughshe were doomed that day to complicity, her eyes chanced to encounter anappealing glance from the Vicomte, who was searching with the courageof despair for an English word, which his hostess awaited in stoicalsilence. He was trying to give his impressions of Silverdale, incomparison to country places abroad, while Mrs. Robert regardedhim enigmatically, and Susan sympathetically. Honora had an almostirresistible desire to laugh. 

"Ah, Madame, " he cried, still looking at Honora, "will you have thekindness to permit me to walk about ever so little?"

"Certainly, Vicomte, and I will go with you. Get my parasol, Susan. Perhaps you would like to come, too, Howard, " she added to Mr. Spence;"it has been so long since you were here, and we have made manychanges. "

"And you, Mademoiselle, " said the Vicomte to Honora, "you will come--yes?You are interested in landscape?"

"I love the country, " said Honora. 

"It is a pleasure to have a guest who is so appreciative, " said Mrs. Holt. "Miss Leffingwell was up at seven this morning, and in the gardenwith my husband. "

"At seven!" exclaimed the Vicomte; "you American young ladies arewonderful. For example--" and he was about to approach her to enlargeon this congenial theme when Susan arrived with the parasol, which Mrs. Holt put in his hands. 

"We'll begin, I think, with the view from the summer house, " she said. "And I will show you how our famous American landscape architect, Mr. Olmstead, has treated the slope. "

There was something humorous, and a little pathetic in the contrastedfigures of the Vicomte and their hostess crossing the lawn in front ofthem. Mr. Spence paused a moment to light his cigarette, and he seemedto derive infinite pleasure from this juxtaposition. 

"Got left, --didn't he?" he said. 

To this observation there was, obviously, no answer. 

"I'm not very strong on foreigners, " he declared. "An American is goodenough for me. And there's something about that fellow which would makeme a little slow in trusting him with a woman I cared for. "

"If you are beginning to worry over Mrs. Holt, " said Honora, "we'dbetter walk a little faster. "

Mr. Spence's delight at this sally was so unrestrained as to cause thecouple ahead to turn. The Vicomte's expression was reproachful. 

"Where's Susan?" asked Mrs. Holt. 

"I think she must have gone in the house, " Honora answered. 

"You two seem to be having a very good time. "

"Oh, we're hitting it off fairly well, " said Mr. Spence, no doubt forthe benefit of the Vicomte. And he added in a confidential tone, "Aren'twe?"

"Not on the subject of the Vicomte, " she replied promptly. "I like him. I like French people. "

"What!" he exclaimed, halting in his steps, "you don't take that manseriously?"

"I haven't known him long enough to take him seriously, " said Honora. 

"There's a blindness about women, " he declared, "that'sincomprehensible. They'll invest in almost any old thing if thecertificates are beautifully engraved. If you were a man, you wouldn'ttrust that Frenchman to give you change for five dollars. "

"French people, " proclaimed Honora, "have a light touch of which weAmericans are incapable. We do not know how to relax. "

"A light touch!" cried Mr. Spence, delightedly, "that about describesthe Vicomte. "

"I'm sure you do him an injustice, " said Honora. 

"We'll see, " said Mr. Spence. "Mrs. Holt is always picking up queerpeople like that. She's noted for it. " He turned to her. "How did youhappen to come here?"

"I came with Susan, " she replied, amusedly, "from boarding-school atSutcliffe. "

"From boarding-school!"

She rather enjoyed his surprise. 

"You don't mean to say you are Susan's age?"

"How old did you think I was?" she asked. 

"Older than Susan, " he said surveying her. 

"No, I'm a mere child, I'm nineteen. "

"But I thought--" he began, and paused and lighted another cigarette. 

Her eyes lighted mischievously. 

"You thought that I had been out several years, and that I'd seen a gooddeal of the world, and that I lived in New York, and that it was strangeyou didn't know me. But New York is such an enormous place I suppose onecan't know everybody there. "

"And--where do you come from, if I may ask?" he said. 

"St. Louis. I was brought to this country before I was two years old, from France. Mrs. Holt brought me. And I have never been out of St. Louis since, except to go to Sutcliffe. There you have my history. Mrs. Holt would probably have told it to you, if I hadn't. "

"And Mrs. Holt brought you to this country?"

Honora explained, not without a certain enjoyment. 

"And how do you happen to be here?" she demanded. "Are you a memberof--of the menagerie?"

He had the habit of throwing back his head when he laughed. This, ofcourse, was a thing to laugh over, and now he deemed it audacity. Fiveminutes before he might have given it another name there is no use insaying that the recital of Honora's biography had not made a differencewith Mr. Howard Pence, and that he was not a little mortified athis mistake. What he had supposed her to be must remain a matter ofconjecture. He was, however, by no means aware how thoroughly thisunknown and inexperienced young woman had read his thoughts in herregard. And if the truth be told, he was on the whole relieved that shewas nobody. He was just an ordinary man, provided with no sixth sense orpremonitory small voice to warn him that masculine creatures are oftenin real danger at the moment when they feel most secure. 

It is certain that his manner changed, and during the rest of the walkshe listened demurely when he talked about Wall Street, with casualreferences to the powers that be. It was evident that Mr. Howard Spencewas one who had his fingers on the pulse of affairs. Ambition leaped inhim. 

They reached the house in advance of Mrs. Holt and the Vicomte, andHonora went to her room. 

At dinner, save for a little matter of a casual remark when Mr. Holt hadassumed the curved attitude in which he asked grace, Mr. Spence had averitable triumph. Self-confidence was a quality which Honora admired. He was undaunted by Mrs. Holt, and advised Mrs. Robert, if she hadany pin-money, to buy New York Central; and he predicted an era ofprosperity which would be unexampled in the annals of the country. Amongother powers, he quoted the father of Honora's schoolmate, Mr. JamesWing, as authority for this prophecy. He sat next to Susan, whomaintained her usual maidenly silence, but Honora, from time to time, and as though by accident, caught his eye. Even Mr. Holt, when notmunching his dried bread, was tempted to make some inquiries about themarket. 

"So far as I am concerned, " Mrs. Holt announced suddenly, "nothing canconvince me that it is not gambling. "

"My dear Elvira!" protested Mr. Holt. 

"I can't help it, " said that lady, stoutly; "I'm old-fashioned, Isuppose. But it seems to me like legalized gambling. "

Mr. Spence took this somewhat severe arraignment of his career inadmirable good nature. And if these be such a thing as an implied wink, Honora received one as he proceeded to explain what he was pleased tocall the bona-fide nature of the transactions of Dallam and Spence. 

A discussion ensued in which, to her surprise, even the ordinarilytaciturn Joshua took a part, and maintained that the buying and sellingof blooded stock was equally gambling. To this his father laughinglyagreed. The Vicomte, who sat on Mrs. Holt's right, and who apparentlywas determined not to suffer a total eclipse without a struggle, gallantly and unexpectedly came to his hostess' rescue, though shetreated him as a doubtful ally. This was because he declared withengaging frankness that in France the young men of his monde had ajeunesse: he, who spoke to them, had gambled; everybody gambled inFrance, where it was regarded as an innocent amusement. He had friendson the Bourse, and he could see no difference in principle betweenbetting on the red at Monte Carlo and the rise and fall of the shares ofla Compagnie des Metaux, for example. After completing his argument, he glanced triumphantly about the table, until his restless blackeyes encountered Honora's, seemingly seeking a verdict. She smiledimpartially. 

The subject of finance lasted through the dinner, and the Vicomteproclaimed himself amazed with the evidences of wealth which confrontedhim on every side in this marvellous country. And once, when he was at aloss for a word, Honora astonished and enchanted him by supplying it. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, " he exclaimed, "I was sure when I first beheld youthat you spoke my language! And with such an accent!"

"I have studied it all my life, Vicomte, " she said, modestly, "and I hadthe honour to be born in your country. I have always wished to see itagain. "

Monsieur de Toqueville ventured the fervent hope that her wish mightsoon be gratified, but not before he returned to France. He expressedhimself in French, and in a few moments she found herself deep in adiscussion with him in that tongue. While she talked, her veins seemedfilled with fire; and she was dimly and automatically aware of thedisturbance about her, as though she were creating a magnetic storm thatinterfered with all other communication. Mr. Holt's nightly bezique, which he played with Susan, did not seem to be going as well as usual, and elsewhere conversation was a palpable pretence. Mr. Spence, whowas attempting to entertain the two daughters-in-law, was clearlydistrait--if his glances meant anything. Robert and Joshua had notappeared, and Mrs. Holt, at the far end of the room under the lamp, regarded Honora from time to time over the edge of the eveningnewspaper. 

In his capacity as a student of American manners, an unsuspectedif scattered knowledge on Honora's part of that portion of Frenchliterature included between Theophile Gautier and Gyp at once dumfoundedand delighted the Vicomte de Toqueville. And he was curious to knowwhether, amongst American young ladies, Miss Leffingwell was theexception or the rule. Those eyes of his, which had paid to his hostessa tender respect, snapped when they spoke to our heroine, and presentlyhe boldly abandoned literature to declare that the fates alone had senther to Silverdale at the time of his visit. 

It was at this interesting juncture that Mrs. Holt rattled her newspapera little louder than usual, arose majestically, and addressed Mrs. Joshua. 

"Annie, perhaps you will play for us, " she said, as she crossed theroom, and added to Honora: "I had no idea you spoke French so well, mydear. What have you and Monsieur de Toqueville been talking about?"

It was the Vicomte who, springing to his feet, replied nimbly:"Mademoiselle has been teaching me much of the customs of your country. "

"And what, " inquired Mrs. Holt, "have you been teaching Mademoiselle?"

The Vicomte laughed and shrugged his shoulders expressively. 

"Ah, Madame, I wish I were qualified to be her teacher. The education ofAmerican young ladies is truly extraordinary. "

"I was about to tell Monsieur de Toqueville, " put in Honora, wickedly, "that he must see your Institution as soon as possible, and the workyour girls are doing. "

"Madame, " said the Vicomte, after a scarcely perceptible pause, "I awaitmy opportunity and your kindness. "

"I will take you to-morrow, " said Mrs. Holt. 

At this instant a sound closely resembling a sneeze caused them to turn. Mr. Spence, with his handkerchief to his mouth, had his back turned tothem, and was studiously regarding the bookcases. 

After Honora had gone upstairs for the night she opened her door inresponse to a knock, to find Mrs. Holt on the threshold. 

"My dear, " said that lady, "I feel that I must say a word to you. Isuppose you realize that you are attractive to men. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt. "

"You're no fool, my dear, and it goes without saying that you-do realizeit--in the most innocent way, of course. But you have had no experiencein life. Mind you, I don't say that the Vicomte de Toqueville isn't verymuch of a gentleman, but the French ideas about the relations of youngmen and young women are quite different and, I regret to say, lessinnocent than ours. I have no reason to believe that the Vicomte hascome to this country to--to mend his fortunes. I know nothing about hisproperty. But my sense of responsibility towards you has led me to tellhim that you have no dot, for you somehow manage to give the impressionof a young woman of fortune. Not purposely, my dear--I did not meanthat. " Mrs. Holt tapped gently Honora's flaming cheek. "I merely feltit my duty to drop you a word of warning against Monsieur deToqueville--because he is a Frenchman. "

"But, Mrs. Holt, I had no idea of--of falling in love with him, "protested Honora, as soon as she could get her breath. He seemed sokind--and so interested in everything. 

"I dare say, " said Mrs. Holt, dryly. "And I have always been led tobelieve that that is the most dangerous sort. I am sure, Honora, afterwhat I have said, you will give him no encouragement. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " cried Honora again, "I shouldn't think of such athing!"

"I am sure of it, Honora, now that you are forewarned. And yoursuggestion to take him to the Institution was not a bad one. I meant todo so anyway, and I think it will be good for him. Good night, my dear. "

After the good lady bad gone, Honora stood for some moments motionless. Then she turned out the light. 

CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH THE VICOMTE CONTINUES HIS STUDIES

Mr. Robert Holt, Honora learned at breakfast, had two bobbies. She hadnever heard of what is called Forestry, and had always believed thewood of her country to be inexhaustible. It had never occurred to herto think of a wild forest as an example of nature's extravagance, andso flattering was her attention while Robert explained the primaryprinciples of caring for trees that he actually offered to show her oneof the tracts on the estate which he was treating. He could not, --heregretted to say, take her that morning. 

His other hobby was golf. He was president of the Sutton Golf Club, and had arranged to play a match with Mr. Spence. This gentleman, itappeared, was likewise an enthusiast, and had brought to Silverdale aleather bag filled with sticks. 

"Won't you come, too, Miss Leffingwell?" he said, as he took a secondcup of coffee. 

Somewhat to the astonishment of the Holt family, Robert seconded theinvitation. 

"I'll bet, Robert, " said Mr. Spence, gallantly, "that Miss Leffingwellcan put it over both of us. "

"Indeed, I can't play at all, " exclaimed Honora in confusion. "And Ishouldn't think of spoiling your match. And besides, I am going to drivewith Susan. "

"We can go another day, Honora, " said Susan. 

But Honora would not hear of it. 

"Come over with me this afternoon, then, " suggested Mr. Spence, "andI'll give you a lesson. "

She thanked him gratefully. 

"But it won't be much fun for you, I'm afraid, " she added, as they leftthe dining room. 

"Don't worry about me, " he answered cheerfully. He was dressed in achecked golf costume, and wore a pink shirt of a new pattern. And hestood in front of her in the hall, glowing from his night's sleep, evidently in a high state of amusement. 

"What's the matter?" she demanded. 

"You did for the Vicomte all right, " he said. "I'd give a good deal tosee him going through the Institution. "

"It wouldn't have hurt you, either, " she retorted, and started up thestairs. Once she glanced back and saw him looking after her. 

At the far end of the second story hall she perceived the Vicomte, whohad not appeared at breakfast, coming out of his room. She paused withher hand on the walnut post and laughed a little, so ludicrous was hisexpression as he approached her. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, que vous etes mechante!" he exclaimed. "But I forgiveyou, if you will not go off with that stock-broker. It must be that Isee the Home sometime, and if I go now it is over. I forgive you. It isin the Bible that we must forgive our neighbour--how many times?"

"Seventy times seven, " said Honora. 

"But I make a condition, " said the Vicomte, "that my neighbour shallbe a woman, and young and beautiful. Then I care not how many times. Mademoiselle, if you would but have your portrait painted as you are, with your hand on the post, by Sargent or Carolus Duran, there would besome noise in the Salon. "

"Is that you, Vicomte?" came a voice from the foot of the stairs--Mrs. Holt's voice. 

"I come this instant, Madame, " he replied, looking over the banisters, and added: "malheureux que je suis! Perhaps, when I return, you willshow me a little of the garden. "

The duty of exhibiting to guests the sights of Silverdale and theneighbourhood had so often devolved upon Susan, who was methodical, thatshe had made out a route, or itinerary, for this purpose. There weresome notes to leave and a sick woman and a child to see, which causedher to vary it a little that morning; and Honora, who sat in thesunlight and held the horse, wondered how it would feel to play the ladybountiful. "I am so glad to have you all to myself for a little while, Honora, " Susan said to her. "You are so popular that I begin to fearthat I shall have to be unselfish, and share you. "

"Oh, Susan, " she said, "every one has been so kind. And I can't tell youhow much I am enjoying this experience, which I feel I owe to you. "

"I am so happy, dear, that it is giving you pleasure, " said Susan. 

"And don't think, " exclaimed Honora, "that you won't see lots of me, foryou will. "

Her heart warmed to Susan, yet she could not but feel a secret pityfor her, as one unable to make the most of her opportunities in thewonderful neighbourhood in which she lived. As they drove through theroads and in and out of the well-kept places, everybody they met had abow and a smile for her friend--a greeting such as people give to thosefor whom they have only good-will. Young men and girls waved theirracquets at her from the tennis-courts; and Honora envied them andwished that she, too, were a part of the gay life she saw, and wereplaying instead of being driven decorously about. She admired thetrim, new houses in which they lived, set upon the slopes of the hills. Pleasure houses, they seemed to her, built expressly for joys which hadbeen denied her. 

"Do you see much of--of these people, Susan?" she asked. 

"Not so much as I'd like, " replied Susan, seriously. "I never seem toget time. We nearly always have guests at Silverdale, and then thereare so many things one has to attend to. Perhaps you have noticed, " sheadded, smiling a little, "that we are very serious and old-fashioned. "

"Oh, no indeed, " protested Honora. "It is such a wonderful experiencefor me to be here!"

"Well, " said Susan, "we're having some young people to dinner to-night, and others next week--that's why I'm leaving these notes. And then weshall be a little livelier. "

"Really, Susan, you mustn't think that I'm not having a good time. It isexciting to be in the same house with a real French Vicomte, and I likeMr. Spence tremendously. "

Her friend was silent. 

"Don't you?" demanded Honora. 

To her surprise, the usually tolerant Susan did not wholly approve ofMr. Spence. 

"He is a guest, and I ought not to criticise him, " she answered. "Butsince you ask me, Honora, I have to be honest. It seems to me that hisambitions are a little sordid--that he is too intent upon growing rich. "

"But I thought all New Yorkers were that way, " exclaimed Honora, andadded hastily, "except a few, like your family, Susan. "

Susan laughed. 

"You should marry a diplomat, my dear, " she said. "After all, perhapsI am a little harsh. But there is a spirit of selfishness and--and ofvulgarity in modern, fashionable New York which appears to be catching, like a disease. The worship of financial success seems to be in everyone's blood. "

"It is power, " said Honora. 

Susan glanced at her, but Honora did not remark the expression on herfriend's face, so intent was she on the reflections which Susan's wordshad aroused. They had reached the far end of the Silverdale domain, andwere driving along the shore of the lake that lay like a sapphire setamongst the green hills. It was here that the new house of the RobertHolts was building. Presently they came to Joshua's dairy farm, andJoshua himself was standing in the doorway of one of his immaculate barnHonora put her hand on Susan's arm. 

"Can't we see the cows?" she asked. 

Susan looked surprised. 

"I didn't know you were interested in cows, Honora. "

"I am interested in everything, " said Honora: "and I think your brotheris so attractive. "

It was at this moment that Joshua, with his hands in his pockets, demanded what his sister was doing there. 

"Miss Leffingwell wants to look at the cattle, Josh, " called Susan. 

"Won't you show them to me, Mr. Holt, " begged Honora. "I'd like so muchto see some really good cattle, and to know a little more about them. "

Joshua appeared incredulous. But, being of the male sex, he did not hidethe fact that he was pleased, "it seems strange to have somebody reallywant to see them, " he said. "I tried to get Spence to come back thisway, but the idea didn't seem to appeal to him. Here are some of therecords. "

"Records?" repeated Honora, looking at a mass of typewritten figures onthe wall. "Do you mean to say you keep such an exact account of all themilk you get?"

Joshua laughed, and explained. She walked by his side over the concretepaving to the first of the varnished stalls. 

"That, " he said, and a certain pride had come into his voice, "is LadyGuinevere, and those ribbons are the prizes she has taken on both sidesof the water. "

"Isn't she a dear!" exclaimed Honora; "why, she's actually beautiful. Ididn't know cows could be so beautiful. "

"She isn't bad, " admitted Joshua. "Of course the good points in a cowaren't necessarily features of beauty for instance, these bones here, "he added, pointing to the hips. 

"But they seem to add, somehow, to the thoroughbred appearance, " Honoradeclared. 

"That's absolutely true, " replied Joshua, --whereupon he began to talk. And Honora, still asking questions, followed him from stall to stall. "There are some more in the pasture, " he said, when they had reached theend of the second building. 

"Oh, couldn't I see them?" she asked. 

"Surely, " replied Joshua, with more of alacrity than one would havebelieved him capable. "I'll tell Susan to drive on, and you and I willwalk home across the fields, if you like. "

"I should love to, " said Honora. 

It was not without astonishment that the rest of the Holt family beheldthem returning together as the gongs were sounding for luncheon. Mrs. Holt, upon perceiving them, began at once to shake her head and laugh. 

"My dear, it can't be that you have captivated Joshua!" she exclaimed, in a tone that implied the carrying of a stronghold hitherto thoughtimpregnable. 

Honora blushed, whether from victory or embarrassment, or both, it isimpossible to say. 

"I'm afraid it's just the other way, Mrs. Holt, " she replied; "Mr. Holthas captivated me. "

"We'll call it mutual, Miss Leffingwell, " declared Joshua, which was forhim the height of gallantry. 

"I only hope he hasn't bored you, " said the good-natured Mrs. Joshua. 

"Oh, dear, no, " exclaimed Honora. "I don't see how any one could bebored looking at such magnificent animals as that Hardicanute. "

It was at this moment that her eyes were drawn, by a seeminglyresistless attraction, to Mrs. Robert's face. Her comment upon thislatest conquest, though unexpressed, was disquieting. And in spite ofherself, Honora blushed again. 

At luncheon, in the midst of a general conversation, Mr. Spence made aremark sotto voce which should, in the ordinary course of events, haveremained a secret. 

"Susan, " he said, "your friend Miss Leffingwell is a fascinator. She'sgot Robert's scalp, too, and he thought it a pretty good joke because Ioffered to teach her to play golf this afternoon. "

It appeared that Susan's eyes could flash indignantly. Perhaps sheresented Mr. Spence's calling her by her first name. 

"Honora Leffingwell is the most natural and unspoiled person I know, "she said. 

There is, undoubtedly, a keen pleasure and an ample reward in teachinga pupil as apt and as eager to learn as Honora. And Mr. Spence, if heattempted at all to account for the swiftness with which the hours ofthat long afternoon slipped away, may have attributed their flight tothe discovery in himself of hitherto latent talent for instruction. Atthe little Casino, he had bought, from the professional in charge of thecourse, a lady's driver; and she practised with exemplary patiencethe art of carrying one's hands through and of using the wrists in thestroke. 

"Not quite, Miss Leffingwell, " he would say, "but so. "

Honora would try again. 

"That's unusually good for a beginner, but you are inclined to chop itoff a little still. Let it swing all the way round. "

"Oh, dear, how you must hate me!"

"Hate you?" said Mr. Spence, searching in vain for words with which toobliterate such a false impression. "Anything but that!"

"Isn't it a wonderful, spot?" she exclaimed, gazing off down the swale, emerald green in the afternoon light between its forest walls. In thedistance, Silver Brook was gleaming amidst the meadows. They sat downon one of the benches and watched the groups of players pass. Mr. Spenceproduced his cigarette case, and presented it to her playfully. 

"A little quiet whiff, " he suggested. "There's not much chance overat the convent, " and she gathered that it was thus he was pleased todesignate Silverdale. 

In one instant she was doubtful whether or not to be angry, and in thenext grew ashamed of the provincialism which had caused her to suspectan insult. She took a cigarette, and he produced a gold match case, lighted a match, and held it up for her. Honora blew it out. 

"You didn't think seriously that I smoked?" she asked, glancing at him. 

"Why not?" he asked; "any number of girls do. "

She tore away some of the rice paper and lifted the tobacco to her nose, and made a little grimace. 

"Do you like to see women smoke?" she asked. 

Mr. Spence admitted that there was something cosey about the custom, when it was well done. 

"And I imagine, " he added, "that you'd do it well. "

"I'm sure I should make a frightful mess of it, " she protested modestly. 

"You do everything well, " he said. 

"Even golf?" she inquired mischievously. 

"Even golf, for a beginner and--and a woman; you've got the swing inan astonishingly short time. In fact, you've been something of aneye-opener to me, " he declared. "If I had been betting, I should haveplaced the odds about twenty to one against your coming from the West. "

This Eastern complacency, although it did not lower Mr. Spence in herestimation, aroused Honora's pride. 

"That shows how little New Yorkers know of the West, " she replied, laughing. "Didn't you suppose there were any gentlewomen there?"

"Gentlewomen, " repeated Mr. Spence, as though puzzled by the word, "gentlewomen, yes. But you might have been born anywhere. "

Even her sense of loyalty to her native place was not strong enough tooverride this compliment. 

"I like a girl with some dash and go to her, " he proclaimed, andthere could be no doubt about the one to whom he was attributing thesequalities. "Savoir faire, as the French call it, and all that. I don'tknow much about that language, but the way you talk it makes Mrs. Holt'sFrench and Susan's sound silly. I watched you last night when you werestringing the Vicomte. "

"Oh, did you?" said Honora, demurely. 

"You may have thought I was talking to Mrs. Robert, " he said. 

"I wasn't thinking anything about you, " replied Honora, indignantly. "And besides, I wasn't I stringing' the Vicomte. In the West we don'tuse anything like so much slang as you seem to use in New York. "

"Oh, come now!" he exclaimed, laughingly, and apparently not the leastout of countenance, "you made him think he was the only pebble on thebeach. I have no idea what you were talking about. "

"Literature, " she said. "Perhaps that was the reason why you couldn'tunderstand it. "

"He may be interested in literature, " replied Mr. Spence, "but itwouldn't be a bad guess to say that he was more interested in stocks andbonds. "

"He doesn't talk about them, at any rate, " said Honora. 

"I'd respect him more if he did, " he announced. "I know thosefellows-they make love to every woman they meet. I saw him eying you atlunch. "

Honora laughed. 

"I imagine the Vicomte could make love charmingly, " she said. 

Mr. Spence suddenly became very solemn. 

"Merely as a fellow-countryman, Miss Leffingwell--" he began, when shesprang to her feet, her eyes dancing, and finished the sentence. 

"You would advise me to be on my guard against him, because, although Ilook twenty-five and experienced, I am only nineteen and inexperienced. Thank you. "

He paused to light another cigarette before he followed her across theturf. But she had the incomprehensible feminine satisfaction of knowing, as they walked homeward, that the usual serenity of his disposition wasslightly ruffled. 

A sudden caprice impelled her, in the privacy of her bedroom thatevening, to draw his portrait for Peter Erwin. The complacency of NewYork men was most amusing, she wrote, and the amount of slang they usedwould have been deemed vulgar in St. Louis. Nevertheless, she likedpeople to be sure of themselves, and there was something "insolent"about New York which appealed to her. Peter, when he read that letter, seemed to see Mr. Howard Spence in the flesh; or arrayed, rather, inthe kind of cloth alluringly draped in the show-windows of fashionabletailors. For Honora, all unconsciously, wrote literature. Literaturewas invented before phonographs, and will endure after them. Peter couldhear Mr. Spence talk, for a part of that gentleman's conversation--acharacteristic part--was faithfully transcribed. And Peter detected astrain of admiration running even through the ridicule. 

Peter showed that letter to Aunt Mary, whom it troubled, and to UncleTom, who laughed over it. There was also a lifelike portrait of theVicomte, followed by the comment that he was charming, but very French;but the meaning of this last, but quite obvious, attribute remainedobscure. He was possessed of one of the oldest titles and one of theoldest chateaux in France. (Although she did not say so, Honora had thison no less authority than that of the Vicomte himself. ) Mrs. Holt--withher Victorian brooch and ear-rings and her watchful delft-blue eyes thatsomehow haunted one even when she was out of sight, with her ample bosomand the really kind heart it contained--was likewise depicted; and Mr. Holt, with his dried bread, and his garden which Honora wished Uncle Tomcould see, and his prayers that lacked imagination. Joshua and his cows, Robert and his forest, Susan and her charities, the Institution, jollyMrs. Joshua and enigmatical Mrs. Robert--all were there: and even apicture of the dinner-party that evening, when Honora sat next to ayoung Mr. Patterson with glasses and a studious manner, who knew GeorgeHanbury at Harvard. The other guests were a florid Miss Chamberlin, whose person loudly proclaimed possessions, and a thin Miss Longman, whorented one of the Silverdale cottages and sketched. 

Honora was seeing life. She sent her love to Peter, and begged him towrite to her. 

The next morning a mysterious change seemed to have passed over themembers of the family during the night. It was Sunday. Honora, whenshe left her room, heard a swishing on the stairs--Mrs. Joshua, stifflyarrayed for the day. Even Mrs. Robert swished, but Mrs. Holt, in abronze-coloured silk, swished most of all as she entered the libraryafter a brief errand to the housekeeper's room. Mr. Holt was alreadyarranging his book-marks in the Bible, while Joshua and Robert, in blackcutaways that seemed to have the benumbing and paralyzing effect ofstrait-jackets, wandered aimlessly about the room, as though its wallswere the limit of their movements. The children had a subdued andtouch-me-not air that reminded Honora of her own youth. 

It was not until prayers were over and the solemn gathering seated atthe breakfast table that Mr. Spence burst upon it like an aurora. Hisflannel suit was of the lightest of grays; he wore white tennis shoesand a red tie, and it was plain, as he cheerfully bade them goodmorning, that he was wholly unaware of the enormity of his costume. There was a choking, breathless moment before Mrs. Holt broke thesilence. 

"Surely, Howard, " she said, "you're not going to church in thoseclothes. "

"I hadn't thought of going to church, " replied Mr. Spence, helpinghimself to cherries. 

"What do you intend to do?" asked his hostess. 

"Read the stock reports for the week as soon as the newspapers arrive. "

"There is no such thing as a Sunday newspaper in my house, " said Mrs. Holt. 

"No Sunday newspapers!" he exclaimed. And his eyes, as they encounteredHonora's, --who sought to avoid them, --expressed a genuine dismay. 

"I am afraid, " said Mrs. Holt, "that I was right when I spoke of thepernicious effect of Wall Street upon young men. Your mother did notapprove of Sunday newspapers. "

During the rest of the meal, although he made a valiant attempt to holdhis own, Mr. Spence was, so to speak, outlawed. Robert and Joshua musthave had a secret sympathy for him. One of them mentioned the Vicomte. 

"The Vicomte is a foreigner, " declared Mrs. Holt. "I am in no senseresponsible for him. "

The Vicomte was at that moment propped up in bed, complaining to hisvalet about the weakness of the coffee. He made the remark (which heafterwards repeated to Honora) that weak coffee and the Protestantreligion seemed inseparable; but he did not attempt to discover thewhereabouts, in Sutton, of the Church of his fathers. He was not in thebest of humours that morning, and his toilet had advanced no furtherwhen, an hour or so later, he perceived from behind his lace curtainsMr. Howard Spence, dressed with comparative soberness, handing Honorainto the omnibus. The incident did not serve to improve the cynical moodin which the Vicomte found himself. 

Indeed, the Vicomte, who had a theory concerning Mr. Spence'schurch-going, was not far from wrong. As may have been suspected, itwas to Honora that credit was due. It was Honora whom Mr. Spencesought after breakfast, and to whom he declared that her presence aloneprevented him from leaving that afternoon. It was Honora who told himthat he ought to be ashamed of himself. And it was to Honora, afterchurch was over and they were walking homeward together along the dustyroad, that Mr. Spence remarked by way of a delicate compliment that "themorning had not been a total loss, after all!"

The little Presbyterian church stood on a hillside just outside of thevillage and was, as far as possible, the possession of the Holt family. The morning sunshine illuminated the angels in the Holt memorial window, and the inmates of the Holt Institution occupied all the back pews. Mrs. Joshua played the organ, and Susan, with several young women and a youngman with a long coat and plastered hair, sang in the choir. The sermonof the elderly minister had to do with beliefs rather than deeds, andwas the subject of discussion at luncheon. 

"It is very like a sermon I found in my room, " said Honora. 

"I left that book in your room, my dear, in the hope that you would notoverlook it, " said Mrs. Holt, approvingly. "Joshua, I wish you wouldread that sermon aloud to us. "

"Oh, do, Mr. Holt!" begged Honora. 

The Vicomte, who had been acting very strangely during the meal, showedunmistakable signs of a futile anger. He had asked Honora to walk withhim. 

"Of course, " added Mrs. Holt, "no one need listen who doesn't wish to. Since you were good enough to reconsider your decision and attend divineservice, Howard, I suppose I should be satisfied. "

The reading took place in the library. Through the open window Honoraperceived the form of Joshua asleep in the hammock, his Sunday coat alltwisted under him. It worried her to picture his attire when he shouldwake up. Once Mrs. Robert looked in, smiled, said nothing, and went outagain. At length, in a wicker chair under a distant tree on the lawn, Honora beheld the dejected outline of the Vicomte. He was tryingto read, but every once in a while would lay down his book and gazeprotractedly at the house, stroking his mustache. The low song of thebees around the shrubbery vied with Mr. Holt's slow reading. On thewhole, the situation delighted Honora, who bit her lip to refrain fromsmiling at M. De Toqueville. When at last she emerged from the library, he rose precipitately and came towards her across the lawn, lifting hishands towards the pitiless puritan skies. 

"Enfin!" he exclaimed tragically. "Ah, Mademoiselle, never in my lifehave I passed such a day!"

"Are you ill, Vicomte?" she asked. 

"Ill! Were it not for you, I would be gone. You alone sustain me--it isfor the pleasure of seeing you that I suffer. What kind of a menage isthis, then, where I am walked around Institutions, where I am forced tolisten to the exposition of doctrines, where the coffee is weak, whereSunday, which the bon Dieu set aside for a jour de fete resembles to aday in purgatory?"

"But, Vicomte, " Honora laughed, "you must remember that you are inAmerica, and that you have come here to study our manners and customs. "

"Ah, no, " he cried, "ah, no, it cannot all be like this! I will notbelieve it. Mr. Holt, who sought to entertain me before luncheon, offered to show me his collection of Chinese carvings! I, who might beat Trouville or Cabourg! If it were not for you, Mademoiselle, I shouldnot stay here--not one little minute, " he said, with a slow intensity. "Behold what I suffer for your sake!"

"For my sake?" echoed Honora. 

"For what else?" demanded the Vicomte, gazing upon her with the eyes ofmartyrdom. "It is not for my health, alas! Between the coffee and thisdimanche I have the vertigo. "

Honora laughed again at the memory of the dizzy Sunday afternoons of herchildhood, when she had been taken to see Mr. Isham's curios. 

"You are cruel, " said the Vicomte; "you laugh at my tortures. "

"On the contrary, I think I understand them, " she replied. "I have oftenfelt the same way. "

"My instinct was true, then, " he cried triumphantly; "the first time myeyes fell on you, I said to myself, 'ah! there is one who understands. 'And I am seldom mistaken. "

"Your experience with the opposite sex, " ventured Honora, "must havemade you infallible. "

He shrugged and smiled, as one whose modesty forbade the mention ofconquests. 

"You do not belong here either, Mademoiselle, " he said. "You are notlike these people. You have temperament, and a future--believe me. Whydo you waste your time?"

"What do you mean, Vicomte?"

"Ah, it is not necessary to explain what I mean. It is that you do notchoose to understand--you are far too clever. Why is it, then, that youbore yourself by regarding Institutions and listening to sermons in yourjeunesse? It is all very well for Mademoiselle Susan, but you are notcreated for a religieuse. And again, it pleases you to spend hours withthe stockbroker, who is as lacking in esprit as the bull of Joshua. Heis no companion for you. "

"I am afraid, " she said reprovingly, "that you do not understand Mr. Spence. "

"Par exemple!" cried the Vicomte; "have I not seen hundreds' likehim? Do not they come to Paris and live in the great hotels and demandcocktails and read the stock reports and send cablegrams all the daylong? and go to the Folies Bergeres, and yawn? Nom de nom, of what doeshis conversation consist? Of the price of railroads;--is it not so? I, who speak to you, have talked to him. Does he know how to make love?"

"That accomplishment is not thought of very highly in America, " Honorareplied. 

"It is because you are a new country, " he declared. 

"And you are mad over money. Money has taken the place of love. "

"Is money so despised in France?" she asked. "I have heard--that youmarried for it!"

"Touch!" cried the Vicomte, laughing. "You see, I am frank with you. Wemarry for money, yes, but we do not make a god of it. It is our servant. You make it, and we enjoy it. Yes, and you, Mademoiselle--you, too, weremade to enjoy. You do not belong here, " he said, with a disdainful sweepof the arm. "Ah, I have solved you. You have in you the germ of theRiviera. You were born there. "

Honora wondered if what he said were true. Was she different? She washaving a great deal of pleasure at Silverdale; even the sermon reading, which would have bored her at home, had interested and amused her. Butwas it not from the novelty of these episodes, rather than fromtheir special characters, that she received the stimulus? She glancedcuriously towards the Vicomte, and met his eye. 

They had been walking the while, and had crossed the lawn and enteredone of the many paths which it had been Robert's pastime to cut throughthe woods. And at length they came out at a rustic summer-house setover the wooded valley. Honora, with one foot on the ground, sat on therailing gazing over the tree-tops; the Vicomte was on the bench besideher. His eyes sparkled and snapped, and suddenly she tingled with asense that the situation was not without an element of danger. 

"I had a feeling about you, last night at dinner, " he said; "youreminded me of a line of Marcel Prevost, 'Cette femme ne sera pas aimeeque parmi des drames. '"

"Nonsense, " said Honora; "last night at dinner you were too muchoccupied with Miss Chamberlin to think of me. "

"Ah, Mademoiselle, you have read me strangely if you think that. Italked to her with my lips, yes--but it was of you I was thinking. I wasthinking that you were born to play a part in many dramas, that you havethe fatal beauty which is rare in all ages. " The Vicomte bent towardsher, and his voice became caressing. "You cannot realize how beautifulyou are, " he sighed. 

Suddenly he seized her hand, and before she could withdraw it she hadthe satisfaction of knowing the sensation of having it kissed. It wasa strange sensation indeed. And the fact that she did not tingle withanger alone made her all the more angry. Trembling, her face burning, she leaped down from the railing and fled into the path. And there, seeing that he did not follow, she turned and faced him. He stoodstaring at her with eyes that had not ceased to sparkle. 

"How cowardly of you!" she cried. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, " he answered fervently, "I would risk your angera thousand times to see you like that once more. I cannot help myfeelings--they were dead indeed if they did not respond to such aninspiration. Let them plead for my pardon. "

Honora felt herself melting a little. After all, there might have beensome excuse for it, and he made love divinely. When he had caught upwith her, his contriteness was such that she was willing to believe hehad not meant to insult her. And then, he was a Frenchman. As a proof ofhis versatility, if not of his good faith, he talked of neutral matterson the way back to the house, with the charming ease and lightness thatwas the gift of his race and class. On the borders of the wood theyencountered the Robert Holts, walking with their children. 

"Madame, " said the Vicomte to Gwendolen, "your Silverdale is enchanting. We have been to that little summer-house which commands the valley. "

"And are you still learning things about our country, Vicomte?" sheasked, with a glance at Honora. 

CHAPTER X. IN WHICH HONORA WIDENS HER HORIZON

If it were not a digression, it might be interesting to speculate uponthe reason why, in view of their expressed opinions of Silverdale, both the Vicomte and Mr. Spence remained during the week that followed. Robert, who went off in the middle of it with his family to theseashore, described it to Honora as a normal week. During its progressthere came and went a missionary from China, a pianist, an English ladywho had heard of the Institution, a Southern spinster with literarygifts, a youthful architect who had not built anything, and a younglawyer interested in settlement work. 

The missionary presented our heroine with a book he had written aboutthe Yang-tse-kiang; the Southern lady suspected her of literary gifts;the architect walked with her through the woods to the rustic shelterwhere the Vicomte had kissed her hand, and told her that he nowcomprehended the feelings of Christopher Wren when he conceived St. Paul's Cathedral, of Michael Angelo when he painted the Sistine Chapel. Even the serious young lawyer succumbed, though not without a struggle. When he had first seen Miss Leffingwell, he confessed, he had thoughther frivolous. He had done her an injustice, and wished to acknowledgeit before he left. And, since she was interested in settlement work, hehoped, if she were going through New York, that she would let him know. It would be a real pleasure to show her what he was doing. 

Best of all, Honora, by her unselfishness, endeared herself to herhostess. 

"I can't tell you what a real help you are to me, my dear, " said thatlady. "You have a remarkable gift with people for so young a girl, and Ido you the credit of thinking that it all springs from a kind heart. "

In the meantime, unknown to Mrs. Holt, who might in all conscience havehad a knowledge of what may be called social chemistry, a drama wasslowly unfolding itself. By no fault of Honora's, of course. Theremay have been some truth in the quotation of the Vicomte as applied toher--that she was destined to be loved only amidst the play of drama. Ifexperience is worth anything, Monsieur de Toqueville should have been anexpert in matters of the sex. Could it be possible, Honora asked herselfmore than once, that his feelings were deeper than her feminine instinctand, the knowledge she had gleaned from novels led her to suspect?

It is painful to relate that the irregularity and deceit of the life theVicomte was leading amused her, for existence at Silverdale was plainlynot of a kind to make a gentleman of the Vicomte's temperament andhabits ecstatically happy. And Honora was filled with a strange andunaccountable delight when she overheard him assuring Mrs. Wellfleet, the English lady of eleemosynary tendencies, that he was engaged in astudy at first hand of Americans. 

The time has come to acknowledge frankly that it was Honora he wasstudying--Honora as the type of young American womanhood. What he didnot suspect was that young American womanhood was studying him. Thanksto a national System, she had had an apprenticeship; the heart-blood ofAlgernon Cartwright and many others had not been shed in vain. And thefact that she was playing with real fire, that this was a duel withthe buttons off, lent a piquancy and zest to the pastime which it hadhitherto lacked. 

The Vicomte's feelings were by no means hidden processes to Honora, andit was as though she could lift the lid of the furnace at any time andbehold the growth of the flame which she had lighted. Nay, nature hadendowed her with such a gift that she could read the daily temperatureas by a register hung on the outside, without getting scorched. Nor hadthere been any design on her part in thus tormenting his soul. He hadnot meant to remain more than four days at Silverdale, that she knew;he had not meant to come to America and fall in love with a pennilessbeauty--that she knew also. The climax would be interesting, ifperchance uncomfortable. 

It is wonderful what we can find the time to do, if we only try. Monsieur de Toqueville lent Honora novels, which she read in bed; butbeing in the full bloom of health and of a strong constitution, thispractice did not prevent her from rising at seven to take a walk throughthe garden with Mr. Holt--a custom which he had come insensibly todepend upon. And in the brief conversations which she vouchsafed theVicomte, they discussed his novels. In vain he pleaded, in caressingundertones, that she should ride with him. Honora had never been on ahorse, but she did not tell him so. If she would but drive, or walk-onlya little way--he would promise faithfully not to forget himself. Honoraintimated that the period of his probation had not yet expired. If hewaylaid her on the stairs, he got but little satisfaction. 

"You converse by the hour with the missionaries, and take longpromenades with the architects and charity workers, but to me you willgive nothing, " he complained. 

"The persons of whom you speak are not dangerous, " answered Honora, giving him a look. 

The look, and being called dangerous, sent up the temperature severaldegrees. Frenchmen are not the only branch of the male sex who arecomplimented by being called dangerous. The Vicomte was desolated, so hesaid. 

"I stay here only for you, and the coffee is slowly deranging me, "he declared in French, for most of their conversations were in thatlanguage. If there were duplicity in this, Honora did not recognize it. "I stay here only for you, and how you are cruel! I live for you--how, the good God only knows. I exist--to see you for ten minutes a day. "

"Oh, Vicomte, you exaggerate. If you were to count it up, I am sure youwould find that we talk an hour at least, altogether. And then, althoughI am very young and inexperienced, I can imagine how many conquests youhave made by the same arts. "

"I suffer, " he cried; "ah, no, you cannot look at me without perceivingit--you who are so heartless. And when I see you play at golf with thatMr. Spence--!"

"Surely, " said Honora, "you can't object to my acquiring a newaccomplishment when I have the opportunity, and Mr. Spence is so kindand good-natured about it. "

"Do you think I have no eyes?" he exclaimed. "Have I not seen him lookat you like the great animal of Joshua when he wants his supper? Heis without esprit, without soul. There is nothing inside of him butmoney-making machinery. "

"The most valuable of all machinery, " she replied, laughingly. 

"If I thought you believed that, Mademoiselle, if I thought you werelike so many of your countrywomen in this respect, I should leaveto-morrow, " he declared. 

"Don't be too sure, Vicomte, " she cautioned him. 

If one possessed a sense of humour and a certain knowledge of mankind, the spectacle of a young and successful Wall Street broker at Silverdalethat week was apt to be diverting. Mr. Spence held his own. He advisedthe architect to make a specialty of country houses, and promised someday to order one: he disputed boldly with the other young man as to thepractical uses of settlement work, and even measured swords with themissionary. Needless to say, he was not popular with these gentlemen. But he was also good-natured and obliging, and he did not objectto repeating for the English lady certain phrases which she called"picturesque expressions, " and which she wrote down with a gold pencil. 

It is evident, from the Vicomte's remarks, that he found time tocontinue Honora's lessons in golf--or rather that she found time, in themidst of her manifold and self-imposed duties, to take them. And in thisdiversion she was encouraged by Mrs. Holt herself. On Saturday morning, the heat being unusual, they ended their game by common consent at thefourth hole and descended a wood road to Silver Brook, to a spot whichthey had visited once before and had found attractive. Honora, afterbathing her face in the pool, perched herself on a boulder. She was veryfresh and radiant. 

This fact, if she had not known it, she might have gathered from Mr. Silence's expression. He had laid down his coat; his sleeves were rolledup and his arms were tanned, and he stood smoking a cigarette and gazingat her with approbation. She lowered her eyes. 

"Well, we've had a pretty good time, haven't we?" he remarked. 

Lightning sometimes fails in its effect, but the look she flashed backat him from under her blue lashes seldom misses. 

"I'm afraid I haven't been a very apt pupil, " she replied modestly. 

"You're on the highroad to a cup, " he assured her. "If I could take youon for another week" He paused, and an expression came into his eyeswhich was not new to Honora, nor peculiar to Mr. Silence. "I have to goback to town on Monday. "

If Honora felt any regret at this announcement, she did not express it. 

"I thought you couldn't stand Silverdale much longer, " she replied. 

"You know why I stayed, " he said, and paused again--rather awkwardly forMr. Spence. But Honora was silent. "I had a letter this morning from mypartner, Sidney Dallam, calling me back. "

"I suppose you are very busy, " said Honora, detaching a copper-greenscale of moss from the boulder. 

"The fact is, " he explained, "that we have received an order ofconsiderable importance, for which I am more or less responsible. Something of a compliment--since we are, after all, comparatively youngmen. "

"Sometimes, " said Honora, "sometimes I wish I were a man. Women are sohampered and circumscribed, and have to wait for things to happen tothem. A man can do what he wants. He can go into Wall Street and fightuntil he controls miles of railroads and thousands and thousands of men. That would be a career!"

"Yes, " he agreed, smilingly, "it's worth fighting for. "

Her eyes were burning with a strange light as she looked down the vistaof the wood road by which they had come. He flung his cigarette into thewater and took a step nearer her. 

"How long have I known you?" he asked. 

She started. 

"Why, it's only a little more than a week, " she said. 

"Does it seem longer than that to you?"

"Yes, " admitted Honora, colouring; "I suppose it's because we've beenstaying in the same house. "

"It seems to me, " said Mr. Spence, "that I have known you always. "

Honora sat very still. It passed through her brain, without comment, that there was a certain haunting familiarity about this remark; someother voice, in some other place, had spoken it, and in very much thesame tone. 

"You're the kind of girl I admire, " he declared. "I've been watchingyou--more than you have any idea of. You're adaptable. Put you down anyplace, and you take hold. For instance, it's a marvellous thing to mehow you've handled all the curiosities up there this week. "

"Oh, I like people, " said Honora, "they interest me. " And she laughed alittle, nervously. She was aware that Mr. Spence was making love, in hisown manner: the New fork manner, undoubtedly; though what he said waschanged by the new vibrations in his voice. He was making love, too, with a characteristic lack of apology and with assurance. She stole aglance at him, and beheld the image of a dominating man of affairs. Hedid not, it is true, evoke in her that extreme sensation which has beencalled a thrill. She had read somewhere that women were always expectingthrills, and never got them. Nevertheless, she had not realized howclose a bond of sympathy had grown between them until this suddenannouncement of his going back to New York. In a little while she toowould be leaving for St. Louis. The probability that she would never seehim again seemed graver than she would have believed. 

"Will you miss me a little?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes, " she said breathlessly, "and I shall be curious to know howyour--your enterprise succeeds. "

"Honora, " he said, "it is only a week since I first met you, but I knowmy own mind. You are the woman I want, and I think I may say withoutboasting that I can give you what you desire in life--after a while. Ilove you. You are young, and just now I felt that perhaps I should havewaited a year before speaking, but I was afraid of missing altogetherwhat I know to be the great happiness of my life. Will you marry me?"

She sat silent upon the rock. She heard him speak, it is true; but, tryas she would, the full significance of his words would not come to her. She had, indeed, no idea that he would propose, no notion that his heartwas involved to such an extent. He was very near her, but he had notattempted to touch her. His voice, towards the end of his speech, hadtrembled with passion--a true note had been struck. And she had struckit, by no seeming effort! He wished to marry her!

He aroused her again. 

"I have frightened you, " he said. 

She opened her eyes. What he beheld in them was not fright--it wasnothing he had ever seen before. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he was awed. And, seeing him helpless, she put out her hands tohim with a gesture that seemed to enhance her gift a thousand-fold. Hehad not realized what he was getting. 

"I am not frightened, " she said. "Yes, I will marry you. "

He was not sure whether--so brief was the moment!--he had held andkissed her cheek. His arms were empty now, and he caught a glimpse ofher poised on the road above him amidst the quivering, sunlit leaves, looking back at him over her shoulder. 

He followed her, but she kept nimbly ahead of him until they came outinto the open golf course. He tried to think, but failed. Never in hisorderly life had anything so precipitate happened to him. He caught upwith her, devoured her with his eyes, and beheld in marriage a delirium. 

"Honora, " he said thickly, "I can't grasp it. "

She gave him a quick look, and a smile quivered at the corners of hermouth. 

"What are you thinking of?" he asked. 

"I am thinking of Mrs. Holt's expression when we tell her, " said Honora. "But we shan't tell her yet, shall we, Howard? We'll have it for our ownsecret a little while. "

The golf course being deserted, he pressed her arm. 

"We'll tell her whenever you like, dear, " he replied. 

In spite of the fact that they drove Joshua's trotter to lunch--much toorapidly in the heat of the day, they were late. 

"I shall never be able to go in there and not give it away, " hewhispered to her on the stairs. 

"You look like the Cheshire cat in the tree, " whispered Honora, laughing, "only more purple, and not so ghostlike. "

"I know I'm smiling, " replied Howard, "I feel like it, but I can't helpit. It won't come off. I want to blurt out the news to every one in thedining-room--to that little Frenchman, in particular. "

Honora laughed again. Her imagination easily summoned up the tableauwhich such a proceeding would bring forth. The incredulity, the chagrin, the indignation, even, in some quarters. He conceived the household, with the exception of the Vicomte, precipitating themselves into hisarms. 

Honora, who was cool enough herself (no doubt owing to the superiortraining which women receive in matters of deportment), observed thathis entrance was not a triumph of dissimulation. His colour was high, and his expression, indeed, a little idiotic; and he declared afterwardsthat he felt like a sandwich-man, with the news printed in red lettersbefore and behind. Honora knew that the intense improbability of thetruth would save them, and it did. Mrs. Holt remarked, slyly, that thegame of golf must have hidden attractions, and regretted that she wastoo old to learn it. 

"We went very slowly on account of the heat, " Howard declared. 

"I should say that you had gone very rapidly, from your face, " retortedMrs. Holt. In relaxing moods she indulged in banter. 

Honora stepped into the breach. She would not trust her newly acquiredfiance to extricate himself. 

"We were both very much worried, Mrs. Holt, " she explained, "because wewere late for lunch once before. "

"I suppose I'll have to forgive you, my dear, especially with thatcolour. I am modern enough to approve of exercise for young girls, andI am sure your Aunt Mary will think Silverdale has done you good when Isend you back to her. "

"Oh, I'm sure she will, " said Honora. 

In the meantime Mr. Spence was concentrating all of his attention upona jellied egg. Honora glanced at the Vicomte. He sat very stiff, and hismanner of twisting his mustache reminded her of an animal sharpeningits claws. It was at this moment that the butler handed her a telegram, which, with Mrs. Holt's permission, she opened and read twice before themeaning of it came to her. 

"I hope it is no bad news, Honora, " said Mrs. Holt. 

"It's from Peter Erwin, " she replied, still a little dazed. "He's inNew York. And he's corning up on the five o'clock train to spend an hourwith me. "

"Oh, " said Susan; "I remember his picture on your bureau at Sutcliffe. He had such a good face. And you told me about him. "

"He is like my brother, " Honora explained, aware that Howard was lookingat her. "Only he is much older than I. He used to wheel me up and downwhen I was a baby. He was, an errand boy in the bank then, and UncleTom took an interest in him, and now he is a lawyer. A very good one, Ibelieve. "

"I have a great respect for any man who makes his own way in life, " saidMrs. Holt. "And since he is such an old friend, my dear, you must askhim to spend the night. "

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Bolt, " Honora answered. 

It was, however, with mingled feelings that she thought of Peter'sarrival at this time. Life, indeed, was full of strange coincidences!

There was a little door that led out of the house by the billiard room, Honora remembered, and contrived, after luncheon, to slip away and reachit. She felt that she must be alone, and if she went to her room shewas likely to be disturbed by Susan or Mrs. Joshua--or indeed Mrs. Holtherself. Honora meant to tell Susan the first of all. She crossed thegreat lawn quickly, keeping as much as possible the trees and masses ofshrubbery between herself and the house, and reached the forest. With areally large fund of energy at her disposal, Honora had never beenone to believe in the useless expenditure of it; nor did she feel theintense desire which a girl of another temperament might have had, under the same conditions, to keep in motion. So she sat down on a benchwithin the borders of the wood. 

It was not that she wished to reflect, in the ordinary meaning of theword, that she had sought seclusion, but rather to give her imaginationfree play. The enormity of the change that was to come into her life didnot appall her in the least; but she had, in connection with it, a senseof unreality which, though not unpleasant, she sought unconsciously todissipate. Howard Spence, she reflected with a smile, was surely solidand substantial enough, and she thought of him the more tenderly for thepossession of these attributes. A castle founded on such a rock was nota castle in Spain!

It did not occur to Honora that her thoughts might be more of the castlethan of the rock: of the heaven he was to hold on his shoulders than ofthe Hercules she had chosen to hold it. 

She would write to her Aunt Mary and her Uncle Tom that veryafternoon--one letter to both. Tears came into her eyes when she thoughtof them, and of their lonely life' without her. But they would come onto New York to visit her often, and they would be proud of her. Of onething she was sure--she must go home to them at once--on Tuesday. Shewould tell Mrs. Holt to-morrow, and Susan to-night. And, while ponderingover the probable expression of that lady's amazement, it suddenlyoccurred to her that she must write the letter immediately, becausePeter Erwin was coming. 

What would he say? Should she tell him? She was surprised to find thatthe idea of doing so was painful to her. But she was aroused from thesereflections by a step on the path, and raised her head to perceive theVicomte. His face wore an expression of triumph. 

"At last, " he cried, "at last!" And he sat down on the bench besideher. Her first impulse was to rise, yet for some inexplicable reason sheremained. 

"I always suspected in you the qualities of a Monsieur Lecoq, " sheremarked. "You have an instinct for the chase. "

"Mon dieu?" he said. "I have risked a stroke of the sun to find you. Whyshould you so continually run away from me?"

"To test your ingenuity, Vicomte. "

"And that other one--the stock-broker--you do not avoid him. Diable, Iam not blind, Mademoiselle. It is plain to me at luncheon that you havemade boil the sluggish blood of that one. As for me--"

"Your boiling-point is lower, " she said, smiling. 

"Listen, Mademoiselle, " he pursued, bending towards her. "It is not formy health that I stay here, as I have told you. It is for the sight ofyou, for the sound of the music of that low voice. It is in the hopethat you will be a little kinder, that you will understand me a littlebetter. And to-day, when I learn that still another is on his way to seeyou, I could sit still no longer. I do not fear that Spence, --no. Butthis other--what is he like?"

"He is the best type of American, " replied Honora. "I am sure you willbe interested in him, and like him. "

The Vicomte shrugged his shoulders. 

"It is not in America that you will find your destiny, Mademoiselle. You are made to grace a salon, a court, which you will not find inthis country. Such a woman as you is thrown away here. You possessqualities--you will pardon me--in which your countrywomen arelacking, --esprit, imagination, elan, the power to bind people to you. I have read you as you have not read yourself. I have seen how you haveserved yourself by this famille Holt, and how at the same time you havekept their friendship. "

"Vicomte!" she exclaimed. 

"Ah, do not get angry, " he begged; "such gifts are rare--they aresublime. They lead, " he added, raising his arms, "to the heights. "

Honora was silent. She was, indeed, not unmoved by his voice, intowhich there was creeping a vibrant note of passion. She was a littlefrightened, but likewise puzzled and interested. This was all sodifferent from what she had expected of him. What did he mean? Was sheindeed like that?

She was aware that he was speaking again, that he was telling her of achateau in France which his ancestors had owned since the days of LouisXII; a grey pile that stood upon a thickly wooded height, --a chateauwith a banquet hall, where kings had dined, with a chapel where kingshad prayed, with a flowering terrace high above a gleaming river. It wasthere that his childhood had been passed. And as he spoke, she listenedwith mingled feelings, picturing the pageantry of life in such a place. 

"I tell you this, Mademoiselle, " he said, "that you may know I am notwhat you call an adventurer. Many of these, alas! come to your country. And I ask you to regard with some leniency customs which must be strangeto Americans. When we marry in France, it is with a dot, and especiallyis it necessary amongst the families of our nobility. "

Honora rose, the blood mounting to her temples. 

"Mademoiselle, " he cried, "do not misunderstand me. I would die ratherthan hurt your feelings. Listen, I pray. It was to tell you frankly thatI came to this country for that purpose, --in order that I might live asmy ancestors have lived, with a hotel in Paris: But the chateau, gracea dieu, is not mortgaged, nor am I wholly impoverished. I have soixantequinze mille livres de rente, which is fifteen thousand dollars a yearin your money, and which goes much farther in France. At the propertime, I will present these matters to your guardians. I have lived, butI have a heart, and I love you madly. Rather would I dwell with youin Provence, where I will cultivate the soil of my forefathers, than apalace on the Champs Elysees with another. We can come to Paris for twomonths, at least. For you I can throw my prospects out of the windowwith a light heart. Honore--how sweet is your name in my language--Ilove you to despair. "

He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, but she drew it gentlyaway. It seemed to her that he had made the very air quiver withfeeling, and she let herself wonder, for a moment, what life with himwould be. Incredible as it seemed, he had proposed to her, a pennilessgirl! Her own voice was not quite steady as she answered him, and hereyes were filled with compassion. 

"Vicomte, " she said, "I did not know that you cared for me--that way. Ithought--I thought you were amusing yourself. "

"Amusing myself!" he exclaimed bitterly. "And you--were you amusingyourself?"

"I--I tried to avoid you, " she replied, in a low voice. 

"I am engaged. "

"Engaged!" He sprang to his feet. "Engaged! Ah, no, I will not believeit. You were engaged when you came here?"

She was no little alarmed by the violence which he threw into his words. At the same time, she was indignant. And yet a mischievous sprite withinher led her on to tell him the truth. 

"No, I am going to marry Mr. Howard Spence, although I do not wish itannounced. "

For a moment he stood motionless, speechless, staring at her, and thenhe seemed to sway a little and to choke. 

"No, no, " he cried, "it cannot be! My ears have deceived me. I am notsane. You are going to marry him--? Ah, you have sold yourself. "

"Monsieur de Toqueville, " she said, "you forget yourself. Mr. Spence isan honourable man, and I love him. "

The Vicomte appeared to choke again. And then, suddenly, he becamehimself, although his voice was by no means natural. His elaborate andironic bow she remembered for many years. 

"Pardon, Mademoiselle, " he said, "and adieu. You will be good enough toconvey my congratulations to Mr. Spence. "

With a kind of military "about face" he turned and left her abruptly, and she watched him as he hurried across the lawn until he haddisappeared behind the trees near the house. When she sat down onthe bench again, she found that she was trembling a little. Was theunexpected to occur to her from now on? Was it true, as the Vicomte hadsaid, that she was destined to be loved amidst the play of drama?

She felt sorry for him because he had loved her enough to fling to thewinds his chances of wealth for her sake--a sufficient measure of thefeelings of one of his nationality and caste. And she permitted, for aninstant, her mind to linger on the supposition that Howard Spence hadnever come into her life; might she not, when the Vicomte had made hisunexpected and generous avowal, have accepted him? She thought of theromances of her childish days, written at fever heat, in which ladieswith titles moved around and gave commands and rebuked lovers whoslipped in through wicket gates. And to think that she might have been aVicomtesse and have lived in a castle!

A poor Vicomtesse, it is true. 

CHAPTER XI. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Honora sat still upon the bench. After an indefinite period shesaw through the trees a vehicle on the driveway, and in it a singlepassenger. And suddenly it occurred to her that the passenger must bePeter, for Mrs. Holt had announced her intention of sending for him. Shearose and approached the house, not without a sense of agitation. 

She halted a moment at a little distance from the porch, where he wastalking with Howard Spence and Joshua, and the fact that he was anunchanged Peter came to her with a shock of surprise. So much, in lessthan a year, had happened to Honora! And the sight of him, and the soundof his voice, brought back with a rush memories of a forgotten past. Howlong it seemed since she had lived in St. Louis!

Yes, he was the same Peter, but her absence from him had served tosharpen her sense of certain characteristics. He was lounging in hischair with his long legs crossed, with one hand in his pocket, andtalking to these men as though he had known them always. There was aquality about him which had never struck her before, and which eludedexact definition. It had never occurred to her, until now, when she sawhim out of the element with which she had always associated him, that Peter Erwin had a personality. That personality was a mixture ofsimplicity and self-respect and--common sense. And as Honora listenedto his cheerful voice, she perceived that he had the gift of expressinghimself clearly and forcibly and withal modestly; nor did it escape herthat the other two men were listening with a certain deference. In hersensitive state she tried to evade the contrast thus suddenly presentedto her between Peter and the man she had promised, that very morning, tomarry. 

Howard Spence was seated on the table, smoking a cigarette. Never, itseemed, had he more distinctly typified to her Prosperity. An attributewhich she had admired in him, of strife without the appearance ofstrife, lost something of its value. To look at Peter was to wonderwhether there could be such a thing as a well-groomed combatant; anduntil to-day she had never thought of Peter as a combatant. The sight ofhis lean face summoned, all undesired, the vague vision of an ideal, andperhaps it was this that caused her voice to falter a little as she cameforward and called his name. He rose precipitately. 

"What a surprise, Peter!" she said, as she took his hand. "How do youhappen to be in the East?"

"An errand boy, " he replied. "Somebody had to come, so they choseme. Incidentally, " he added, smiling down at her, "it is a part of myeducation. "

"We thought you were lost, " said Howard Spence, significantly. 

"Oh, no, " she answered lightly, evading his look. "I was on the benchat the edge of the wood. " She turned again to Peter. "How good of you tocome up and see me!"

"I couldn't have resisted that, " he declared, "if it were only for anhour. "

"I've been trying to persuade him to stay a while with us, " Joshua putin with unusual graciousness. "My mother will be disappointed not to seeyou. "

"There is nothing I should like better, Mr. Holt, " said Peter, simply, gazing off across the lawn. "Unfortunately I have to leave for the Westto-night. "

"Before you go, " said Honora, "you must see this wonderful place. Come, we'll begin with the garden. "

She had a desire now to take him away by himself, something she hadwished, an hour ago, to avoid. 

"Wouldn't you like a runabout?" suggested Joshua, hospitably. 

Honora thanked him. 

"I'm sure Mr. Erwin would rather walk, " she replied. 

"Come, Peter, you must tell me all the news of home. "

Spence accepted his dismissal with a fairly good grace, and gave noevidence of jealousy. He put his hand on Peter's shoulder. 

"If you're ever in New York, Erwin, " said he, "look me up Dallam andSpence. We're members of the Exchange, so you won't have any trouble infinding us. I'd like to talk to you sometime about the West. "

Peter thanked him. 

For a little while, as they went down the driveway side by side, hewas meditatively silent. She wondered what he thought of Howard Spence, until suddenly she remembered that her secret was still her own, thatPeter had as yet no particular reason to single out Mr. Spence forespecial consideration. She could not, however, resist saying, "NewYorkers are like that. "

"Like what?" he asked. 

She coloured. 

"Like--Mr. Spence. A little--self-assertive, sure of themselves. " Shestrove to keep out of her voice any suspicion of the agitation whichwas the result of the events of an extraordinary day, not yet ended. She knew that it would have been wiser not to have mentioned Howard; butPeter's silence, somehow, had impelled her to speak. "He has made quitean unusual success for so young a man. "

Peter looked at her and shook his head. 

"New York--success! What is to become of poor old St. Louis?" heinquired. 

"Oh, I'm going back next week, " Honora cried. "I wish I were going withyou. "

"And leave all this, " he said incredulously, "for trolley rides andForest Park and--and me?"

He stopped in the garden path and looked upon the picture she madestanding in the sunlight against the blazing borders, her wide hatcasting a shadow on her face. And the smile which she had known so wellsince childhood, indulgent, quizzical, with a touch of sadness, was inhis eyes. She was conscious of a slight resentment. Was there, in fact, no change in her as the result of the events of those momentous tenmonths since she had seen him? And rather than a tolerance in whichthere was neither antagonism nor envy, she would have preferred fromPeter an open disapproval of luxury, of the standards which he impliedwere hers. She felt that she had stepped into another world, but herefused to be dazzled by it. He insisted upon treating her as the sameHonora. 

"How did you leave Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary?" she asked. 

They were counting the days, he said, until she should return, but theydid not wish to curtail her visit. They did not expect her next week, heknew. 

Honora coloured again. 

"I feel--that I ought to go to them, " she said. 

He glanced at her as though her determination to leave Silverdale sosoon surprised him. 

"They will be very happy to see you, Honora, " he said. "They have beenvery lonesome. "

She softened. Some unaccountable impulse prompted her to ask: "And you?Have you missed me--a little?"

He did not answer, and she saw that he was profoundly affected. She laida hand upon his arm. 

"Oh, Peter, I didn't mean that, " she cried. "I know you have. And I havemissed you--terribly. It seems so strange seeing you here, " she went onhurriedly. "There are so many' things I want to show you. Tell me how ithappened hat you came on to New York. "

"Somebody in the firm had to come, " he said. 

"In the firm!" she repeated. She did not grasp the full meaning of thischange in his status, but she remembered that Uncle Tom had predicted itone day, and that it was an honour. "I never knew any one so secretiveabout their own affairs! Why didn't you write me you had been admittedto the firm? So you are a partner of Judge Brice. "

"Brice, Graves, and Erwin, " said Peter; "it sounds very grand, doesn'tit? I can't get used to it myself. "

"And what made you call yourself an errand boy?" she exclaimedreproachfully. "When I go back to the house I intend to tell Joshua Holtand--and Mr. Spence that you are a great lawyer. "

Peter laughed. 

"You'd better wait a few years before you say that, " said he. 

He took an interest in everything he saw, in Mr. Holt's flowers, inJoshua's cow barn, which they traversed, and declared, if he wereever rich enough, he would live in the country. They walked around thepond, --fringed now with yellow water-lilies on their floating greenpads, --through the woods, and when the shadows were lengthening came outat the little summer-house over the valley of Silver Brook--the scene ofthat first memorable encounter with the Vicomte. At the sight of it theepisode, and much else of recent happening, rushed back intoHonora's mind, and she realized with suddenness that she had, in hiscompanionship, unconsciously been led far afield and in pleasant places. Comparisons seemed inevitable. 

She watched him with an unwonted tugging at her heart as he stood for along time by the edge of the railing, gazing over the tree-tops of thevalley towards the distant hazy hills. Nor did she understand what itwas in him that now, on this day of days when she had definitely castthe die of life, when she had chosen her path, aroused this strangeemotion. Why had she never felt it before? She had thought his facehomely--now it seemed to shine with a transfiguring light. She recalled, with a pang, that she had criticised his clothes: to-day they seemed theexpression of the man himself. Incredible is the range of human emotion!She felt a longing to throw herself into his arms, and to weep there. 

He turned at length from the view. 

"How wonderful!" he said. 

"I didn't know--you cared for nature so much, Peter. "

He looked at her strangely and put out his hand and drew her, unresisting, to the bench beside him. 

"Are you in trouble, Honora?" he asked. 

"Oh, no, " she cried, "oh, no, I am--very happy. "

"You may have thought it odd that I should have come here withoutknowing Mrs. Holt, " he said gravely, "particularly when you were goinghome so soon. I do not know myself why I came. I am a matter-of-factperson, but I acted on an impulse. "

"An impulse!" she faltered, avoiding the troubled, searching look in hiseyes. 

"Yes, " he said, "an impulse. I can call it by no other name. I shouldhave taken a train that leaves New York at noon; but I had a feelingthis morning, which seemed almost like a presentiment, that I might beof some use to you. "

"This morning?" She felt herself trembling, and she scarcely recognizedPeter with such words on his lips. "I am happy--indeed I am. Only--I amoverwrought--seeing you again--and you made me think of home. "

"It was no doubt very foolish of me, " he declared. "And if my coming hasupset you--"

"Oh, no, " she cried. "Please don't think so. It has given me a senseof--of security. That you were ready to help me if--if I needed you. "

"You should always have known that, " he replied. He rose and stoodgazing off down the valley once more, and she watched him with her heartbeating, with a sense of an impending crisis which she seemed powerlessto stave off. And presently he turned to her, "Honora, I have loved youfor many years, " he said. "You were too young for me to speak of it. Idid not intend to speak of it when I came here to-day. For many years Ihave hoped that some day you might be my wife. My one fear has been thatI might lose you. Perhaps--perhaps it has been a dream. But I am willingto wait, should you wish to see more of the world. You are young yet, and I am offering myself for all time. There is no other woman for me, and never can be. "

He paused and smiled down at her. But she did not speak. She could not. 

"I know, " he went on, "that you are ambitious. And with your gifts Ido not blame you. I cannot offer you great wealth, but I say withconfidence that I can offer you something better, something surer. Ican take care of you and protect you, and I will devote my life to yourhappiness. Will you marry me?"

Her eyes were sparkling with tears, --tears, he remembered afterwards, that were like blue diamonds. 

"Oh, Peter, " she cried, "I wish I could! I have always--wished that Icould. I can't. "

"You can't?"

She shook her head. 

"I--I have told no one yet--not even Aunt Mary. I am going to marry Mr. Spence. "

For a long time he was silent, and she did not dare to look at thesuffering in his face. 

"Honora, " he said at last, "my most earnest wish in life will be foryour happiness. And whatever may, come to you I hope that you willremember that I am your friend, to be counted on. And that I shall notchange. Will you remember that?"

"Yes, " she whispered. She looked at him now, and through the veil ofher tears she seemed to see his soul shining in his eyes. The tones of adistant church bell were borne to them on the valley breeze. 

Peter glanced at his watch. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "that I haven't time to go back to the house--mytrain goes at seven. Can I get down to the village through the valley?"

Honora pointed out the road, faintly perceptible through the treesbeneath them. 

"And you will apologize for my departure to Mrs. Holt?"

She nodded. He took her hand, pressed it, and was gone. And presently, in a little clearing far below, he turned and waved his hat at herbravely. 

CHAPTER XII. WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE FOR MRS. HOLT

How long she sat gazing with unseeing eyes down the valley Honora didnot know. Distant mutterings of thunder aroused her; the evening skyhad darkened, and angry-looking clouds of purple were gathering over thehills. She rose and hurried homeward. She had thought to enter by thebilliard-room door, and so gain her own chamber without encountering thehousehold; but she had reckoned without her hostess. Beyond the billiardroom, in the little entry filled with potted plants, she came face toface with that lady, who was inciting a footman to further efforts inhis attempt to close a recalcitrant skylight. Honora proved of moreinterest, and Mrs. Holt abandoned the skylight. 

"Why, my dear, " she said, "where have you been all afternoon?"

"I--I have been walking with Mr. Erwin, Mrs. Holt. I have been showinghim Silverdale. "

"And where is he? It seems to me I invited him to stay all night, andJoshua tells me he extended the invitation. "

"We were in the little summer-house, and suddenly he discovered that itwas late and he had to catch the seven o'clock train, " faltered Honora, somewhat disconnectedly. "Otherwise he would have come to you himselfand told you--how much he regretted not staying. He has to go to St. Louis to-night. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Holt, "this is an afternoon of surprises. The Vicomtehas gone off, too, without even waiting to say good-by. "

"The Vicomte!" exclaimed Honora. 

"Didn't you see him, either, before he left?" inquired Mrs. Holt; "Ithought perhaps you might be able to give me some further explanation ofit. "

"I?" exclaimed Honora. She felt ready to sink through the floor, andMrs. Holt's delft-blue eyes haunted her afterwards like a nightmare. 

"Didn't you see him, my dear? Didn't he tell you anything?"

"He--he didn't say he was going away. "

"Did he seem disturbed about anything?" Mrs. Holt insisted. 

"Now I think of it, he did seem a little disturbed. "

"To save my life, " said Mrs. Holt, "I can't understand it. He left anote for me saying that he had received a telegram, and that he hadto go at once. I was at a meeting of my charity board. It seems a verystrange proceeding for such an agreeable and polite man as the Vicomte, although he had his drawbacks, as all Continentals have. And at times Ithought he was grave and moody, --didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, he was moody, " Honora agreed eagerly. 

"You noticed it, too, " said Mrs. Holt. "But he was a charming man, and so interested in America and in the work we are doing. But I can'tunderstand about the telegram. I had Carroll inquire of every servant inthe house, and there is no knowledge of a telegram having come up fromthe village this afternoon. "

"Perhaps the Vicomte might have met the messenger in the grounds, "hazarded Honora. 

At this point their attention was distracted by a noise that borea striking resemblance to a suppressed laugh. The footman on thestep-ladder began to rattle the skylight vigorously. 

"What on earth is the matter with you, Woods?" said Mrs. Holt. 

"It must have been some dust off the skylight, Madam, that got into mythroat, " he stammered, the colour of a geranium. 

"Nonsense, " said Mrs. Holt, "there is no dust on the skylight. "

"It may be I swallowed the wrong way, looking up like, as I was, Madam, "he ventured, rubbing the frame and looking at his finger to prove hisformer theory. 

"You are very stupid not to be able to close it, " she declared; "in afew minutes the place will be flooded. Tell Carroll to come and do it. "

Honora suffered herself to be led limply through the library and upthe stairs into Mrs. Holt's own boudoir, where a maid was closing thewindows against the first great drops of the storm, which the wind waspelting against them. She drew the shades deftly, lighted the gas, andretired. Honora sank down in one of the upholstered light blue satinchairs and gazed at the shining brass of the coal grate set in themarble mantel, above which hung an engraving of Sir Joshua Reynolds'cherubs. She had an instinct that the climax of the drama was at hand. 

Mrs. Holt sat down in the chair opposite. 

"My dear, " she began, "I told you the other day what an unexpected andwelcome comfort and help you have been to me. You evidently inherit"(Mrs. Holt coughed slightly) "the art of entertaining and pleasing, andI need not warn you, my dear, against the dangers of such a gift. Youraunt has evidently brought you up with strictness and religious care. You have been very fortunate. "

"Indeed I have, Mrs. Holt, " echoed Honora, in bewilderment. 

"And Susan, " continued Mrs. Holt, "useful and willing as she is, doesnot possess your gift of taking people off my hands and entertainingthem. "

Honora could think of no reply to this. Her eyes--to which no one couldbe indifferent--were riveted on the face of her hostess, and how was thegood lady to guess that her brain was reeling?

"I was about to say, my dear, that I expect to have a great dealof--well, of rather difficult company this summer. Next week, forinstance, some prominent women in the Working Girls' Relief Societyare coming, and on July the twenty-third I give a garden party for thedelegates to the Charity Conference in New York. The Japanese Ministerhas promised to pay me a visit, and Sir Rupert Grant, who built thoseremarkable tuberculosis homes in England, you know, is arriving inAugust with his family. Then there are some foreign artists. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " exclaimed Honora; "how many interesting people yousee!"

"Exactly, my dear. And I thought that, in addition to the fact that Ihave grown very fond of you, you would be very useful to me here, andthat a summer with me might not be without its advantages. As your auntwill have you until you are married, which, I may say, without denyingyour attractions, is likely to be for some time, I intend to write toher to-night--with your consent--and ask her to allow you to remain withme all summer. "

Honora sat transfixed, staring painfully at the big pendant ear-rings. 

"It is so kind of you, Mrs. Holt--" she faltered. 

"I can realize, my dear, that you would wish to get back to your aunt. The feeling does you infinite credit. But, on the other hand, besidesthe advantages which would accrue to you, it might, to put the matterdelicately, be of a little benefit to your relations, who will have tothink of your future. "

"Indeed, it is good of you, but I must go back, Mrs. Holt. "

"Of course, " said Mrs. Holt, with a touch of dignity--for ere now peoplehad left Silverdale before she wished them to--"of course, if you do notcare to stay, that is quite another thing. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, don't say that!" cried Honora, her face burning; "Icannot thank you enough for the pleasure you have given me. If--ifthings were different, I would stay with you gladly, although I shouldmiss my family. But now, --now I feel that I must be with them. I--I amengaged to be married. "

Honora still remembers the blank expression which appeared on thecountenance of her hostess when she spoke these words. Mrs. Holt'scheeks twitched, her ear-rings quivered, and her bosom heaved-once. 

"Engaged to be married!" she gasped. 

"Yes, " replied our heroine, humbly, "I was going to tellyou--to-morrow. "

"I suppose, " said Mrs. Holt, after a silence, "it is to the young manwho was here this afternoon, and whom I did not see. It accounts for hisprecipitate departure. But I must say, Honora, since frankness is one ofmy faults, that I feel it my duty to write to your aunt and disclaim allresponsibility. "

"It is not to Mr. Erwin, " said Honora, meekly; "it is--it is to Mr. Spence. "

Mrs. Holt seemed to find difficulty in speaking, Her former symptoms, which Honora had come to recognize as indicative of agitation, returnedwith alarming intensity. And when at length her voice made itself heard, it was scarcely recognizable. 

"You are engaged--to--Howard Spence?"

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " exclaimed Honora, "it was as great a surprise tome--believe me--as it is to you. "

But even the knowledge that they shared a common amazement did notappear, at once, to assuage Mrs. Holt's emotions. 

"Do you love him?" she demanded abruptly. 

Whereupon Honora burst into tears. 

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " she sobbed, "how can you ask?"

From this time on the course of events was not precisely logical. Mrs. Holt, setting in abeyance any ideas she may have had about the affair, took Honora in her arms, and against that ample bosom was sobbed out thepent-up excitement and emotion of an extraordinary day. 

"There, there, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt, stroking the dark hair, "I should not have asked you that-forgive me. " And the worthy lady, quivering with sympathy now, remembered the time of her own engagementto Joshua. And the fact that the circumstances of that event differedsomewhat from those of the present--in regularity, at least, increasedrather than detracted from Mrs. Holt's sudden access of tenderness. Theperplexing questions as to the probable result of such a marriage wereswept away by a flood of feeling. "There, there, my dear, I did not meanto be harsh. What you told me was such a shock--such a surprise, andmarriage is such a grave and sacred thing. "

"I know it, " sobbed Honora. 

"And you are very young. "

"Yes, Mrs. Holt. "

"And it happened in my house. "

"No, " said Honora, "it happened--near the golf course. "

Mrs. Holt smiled, and wiped her eyes. 

"I mean, my dear, that I shall always feel responsible for bringing youtogether---for your future happiness. That is a great deal. I could havewished that you both had taken longer to reflect, but I hope with all myheart that you will be happy. "

Honora lifted up a tear-stained face. 

"He said it was because I was going away that--that he spoke, " she said. "Oh, Mrs. Holt, I knew that you would be kind about it. "

"Of course I am kind about it, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt. "As I told you, I have grown to have an affection for you. I feel a little as though youbelonged to me. And after this--this event, I expect to see a great dealof you. Howard Spence's mother was a very dear friend of mine. I was oneof the first who knew her when she came to New York, from Troy, a widow, to educate her son. She was a very fine and a very courageous woman. "Mrs. Holt paused a moment. "She hoped that Howard would be a lawyer. "

"A lawyer!" Honora repeated. 

"I lost sight of him for several years, " continued Mrs. Holt, "butbefore I invited him here I made some inquiries about him from friendsof mine in the financial world. I find that he is successful for soyoung a man, and well thought of. I have no doubt he will make agood husband, my dear, although I could wish he were not on the StockExchange. And I hope you will make him happy. "

Whereupon the good lady kissed Honora, and dismissed her to dress fordinner. 

"I shall write to your aunt at once, " she said. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 

Requited love, unsettled condition that it is supposed to bring, didnot interfere with Howard Spence's appetite at dinner. His spirits, asusual, were of the best, and from time to time Honora was aware of hisglance. Then she lowered her eyes. She sat as in a dream; and, try asshe might, her thoughts would not range themselves. She seemed to seehim but dimly, to hear what he said faintly; and it conveyed nothing toher mind. 

This man was to be her husband! Over and over she repeated it toherself. His name was Howard Spence, and he was on the highroad toriches and success, and she was to live in New York. Ten days before hehad not existed for her. She could not bring herself to believe that heexisted now. Did she love him? How could she love him, when she did notrealize him? One thing she knew, that she had loved him that morning. 

The fetters of her past life were broken, and this she would notrealize. She had opened the door of the cage for what? These were thefragments of thoughts that drifted through her mind like tattered cloudsacross an empty sky after a storm. Peter Erwin appeared to her more thanonce, and he was strangely real. But he belonged to the past. Coursesucceeded course, and she talked subconsciously to Mr. Holt andJoshua--such is the result of feminine training. 

After dinner she stood on the porch. The rain had ceased, a cool dampbreeze shook the drops from the leaves, and the stars were shining. Presently, at the sound of a step behind her, she started. He wasstanding at her shoulder. 

"Honora!" he said. 

She did not move. 

"Honora, I haven't seen you--alone--since morning. It seems like athousand years. Honora?"

"Yes. "

"Did you mean it?

"Did I mean what?"

"When you said you'd marry me. " His voice trembled a little. "I've beenthinking of nothing but you all day. You're not--sorry? You haven'tchanged your mind?"

She shook her head. 

"At dinner when you wouldn't look at me, and this afternoon--"

"No, I'm not sorry, " she said, cutting him short. "I'm not sorry. "

He put his arm about her with an air that was almost apologetic. And, seeing that she did not resist, he drew her to him and kissed her. Suddenly, unaccountably to her, she clung to him. 

"You love me!" he exclaimed. 

"Yes, " she whispered, "but I am tired. I--I am going upstairs, Howard. Iam tired. "

He kissed her again. 

"I can't believe it!" he said. "I'll make you a queen. And we'll bemarried in the autumn, Honora. " He nodded boyishly towards the openwindows of the library. "Shall I tell them?" he asked. "I feel likeshouting it. I can't hold on much longer. I wonder what the old ladywill say!"

Honora disengaged herself from his arms and fled to the screen door. Asshe opened it, she turned and smiled back at him. 

"Mrs. Holt knows already, " she said. 

And catching her skirt, she flew quickly up the stairs. 

BOOK II. Volume 3. 

CHAPTER I. SO LONG AS YE BOTH SHALL LIVE!

It was late November. And as Honora sat at the window of thedrawing-room of the sleeping car, life seemed as fantastic and unreal asthe moss-hung Southern forest into which she stared. She was happy, asa child is happy who is taken on an excursion into the unknown. Themonotony of existence was at last broken, and riven the circumscribingwalls. Limitless possibilities lay ahead. 

The emancipation had not been without its pangs of sorrow, and therewere moments of retrospection--as now. She saw herself on Uncle Tom'sarm, walking up the aisle of the old church. How many Sundays of herlife had she sat watching a shaft of sunlight strike across the stonepillars of its gothic arches! She saw, in the chancel, tall and graveand pale, Peter Erwin standing beside the man with the flushed face whowas to be her husband. She heard again the familiar voice of Dr. Ewingreciting the words of that wonderful introduction. At other weddings shehad been moved. Why was her own so unrealizable?

 "Honora, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

She had promised. And they were walking out of the church, facing thegreat rose window with its blended colours, and the vaults above wereringing now with the volume of an immortal march. 

After that an illogical series of events and pictures passed beforeher. She was in a corner of the carriage, her veil raised, gazing ather husband, who had kissed her passionately. He was there beside her, looking extremely well in his top hat and frock-coat, with a whiteflower in his buttonhole. He was the representative of the future shehad deliberately chosen. And yet, by virtue of the strange ceremonythrough which they had passed, he seemed to have changed. In her attemptto seize upon a reality she looked out of the window. They were justpassing the Hanbury mansion in Wayland Square, and her eyes fell uponthe playroom windows under the wide cornice; and she wondered whetherthe doll's house were still in its place, its mute inhabitants waitingto be called by the names she had given them, and quickened into lifeonce more. 

Next she recalled the arrival at the little house that had been herhome, summer and winter, for so many years of her life. A red and whiteawning, stretching up the length of the walk which once had run besidethe tall pear trees, gave it an unrecognizable, gala air. Long hadit stood there, patient, unpretentious, content that the great thingsshould pass it by! And now, modest still, it had been singled out fromamongst its neighbours and honoured. Was it honoured? It seemed toHonora, so fanciful this day, that its unwonted air of festival wasunnatural. Why should the hour of departure from such a harbour of peacebe celebrated?

She was standing beside her husband in the little parlour, whilecarriage doors slammed in the dusk outside; while one by one--a pageantof the past which she was leaving forever the friends of her childhoodcame and went. Laughter and tears and kisses! And then, in no time atall, she found herself changing for the journey in the "little houseunder the hill. " There, locked up in the little desk Cousin Eleanor hadgiven her long ago, was the unfinished manuscript of that novel writtenat fever heat during those summer days in which she had sought to escapefrom a humdrum existence. And now--she had escaped. Aunt Mary, helpfulunder the most trying circumstances, was putting her articles in abag, the initials on which she did not recognize--H. L. S. --HonoraLeffingwell Spence; while old Catherine, tearful and inefficient, kneltbefore her, fumbling at her shoes. Honora, bending over, took the faceof the faithful old servant and kissed it. 

"Don't feel badly, Catherine, " she said; "I'll be coming back often tosee you, and you will be coming to see me. "

"Will ye, darlint? The blessing of God be on you for those words--andyou to be such a fine lady! It always was a fine lady ye were, with sucha family and such a bringin' up. And now ye've married a rich man, as isright and proper. If it's rich as Croesus he was, he'd be none too goodfor you. "

"Catherine, " said Aunt Mary, reprovingly, "what ideas you put into thechild's head!"

"Sure, Miss Mary, " cried Catherine, "it's always the great lady she was, and she a wee bit of a thing. And wasn't it yerself, Miss Mary, thatdressed her like a princess?"

Then came the good-bys--the real ones. Uncle Tom, always the friend ofyoung people, was surrounded by a group of bridesmaids in the hall. She clung to him. And Peter, who had the carriage ready. What would herwedding have been without Peter? As they drove towards the station, hiswas the image that remained persistently in her mind, bareheaded on thesidewalk in the light of the carriage lamps. The image of struggle. 

She had married Prosperity. A whimsical question, that shocked her, irresistibly presented itself: was it not Prosperity that she hadpromised to love, honour, and obey?

It must not be thought that Honora was by any means discontented withher Prosperity. He was new--that was all. Howard looked new. But sheremembered that he had always looked new; such was one of his greatestcharms. In the long summer days since she had bade him good-by on herway through New York from Silverdale, Honora had constructed him: he wasperpetual yet sophisticated Youth; he was Finance and Fashion; he wasPower in correctly cut clothes. And when he had arrived in St. Louis toplay his part in the wedding festivities, she had found her swan a swanindeed--he was all that she had dreamed of him. And she had tingled withpride as she introduced him to her friends, or gazed at him across theflower-laden table as he sat beside Edith Hanbury at the bridesmaids'dinner in Wayland Square. 

The wedding ceremony had somehow upset her opinion of him, but Honoraregarded this change as temporary. Julius Caesar or George Washingtonhimself must have been somewhat ridiculous as bridegrooms: and she hadthe sense to perceive that her own agitations as a bride were partlyresponsible. No matter how much a young girl may have trifled with thatelectric force in the male sex known as the grand passion, she shrinksfrom surrendering herself to its dominion. Honora shrank. He made loveto her on the way to the station, and she was terrified. He actuallyforgot to smoke cigarettes. What he said was to the effect that hepossessed at last the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world, and she resented the implication of possession. 

Nevertheless, in the glaring lights of the station, her courage and herpride in him revived, and he became again a normal and a marked man. Although the sex may resent it, few women are really indifferent toclothes, and Howard's well-fitting check suit had the magic touch of themetropolis. His manner matched his garments. Obsequious porters graspedhis pig-skin bag, and seized Honora's; the man at the gate inclined hishead as he examined their tickets, and the Pullman conductor himselfshowed them their stateroom, and plainly regarded them as importantpeople far from home. Howard had the cosmopolitan air. He gave the mana dollar, and remarked that the New Orleans train was not exactly theChicago and New York Limited. 

"Not by a long shot, " agreed the conductor, as he went out, softlyclosing the door behind him. 

Whereupon the cosmopolitan air dropped from Mr. Howard Spence, notgracefully, and he became once more that superfluous and awkward andutterly banal individual, the husband. 

"Let's go out and walk on the platform until the train starts, "suggested Honora, desperately. "Oh, Howard, the shades are up! I'm sureI saw some one looking in!"

He laughed. But there was a light in his eyes that frightened her, andshe deemed his laughter out of place. Was he, after all, an utterlydifferent man than what she had thought him? Still laughing, he held toher wrist with one hand, and with the other pulled down the shades. 

"This is good enough for me, " he said. "At last--at last, " he whispered, "all the red tape is over, and I've got you to myself! Do you love mejust a little, Honora?"

"Of course I do, " she faltered, still struggling, her face burning asfrom a fire. 

"Then what's the matter?" he demanded. 

"I don't know--I want air. Howard, please let me go. It's-it's so hotinhere. You must let me go. "

Her release, she felt afterwards, was due less to a physical than amental effort. She seemed suddenly to have cowed him, and his resistancebecame enfeebled. She broke from him, and opened the door, and reachedthe cement platform and the cold air. When he joined her, there wassomething jokingly apologetic about his manner, and he was smoking acigarette; and she could not help thinking that she would have respectedhim more if he had held her. 

"Women beat me, " he said. "They're the most erratic stock in themarket. "

It is worthy of remark how soon the human, and especially the femininebrain adjusts itself to new conditions. In a day or two life became realagain, or rather romantic. 

For the American husband in his proper place is an auxiliary who makesall things possible. His ability to "get things done, " before itceases to be a novelty, is a quality to be admired. Honora admired. Anintimacy--if the word be not too strong--sprang up between them. Theywandered through the quaint streets of New Orleans, that most foreign ofAmerican cities, searching out the tumbledown French houses; and Honorawas never tired of imagining the romances and tragedies which must havetaken place in them. The new scenes excited her, --the quaint cafes withtheir delicious, peppery Creole cooking, --and she would sit talkingfor a quarter of an hour at a time with Alphonse, who outdid himself toplease the palate of a lady with such allure. He called her "Madame";but well he knew, this student of human kind, that the title had notbeen of long duration. 

Madame came from New York, without doubt? such was one of his questions, as he stood before them in answer to Howard's summons, rubbing hishands. And Honora, with a little thrill, acknowledged the accuracyof his guess. There was no dish of Alphonse's they did not taste. AndHoward smilingly paid the bills. He was ecstatically proud of his wife, and although he did justice to the cooking, he cared but little forthe mysterious courtyards, the Spanish buildings, and the novels of Mr. George W. Cable, which Honora devoured when she was too tired to walkabout. He followed her obediently to the battle field of New Orleans, and admired as obediently the sunset, when the sky was all silver-greenthrough the magnolias, and the spreading live oaks hung with Spanishmoss, and a silver bar lay upon the Father of Waters. Honora, withbeating heart and flushed cheeks, felt these things: Howard felt themthrough her and watched--not the sunset--but the flame it lighted in hereyes. 

He left her but twice a day, and then only for brief periods. He evenfelt a joy when she ventured to complain. 

"I believe you care more for those horrid stocks than for me, " she said. "I--I am just a novelty. "

His answer, since they were alone in their sitting-room, was obvious. 

"Howard, " she cried, "how mean of you! Now I'll have to do my hair allover again. I've got such a lot of it--you've no idea how difficult itis. "

"You bet I have!" he declared meaningly, and Honora blushed. 

His pleasure of possession was increased when people turned to look ather on the street or in the dining room--to think that this remarkablecreature was in reality his wife! Nor did the feeling grow less intensewith time, being quite the same when they arrived at a fashionableresort in the Virginia mountains, on their way to New York. For suchwere the exactions of his calling that he could spare but two weeks forhis honeymoon. 

Honora's interest in her new surroundings was as great, and the sight ofthose towering ridges against the soft blue of the autumn skies inspiredher. It was Indian summer here, the tang of wood smoke was in the air;in the valleys--as they drove--the haze was shot with the dust of gold, and through the gaps they looked across vast, unexplored valleys toother distant, blue-stained ridges that rose between them and thesunset. Honora took an infinite delight in the ramshackle cabins besidethe red-clay roads, in the historic atmosphere of the ancient housesand porticoes of the Warm Springs, where the fathers of the Republic hadcome to take the waters. And one day, when a north wind had scatteredthe smoke and swept the sky, Howard followed her up the paths to theridge's crest, where she stood like a Victory, her garments blowing, gazing off over the mighty billows to the westward. Howard had neverseen a Victory, but his vision of domesticity was untroubled. 

Although it was late in the season, the old-fashioned, rambling hotelwas well filled, and people interested Honora as well as scenery--aproof of her human qualities. She chided Howard because he, too, was notmore socially inclined. 

"How can you expect me to be--now?" he demanded. 

She told him he was a goose, although secretly admitting the justice ofhis defence. He knew four or five men in the hotel, with whom he talkedstocks while waiting for Honora to complete her toilets; and he gatheredfrom two of these, who were married, that patience was a necessaryqualification in a husband. One evening they introduced their wives. Later, Howard revealed their identity--or rather that of the husbands. 

"Bowker is one of the big men in the Faith Insurance Company, and Tyleris president of the Gotham Trust. " He paused to light a cigarette, andsmiled at her significantly. "If you can dolly the ladies along once ina while, Honora, it won't do any harm, " he added. "You have a way withyou, you know, --when you want to. "

Honora grew scarlet. 

"Howard!" she exclaimed. 

He looked somewhat shamefaced. 

"Well, " he said, "I was only joking. Don't take it seriously. But itdoesn't do any harm to be polite. "

"I am always polite, " she answered a little coldly. 

Honeymoons, after all, are matters of conjecture, and what proportion ofthem contain disenchantments will never be known. Honora lay awake for along time that night, and the poignant and ever recurring remembranceof her husband's remark sent the blood to her face like a flame. Would Peter, or George Hanbury, or any of the intimate friends of herchildhood have said such a thing?

A new and wistful feeling of loneliness was upon her. For some days, with a certain sense of isolation and a tinge of envy which shewould not acknowledge, she had been watching a group of well-dressed, clean-looking people galloping off on horseback or filling thesix-seated buckboards. They were from New York--that she had discovered;and they did not mix with the others in the hotel. She had thought itstrange that Howard did not know them, but for a reason which she didnot analyze she hesitated to ask him who they were. They had rathera rude manner of staring--especially the men--and the air of derivinginfinite amusement from that which went on about them. One of them, ayoung man with a lisp who was addressed by the singular name of "Toots, "she had overheard demanding as she passed: who the deuce was the tallgirl with the dark hair and the colour? Wherever she went, she was awareof them. It was foolish, she knew, but their presence seemed--in themagnitude which trifles are wont to assume in the night-watches--of lateto have poisoned her pleasure. 

Enlightenment as to the identity of these disturbing persons came, thenext day, from an unexpected source. Indeed, from Mrs. Tyler. She lovedbrides, she said, and Honora seemed to her such a sweet bride. It wasMrs. Tyler's ambition to become thin (which was hitching her wagon toa star with a vengeance), and she invited our heroine to share herconstitutional on the porch. Honora found the proceeding in the natureof an ordeal, for Mrs. Tyler's legs were short, her frizzled hair veryblond, and the fact that it was natural made it seem, somehow, all themore damning. 

They had scarcely begun to walk before Honora, with a sense of dismayof which she was ashamed, beheld some of the people who had occupied herthoughts come out of the door and form a laughing group at the endof the porch. She could not rid herself of the feeling that they werelaughing at her. She tried in vain to drive them from her mind, tolisten to Mrs. Tyler's account of how she, too, came as a bride toNew York from some place with a classical name, and to the advice thataccompanied the narration. The most conspicuous young woman in thegroup, in riding clothes, was seated on the railing, with the toe ofone boot on the ground. Her profile was clear-cut and her chestnut hairtightly knotted behind under her hat. Every time they turned, this youngwoman stared at Honora amusedly. 

"Nasty thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, suddenly and unexpectedly in themidst of a description of the delights of life in the metropolis. 

"Who?" asked Honora. 

"That young Mrs. Freddy Maitland, sitting on the rail. She's the rudestwoman in New York. "

A perversity of spirit which she could not control prompted Honora toreply:

"Why, I think she is so good-looking, Mrs. Tyler. And she seems to haveso much individuality and independence. "

"There!" cried Mrs. Tyler, triumphantly. "Once--not so very long ago--Iwas just as inexperienced as you, my dear. She belongs to that horriblyfast set with which no self-respecting woman would be seen. It's anoutrage that they should come to a hotel like this and act as though itbelonged to them. She knows me quite as well as I know her, but when Iam face to face she acts as though I was air. "

Honora could not help thinking that this, at least, required someimagination on Mrs. Maitland's part. Mrs. Tyler had stopped for breath. 

"I have been introduced to her twice, " she continued, "but of course Iwouldn't speak to her. The little man with the lisp, next to her, who isalways acting in that silly way, they call Toots Cuthbert. He gets hisname in the newspapers by leading cotillons in New York and Newport. Andthe tall, slim, blond one, with the green hat and the feather in it, isJimmy Wing. He's the son of James Wing, the financier. "

"I went to school at Sutcliffe with his sister, " said Honora. 

It seemed to Honora that Mrs. Tyler's manner underwent a change. 

"My dear, " she exclaimed, "did you go to Sutcliffe? What a wonderfulschool it is! I fully intend to send my daughter Louise there. "

An almost irresistible desire came over Honora to run away. She excusedherself instead, and hurried back towards her room. On the way she metHoward in the corridor, and he held a telegram in his hand. 

"I've got some bad news, Honora, " he said. "That is, bad from the pointof view of our honeymoon. Sid Dallam is swamped with business, and wantsme in New York. I'm afraid we've got to cut it short. "

To his astonishment she smiled. 

"Oh, I'm so glad, Howard, " she cried. "I--I don't like this place nearlyso well as New Orleans. There are--so many people here. "

He looked relieved, and patted her on the arm. 

"We'll go to-night, old girl, " he said. 

CHAPTER II. "STAFFORD PARK"

There is a terrifying aspect of all great cities. Rome, with itsleviathan aqueducts, its seething tenements clinging to the hills, itscruel, shining Palatine, must have overborne the provincial travellercoming up from Ostia. And Honora, as she stood on the deck of theferry-boat, approaching New York for the second time in her life, couldnot overcome a sense of oppression. It was on a sharp December morning, and the steam of the hurrying craft was dazzling white in the early sun. Above and beyond the city rose, overpowering, a very different city, somehow, than that her imagination had first drawn. Each of thatmultitude of vast towers seemed a fortress now, manned by Celt and Hunand, Israelite and Saxon, captained by Titans. And the strife betweenthem was on a scale never known in the world before, a strife withmodern arms and modern methods and modern brains, in which there was nomercy. 

Hidden somewhere amidst those bristling miles of masonry to thenorthward of the towers was her future home. Her mind dwelt upon it now, for the first time, and tried to construct it. Once she had spoken toHoward of it, but he had smiled and avoided discussion. What would it belike to have a house of one's own in New York? A house on Fifth Avenue, as her girl friends had said when they laughingly congratulated her andbegged her to remember that they came occasionally to New York. Thoseof us who, like Honora, believe in Providence, do not trouble ourselveswith mere matters of dollars and cents. This morning, however, the hugematerial towers which she gazed upon seemed stronger than Providence, and she thought of her husband. Was his fibre sufficiently tough tobecome eventually the captain of one of those fortresses, to competewith the Maitlands and the Wings, and others she knew by name, calmlyand efficiently intrenched there?

The boat was approaching the slip, and he came out to her from thecabin, where he had been industriously reading the stock reports, hisnewspapers thrust into his overcoat pocket. 

"There's no place like New York, after all, " he declared, and added, "when the market's up. We'll go to a hotel for breakfast. "

For some reason she found it difficult to ask the question on her lips. 

"I suppose, " she said hesitatingly, "I suppose we couldn't go--home, Howard. You--you have never told me where we are to live. "

As before, the reference to their home seemed to cause him amusement. Hebecame very mysterious. 

"Couldn't you pass away a few hours shopping this morning, my dear?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Honora. 

"While I gather in a few dollars, " he continued. "I'll meet you atlunch, and then we'll go-home. "

As the sun mounted higher, her spirits rose with it. New York, or thatstrip of it which is known to the more fortunate of human beings, isa place to raise one's spirits on a sparkling day in early winter. AndHonora, as she drove in a hansom from shop to shop, felt a new sense ofelation and independence. She was at one, now, with the prosperity thatsurrounded her: her purse no longer limited, her whims existing only tobe gratified. Her reflections on this recently attained state alternatedwith alluring conjectures on the place of abode of which Howard had madesuch a mystery. Where was it? And why had he insisted, before showing itto her, upon waiting until afternoon?

Newly arrayed in the most becoming of grey furs, she met him at thathitherto fabled restaurant which in future days--she reflected--wasto become so familiar--Delmonico's. Howard was awaiting her in thevestibule; and it was not without a little quiver of timidity andexcitement and a consequent rise of colour that she followed the waiterto a table by the window. She felt as though the assembled fashionableworld was staring at her, but presently gathered courage enough to gazeat the costumes of the women and the faces of the men. Howard, with asang froid of which she felt a little proud, ordered a meal for which heeventually paid a fraction over eight dollars. What would Aunt Mary havesaid to such extravagance? He produced a large bunch of violets. 

"With Sid Dallam's love, " he said, as she pinned them on her gown. "I tried to get Lily--Mrs. Sid--for lunch, but you never can put yourfinger on her. She'll amuse you, Honora. "

"Oh, Howard, it's so much pleasanter lunching alone to-day. I'm glad youdidn't. And then afterwards--?"

He refused, however, to be drawn. When they emerged she did not hear thedirections he gave the cabman, and it was not until they turned intoa narrow side street, which became dingier and dingier as they bumpedtheir way eastward, that she experienced a sudden sinking sensation. 

"Howard!" she cried. "Where are you going? You must tell me. "

"One of the prettiest suburbs in New Jersey--Rivington, " he said. "Waittill you see the house. "

"Suburbs! Rivington! New Jersey!" The words swam before Honora's eyes, like the great signs she had seen printed in black letters on the tallbuildings from the ferry that morning. She had a sickening sensation, and the odour of his cigarette in the cab became unbearable. By anironic trick of her memory, she recalled that she had told the clerks inthe shops where she had made her purchases that she would send them heraddress later. How different that address from what she had imagined it!

"It's in the country!" she exclaimed. 

To lunch at Delmonico's for eight dollars and live in Rivington

Howard appeared disturbed. More than that, he appeared astonished, solicitous. 

"Why, what's the matter, Honora?" he asked. "I thought you'd like it. It's a brand new house, and I got Lily Dallam to furnish it. She's awonder on that sort of thing, and I told her to go ahead--within reason. I talked it over with your aunt and uncle, and they agreed with me you'dmuch rather live out there for a few years than in a flat. "

"In a flat!" repeated Honora, with a shudder. 

"Certainly, " he said, flicking his ashes out of the window. "Who doyou think I am, at my age? Frederick T. Maitland, or the owner of theBrougham Building?"

"But--Howard, " she protested, "why didn't you talk it over with me?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you, " he replied. "I spent a month anda half looking for that house. And you never seemed to care. It didn'toccur to me that you would care--for the first few years, " he added, andthere was in his voice a note of reproach that did not escape her. "Younever seemed inclined to discuss business with me, Honora. I didn'tthink you were interested. Dallam and I are making money. We expectsome day to be on Easy Street--so to speak--or Fifth Avenue. Some day, I hope, you can show some of these people the road. But just now whatcapital we have has to go into the business. "

Strangely enough, in spite of the intensity of her disappointment, shefelt nearer to her husband in that instant than at any time since theirmarriage. Honora, who could not bear to hurt any one's feelings, seizedhis hand repentantly. Tears started in her eyes. 

"Oh, Howard, I must seem to you very ungrateful, " she cried. "It wassuch a--such a surprise. I have never lived in the country, and I'm sureit will be delightful--and much more healthful than the city. Won't youforgive me?"

If he had known as much about the fluctuations of the femininetemperament as of those of stocks, the ease with which Honora executedthis complete change of front might have disturbed him. Howard, as willbe seen, possessed that quality which is loosely called good nature. In marriage, he had been told (and was ready to believe), the wind blewwhere it listed; and he was a wise husband who did not spend his time ininquiry as to its sources. He kissed her before he helped her out of thecarriage. Again they crossed the North River, and he led her through thewooden ferry house on the New Jersey side to where the Rivington trainwas standing beside a platform shed. 

There was no parlour car. Men and women--mostly women--with bundleswere already appropriating the seats and racks, and Honora found herselfwondering how many of these individuals were her future neighbours. Thatthere might have been an hysterical element in the lively anticipationshe exhibited during the journey did not occur to Howard Spence. 

After many stops, --in forty-two minutes, to be exact, the brakemanshouted out the name of the place which was to be her home, and of whichshe had been ignorant that morning. They alighted at an old red railroadstation, were seized upon by a hackman in a coonskin coat, and thrustinto a carriage that threatened to fall to pieces on the frozen macadamroad. They passed through a village in which Honora had a glimpse ofthe drug store and grocery and the Grand Army Hall; then came detachedhouses of all ages in one and two-acre plots some above the road, forthe country was rolling; a very attractive church of cream-colouredstone, and finally the carriage turned sharply to the left under anarchway on which were the words "Stafford Park, " and stopped at a verynew curbstone in a very new gutter on the right. 

"Here we are!" cried Howard, as he fished in his trousers pockets formoney to pay the hackman. 

Honora looked around her. Stafford Park consisted of a wide centre-wayof red gravel, not yet packed, with an island in its middle planted withshrubbery and young trees, the bare branches of which formed a blacktracery against the orange-red of the western sky. On both sides of thiscentre-way were concrete walks, with cross-walks from the curbs tothe houses. There were six of these--three on each side--standing ona raised terrace and about two hundred feet apart. Beyond them, tothe northward, Stafford Park was still a wilderness of second-growthhardwood, interspersed with a few cedars. 

Honora's house, the first on the right, was exactly like the other five. If we look at it through her eyes, we shall find this similarityits main drawback. If we are a little older, however, and moresophisticated, we shall suspect the owner of Stafford Park and hisarchitect of a design to make it appear imposing. It was (indefiniteand much-abused term) Colonial; painted white; and double, with dormerwindows of diagonal wood-surrounded panes in the roof. There was alarge pillared porch on its least private side--namely, the front. Awhite-capped maid stood in the open doorway and smiled at Honora as sheentered. 

Honora walked through the rooms. There was nothing intricate about thehouse; it was as simple as two times four, and really too large for herand Howard. Her presents were installed, the pictures and photographframes and chairs, even Mr. Isham's dining-room table and CousinEleanor's piano. The sight of these, and of the engraving which AuntMary had sent on, and which all her childhood had hung over her bed inthe little room at home, brought the tears once more to her eyes. Butshe forced them back bravely. 

These reflections were interrupted by the appearance of the little maidannouncing that tea was ready, and bringing her two letters. One wasfrom Susan Holt, and the other, written in a large, slanting, andangular handwriting, was signed Lily Dallam. It was dated from New York. 

"My dear Honora, " it ran, "I feel that I must call you so, for Sid andHoward, in addition to being partners, are such friends. I hesitated solong about furnishing your house, my dear, but Howard insisted, and saidhe wished to surprise you. I am sending you this line to welcome you, and to tell you that I have arranged with the furniture people to takeany or all things back that you do not like, and exchange them. Afterall, they will be out of date in a few years, and Howard and Sid willhave made so much money by that time, I hope, that I shall be able toleave my apartment, which is dear, and you will be coming to town. "

Honora laid down the sheet, and began to tidy her hair before the glassof the highly polished bureau in her room. A line in Susan's letteroccurred to her: "Mother hopes to see you soon. She asked me to tell youto buy good things which will last you all your life, and says that itpays. "

The tea-table was steaming in the parlour in front of the wood fire inthe blue tiled fireplace. The oak floor reflected its gleam, and that ofthe electric lights; the shades were drawn; a slight odour of steam heatpervaded the place. Howard, smoking a cigarette, was reclining on asofa that evidently was not made for such a purpose, reading the eveningnewspapers. 

"Well, Honora, " he said, as she took her seat behind the tea-table, "youhaven't told me how you like it. Pretty cosey, eh? And enough spare roomto have people out over Sundays. "

"Oh, Howard, I do like it, " she cried, in a desperate attempt--whichmomentarily came near succeeding to convince herself that she couldhave desired nothing more. "It's so sweet and clean and new--and all ourown. "

She succeeded, at any rate, in convincing Howard. In certain matters, hewas easily convinced. 

"I thought you'd be pleased when you saw it, my dear, " he said. 

CHAPTER III. THE GREAT UNATTACHED

It was the poet Cowper who sang of domestic happiness as the only blissthat has survived the Fall. One of the burning and unsolved questions ofto-day is, --will it survive the twentieth century? Will it surviverapid transit and bridge and Woman's Rights, the modern novel and moderndrama, automobiles, flying machines, and intelligence offices; hotel, apartment, and suburban life, or four homes, or none at all? Is it aweed that will grow anywhere, in a crevice between two stones in thecity? Or is it a plant that requires tender care and the water ofself-sacrifice? Above all, is it desirable?

Our heroine, as may have been suspected, has an adaptable temperament. Her natural position is upright, but like the reed, she can bendgracefully, and yields only to spring back again blithely. Since thischronicle regards her, we must try to look at existence through hereyes, and those of some of her generation and her sex: we must givethe four years of her life in Rivington the approximate value whichshe herself would have put upon it--which is a chapter. We must regardRivington as a kind of purgatory, not solely a place of departedspirits, but of those which have not yet arrived; as one of the manytemporary abodes of the Great Unattached. 

No philosophical writer has as yet made the attempt to define thechange--as profound as that of the tadpole to the frog--between thelover and the husband. An author of ideals would not dare to proclaimthat this change is inevitable: some husbands--and some wives arefortunate enough to escape it, but it is not unlikely to happen inour modern civilization. Just when it occurred in Howard Spence itis difficult to say, but we have got to consider him henceforth asa husband; one who regards his home as a shipyard rather than thesanctuary of a goddess; as a launching place, the ways of which arecarefully greased, that he may slide off to business every morning withas little friction as possible, and return at night to rest undisturbedin a comfortable berth, to ponder over the combat of the morrow. 

It would be inspiring to summon the vision of Honora, in rustlinggarments, poised as the figurehead of this craft, beckoning him on tobattle and victory. Alas! the launching happened at that grimmest andmost unromantic of hours-ten minutes of eight in the morning. Therewas a period, indeterminate, when she poured out his coffee with wifelyzeal; a second period when she appeared at the foot of the stairs tokiss him as he was going out of the door; a third when, clad in anattractive dressing-gown, she waved him good-by from the window; andlastly, a fourth, which was only marked by an occasional protest on hispart, when the coffee was weak. 

"I'd gladly come down, Howard, if it seemed to make the least differenceto you, " said Honora. "But all you do is to sit with your newspaperpropped up and read the stock reports, and growl when I ask you a politequestion. You've no idea how long it makes the days out here, to get upearly. "

"It seems to me you put in a good many days in town, " he retorted. 

"Surely you don't expect me to spend all my time in Rivington!" shecried reproachfully; "I'd die. And then I am always having to get newcooks for you, because they can't make Hollandaise sauce like hotelchefs. Men have no idea how hard it is to keep house in the country, --Ijust wish you had to go to those horrid intelligence offices. Youwouldn't stay in Rivington ten days. And all the good cooks drink. "

Howard, indeed, with the aid of the village policeman, had had to expelfrom his kitchen one imperious female who swore like a dock hand, and who wounded Honora to the quick by remarking, as she departed indurance, that she had always lived with ladies and gentlemen and peoplewho were somebody. The incident had tended further to detract from theromance of the country. 

It is a mistake to suppose that the honeymoon disappears below thehorizon with the rapidity of a tropical sun. And there is generally anafterglow. In spite of cooks and other minor clouds, in spite of visionsof metropolitan triumphs (not shattered, but put away in camphor), lifewas touched with a certain novelty. There was a new runabout and a horsewhich Honora could drive herself, and she went to the station to meether husband. On mild Saturday and Sunday afternoons they made longexcursions, into the country--until the golf season began, when thelessons begun at Silverdale were renewed. But after a while certain malecompetitors appeared, and the lessons were discontinued. Sunday, afterhis pile of newspapers had religiously been disposed of, became a fieldday. Indeed, it is impossible, without a twinge of pity, to beholdHoward taking root in Rivington, for we know that sooner or later hewill be dug up and transplanted. The soil was congenial. He played pokeron the train with the Rivington husbands, and otherwise got along withthem famously. And it was to him an enigma--when occasionally he allowedhis thoughts to dwell upon such trivial matters--why Honora was notequally congenial with the wives. 

There were, no doubt, interesting people in Rivington about whom manystories could be written: people with loves and fears and anxieties andjoys, with illnesses and recoveries, with babies, but few grandchildren. There were weddings at the little church, and burials; there weredances at the golf club; there were Christmas trees, where most of thepresents--like Honora's--came from afar, from family centres formed in asocial period gone by; there were promotions for the heads of families, and consequent rejoicings over increases of income; there were movings;there were--inevitable in the ever grinding action of that remorselesslaw, the survival of the fittest--commercial calamities, and theheartrending search for new employment. 

Rivington called upon Honora in vehicles of all descriptions, inproportion to the improvidence or prosperity of the owners. And Honorareturned the calls, and joined the Sewing Circle, and the Woman'sLuncheon Club, which met for the purpose of literary discussion. In theevenings there were little dinners of six or eight, where the men talkedbusiness and the women house rent and groceries and gossip and thecheapest places in New York City to buy articles of the latest fashion. Some of them had actually built or were building houses that cost asmuch as thirty thousand dollars, with the inexplicable intention ofremaining in Rivington the rest of their lives!

Honora was kind to these ladies. As we know, she was kind to everybody. She almost allowed two or three of them to hope that they might becomeher intimates, and made excursions to New York with them, and lunched infashionable restaurants. Their range of discussion included babies andRobert Browning, the modern novel and the best matinee. It would beinteresting to know why she treated them, on the whole, like travellersmet by chance in a railroad station, from whom she was presently foreverto depart. The time and manner of this departure were matters to bedetermined in the future. 

It would be interesting to know, likewise, just at what period theintention of moving away from Rivington became fixed in Honora's mind. Honora circumscribed, Honora limited, Honora admitting defeat, andthis chronicle would be finished. The gods exist somewhere, though manyincarnations may, be necessary to achieve their companionship. And noprison walls loom so high as to appall our heroine's soul. To exchangeone prison for another is in itself something of a feat, and anargument that the thing may be done again. Neither do the wise onesbeat themselves uselessly against brick or stone. Howard--poor man!--isfatuous enough to regard a great problem as being settled once and forall by a marriage certificate and a benediction; and labours underthe delusion that henceforth he may come and go as he pleases, eat hisbreakfast in silence, sleep after dinner, and spend his Sundays at theRivington Golf Club. It is as well to leave him, at present, in blissfulignorance of his future. 

Our sympathies, however, must be with Honora, who has paid the pricefor heaven, and who discovers that by marriage she has merely joined theranks of the Great Unattached. Hitherto it had been inconceivable to herthat any one sufficiently prosperous could live in a city, or near itand dependent on it, without being socially a part of it. Most momentousof disillusions! With the exception of the Sidney Dallams and one or twoyoung brokers who occasionally came out over Sunday, her husband had nofriends in New York. Rivington and the Holt family (incongruous mixture)formed the sum total of her acquaintance. 

On Monday mornings in particular, if perchance she went to town, thehuge signs which she read across the swamps, of breakfast foodsand other necessaries, seemed, for some reason, best to express herisolation. Well-dressed, laughing people descended from omnibuses atthe prettier stations, people who seemed all-sufficient to themselves;people she was sure she should like if only she knew them. Once thesight of her school friend, Ethel Wing, chatting with a tall youngman, brought up a flood of recollections; again, in a millineryestablishment, she came face to face with the attractive Mrs. Maitlandwhom she had seen at Hot Springs. Sometimes she would walk on FifthAvenue, watching, with mingled sensations, the procession there. Thecolour, the movement, the sensation of living in a world where everyone was fabulously wealthy, was at once a stimulation and a despair. Brougham after brougham passed, victoria after victoria, in whichbeautifully gowned women chatted gayly or sat back, impassive, amidstthe cushions. Some of them, indeed, looked bored, but this did notmar the general effect of pleasure and prosperity. Even thepeople--well-dressed, too--in the hansom cabs were usually animatedand smiling. On the sidewalk athletic, clear-skinned girls passed her, sometimes with a man, sometimes in groups of two and three, going in andout of the expensive-looking shops with the large, plate-glass windows. 

All of these women, apparently, had something definite to do, somewhereto go, some one to meet the very next, minute. They protested tomilliners and dressmakers if they were kept waiting, and even seemedimpatient of time lost if one by chance bumped into them. But Honora hadno imperative appointments. Lily Dallam was almost sure to be out, orgoing out immediately, and seemed to have more engagements than any onein New York. 

"I'm so sorry, my dear, " she would say, and add reproachfully: "whydidn't you telephone me you were coming? If you had only let me know wemight have lunched together or gone to the matinee. Now I have promisedClara Trowbridge to go to a lunch party at her house. "

Mrs. Dallam had a most convincing way of saying such things, and inspite of one's self put one in the wrong for not having telephoned. But if indeed Honora telephoned--as she did once or twice in herinnocence--Lily was quite as distressed. 

"My dear, why didn't you let me know last night? Trixy Brent has givenLula Chandos his box at the Horse Show, and Lula would never, neverforgive me if I backed out. "

Although she lived in an apartment--in a most attractive one, to besure--there could be no doubt about it that Lily Dallam was fashionable. She had a way with her, and her costumes were marvellous. She could havemade her fortune either as a dressmaker or a house decorator, andshe bought everything from "little" men and women whom she discoveredherself. It was a curious fact that all of these small tradespeopleeventually became fashionable, too. Lily was kind to Honora, and gaveher their addresses before they grew to be great and insolent andcareless whether one patronized them or not. 

While we are confessing the trials and weaknesses of our heroine, weshall have to admit that she read, occasionally, the society columnsof the newspapers. And in this manner she grew to have a certainfamiliarity with the doings of those favourites of fortune who had moredelightful engagements than hours in which to fulfil them. So intimatewas Lily Dallam with many of these Olympians that she spoke of them bytheir first names, or generally by their nicknames. Some two years afterHonora's marriage the Dallams had taken a house in that much discussedcolony of Quicksands, where sport and pleasure reigned supreme: and morethan once the gown which Mrs. Sidney Dallam had worn to a polo match hadbeen faithfully described in the public prints, or the dinners which shehad given at the Quicksands Club. One of these dinners, Honora learned, had been given in honour of Mr. Trixton Brent. 

"You ought to know Trixy, Honora, " Mrs. Dallam declared; "he'd be crazyabout you. "

Time passed, however, and Mrs. Dallam made no attempt to bring aboutthis most desirable meeting. When Honora and Howard went to town to dinewith the Dallams, it was always at a restaurant, a 'partie carree'. LilyDallam thought it dull to dine at home, and they went to the theatreafterwards--invariably a musical comedy. Although Honora did not careparticularly for musical comedies, she always experienced a certainfeverish stimulation which kept her wide awake on the midnight train toRivington. Howard had a most exasperating habit of dozing in the cornerof the seat. 

"You are always sleepy when I have anything interesting to talk to youabout, " said Honora, "or reading stock reports. I scarcely see anythingat all of you. "

Howard roused himself. 

"Where are we now?" he asked. 

"Oh, " cried Honora, "we haven't passed Hydeville. Howard, who is TrixtonBrent?"

"What about him?" demanded her husband. 

"Nothing--except that he is one of Lily's friends, and she said sheknew--I should like him. I wish you would be more interested in people. Who is he?"

"One of the best-known operators in the market, " Howard answered, andhis air implied that a lack of knowledge of Mr. Brent was ignoranceindeed; "a daring gambler. He cornered cotton once, and raked in over amillion. He's a sport, too. "

"How old is he?"

"About forty-three. "

"Is he married?" inquired Honora. 

"He's divorced, " said Howard. And she had to be content with so muchof the gentleman's biography, for her husband relapsed into somnolenceagain. A few days later she saw a picture of Mr. Brent, in polo costume, in one of the magazines. She thought him good-looking, and wondered whatkind of a wife he had had. 

Honora, when she went to town for the day, generally could be sure offinding some one, at least, of the Holt family at home at luncheon time. They lived still in the same house on Madison Avenue to which AuntMary and Uncle Tom had been invited to breakfast on the day of Honora'sarrival in her own country. It had a wide, brownstone front, with abasement, and a high flight of steps leading up to the door. Within, solemnity reigned, and this effect was largely produced by theprodigiously high ceilings and the black walnut doors and woodwork. On the second floor, the library where the family assembled was morecheerful. The books themselves, although in black-walnut cases, and thesun pouring in, assisted in making this effect. 

Here, indeed, were stability and peace. Here Honora remade theacquaintance of the young settlement worker, and of the missionary, nowon the Presbyterian Board of Missions. Here she charmed other friendsand allies of the Holt family; and once met, somewhat to her surprise, two young married women who differed radically from the other guestsof the house. Honora admired their gowns if not their manners; for theyignored her, and talked to Mrs. Holt about plans for raising money forthe Working Girl's Relief Society. 

"You should join us, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt; "I am sure you would beinterested in our work. "

"I'd be so glad to, Mrs. Holt, " replied Honora, "if only I didn't livein the country. "

She came away as usual, feeling of having run into a cul de sac. Mrs. Holt's house was a refuge, not an outlet; and thither Honora directedher steps when a distaste for lunching alone or with some of herRivington friends in the hateful, selfish gayety of a fashionablerestaurant overcame her; or when her moods had run through a cycle, andan atmosphere of religion and domesticity became congenial. 

"Howard, " she asked unexpectedly one evening, as he sat smoking besidethe blue tiled mantel, "have you got on your winter flannels?"

"I'll bet a hundred dollars to ten cents, " he cried, "that you've beenlunching with Mrs. Holt. "

"I think you're horrid, " said Honora. 

Something must be said for her. Domestic virtue, in the face of suchmocking heresy, is exceptionally difficult of attainment. 

Mrs. Holt had not been satisfied with Honora's and Susan's accounts ofthe house in Stafford Park. She felt called upon to inspect it. Andfor this purpose, in the spring following Honora's marriage, she madea pilgrimage to Rivington and spent the day. Honora met her at thestation, and the drive homeward was occupied in answering innumerablequestions on the characters, conditions, and modes of life of Honora'sneighbours. 

"Now, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt, when they were seated before the fireafter lunch, "I want you to feel that you can come to me for everything. I must congratulate you and Howard on being sensible enough to startyour married life simply, in the country. I shall never forget thelittle house in which Mr. Holt and I began, and how blissfully happy Iwas. " The good lady reached out and took Honora's hand in her own. "Notthat your deep feeling for your husband will ever change. But men aremore difficult to manage as they grow older, my dear, and the bestof them require a little managing for their own good. And increasedestablishments bring added cares and responsibilities. Now that I amhere, I have formed a very fair notion of what it ought to cost you tolive in such a place. And I shall be glad to go over your housekeepingbooks with you, and tell you if you are being cheated as I dare say youare. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " Honora faltered, "I--I haven't kept any books. Howardjust pays the bills. "

"You mean to say he hasn't given you any allowance!" cried Mrs. Holt, aghast. "You don't know what it costs to run this house?"

"No, " said Honora, humbly. "I never thought of it. I have no idea whatHoward's income may be. "

"I'll write to Howard myself--to-night, " declared Mrs. Holt. 

"Please don't, Mrs. Holt. I'll--I'll speak to him, " said Honora. 

"Very well, then, " the good lady agreed, "and I will send you one ofmy own books, with my own system, as soon as I get home. It is not yourfault, my dear, it is Howard's. It is little short of criminal of him. I suppose this is one of the pernicious results of being on the StockExchange. New York is nothing like what it was when I was a girl--theextravagance by everybody is actually appalling. The whole city isbent upon lavishness and pleasure. And I am afraid it is very often thewives, Honora, who take the lead in prodigality. It all tends, my dear, to loosen the marriage tie--especially this frightful habit of dining inhotels and restaurants. "

Before she left Mrs. Holt insisted on going over the house from topto bottom, from laundry to linen closet. Suffice it to say that theinspection was not without a certain criticism, which must be passedover. 

"It is a little large, just for you and Howard, my dear, " was her finalcomment. "But you are wise in providing for the future. "

"For the future?" Honora repeated. 

Mrs. Holt playfully pinched her cheek. 

"When the children arrive, my dear, as I hope they will--soon, " shesaid, smiling at Honora's colour. "Sometimes it all comes back to me--myown joy when Joshua was a baby. I was very foolish about him, no doubt. Annie and Gwendolen tell me so. I wouldn't even let the nurse sit upwith him when he was getting his teeth. Mercy!" she exclaimed, glancingat the enamelled watch on her gown, --for long practice had enabled herto tell the time upside down, --"we'll be late for the train, my dear. "

After returning from the station, Honora sat for a long time at herwindow, looking out on the park. The afternoon sunlight had the silverytinge that comes to it in March; the red gravel of the centre drivewaywas very wet, and the grass of the lawns of the houses opposite alreadya vivid green; in the back-yards the white clothes snapped from thelines; and a group of children, followed by nurses with perambulators, tripped along the strip of sidewalk. 

Why could not she feel the joys and desires of which Mrs. Holt hadspoken? It never had occurred to her until to-day that they were lackingin her. Children! A home! Why was it that she did not want children? Whyshould such a natural longing be absent in her? Her mind went back tothe days of her childhood dolls, and she smiled to think of their largefamilies. She had always associated marriage with children--until shegot married. And now she remembered that her childhood ideals of thematrimonial state had been very much, like Mrs. Holt's own experience ofit: Why then had that ideal gradually faded until, when marriage cameto her, it was faint and shadowy indeed? Why were not her spirit and herhopes enclosed by the walls in which she sat?

The housekeeping book came from Mrs. Holt the next morning, but Honoradid not mention it to her husband. Circumstances were her excuse: hehad had a hard day on the Exchange, and at such times he showed a markeddisinclination for the discussion of household matters. It was not untilthe autumn, in fact, that the subject of finance was mentioned betweenthem, and after a period during which Howard had been unusuallyuncommunicative and morose. Just as electrical disturbances are saidto be in some way connected with sun spots, so Honora learned that acertain glumness and tendency to discuss expenses on the part of herhusband were synchronous with a depression in the market. 

"I wish you'd learn to go a little slow, Honora, " he said one evening. "The bills are pretty stiff this month. You don't seem to have any ideaof the value of money. "

"Oh, Howard, " she exclaimed, after a moment's pause for breath, "how canyou say such a thing, when I save you so much?"

"Save me so much!" he echoed. 

"Yes. If I had gone to Ridley for this suit, he would have charged metwo hundred dollars. I took such pains--all on your account--to finda little man Lily Dallam told me about, who actually made it for onehundred and twenty-five. "

It was typical of the unreason of his sex that he failed to be impressedby this argument. 

"If you go on saving that way, " said he, "we'll be in the hands of areceiver by Christmas. I can't see any difference between buying onesuit from Ridley--whoever he may be--and three from Lily Dallam's'little man, ' except that you spend more than three times as muchmoney. "

"Oh, I didn't get three!--I never thought you could be so unjust, Howard. Surely you don't want me to dress like these Rivington women, doyou?"

"I can't see anything wrong with their clothes, " he maintained. 

"And to think that I was doing it all to please you!" she criedreproachfully. 

"To please me!"

"Who else? We-we don't know anybody in New York. And I wanted you to beproud of me. I've tried so hard and--and sometimes you don't even lookat my gowns, and say whether you like them and they are all for you. "

This argument, at least, did not fail of results, combined as it waswith a hint of tears in Honora's voice. Its effect upon Howard waspeculiar--he was at once irritated, disarmed, and softened. He putdown his cigarette--and Honora was on his knee! He could not deny herattractions. 

"How could you be so cruel, Howard?" she asked. 

"You know you wouldn't like me to be a slattern. It was my own idea tosave money--I had a long talk about economy one day with Mrs. Holt. Andyou act as though you had such a lot of it when we're in town for dinnerwith these Rivington people. You always have champagne. If--if you'repoor, you ought to have told me so, and I shouldn't have ordered anotherdinner gown. "

"You've ordered another dinner gown!"

"Only a little one, " said Honora, "the simplest kind. But if you'repoor--"

She had made a discovery--to reflect upon his business success was totouch a sensitive nerve. 

"I'm not poor, " he declared. "But the bottom's dropped out of themarket, and even old Wing is economizing. We'll have to put on thebrakes for awhile, Honora. "

It was shortly after this that Honora departed on the first of her threevisits to St. Louis. 

CHAPTER IV. THE NEW DOCTRINE

This history concerns a free and untrammelled--and, let us add, feminine--spirit. No lady is in the least interesting if restricted andcontented with her restrictions, --a fact which the ladies of our nationare fast finding out. What would become of the Goddess of Liberty? Andlet us mark well, while we are making these observations, that Libertyis a goddess, not a god, although it has taken us in America over acentury to realize a significance in the choice of her sex. And--anotherdiscovery!--she is not a haus frau. She is never domiciled, neverfettered. Even the French, clever as they are, have not conceived her:equality and fraternity are neither kith nor kin of hers, and she laughsat them as myths--for she is a laughing lady. She alone of the threeis real, and she alone is worshipped for attributes which she does notpossess. She is a coquette, and she is never satisfied. If she were, shewould not be Liberty: if she were, she would not be worshipped of men, but despised. If they understood her, they would not care for her. Andfinally, she comes not to bring peace, but a sword. 

At quarter to seven one blustery evening of the April following theirfourth anniversary Honora returned from New York to find her husbandseated under the tall lamp in the room he somewhat facetiously calledhis "den, " scanning the financial page of his newspaper. He was in hisdressing gown, his slippered feet extended towards the hearth, smoking acigarette. And on the stand beside him was a cocktail glass--empty. 

"Howard, " she cried, brushing his ashes from the table, "how can yoube so untidy when you are so good-looking dressed up? I really believeyou're getting fat. And there, " she added, critically touching a placeon the top of his head, "is a bald spot!"

"Anything else?" he murmured, with his eyes still on the sheet. 

"Lots, " answered Honora, pulling down the newspaper from before hisface. "For one thing, I'm not going to allow you to be a bear any more. I don't mean a Stock Exchange bear, but a domestic bear--which is muchworse. You've got to notice me once in a while. If you don't, I'll getanother husband. That's what women do in these days, you know, whenthe one they have doesn't take the trouble to make himself sufficientlyagreeable. I'm sure I could get another one quite easily, " she declared. 

He looked up at her as she stood facing him in the lamplight before thefire, and was forced to admit to himself that the boast was not whollyidle. A smile was on her lips, her eyes gleamed with health; herfurs--of silver fox--were thrown back, the crimson roses pinned on hermauve afternoon gown matched the glow in her cheeks, while her hairmingled with the dusky shadows. Howard Spence experienced one of thosestartling, illuminating moments which come on occasions to the busy andself-absorbed husbands of his nation. Psychologists have a name for sucha phenomenon. Ten minutes before, so far as his thoughts were concerned, she had not existed, and suddenly she had become a possession whichhe had not, in truth, sufficiently prized. Absurd though it was, thepossibility which she had suggested aroused in him a slight uneasiness. 

"You are a deuced good-looking woman, I'll say that for you, Honora, " headmitted. 

"Thanks, " she answered, mockingly, and put her hands behind her back. "If I had only known you were going to settle down in Rivington and getfat and bald and wear dressing gowns and be a bear, I never should havemarried you--never, never, never! Oh, how young and simple and foolishI was! And the magnificent way you talked about New York, and intimatedthat you were going to conquer the world. I believed you. Wasn't I alittle idiot not--to know that you'd make for a place like this and diga hole and stay in it, and let the world go hang?"

He laughed, though it was a poor attempt. And she read in his eyes, which had not left her face, that he was more or less disturbed. 

"I treat you pretty well, don't I, Honora?" he asked. There was anamorous, apologetic note in his voice that amused her, and reminded herof the honeymoon. "I give you all the money you want or rather--you takeit, --and I don't kick up a row, except when the market goes to pieces--"

"When you act as though we'd have to live in Harlem--which couldn't bemuch worse, " she interrupted. "And you stay in town all day and have noend of fun making money, --for you like to make money, and expect me toamuse myself the best part of my life with a lot of women who don't knowenough to keep thin. "

He laughed again, but still uneasily. Honora was still smiling. 

"What's got into you?" he demanded. "I know you don't like Rivington, but you never broke loose this way before. "

"If you stay here, " said Honora, with a new firmness, "it will be alone. I can't see what you want with a wife, anyway. I've been thinking youover lately. I don't do anything for you, except to keep getting youcooks--and anybody could do that. You don't seem to need me in anypossible way. All I do is to loiter around the house and read and playthe piano, or go to New York and buy clothes for nobody to look atexcept strangers in restaurants. I'm worth more than that. I think I'llget married again. "

"Great Lord, what are you talking about?" he exclaimed when he got hisbreath. 

"I think I'll take a man next time, " she continued calmly, "who hassomething to him, some ambition. The kind of man I thought I was gettingwhen I took you only I shouldn't be fooled again. Women remarry a gooddeal in these days, and I'm beginning to see the reason why. And thewomen who have done it appear to be perfectly happy--much happier thanthey were at first. I saw one of them at Lily Dallam's this afternoon. She was radiant. I can't see any particular reason why a woman shouldbe tied all her life to her husband's apron strings--or whatever hewears--and waste the talents she has. It's wicked, when she might be themaking of some man who is worth something, and who lives somewhere. "

Her husband got up. 

"Jehosaphat!" he cried, "I never heard such talk in my life. "

The idea that her love for him might have ebbed a little, or that shewould for a moment consider leaving him, he rejected as preposterous, ofcourse: the reputation which the majority of her sex had made throughoutthe ages for constancy to the marriage tie was not to be so lightlydissipated. Nevertheless, there was in her words a new undertone ofdetermination he had never before heard--or, at least, noticed. 

There was one argument, or panacea, which had generally worked like acharm, although some time had elapsed since last he had resorted to it. He tried to seize and kiss her, but she eluded him. At last he caughther, out of breath, in the corner of the room. 

"Howard--you'll knock over the lamp--you'll ruin my gown--and thenyou'll have to buy me another. I DID mean it, " she insisted, holdingback her head; "you'll have to choose between Rivington and me. It's--it's an ultimatum. There were at least three awfully attractivemen at Lily Dallam's tea--I won't tell you who they were--who would beglad to marry me in a minute. "

He drew her down on the arm of his chair. 

"Now that Lily has a house in town, " he said weakly, "I suppose youthink you've got to have one. "

"Oh, Howard, it is such a dear house. I had no idea that so much couldbe done with so narrow a front. It's all French, with mirrors and bigwhite panels and satin chairs and sofas, and a carved gilt piano thatshe got for nothing from a dealer she knows; and church candlesticks. The mirrors give it the effect of being larger than it really is. I'veonly two criticisms to make: it's too far from Fifth Avenue, and one canscarcely turn around in it without knocking something down--a photographframe or a flower vase or one of her spindle-legged chairs. It wasonly a hideous, old-fashioned stone front when she bought it. I supposenobody but Reggie Farwell could have made anything out of it. "

"Who's Reggie Farwell?" inquired her husband. 

"Howard, do you really mean to say you've never heard of Reggie Farwell?Lily was so lucky to get him--she says he wouldn't have done the houseif he hadn't been such a friend of hers. And he was coming to the teathis afternoon--only something happened at the last minute, and hecouldn't. She was so disappointed. He built the Maitlands' house, anddid over the Cecil Graingers'. And he's going to do our house--someday. "

"Why not right away?" asked Howard. 

"Because I've made up my mind to be very, very reasonable, " she replied. "We're going to Quicksands for a while, first. "

"To Quicksands!" he repeated. But in spite of himself he experienced afeeling of relief that she had not demanded a town mansion on the spot. 

Honora sprang to her feet. 

"Get up, Howard, " she cried, "remember that we're going out fordinner-and you'll never be ready. "

"Hold on, " he protested, "I don't know about this Quicksandsproposition. Let's talk it over a little more--"

"We'll talk it over another time, " she replied. "But--remember myultimatum. And I am only taking you there for your own good. "

"For my own good!"

"Yes. To get you out of a rut. To keep you from becoming commonplace andobscure and--and everything you promised not to be when you marriedme, " she retorted from the doorway, her eyes still alight with thatdisturbing and tantalizing fire. "It is my last desperate effort as awife to save you from baldness, obesity, and nonentity. " Wherewith shedisappeared into her room and closed the door. 

We read of earthquakes in the tropics and at the ends of the earth withcommiseration, it is true, yet with the fond belief that the ground onwhich we have built is so firm that our own 'lares' and 'penates' are inno danger of being shaken down. And in the same spirit we learn of otherpeople's domestic cataclysms. Howard Spence had had only a slight shock, but it frightened him and destroyed his sense of immunity. And duringthe week that followed he lacked the moral courage either to discussthe subject of Quicksands thoroughly or to let it alone: to put down hisfoot like a Turk or accede like a Crichton. 

Either course might have saved him. One trouble with the unfortunateman was that he realized but dimly the gravity of the crisis. He hadlaboured under the delusion that matrimonial conditions were still whatthey had been in the Eighteenth Century--although it is doubtful whetherhe had ever thought of that century. Characteristically, he consideredthe troublesome affair chiefly from its business side. His ambition, ifwe may use so large a word for the sentiment that had filled his breast, had been coincident with his prenuptial passion for Honora. And shehad contrived, after four years, in some mysterious way to stir up thatambition once more; to make him uncomfortable; to compel him to askhimself whether he were not sliding downhill; to wonder whether livingat Quicksands might not bring him in touch with important interestswhich had as yet eluded him. And, above all, --if the idea be put alittle more crudely and definitely than it occurred in his thoughts, he awoke to the realization that his wife was an asset he had hithertoutterly neglected. Inconceivable though it were (a middle-of-the-nightreflection), if he insisted on trying to keep such a woman bottled up inRivington she might some day pack up and leave him. One never could tellwhat a woman would do in these days. Les sacrees femmes. 

We are indebted to Honora for this view of her husband's mentalprocesses. She watched them, as it were, through a glass in the side ofhis head, and incidentally derived infinite amusement therefrom. Withinstinctive wisdom she refrained from tinkering. 

An invitation to dine with the Dallams', in their own house, arrived aday or two after the tea which Honora had attended there. Although Lilyhad always been cordial, Honora thought this note couched in terms ofunusual warmth. She was implored to come early, because Lily had so muchto talk to her about which couldn't be written on account of a splittingheadache. In moderate obedience to this summons Honora arrived, on theevening in question, before the ornamental ironwork of Mrs. Dallam'sfront door at a few minutes after seven o'clock. Honora paused in thespring twilight to contemplate the house, which stood out incongruouslyfrom its sombre, brownstone brothers and sisters with noisy basementkitchens. The Third Avenue Elevated, "so handy for Sid, " roared acrossthe gap scarcely a block away; and just as the door was opened thetightest of little blue broughams, pulled by a huge chestnut horse anddriven by the tiniest of grooms in top boots, drew up at the curb. Andout of it burst a resplendent lady--Mrs. Dallam. 

"Oh, it's you, Honora, " she cried. "Am I late? I'm so sorry. But I justcouldn't help it. It's all Clara Trowbridge's fault. She insisted onmy staying to meet that Renee Labride who dances so divinely in LadyEmmeline. She's sweet. I've seen her eight times. " Here she tookHonora's arm, and faced her towards the street. "What do you think of myturnout? Isn't he a darling?"

"Is he--full grown?" asked Honora. 

Lilly Dallam burst out laughing. 

"Bless you, I don't mean Patrick, --although I had a terrible timefinding him. I mean the horse. Trixy Brent gave him to me before he wentabroad. "

"Gave him to you!" Honora exclaimed. 

"Oh, he's always doing kind things like that, and he hadn't any use forhim. My dear, I hope you don't think for an instant Trixy's in love withme! He's crazy about Lula Chandos. I tried so hard to get her to come todinner to-night, and the Trowbridges' and the Barclays'. You've no ideahow difficult it is in New York to get any one under two weeks. And sowe've got just ourselves. "

Honora was on the point of declaring, politely, that she was very glad, when Lily Dallam asked her how she liked the brougham. 

"It's the image of Mrs. Cecil Grainger's, my dear, and I got it for asong. As long as Trixy gave me the horse, I told Sid the least he coulddo was to give me the brougham and the harness. Is Master Sid asleep?"she inquired of the maid who had been patiently waiting at the door. "Imeant to have got home in time to kiss him. "

She led Honora up the narrow but thickly carpeted stairs to a miniatureboudoir, where Madame Adelaide, in a gilt rococo frame, lookedsuperciliously down from the walls. 

"Why haven't you been in to see me since my tea, Honora? You were such asuccess, and after you left they were all crazy to know something aboutyou, and why they hadn't heard of you. My dear, how much did littleHarris charge you for that dress? If I had your face and neck and figureI'd die before I'd live in Rivington. You're positively wasted, Honora. And if you stay there, no one will look at you, though you were asbeautiful as Mrs. Langtry. "

"You're rather good-looking yourself, Lily, " said Honora. 

"I'm ten years older than you, my dear, and I have to be so careful. Sidsays I'm killing myself, but I've found a little massage woman who iswonderful. How do you like this dress?"

"All your things are exquisite. "

"Do you think so?" cried Mrs. Dallam, delightedly. 

Honora, indeed, had not perjured herself. Only the hypercritical, whenMrs. Dallam was dressed, had the impression of a performed miracle. Shewas the most finished of finished products. Her complexion was highand (be it added) natural, her hair wonderfully 'onduled', and she hadwithal the sweetest and kindest of smiles and the most engaging laughterin the world. It was impossible not to love her. 

"Howard, " she cried, when a little later they were seated at the table, "how mean of you to have kept Honora in a dead and alive place likeRivington all these years! I think she's an angel to have stood it. Menare beyond me. Do you know what an attractive wife you've got? I've justbeen telling her that there wasn't a woman at my tea who compared withher, and the men were crazy about her. "

"That's the reason I live down there, " proclaimed Howard, as he finishedhis first glass of champagne. 

"Honora, " demanded Mrs. Dallam, ignoring his bravado, "why don't youtake a house at Quicksands? You'd love it, and you'd look simply divinein a bathing suit. Why don't you come down?"

"Ask Howard, " replied Honora, demurely. 

"Well, Lily, I'll own up I have been considering it a little, " thatgentleman admitted with gravity. "But I haven't decided anything. Thereare certain drawbacks--"

"Drawbacks!" exclaimed Mrs. Dallam. "Drawbacks at Quicksands! I'd liketo know what they are. Don't be silly, Howard. You get more for yourmoney there than any place I know. " Suddenly the light of an inspirationcame into her eyes, and she turned to her husband. "Sid, the Alfred Fernhouse is for rent, isn't it?"

"I think it must be, Lily, " replied Mr. Dallam. 

"Sometimes I believe I'm losing my mind, " declared Mrs. Dallam. "What animbecile I was not to think of it! It's a dear, Honora, not five minutesfrom the Club, with the sweetest furniture, and they just finished itlast fall. It would be positively wicked not to take it, Howard. Theycouldn't have failed more opportunely. I'm sorry for Alfred, but Ialways thought Louise Fern a little snob. Sid, you must see Alfred downtown the first thing in the morning and ask him what's the least he'llrent it for. Tell him I wish to know. "

"But--my dear Lily--began Mr. Dallam apologetically. 

"There!" complained his wife, "you're always raising objections to mymost charming and sensible plans. You act as though you wanted Honoraand Howard to stay in Rivington. "

"My dear Lily!" he protested again. And words failing him, he sought bya gesture to disclaim such a sinister motive for inaction. 

"What harm can it do?" she asked plaintively. "Howard doesn't have torent the house, although it would be a sin if he didn't. Find out therent in the morning, Sid, and we'll all four go down on Sunday and lookat it, and lunch at the Quicksands Club. I'm sure I can get out ofmy engagement at Laura Dean's--this is so important. What do you say, Honora?"

"I think it would be delightful, " said Honora. 

CHAPTER V. QUICKSANDS

To convey any adequate idea of the community familiarly known asQuicksands a cinematograph were necessary. With a pen we can onlyapproximate the appearance of the shifting grains at any one time. Somehouseholds there were, indeed, which maintained a precarious thoughseemingly miraculous footing on the surface, or near it, going under formere brief periods, only to rise again and flaunt men-servants in theface of Providence. 

There were real tragedies, too, although a casual visitor would neverhave guessed it. For tragedies sink, and that is the end of them. Thecinematograph, to be sure, would reveal one from time to time, cominglike a shadow across an endless feast, and gone again in a flash. Suchwas what might appropriately be called the episode of the Alfred Ferns. After three years of married life they had come, they had rented; themarket had gone up, they had bought and built--upon the sands. Theancient farmhouse which had stood on the site had been torn down asunsuited to a higher civilization, although the great elms which hadsheltered it had been left standing, in grave contrast to the twistedcedars and stunted oaks so much in evidence round about. 

The Ferns--or rather little Mrs. Fern--had had taste, and the new housereflected it. As an indication of the quality of imagination possessedby the owners, the place was called "The Brackens. " There was a longporch on the side of the ocean, but a view of the water was shut offfrom it by a hedge which, during the successive ownerships of theadjoining property, had attained a height of twelve feet. There was alittle toy greenhouse connecting with the porch (an "economy" indulgedin when the market had begun to go the wrong way for Mr. Fern). Exile, although unpleasant, was sometimes found necessary at Quicksands, andeven effective. 

Above all things, however, if one is describing Quicksands, one must notbe depressing. That is the unforgiveable sin there. Hence we must touchupon these tragedies lightly. 

If, after walking through the entrance in the hedge that separatedthe Brackens from the main road, you turned to the left and followeda driveway newly laid out between young poplars, you came to a mass ofcedars. Behind these was hidden the stable. There were four stalls, allreplete with brass trimmings, and a box, and the carriage-house was madelarge enough for the break which Mr. Fern had been getting ready to buywhen he had been forced, so unexpectedly, to change his mind. 

If the world had been searched, perhaps, no greater contrast toRivington could have been found than this delightful colony ofquicksands, full of life and motion and colour, where everybody wasbeautifully dressed and enjoying themselves. For a whole week afterher instalment Honora was in a continual state of excitement andanticipation, and the sound of wheels and voices on the highroad beyondthe hedge sent her peeping to her curtains a dozen times a day. Thewaking hours, instead of burdens, were so many fleeting joys. Inthe morning she awoke to breathe a new, perplexing, and deliciousperfume--the salt sea breeze stirring her curtains: later, she was onthe gay, yellow-ochre beach with Lily Dallam, making new acquaintances;and presently stepping, with a quiver of fear akin to delight, into therestless, limitless blue water that stretched southward under a milkyhaze: luncheon somewhere, more new acquaintances, and then, perhaps, inLily's light wood victoria to meet the train of trains. For at half-pastfive the little station, forlorn all day long in the midst of thetwisted cedars that grew out of the heated sand, assumed an air ofgayety and animation. Vehicles of all sorts drew up in the open spacebefore it, wagonettes, phaetons, victorias, high wheeled hackney carts, and low Hempstead carts: women in white summer gowns and veils comparednotes, or shouted invitations to dinner from carriage to carriage. Theengine rolled in with a great cloud of dust, the horses danced, thehusbands and the overnight guests, grimy and brandishing eveningnewspapers, poured out of the special car where they had sat inarm-chairs and talked stocks all the way from Long Island City. Somewere driven home, it is true; some to the beach, and others tothe Quicksands Club, where they continued their discussions overwhiskey-and-sodas until it was time to have a cocktail and dress fordinner. 

Then came the memorable evening when Lily Dallam gave a dinner in honourof Honora, her real introduction to Quicksands. It was characteristic ofLily that her touch made the desert bloom. Three years before Quicksandshad gasped to hear that the Sidney Dallams had bought the Faradayhouse--or rather what remained of it. 

"We got it for nothing, " Lily explained triumphantly on the occasion ofHonora's first admiring view. "Nobody would look at it, my dear. "

It must have been this first price, undoubtedly, that appealed to SidneyDallam, model for all husbands: to Sidney, who had had as much of anidea of buying in Quicksands as of acquiring a Scotch shooting box. The"Faraday place" had belonged to the middle ages, as time is reckoned inQuicksands, and had lain deserted for years, chiefly on account of itslugubrious and funereal aspect. It was on a corner. Two "for rent" signshad fallen successively from the overgrown hedge: some fifty feet backfrom the road, hidden by undergrowth and in the tenebrous shades of hugelarches and cedars, stood a hideous, two-storied house with a mansardroof, once painted dark red. 

The magical transformation of all this into a sunny, smiling, whitevilla with red-striped awnings and well-kept lawns and just enough shadehad done no little towards giving to Lily Dallam that ascendency whichshe had acquired with such startling rapidity in the community. WhenHonora and Howard drove up to the door in the deepening twilight, everywindow was a yellow, blazing square, and above the sound of voicesrose a waltz from "Lady Emmeline" played with vigour on the piano. LilyDallam greeted Honora in the little room which (for some unexplainedreason) was known as the library, pressed into service at dinner partiesas the ladies' dressing room. 

"My dear, how sweet you look in that coral! I've been so luckyto-night, " she added in Honora's ear; "I've actually got Trixy Brent foryou. "

Our heroine was conscious of a pleasurable palpitation as shewalked with her hostess across the little entry to the door of thedrawing-room, where her eyes encountered an inviting and vivaciousscene. Some ten or a dozen guests, laughing and talking gayly, filledthe spaces between the furniture; an upright piano was embedded in acorner, and the lady who had just executed the waltz had swung aroundon the stool, and was smiling up at a man who stood beside her with hishand in his pocket. She was a decided brunette, neither tall nor short, with a suggestion of plumpness. 

"That's Lula Chandos, " explained Lily Dallam in her usual staccato, following Honora's gaze, "at the piano, in ashes of roses. She's stoppedmourning for her husband. Trixy told her to-night she'd discarded thesackcloth and kept the ashes. He's awfully clever. I don't wonder thatshe's crazy about him, do you? He's standing beside her. "

Honora took a good look at the famous Trixy, who resembled acertain type of military Englishman. He had close-cropped hair and aclose-cropped mustache; and his grey eyes, as they rested amusedly onMrs. Chandos, seemed to have in them the light of mockery. 

"Trixy!" cried his hostess, threading her way with considerable skillacross the room and dragging Honora after her, "Trixy, I want tointroduce you to Mrs. Spence. Now aren't you glad you came!"

It was partly, no doubt, by such informal introductions that Lily Dallamhad made her reputation as the mistress of a house where one and allhad such a good time. Honora, of course, blushed to her temples, andeverybody laughed--even Mrs. Chandos. 

"Glad, " said Mr. Brent, with his eyes on Honora, "does not quite expressit. You usually have a supply of superlatives, Lily, which you mighthave drawn on. "

"Isn't he irrepressible?" demanded Lily Dallam, delightedly, "he'salways teasing. "

It was running through Honora's mind, while Lily Dallam's characteristicintroductions of the other guests were in progress, that "irrepressible"was an inaccurate word to apply to Mr. Brent's manner. Honora could notdefine his attitude, but she vaguely resented it. All of Lily's guestshad the air of being at home, and at that moment a young gentleman namedCharley Goodwin, who was six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds, was loudly demanding cocktails. They were presently brought by a ratherharassed-looking man-servant. 

"I can't get over how well you look in that gown, Lula, " declared Mrs. Dallam, as they went out to dinner. "Trixy, what does she remind youof?"

"Cleopatra, " cried Warry Trowbridge, with an attempt to be gallant. 

"Eternal vigilance, " said Mr. Brent, and they sat down amidst thelaughter, Lily Dallam declaring that he was horrid, and Mrs. Chandosgiving him a look of tender reproach. But he turned abruptly to Honora, who was on his other side. 

"Where did you drop down from, Mrs. Spence?" he inquired. 

"Why do you take it for granted that I have dropped?" she asked sweetly. 

He looked at her queerly for a moment, and then burst out laughing. 

"Because you are sitting next to Lucifer, " he said. "It's kind of me towarn you, isn't it?"

"It wasn't necessary, " replied Honora. "And besides, as a dinnercompanion, I imagine Lucifer couldn't be improved on. "

He laughed again. 

"As a dinner companion!" he repeated. "So you would limit Lucifer todinners? That's rather a severe punishment, since we're neighbours. "

"How delightful to have Lucifer as one's neighbour, " said Honora, avoiding his eyes. "Of course I've been brought up to believe that hewas always next door, so to speak, but I've never--had any proof of ituntil now. "

"Proof!" echoed Mr. Brent. "Has my reputation gone before me?"

"I smell the brimstone, " said Honora. 

He derived, apparently, infinite amusement from this remark likewise. 

"If I had known I was to have the honour of sitting here, I should haveused another perfume, " he replied. "I have several. "

It was Honora's turn to laugh. 

"They are probably for--commercial transactions, not for ladies, "she retorted. "We are notoriously fond of brimstone, if it is not toostrong. A suspicion of it. "

Her colour was high, and she was surprised at her own vivacity. Itseemed strange that she should be holding her own in this manner withthe renowned Trixton Brent. No wonder, after four years of Rivington, that she tingled with an unwonted excitement. 

At this point Mr. Brent's eye fell upon Howard, who was explainingsomething to Mrs. Trowbridge at the far end of the table. 

"What's your husband like?" he demanded abruptly. 

Honora was a little taken aback, but recovered sufficiently to retort:"You'd hardly expect me to give you an unprejudiced judgment. "

"That's true, " he agreed significantly. 

"He's everything, " added Honora, "that is to be expected in a husband. "

"Which isn't much, in these days, " declared Mr. Brent. 

"On the contrary, " said Honora. 

"What I should like to know is why you came to Quicksands, " said Mr. Brent. 

"For a little excitement, " she replied. "So far, I have not beendisappointed. But why do you ask that question?" she demanded, with aslight uneasiness. "Why did you come here?"

"Oh, " he said, "you must remember that I'm--Lucifer, a citizen of theworld, at home anywhere, a sort of 'freebooter. I'm not here all thetime--but that's no reflection on Quicksands. May I make a bet with you, Mrs. Spence?"

"What about?"

"That you won't stay in Quicksands more than six months, " he answered. 

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously. 

He shook his head. 

"My experience with your sex, " he declared enigmatically, "has not beena slight one. "

"Trixy!" interrupted Mrs. Chandos at this juncture, from his otherside, "Warry Trowbridge won't tell me whether to sell my ConsolidatedPotteries stock. "

"Because he doesn't know, " said Mr. Brent, laconically, and readdressedhimself to Honora, who had, however, caught a glimpse of Mrs. Chandos'face. 

"Don't you think it's time for you to talk to Mrs. Chandos?" she asked. 

"What for?"

"Well, for one reason, it is customary, out of consideration for thehostess, to assist in turning the table. "

"Lily doesn't care, " he said. 

"How about Mrs. Chandos? I have an idea that she does care. "

He made a gesture of indifference. 

"And how about me?" Honora continued. "Perhaps--I'd like to talk to Mr. Dallam. "

"Have you ever tried it?" he demanded. 

Over her shoulder she flashed back at him a glance which he did notreturn. She had never, to tell the truth, given her husband's partnermuch consideration. He had existed in her mind solely as an obligingshopkeeper with whom Lily had unlimited credit, and who handed her overthe counter such things as she desired. And to-night, in contrastto Trixton Brent, Sidney Dallam suggested the counter more than everbefore. He was about five and forty, small, neatly made, with littlehands and feet; fast growing bald, and what hair remained to him was ajet black. His suavity of manner and anxious desire to give one just thetopic that pleased had always irritated Honora. 

Good shopkeepers are not supposed to have any tastes, predilections, ordesires of their own, and it was therefore with no little surprisethat, after many haphazard attempts, Honora discovered Mr. Dallam tobe possessed by one all-absorbing weakness. She had fallen in love, she remarked, with little Sid on the beach, and Sidney Dallam suddenlybecame transfigured. Was she fond of children? Honora coloured a little, and said "yes. " He confided to her, with an astonishing degree offeeling, that it had been the regret of his life he had not had morechildren. Nobody, he implied, who came to his house had ever exhibitedthe proper interest in Sid. 

"Sometimes, " he said, leaning towards her confidentially, "I slipupstairs for a little peep at him after dinner. "

"Oh, " cried Honora, "if you're going to-night mayn't I go with you? I'dlove to see him in bed. "

"Of course I'll take you, " said Sidney Dallam, and he looked at her sogratefully that she coloured again. 

"Honora, " said Lily Dallam, when the women were back in thedrawing-room, "what did you do to Sid? You had him beaming--and he hatesdinner parties. "

"We were talking about children, " replied Honora, innocently. 

"Children!"

"Yes, " said Honora, "and your husband has promised to take me up to thenursery. "

"And did you talk to Trixy about children, too?" cried Lily, laughing, with a mischievous glance at Mrs. Chandos. 

"Is he interested in them?" asked Honora. 

"You dear!" cried Lily, "you'll be the death of me. Lula, Honora wantsto know whether Trixy is interested in children. "

Mrs. Chandos, in the act of lighting a cigarette, smiled sweetly. 

"Apparently he is, " she said. 

"It's time he were, if he's ever going to be, " said Honora, just assweetly. 

Everybody laughed but Mrs. Chandos, who began to betray an intenseinterest in some old lace in the corner of the room. 

"I bought it for nothing, my dear, " said Mrs. Dallam, but she pinchedHonora's arm delightedly. "How wicked of you!" she whispered, "but itserves her right. "

In the midst of the discussion of clothes and house rents and otherpeople's possessions, interspersed with anecdotes of a kind that was newto Honora, Sidney Dallam appeared at the door and beckoned to her. 

"How silly of you, Sid!" exclaimed his wife; "of course she doesn't wantto go. "

"Indeed I do, " protested Honora, rising with alacrity and followingher host up the stairs. At the end of a hallway a nurse, who had beenreading beside a lamp, got up smilingly and led the way on tiptoe intothe nursery, turning on a shaded electric light. Honora bent over thecrib. The child lay, as children will, with his little yellow headresting on his arm. But in a moment, as she stood gazing at him, heturned and opened his eyes and smiled at her, and she stooped and kissedhim. 

"Where's Daddy?" he demanded. 

"We've waked him!" said Honora, remorsefully. 

"Daddy, " said the child, "tell me a story. "

The nurse looked at Dallam reproachfully, as her duty demanded, and yetshe smiled. The noise of laughter reached them from below. 

"I didn't have any to-night, " the child pleaded. 

"I got home late, " Dallam explained to Honora, and, looking at thenurse, pleaded in his turn; "just one. "

"Just a tiny one, " said the child. 

"It's against all rules, Mr. Dallam, " said the nurse, "but--he's beenvery lonesome to-day. "

Dallam sat down on one side of him, Honora on the other. 

"Will you go to sleep right away if I do, Sid?" he asked. 

The child shut his eyes very tight. 

"Like that, " he promised. 

It was not the Sidney Dallam of the counting-room who told that story, and Honora listened with strange sensations which she did not attempt todefine. 

"I used to be fond of that one when I was a youngster, " he explainedapologetically to her as they went out, and little Sid had settledhimself obediently on the pillow once more. "It was when I dreamed, " headded, "of less prosaic occupations than the stock market. "

Sidney Dallam had dreamed!

Although Lily Dallam had declared that to leave her house beforemidnight was to insult her, it was half-past eleven when Honora and herhusband reached home. He halted smilingly in her doorway as she took offher wrap and laid it over a chair. 

"Well, Honora, " he asked, "how do you like--the whirl of fashion?"

She turned to him with one of those rapid and bewildering movements thatsometimes characterized her, and put her arms on his shoulders. 

"What a dear old stay-at-home you were, Howard, " she said. "I wonderwhat would have happened to you if I hadn't rescued you in the nick oftime! Own up that you like--a little variety in life. "

Being a man, he qualified his approval. 

"I didn't have a bad time, " he admitted. "I had a talk with Brent afterdinner, and I think I've got him interested in a little scheme. It'sa strange thing that Sid Dallam was never able to do any business withhim. If I can put this through, coming to Quicksands will have beenworth while. " He paused a moment, and added: "Brent seems to have takenquite a shine to you, Honora. "

She dropped her arms, and going over to her dressing table, unclasped apin on the front of her gown. 

"I imagine, " she answered, in an indifferent tone, "that he acts so withevery new woman he meets. "

Howard remained for a while in the doorway, seemingly about to speak. Then he turned on his heel, and she heard him go into his own room. 

Far into the night she lay awake, the various incidents of the evening, like magic lantern views, thrown with bewildering rapidity on the screenof her mind. At last she was launched into life, and the days ofher isolation gone by forever. She was in the centre of things. Andyet--well, nothing could be perfect. Perhaps she demanded too much. Onceor twice, in the intimate and somewhat uproarious badinage that had beentossed back and forth in the drawing-room after dinner, her delicacy hadbeen offended: an air of revelry had prevailed, enhanced by the arrivalof whiskey-and-soda on a tray. And at the time she had been caught up byan excitement in the grip of which she still found herself. She had beenaware, as she tried to talk to Warren Trowbridge, of Trixton Brent'sglance, and of a certain hostility from Mrs. Chandos that caused her nowto grow warm with a kind of shame when she thought of it. But she couldnot deny that this man had for her a fascination. There was in him aninsolent sense of power, of scarcely veiled contempt for the companyin which he found himself. And she asked herself, in this mood ofintrospection, whether a little of his contempt for Lily Dallam's guestshad not been communicated from him to her. 

When she had risen to leave, he had followed her into the entry. Sherecalled him vividly as he had stood before her then, a cigar in onehand and a lighted match in the other, his eyes fixed upon her with asingularly disquieting look that was tinged, however, with amusement. "I'm coming to see you, " he announced. 

"Do be careful, " she had cried, "you'll burn yourself!"

"That, " he answered, tossing away the match, "is to be expected. "

She laughed nervously. 

"Good night, " he added, "and remember my bet. "

What could he have meant when he had declared that she would not remainin Quicksands?

CHAPTER VI. GAD AND MENI. 

There was an orthodox place of worship at Quicksands, a temple notmerely opened up for an hour or so on Sunday mornings to be shut tightduring the remainder of the week although it was thronged with devoteeson the Sabbath. This temple, of course, was the Quicksands Club. HowardSpence was quite orthodox; and, like some of our Puritan forefathers, did not even come home to the midday meal on the first day of the week. But a certain instinct of protest and of nonconformity which may havebeen remarked in our heroine sent her to St. Andrews-by-the-Sea--by nomeans so well attended as the house of Gad and Meni. She walked home ina pleasantly contemplative state of mind through a field of daisies, andhad just arrived at the hedge in front of the Brackens when the soundof hoofs behind her caused her to turn. Mr. Trixton Brent, very firmlyastride of a restive, flea-bitten polo pony, surveyed her amusedly. 

"Where have you been?" said he. 

"To church, " replied Honora, demurely. 

"Such virtue is unheard of in Quicksands. "

"It isn't virtue, " said Honora. 

"I had my doubts about that, too, " he declared. 

"What is it, then?" she asked laughingly, wondering why he had such afaculty of stirring her excitement and interest. 

"Dissatisfaction, " was his prompt reply. 

"I don't see why you say that, " she protested. 

"I'm prepared to make my wager definite, " said he. "The odds are athoroughbred horse against a personally knitted worsted waistcoat thatyou won't stay in Quicksands six months. "

"I wish you wouldn't talk nonsense, " said Honora, "and besides, I can'tknit. "

There was a short silence during which he didn't relax his disconcertingstare. 

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "I'm sorry Howard isn't home. "

"I'm not, " he said promptly. "Can't you come over to my box for lunch?I've asked Lula Chandos and Warry Trowbridge. "

It was not without appropriateness that Trixton Brent called his housethe "Box. " It was square, with no pretensions to architecture whatever, with a porch running all the way around it. And it was literally filledwith the relics of the man's physical prowess cups for games of alldescriptions, heads and skins from the Bitter Roots to Bengal, andmasks and brushes from England. To Honora there was an irresistibleand mysterious fascination in all these trophies, each suggesting afinished--and some perhaps a cruel--performance of the man himself. Thecups were polished until they beat back the light like mirrors, and theglossy bear and tiger skins gave no hint of dying agonies. 

Mr. Brent's method with women, Honora observed, more resembled the noblesport of Isaac Walton than that of Nimrod, but she could not deny thatthis element of cruelty was one of his fascinations. It was very evidentto a feminine observer, for instance, that Mrs. Chandos was engaged ina breathless and altogether desperate struggle with the slow butinevitable and appalling Nemesis of a body and character that would notharmonize. If her figure grew stout, what was to become of her charm asan 'enfant gate'? Her host not only perceived, but apparently derivedgreat enjoyment out of the drama of this contest. From self-indulgenceto self-denial--even though inspired by terror--is a far cry. AndTrixton Brent had evidently prepared his menu with a satanic purpose. 

"What! No entree, Lula? I had that sauce especially for you. "

"Oh, Trixy, did you really? How sweet of you!" And her liquid eyesregarded, with an almost equal affection, first the master and then thedish. "I'll take a little, " she said weakly; "it's so bad for my gout. "

"What, " asked Trixton Brent, flashing an amused glance at Honora, "arethe symptoms of gout, Lula? I hear a great deal about that trouble thesedays, but it seems to affect every one differently. "

Mrs. Chandos grew very red, but Warry Trowbridge saved her. 

"It's a swelling, " he said innocently. 

Brent threw back his head and laughed. 

"You haven't got it anyway, Warry, " he cried. 

Mr. Trowbridge, who resembled a lean and greying Irish terrier, maintained that he had. 

"It's a pity you don't ride, Lula. I understand that that's one of thebest preventives--for gout. I bought a horse last week that would justsuit you--an ideal woman's horse. He's taken a couple of blue ribbonsthis summer. "

"I hope you will show him to us, Mr. Brent, " exclaimed Honora, in aspirit of kindness. 

"Do you ride?" he demanded. 

"I'm devoted to it, " she declared. 

It was true. For many weeks that spring, on Monday, Wednesday, andFriday mornings, she had gone up from Rivington to Harvey's RidingAcademy, near Central Park. Thus she had acquired the elements ofthe equestrian art, and incidentally aroused the enthusiasm of ariding-master. 

After Mrs. Chandos had smoked three of the cigarettes which her hostspecially imported from Egypt, she declared, with no superabundanceof enthusiasm, that she was ready to go and see what Trixy had in the"stables. " In spite of that lady's somewhat obvious impatience, Honorainsisted upon admiring everything from the monogram of coloured sandsso deftly woven on the white in the coach house, to the hunters andpolo ponies in their rows of boxes. At last Vercingetorix, the latestacquisition of which Brent had spoken, was uncovered and trotted aroundthe ring. 

"I'm sorry, Trixy, but I've really got to leave, " said Mrs. Chandos. "And I'm in such a predicament! I promised Fanny Darlington I'd go overthere, and it's eight miles, and both my horses are lame. "

Brent turned to his coachman. 

"Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. Darlington's, " he said. 

She looked at him, and her lip quivered. 

"You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?"

"My dear Lula, " he replied, "if there's any other carriage youprefer--?"

Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible. She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as hetrotted about the tan-bark after a groom. And presently she was awarethat Trixton Brent was standing beside her. 

"What do you think of him?" he asked. 

"He's adorable, " declared Honora. "Would you like to try him?"

"Oh--might I? Sometime?"

"Why not to-day--now?" he said. "I'll send him over to your house andhave your saddle put on him. "

Before Honora could protest Mrs. Chandos came forward. 

"It's awfully sweet of you, Trixy, to offer to send me to Fanny's, butWarry says he will drive me over. Good-by, my dear, " she added, holdingout her hand to Honora. 

"I hope you enjoy your ride. "

Mr. Trowbridge's phaeton was brought up, Brent helped Mrs. Chandos in, and stood for a moment gazing after her. Amusement was still in his eyesas he turned to Honora. 

"Poor Lula!" he said. "Most women could have done it better thanthat--couldn't they?"

"I think you were horrid to her, " exclaimed Honora, indignantly. "Itwouldn't have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington's. "

It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at whichthey had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived. 

"Oh, yes, it would hurt me, " said he. "I'd rather spend a day in jailthan drive with Lula in that frame of mind. Tender reproaches, and allthat sort of thing, you know although I can't believe you ever indulgein them. Don't, " he added. 

In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled. 

"Do you know, " she said slowly, "I'm beginning to think you are abrute. "

"That's encouraging, " he replied. 

"And fickle. "

"Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals. "

"It's just as well that I am warned, " said Honora. She raised herparasol and picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he didnot resemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon anda lady; the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor'sscrutiny. The picture had suggested a probable future for the lady. 

"How long will it take you to dress?" he asked. 

"To dress for what?"

"To ride with me. "

"I'm not going to ride with you, " she said, and experienced a tingle ofsatisfaction from his surprise. 

"Why not?" he demanded. 

"In the first place, because I don't want to; and in the second, becauseI'm expecting Lily Dallam. "

"Lily never keeps an engagement, " he said. 

"That's no reason why I shouldn't, " Honora answered. 

"I'm beginning to think you're deuced clever, " said he. 

"How unfortunate for me!" she exclaimed. 

He laughed, although it was plain that he was obviously put out. Honorawas still smiling. 

"Deuced clever, " he repeated. 

"An experienced moth, " suggested Honora; "perhaps one that has beensinged a little, once or twice. Good-by--I've enjoyed myself immensely. "

She glanced back at him as she walked down the path to the roadway. Hewas still standing where she had left him, his feet slightly apart, hishands in the pockets of his riding breeches, looking after her. 

Her announcement of an engagement with Mrs. Dallam had been, to put itpolitely, fiction. She spent the rest of the afternoon writing lettershome, pausing at periods to look out of the window. Occasionally itappeared that her reflections were amusing. At seven o'clock Howardarrived, flushed and tired after his day of rest. 

"By the way, Honora, I saw Trixy Brent at the Club, and he said youwouldn't go riding with him. "

"Do you call him Trixy to his face?" she asked. 

"What? No--but everyone calls him Trixy. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, " she replied. "Only--the habit every one has in Quicksands ofspeaking of people they don't know well by their nicknames seems ratherbad taste. "

"I thought you liked Quicksands, " he retorted. "You weren't happy untilyou got down here. "

"It's infinitely better than Rivington, " she said. 

"I suppose, " he remarked, with a little irritation unusual in him, "thatyou'll be wanting to go to Newport next. "

"Perhaps, " said Honora, and resumed her letter. He fidgeted about theroom for a while, ordered a cocktail, and lighted a cigarette. 

"Look here, " he began presently, "I wish you'd be decent to Brent. He'sa pretty good fellow, and he's in with James Wing and that crowd of bigfinanciers, and he seems to have taken a shine to me probably becausehe's heard of that copper deal I put through this spring. "

Honora thrust back her writing pad, turned in her chair, and faced him. 

"How 'decent' do you wish me to be?" she inquired. 

"How decent?" he repeated. 

"Yes. "

He regarded her uneasily, took the cocktail which the maid offered him, drank it, and laid down the glass. 

He had had before, in the presence of his wife, this vague feeling ofhaving passed boundaries invisible to him. In her eyes was a curioussmile that lacked mirth, in her voice a dispassionate note that added tohis bewilderment. 

"What do you mean, Honora?"

"I know it's too much to expect of a man to be as solicitous about hiswife as he is about his business, " she replied. "Otherwise he wouldhesitate before he threw her into the arms of Mr. Trixton Brent. I warnyou that he is very attractive to women. "

"Hang it, " said Howard, "I can't see what you're driving at. I'm notthrowing you into his arms. I'm merely asking you to be friendly withhim. It means a good deal to me--to both of us. And besides, you cantake care of yourself. You're not the sort of woman to play the fool. "

"One never can tell, " said Honora, "what may happen. Suppose I fell inlove with him?"

"Don't talk nonsense, " he said. 

"I'm not so sure, " she answered, meditatively, "that it is nonsense. Itwould be quite easy to fall in love with him. Easier than you imagine. Curiously. Would you care?" she added. 

"Care!" he cried; "of course I'd care. What kind of rot are youtalking?"

"Why would you care?"

"Why? What a darned idiotic question--"

"It's not really so idiotic as you think it is, " she said. "Suppose Iallowed Mr. Brent to make love to me, as he's very willing to do, wouldyou be sufficiently interested to compete. "

"To what?"

"To compete. "

"But--but we're married. "

She laid her hand upon her knee and glanced down at it. 

"It never occurred to me until lately, " she said, "how absurd is thebelief men still hold in these days that a wedding-ring absolves themforever from any effort on their part to retain their wives' affections. They regard the ring very much as a ball and chain, or a hobble toprevent the women from running away, that they may catch them wheneverthey may desire--which isn't often. Am I not right?"

He snapped his cigarette case. 

"Darn it, Honora, you're getting too deep for me!" he exclaimed. "Younever liked those, Browning women down at Rivington, but if this isn'tbrowning I'm hanged if I know what it is. An attack of nerves, perhaps. They tell me that women go all to pieces nowadays over nothing at all. "

"That's just it, " she agreed, "nothing at all!"

"I thought as much, " he replied, eager to seize this opportunity ofending a conversation that had neither head nor tail, and yet wasmarvellously uncomfortable. "There! be a good girl, and forget it. "

He stooped down suddenly to her face to kiss her, but she turned herface in time to receive the caress on the cheek. 

"The panacea!" she said. 

He laughed a little, boyishly, as he stood looking down at her. 

"Sometimes I can't make you out, " he said. "You've changed a good dealsince I married you. "

She was silent. But the thought occurred to her that a completeabsorption in commercialism was not developing. 

"If you can manage it, Honora, " he added with an attempt at lightness, "I wish you'd have a little dinner soon, and ask Brent. Will you?"

"Nothing, " she replied, "would give me greater pleasure. "

He patted her on the shoulder and left the room whistling. But she satwhere she was until the maid came in to pull the curtains and turn onthe lights, reminding her that guests were expected. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

Although the circle of Mr. Brent's friends could not be said to includeany university or college presidents, it was, however, both catholicand wide. He was hail fellow, indeed, with jockeys and financiers, greatladies and municipal statesmen of good Irish stock. He was a lion whoroamed at large over a great variety of hunting grounds, some ofwhich it would be snobbish to mention; for many reasons he preferredQuicksands: a man-eater, a woman-eater, and extraordinarily popular, nevertheless. Many ladies, so it was reported, had tried to tame him:some of them he had cheerfully gobbled up, and others after the briefestof inspections, disdainfully thrust aside with his paw. 

This instinct for lion taming, which the most spirited of women possess, is, by the way, almost inexplicable to the great majority of the malesex. Honora had it, as must have been guessed. But however our faith inher may be justified by the ridiculous ease of her previous conquests, we cannot regard without trepidation her entrance into the arena withthis particular and widely renowned king of beasts. Innocence pittedagainst sophistry and wile and might. 

Two of the preliminary contests we have already witnessed. Others, moreor less similar, followed during a period of two months or more. Nothinginducing the excessive wagging of tongues, --Honora saw to that, althoughMrs. Chandos kindly took the trouble to warn our heroine, --a scene forwhich there is unfortunately no space in this chronicle; an entirelyamicable, almost honeyed scene, in Honora's boudoir. Nor can a completepicture of life at Quicksands be undertaken. Multiply Mrs. Dallam'sdinner-party by one hundred, Howard Silence's Sundays at the Clubby twenty, and one has a very fair idea of it. It was not preciselyintellectual. "Happy, " says Montesquieu, "the people whose annals areblank in history's book. " Let us leave it at that. 

Late one afternoon in August Honora was riding homeward along the oceanroad. The fragrant marshes that bordered it were a vivid green under theslanting rays of the sun, and she was gazing across them at the breakerscrashing on the beach beyond. Trixton Brent was beside her. 

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me so, " she said, turning to him suddenly;"it is embarrassing. "

"How did you know I was looking at you?" he asked. 

"I felt it. "

He drew his horse a little nearer. 

"Sometimes you're positively uncanny, " she added. 

He laughed. 

"I rather like that castles-in-Spain expression you wore, " he declared. 

"Castles in Spain?"

"Or in some other place where the real estate is more valuable. Certainly not in Quicksands. "

"You are uncanny, " proclaimed Honora, with conviction. 

"I told you you wouldn't like Quicksands, " said he. 

"I've never said I didn't like it, " she replied. "I can't see why youassume that I don't. "

"You're ambitious, " he said. "Not that I think it a fault, when it'smore or less warranted. Your thrown away here, and you know it. "

She made him a bow from the saddle. 

"I have not been without a reward, at least, " she answered, and lookedat him. 

"I have, " said he. 

Honora smiled. 

"I'm going to be your good angel, and help you get out of it, " hecontinued. 

"Get out of what?"

"Quicksands. "

"Do you think I'm in danger of sinking?" she asked. "And is itimpossible for me to get out alone, if I wished to?"

"It will be easier with my help, " he answered. "You're clever enough torealize that--Honora. "

She was silent awhile. 

"You say the most extraordinary things, " she remarked presently. "Sometimes I think they are almost--"

"Indelicate, " he supplied. 

She coloured. 

"Yes, indelicate. "

"You can't forgive me for sweeping away your rose-coloured cloud ofromance, " he declared, laughing. "There are spades in the pack, howevermuch you may wish to ignore 'em. You know very well you don't like theseQuicksands people. They grate on your finer sensibilities, and all thatsort of thing. Come, now, isn't it so?"

She coloured again, and put her horse to the trot. 

"Onwards and upwards, " he cried. "Veni, vidi, vici, ascendi. "

"It seems to me, " she laughed, "that so much education is thrown away onthe stock market. "

"Whether you will be any happier higher up, " he went on, "God knows. Sometimes I think you ought to go back to the Arcadia you came from. Didyou pick out Spence for an embryo lord of high finance?"

"My excuse is, " replied Honora, "that I was very young, and I hadn't metyou. "

Whether the lion has judged our heroine with astuteness, or done her alittle less than justice, must be left to the reader. Apparently he isaccepting her gentle lashings with a meek enjoyment. He assisted her toalight at her own door, sent the horses home, and offered to come in andgive her a lesson in a delightful game that was to do its share in thedisintegration of the old and tiresome order of things--bridge. Thelion, it will be seen, was self-sacrificing even to the extent ofdouble dummy. He had picked up the game with characteristic aptitudeabroad--Quicksands had yet to learn it. 

Howard Spence entered in the midst of the lesson. 

"Hello, Brent, " said he, genially, "you may be interested to know I gotthat little matter through without a hitch to-day. "

"I continue to marvel at you, " said the lion, and made it no trumps. 

Since this is a veracious history, and since we have wandered so farfrom home and amidst such strange, if brilliant scenes, it must beconfessed that Honora, three days earlier, had entered a certain shop inNew York and inquired for a book on bridge. Yes, said the clerk, he hadsuch a treatise, it had arrived from England a week before. She kept itlooked up in her drawer, and studied it in the mornings with a pack ofcards before her. 

Given the proper amount of spur, anything in reason can be mastered. 

Volume 4. 

CHAPTER VII. OF CERTAIN DELICATE MATTERS

In the religious cult of Gad and Meni, practised with such enthusiasmat Quicksands, the Saints' days were polo days, and the chief ofall festivals the occasion of the match with the Banbury HuntClub--Quicksands's greatest rival. Rival for more reasons than one, reasons too delicate to tell. Long, long ago there appeared in Puncha cartoon of Lord Beaconsfield executing that most difficult ofperformances, an egg dance. We shall be fortunate indeed if we get tothe end of this chapter without breaking an egg!

Our pen fails us in a description of that festival of festivals, theBanbury one, which took place early in September. We should have to goback to Babylon and the days of King Nebuchadnezzar. (Who turns outto have been only a regent, by the way, and his name is now said to bespelled rezzar). How give an idea of the libations poured out to Gad andthe shekels laid aside for Meni in the Quicksands Temple?

Honora privately thought that building ugly, and it reminded her of acollection of huge yellow fungi sprawling over the ground. A few of theinevitable tortured cedars were around it. Between two of the largerbuildings was wedged a room dedicated to the worship of Bacchus, to-daylike a narrow river-gorge at flood time jammed with tree-trunks--someof them, let us say, water-logged--and all grinding together with anintolerable noise like a battle. If you happened to be passing thewindows, certain more or less intelligible sounds might separatethemselves from the bedlam. 

"Four to five on Quicksands!"

"That stock isn't worth a d--n!"

"She's gone to South Dakota. "

Honora, however, is an heretic, as we know. Without going definitelyinto her reasons, these festivals had gradually become distasteful toher. Perhaps it would be fairer to look at them through the eyes of LilyDallam, who was in her element on such days, and regarded them as themost innocent and enjoyable of occasions, and perhaps they were. 

The view from the veranda, at least, appealed to our heroine's artisticsense. The marshes in the middle distance, the shimmering sea beyond, and the polo field laid down like a vast green carpet in the foreground;while the players, in white breeches and bright shirts, on the agilelittle horses that darted hither and thither across the turf lent anadded touch of colour and movement to the scene. Amongst them, TrixtonBrent most frequently caught the eye and held it. Once Honora perceivedhim flying the length of the field, madly pursued, his mallet poisedlightly, his shirt bulging in the wind, his close-cropped head bereftof a cap, regardless of the havoc and confusion behind him. He played, indeed, with the cocksureness and individuality one might have expected;and Honora, forgetting at moments the disturbing elements by which shewas surrounded, followed him with fascination. Occasionally his namerippled from one end of the crowded veranda to the other, and sheexperienced a curious and uncomfortable sensation when she heard it inthe mouths of these strangers. 

From time to time she found herself watching them furtively, comparingthem unconsciously with her Quicksands friends. Some of them she hadremarked before, at contests of a minor importance, and they seemed toher to possess a certain distinction that was indefinable. They hadcome to-day from many mysterious (and therefore delightful) places whichHonora knew only by name, and some had driven the twenty-five odd milesfrom the bunting community of Banbury in coaches and even those new andmarvellous importations--French automobiles. When the game had ended, and Lily Dallam was cajoling the club steward to set her tea-table atonce, a group of these visitors halted on the lawn, talking and laughinggayly. Two of the younger men Honora recognized with a start, but for amoment she could not place them--until suddenly she remembered that shehad seen them on her wedding trip at Hot Springs. The one who lisped wasMr. Cuthbert, familiarly known as "Toots": the other, taller and slimmerand paler, was Jimmy Wing. A third, the regularity of whose featuresmade one wonder at the perfection which nature could attain when shechose, who had a certain Gallic appearance (and who, if the truth betold, might have reminded an impartial eye of a slightly animated waxclothing model), turned, stared, hesitated, and bowed to Lily Dallam. 

"That's Reggie Farwel, who did my house in town, " she whispered toHonora. "He's never been near me since it was finished. He's utterlyruined. "

Honora was silent. She tried not to look at the group, in which therewere two women of very attractive appearance, and another man. 

"Those people are so superior, " Mrs. Dallam continued. 

"I'm not surprised at Elsie Shorter. Ever since she married Jerry she'sstuck to the Graingers closer than a sister. That's Cecil Grainger, my dear, the man who looks as though he were going to fall asleep anymoment. But to think of Abby Kame acting that way! Isn't it ridiculous, Clara?" she cried, appealing to Mrs. Trowbridge. "They say that CecilGrainger never leaves her side. I knew her when she first married JohnKame, the dearest, simplest man that ever was. He was twenty years olderthan Abby, and made his money in leather. She took the first steamerafter his funeral and an apartment in a Roman palace for the winter. Assoon as she decently could she made for England. The English will put upwith anybody who has a few million dollars, and I don't deny that Abby'sgood-looking, and clever in her way. But it's absurd for her to comeover here and act as though we didn't exist. She needn't be afraid thatI'll speak to her. They say she became intimate with Bessie Graingerthrough charities. One of your friend Mrs. Holt's charities, by the way, Honora. Where are you going?"

For Honora had risen. 

"I think I'll go home, Lily, " she said; "I'm rather tired. "

"Home!" exclaimed Mrs. Dallam. "What can you be thinking of, my dear?Nobody ever goes home after the Banbury match. The fun has just begun, and we're all to stay here for dinner and dance afterwards. And TrixyBrent promised me faithfully he'd' come here for tea, as soon as hedressed. "

"I really can't stay, Lily. I--I don't feel up to it, " said Honora, desperately. 

"And you can't know how I counted on you! You look perfectly fresh, mydear. "

Honora felt an overwhelming desire to hide herself, to be alone. In spite of the cries of protest that followed her and drew--shethought--an unnecessary and disagreeable attention to her departure, shethreaded her way among groups of people who stared after her. Her colourwas high, her heart beating painfully; a vague sense of rebellion andshame within her for which she did not try to account. Rather than runthe gantlet of the crowded veranda she stepped out on the lawn, andthere encountered Trixton Brent. He had, in an incredibly brief time, changed from his polo clothes to flannels and a straw hat. He looked ather and whistled, and barred her passage. 

"Hello!" he cried. "Hoity-toity! Where are we going in such a hurry?"

"Home, " answered Honora, a little breathlessly, and added for hisdeception, "the game's over, isn't it? I'm glad you won. "

Mr. Brent, however, continued to gaze at her penetratingly, and sheavoided his eyes. 

"But why are you rushing off like a flushed partridge?--no reference toyour complexion. Has there been a row?"

"Oh, no--I was just--tired. Please let me go. "

"Being your good angel--or physician, as you choose--I have aprescription for that kind of weariness, " he said smilingly. "I--anticipated such an attack. That's why I got into my clothes in suchrecord time. "

"I don't know what you mean, " faltered Honora. "You are always imaginingall sorts of things about me that aren't true. "

"As a matter of fact, " said Brent, "I have promised faithfully to doa favor for certain friends of mine who have been clamouring to bepresented to you. "

"I can't--to-day--Mr. Brent, " she cried. "I really don't feellike-meeting people. I told Lily Dallam I was going home. "

The group, however, which had been the object of that lady's remarks wasalready moving towards them--with the exception of Mrs. Shorter and Mr. Farwell, who had left it. They greeted Mr. Brent with great cordiality. 

"Mrs. Kame, " he said, "let me introduce Mrs. Spence. And Mrs. Spence, Mr. Grainger, Mr. Wing, and Mr. Cuthbert. Mrs. Spence was just goinghome. "

"Home!" echoed Mrs. Kame, "I thought Quicksands people never went homeafter a victory. "

"I've scarcely been here long enough, " replied Honora, "to have acquiredall of the Quicksands habits. "

"Oh, " said Mrs. Kame, and looked at Honora again. "Wasn't that Mrs. Dallam you were with? I used to know her, years ago, but she doesn'tspeak to me any more. "

"Perhaps she thinks you've forgotten her, " said Honora. 

"It would be impossible to forget Mrs. Dallam, " declared Mrs. Kame. 

"So I should have thought, " said Honora. 

Trixton Brent laughed, and Mrs. Kame, too, after a moment's hesitation. She laid her hand familiarly on Mr. Brent's arm. 

"I haven't seen you all summer, Trixy, " she said. "I hear you've beenhere at Quicksands, stewing in that little packing-case of yours. Aren'tyou coming into our steeplechase at Banbury. 

"I believe you went to school with my sister, " said young Mr. Wing. 

"Oh, yes, " answered Honora, somewhat surprised. "I caught a glimpse ofher once, in New York. I hope you will remember me to her. "

"And I've seen you before, " proclaimed Mr. Cuthbert, "but I can't forthe life of me think where. "

Honora did not enlighten him. 

"I shan't forget, at any rate, Mrs. Spence, " said Cecil Grainger, whohad not taken his eyes from her, except to blink. 

Mrs. Kame saved her the embarrassment of replying. 

"Can't we go somewhere and play bridge, " Trixy demanded. 

"I'd be delighted to offer you the hospitality of my packing-case, as you call it, " said Brent, "but the dining-room ceiling fell downWednesday, and I'm having the others bolstered up as a mere matter ofprecaution. "

"I suppose we couldn't get a fourth, anyway. Neither Jimmy nor Tootsplays. It's so stupid of them not to learn. "

"Mrs. Spence might, help us out, " suggested Brent. 

"Do you play?" exclaimed Mrs. Kame, in a voice of mixed incredulity andhope. 

"Play!" cried Mr. Brent, "she can teach Jerry Shorter or the Duchess ofTaunton. "

"The Duchess cheats, " announced Cecil Grainger. "I caught her at it atCannes--"

"Indeed, I don't play very well, " Honora interrupted him, "andbesides--"

"Suppose we go over to Mrs. Spence's house, " Trixton Brent suggested. "I'm sure she'd like to have us wouldn't you, Mrs. Spence?"

"What a brilliant idea, Trixy!" exclaimed Mrs. Kame. 

"I should be delighted, " said Honora, somewhat weakly. An impulse madeher glance toward the veranda, and for a fraction of a second she caughtthe eye of Lily Dallam, who turned again to Mrs. Chandos. 

"I say, " said Mr. Cuthbert, "I don't play--but I hope I may come along. "

"And me too, " chimed in Mr. Wing. 

Honora, not free from a certain uneasiness of conscience, led the wayto the Brackens, flanked by Mr. Grainger and Mr. Cuthbert. Her frame ofmind was not an ideal one for a hostess; she was put out with TrixtonBrent, and she could not help wondering whether these people would havemade themselves so free with another house. When tea was over, however, and the bridge had begun, her spirits rose; or rather, a new and strangeexcitement took possession of her that was not wholly due to the noveland revolutionary experience of playing, for money--and winning. Herstar being in the ascendant, as we may perceive. She had drawn Mrs. Kame for a partner, and the satisfaction and graciousness of that ladyvisibly grew as the score mounted: even the skill of Trixton Brent couldnot triumph over the hands which the two ladies held. 

In the intervals the talk wandered into regions unfamiliar to Honora, and she had a sense that her own horizon was being enlarged. A newvista, at least, had been cut: possibilities became probabilities. Evenwhen Mrs. Kame chose to ridicule Quicksands Honora was silent, so keenlydid she feel the justice of her guest's remarks; and the implication wasthat Honora did not belong there. When train time arrived and they wereabout to climb into Trixton Brent's omnibus--for which he had obliginglytelephoned--Mrs. Kame took Honora's band in both her own. Some goodthing, after all, could come out of this community--such was thetriumphant discovery the lady's manner implied. 

"My dear, don't you ever come to Banbury?" she asked. "I'd be so glad tosee you. I must get Trixy to drive you over some day for lunch. We'vehad such a good time, and Cecil didn't fall asleep once. Quite a record. You saved our lives, really. "

"Are you going to be in town this winter?" Mr. Grainger inquired. 

"I, --I suppose so--replied Honora, for the moment taken aback, althoughI haven't decided just where. "

"I shall look forward to seeing you, " he said. 

This hope was expressed even more fervently by Mr. Cuthbert and Mr. Wing, and the whole party waved her a cordial good-by as the carriageturned the circle. Trixton Brent, with his hands in his pockets, stoodfacing her under the electric light on the porch. 

"Well?" he said. 

"Well, " repeated Honora. 

"Nice people, " said Mr. Brent. 

Honora bridled. 

"You invited them here, " she said. "I must say I think it, wasrather--presumptuous. And you've got me into no end of trouble with LilyDallam. "

He laughed as he held open the screen door for her. 

"I wonder whether a good angel was ever so abused, " he said. 

"A good angel, " she repeated, smiling at him in spite of herself. 

"Or knight-errant, " he continued, "whichever you choose. You want to getout of Quicksands--I'm trying to make it easy for you. Before you leaveyou have to arrange some place to go. Before we are off with the oldwe'd better be on with the new. "

"Oh, please don't say such things, " she cried, "they're so--so sordid. "She looked searchingly into his face. "Do I really seem to you likethat?"

Her lip was quivering, and she was still under the influence of theexcitement which the visit of these people had brought about. 

"No, " said Brent--coming very close to her, "no, you don't. That's theextraordinary part of it. The trouble with you, Honora, is that you wantsomething badly very badly--and you haven't yet found out what it is. 

"And you won't find out, " he added, "until you have tried everything. Therefore am I a good Samaritan, or something like it. "

She looked at him with startled eyes, breathing deeply. 

"I wonder if that is so!" she said, in a low voice. 

"Not until you have had and broken every toy in the shop, " he declared. "Out of the mouths of men of the world occasionally issues wisdom. I'mgoing to help you get the toys. Don't you think I'm kind?"

"And isn't this philanthropic mood a little new to you?" she asked. 

"I thought I had exhausted all novelties, " he answered. "Perhaps that'sthe reason why I enjoy it. "

She turned and walked slowly into the drawing-room, halted, and stoodstaring at the heap of gold and yellow bills that Mr. Grainger haddeposited in front of the place where she had sat. Her sensation wasakin to sickness. She reached out with a kind of shuddering fascinationand touched the gold. 

"I think, " she said, speaking rather to herself than to Brent, "I'llgive it to charity. "

"If it is possible to combine a meritorious act with good policy, Ishould suggest giving it to Mrs. Grainger for the relief of oppressedworking girls, " he said. 

Honora started. 

"I wonder why Howard doesn't come she exclaimed, looking at the clock. 

"Probably because he is holding nothing but full hands and flushes, "hazarded Mr. Brent. "Might I propose myself for dinner?"

"When so many people are clamouring for you?" she asked. 

"Even so, " he said. 

"I think I'll telephone to the Club, " said Honora, and left the room. 

It was some time before her husband responded to the call; and then heexplained that if Honora didn't object, he was going to a man's dinnerin a private room. The statement was not unusual. 

"But, Howard, " she said, "I--I wanted you particularly to-night. "

"I thought you were going to dine with Lily Dallam. She told me youwere. Are you alone?"

"Mr. Brent is here. He brought over some Banbury people to play bridge. They've gone. "

"Oh, Brent will amuse you, " he replied. "I didn't know you were going tobe home, and I've promised these men. I'll come back early. "

She hung up the receiver thoughtfully, paused a moment, and went back tothe drawing-room. Brent looked up. 

"Well, " he said, "was I right?"

"You seem always to be right, " Honora, sighed. 

After dinner they sat in the screened part of the porch which Mrs. Fernhad arranged very cleverly as an outside room. Brent had put a rug overHonora's knees, for the ocean breath that stirred the leaves was cold. Across the darkness fragments of dance music drifted fitfully from theClub, and died away; and at intervals, when the embers of his cigarflared up, she caught sight of her companion's face. 

She found him difficult to understand. There are certain rules of thumbin every art, no doubt, --even in that most perilous one of lion-taming. But here was a baffling, individual lion. She liked him best, she toldherself, when he purred platonically, but she could by no means be surethat his subjection was complete. Sometimes he had scratched her in hisplay. And however natural it is to desire a lion for one's friend, to beeaten is both uncomfortable and inglorious. 

"That's a remarkable husband of yours, " he said at length. 

"I shouldn't have said that you were a particularly good judge ofhusbands, " she retorted, after a moment of surprise. 

He acknowledged with a laugh the justice of this observation. 

"I stand corrected. He is by no means a remarkable husband. Permit me tosay he is a remarkable man. "

"What makes you think so?" asked Honora, considerably disturbed. 

"Because he induced you to marry him, for one thing, " said Brent. "Ofcourse he got you before you knew what you were worth, but we must givehim credit for discovery and foresight. "

"Perhaps, " Honora could not resist replying, "perhaps he didn't knowwhat he was getting. "

"That's probably true, " Brent assented, "or he'd be sitting here now, where I am, instead of playing poker. Although there is something inmatrimony that takes the bloom off the peach. "

"I think that's a horrid, cynical remark, " said Honora. 

"Well, " he said, "we speak according to our experiences--that is, ifwe're not inclined to be hypocritical. Most women are. "

Honora was silent. He had thrown away his cigar, and she could no longersee his face. She wondered whither he was leading. 

"How would you like to see your husband president of a trust company?"he said suddenly. 

"Howard--president of a trust company!" she exclaimed. 

"Why not?" he demanded. And added enigmatically, "Smaller men havebeen. "

"I wish you wouldn't joke about Howard, " she said. 

"How does the idea strike you?" he persisted. "Ambitionsatisfied--temporarily; Quicksands a mile-stone on a back road; anothertoy to break; husband a big man in the community, so far as the eye cansee; visiting list on Fifth Avenue, and all that sort of thing. "

"I once told you you could be brutal, " she said. 

"You haven't told me what you thought of the idea. "

"I wish you'd be sensible once in a while, " she exclaimed. 

"Howard Spence, President of the Orange Trust Company!" he recited. "Isuppose no man is a hero to his wife. Does it sound so incredible?"

It did. But Honora did not say so. 

"What have I to do with it?" she asked, in pardonable doubt as to hisseriousness. 

"Everything, " answered Brent. "Women of your type usually have. Theymake and mar without rhyme or reason--set business by the ears, alterthe gold reserve, disturb the balance of trade, and nobody ever suspectsit. Old James Wing and I have got a trust company organized, and thebuilding up, and the man Wing wanted for president backed out. "

Honora sat up. 

"Why--why did he 'back out'?" she demanded. 

"He preferred to stay where he was, I suppose, " replied Brent, inanother tone. "The point is that the place is empty. I'll give it toYOU. "

"To me?"

"Certainly, " said Brent, "I don't pretend to care anything aboutyour husband. He'll do as well as the next man. His duties are prettywell--defined. "

Again she was silent. But after a moment dropped back in her chair andlaughed uneasily. 

"You're preposterous, " she said; "I can't think why I let you talk to mein this way. "

CHAPTER VIII. OF MENTAL PROCESSES--FEMININE AND INSOLUBLE

Honora may be pardoned for finally ascribing to Mr. Brent's somewhatsardonic sense of humour his remarks concerning her husband's elevationto a conspicuous position in the world of finance. Taken in any othersense than a joke, they were both insulting and degrading, and made herface burn when she thought of them. After he had gone--or rather aftershe had dismissed him--she took a book upstairs to wait for Howard, butshe could not read. At times she wished she had rebuked Trixton Brentmore forcibly, although he was not an easy person to rebuke; and againshe reflected that, had she taken the matter too seriously, she wouldhave laid herself open to his ridicule. The lion was often unwittinglyrough, and perhaps that was part of his fascination. 

If Howard had come home before midnight it is possible that she mighthave tried to sound him as to his relations with Trixton Brent. Thatgentleman, she remembered, had the reputation of being a peculiarlyhardheaded business man, and it was of course absurd that he shouldoffer her husband a position merely to please her. And her imaginationfailed her when she tried to think of Howard as the president of a trustcompany. She was unable to picture him in a great executive office:

This train of thought led her to the unaccustomed task of analyzing hischaracter. For the first time since her marriage comparisons creptinto her mind, and she awoke to the fact that he was not a masterfulman--even among men. For all his self-confidence-self-assurance, perhaps, would be the better word--he was in reality a follower, nota leader; a gleaner. He did not lack ideas. She tried to arrest theprocess in her brain when she got as far as asking herself whether itmight not be that he lacked ideals. Since in business matters he neverhad taken her into his confidence, and since she would not at any ratehave understood such things, she had no proof of such a failing. But oneor two vague remarks of Trixton Brent's which she recalled, and Howard'sown request that she should be friendly with Brent, reenforced herinstinct on this point. 

When she heard her husband's footstep on the porch, she put out herlight, but still lay thinking in the darkness. Her revelations hadarrived at the uncomfortable stage where they began to frighten her, and with an effort she forced herself to turn to the other side of theaccount. The hour was conducive to exaggerations. Perfection in husbandswas evidently a state not to be considered by any woman in her rightsenses. He was more or less amenable, and he was prosperous, althoughdefinite news of that prosperity never came from him--Quicksandsalways knew of it first. An instance of this second-hand acquisition ofknowledge occurred the very next morning, when Lily Dallam, with muchdignity, walked into Honora's little sitting-room. There was no apparentreason why dignity should not have been becoming to Lily Dallam, for shewas by no means an unimpressive-looking woman; but the assumption by herof that quality always made her a little tragic or (if one chanced to bein the humour--Honora was not) a little ridiculous. 

"I suppose I have no pride, " she said, as she halted within a few feetof the doorway. 

"Why, Lily!" exclaimed Honora, pushing back the chair from her desk, andrising. 

But Mrs. Dallam did not move. 

"I suppose I have no pride, " she repeated in a dead voice, "but I justcouldn't help coming over and giving you a chance. "

"Giving me a chance?" said Honora. 

"To explain--after the way you treated me at the polo game. If I hadn'tseen it with my own eyes, I shouldn't have believed it. I don't think Ishould have trusted my own eyes, " Mrs. Dallam went so far as to affirm, "if Lula Chandos and Clara Trowbridge and others hadn't been there andseen it too; I shouldn't have believed it. "

Honora was finding penitence a little difficult. But her heart was kind. 

"Do sit down, Lily, " she begged. "If I've offended you in any way, I'mexceedingly sorry--I am, really. You ought to know me well enough tounderstand that I wouldn't do anything to hurt your feelings. "

"And when I counted on you so, for my tea and dinner at the club!"continued Mrs. Dallam. "There were other women dying to come. And yousaid you had a headache, and were tired. "

"I was, " began Honora, fruitlessly. 

"And you were so popular in Quicksands--everybody was crazy about you. You were so sweet and so unspoiled. I might have known that it couldn'tlast. And now, because Abby Kame and Cecil Grainger and--"

"Lily, please don't say such things!" Honora implored, revolted. 

"Of course you won't be satisfied now with anything less than Banburyor Newport. But you can't say I didn't warn you, Honora, that they area horrid, selfish, fast lot, " Lily Dallam declared, and brushed her eyeswith her handkerchief. "I did love you. "

"If you'll only be reasonable a moment, Lily, --" said Honora. 

"Reasonable! I saw you with my own eyes. Five minutes after you leftme they all started for your house, and Lula Chandos said it was thequickest cure of a headache she had ever seen. "

"Lily, " Honora began again, with exemplary patience, "when people invitethemselves to one's house, it's a little difficult to refuse themhospitality, isn't it?"

"Invite themselves?"

"Yes, " replied Honora. "If I weren't--fond of you, too, I shouldn'tmake this explanation. I was tired. I never felt less like entertainingstrangers. They wanted to play bridge, there wasn't a quiet spot inthe Club where they could go. They knew I was on my way home, and theysuggested my house. That is how it happened. "

Mrs. Dallam was silent a moment. 

"May I have one of Howard's cigarettes?" she asked, and added, afterthis modest wish had been supplied, "that's just like them. They'rewilling to make use of anybody. "

"I meant, " said Honora, "to have gone to your house this morning and tohave explained how it happened. "

Another brief silence, broken by Lily Dallam. 

"Did you notice the skirt of that suit Abby Kame had on?", she asked. "I'm sure she paid a fabulous price for it in Paris, and it's exactlylike one I ordered on Tuesday. "

The details of the rest of this conversation may be omitted. That Honorawas forgiven, and Mrs. Dallam's spirits restored may be inferred fromher final remark. 

"My dear, what do you think of Sid and Howard making twenty thousanddollars apiece in Sassafras Copper? Isn't it too lovely! I'm having alittle architect make me plans for a conservatory. You know I've alwaysbeen dying for one--I don't see how I've lived all these years withoutit. "

Honora, after her friend had gone, sat down in one of the wicker chairson the porch. She had a very vague idea as to how much twenty thousanddollars was, but she reflected that while they had lived in RivingtonHoward must have made many similar sums, of which she was unaware. Gradually she began to realize, however, that her resentment of thelack of confidence of her husband was by no means the only cause of thefeeling that took possession of and overwhelmed her. Something like itshe had experienced before: to-day her thoughts seemed to run throughher in pulsations, like waves of heat, and she wondered that she couldhave controlled herself while listening to Lily Dallam. 

Mrs. Dallam's reproaches presented themselves to Honora in new aspects. She began to feel now, with an intensity that frightened her, distasteand rebellion. It was intolerable that she should be called to accountfor the people she chose to have in her house, that any sort of pressureshould be brought to bear on her to confine her friends to Quicksands. Treason, heresy, disloyalty to the cult of that community--in realitythese, and not a breach of engagement, were the things of which shehad been accused. She saw now. She would not be tied to Quicksands--shewould not, she would not, she would not! She owed it no allegiance. Hervery soul rebelled at the thought, and cried out that she was made forsomething better, something higher than the life she had been leading. She would permit no one forcibly to restrict her horizon. 

Just where and how this higher and better life was to be foundHonora did not know; but the belief of her childhood--that it existedsomewhere--was still intact. Her powers of analysis, we see, are onlyjust budding, and she did not and could not define the ideal existencewhich she so unflaggingly sought. Of two of its attributes only she wassure--that it was to be free from restraint and from odious comparisons. Honora's development, it may be remarked, proceeds by the action ofirritants, and of late her protest against Quicksands and what itrepresented had driven her to other books besides the treatise onbridge. The library she had collected at Rivington she had brought withher, and was adding to it from time to time. Its volumes are neithersufficiently extensive or profound to enumerate. 

Those who are more or less skilled in psychology may attempt toestablish a sequence between the events and reflections just relatedand the fact that, one morning a fortnight later, Honora found herselfdriving northward on Fifth Avenue in a hansom cab. She was in apleasurable state of adventurous excitement, comparable to that Columbusmust have felt when the shores of the Old World had disappeared belowthe horizon. During the fortnight we have skipped Honora had been totown several times, and had driven and walked through certain streets:inspiration, courage, and decision had all arrived at once this morning, when at the ferry she had given the cabman this particular address onFifth Avenue. 

The cab, with the jerking and thumping peculiar to hansoms, made acircle and drew up at the curb. But even then a moment of irresolutionintervened, and she sat staring through the little side window at thesign, T. Gerald Shorter, Real Estate, in neat gold letters over thebasement floor of the building. 

"Here y'are, Miss, " said the cabman through the hole in the roof. 

Honora descended, and was almost at the flight of steps leading down tothe office door when a familiar figure appeared coming out of it. It wasthat of Mr. Toots Cuthbert, arrayed in a faultless morning suit, his tiedelicately suggestive of falling leaves; and there dangled over his armthe slenderest of walking sticks. 

"Mrs. Spence!" he lisped, with every appearance of joy. 

"Mr. Cuthbert!" she cried. 

"Going in to see Jerry?" he inquired after he had put on his hat, nodding up at the sign. 

"I--that is, yes, I had thought of it, " she answered. 

"Town house?" said Mr. Cuthbert, with a knowing smile. 

"I did have an idea of looking at houses, " she confessed, somewhat takenaback. 

"I'm your man, " announced Mr. Cuthbert. 

"You!" exclaimed Honora, with an air of considering the lilies of thefield. But he did not seem to take offence. 

"That's my business, " he proclaimed, --"when in town. Jerry gives me acommission. Come in and see him, while I get a list and some keys. Bythe way, you wouldn't object to telling him you were a friend of mine, would you?"

"Not at all, " said Honora, laughing. 

Mr. Shorter was a jovial gentleman in loose-fitting clothes, and he wasexceedingly glad to meet Mr. Cuthbert's friend. 

"What kind of a house do you want, Mrs. Spence?" he asked. "Cuthberttells me this morning that the Whitworth house has come into the market. You couldn't have a better location than that, on the Avenue between theCathedral and the Park. "

"Oh, " said Honora with a gasp, "that's much too expensive, I'm sure. And there are only two of us. " She hesitated, a little alarmed at therapidity with which affairs were proceeding, and added: "I ought to tellyou that I've not really decided to take a house. I wished to--to seewhat there was to be had, and then I should have to consult my husband. "

She gazed very seriously into Mr. Shorter's brown eyes, which becamevery wide and serious, too. But all the time it seemed to her that otherparts of him were laughing. 

"Husbands, " he declared, "are kill-joys. What have they got to do with ahouse--except to sleep in it? Now I haven't the pleasure of knowing youas well as I hope to one of these days, Mrs. Spence--"

"Oh, I say!" interrupted Mr. Cuthbert. 

"But I venture to predict, on a slight acquaintance, " continued Mr. Shorter, undisturbed, "that you will pick out the house you want, andthat your husband will move into it. "

Honora could not help laughing. And Mr. Shorter leaned back in hisrevolving chair and laughed, too, in so alarming a manner as to leadher to fear he would fall over backwards. But Mr. Cuthbert, who did notappear to perceive the humour in this conversation, extracted some keysand several pasteboard slips from a rack in the corner. Suddenly Mr. Shorter jerked himself upright again, and became very solemn. 

"Where's my hat?" he demanded. 

"What do you want with your hat?" Mr. Cuthbert inquired. 

"Why, I'm going with you, of course, " Mr. Shorter replied. "I've decidedto take a personal interest in this matter. You may regard my presence, Cuthbert, as justified by an artistic passion for my profession. Ishould never forgive myself if Mrs. Spence didn't get just the righthouse. "

"Oh, " said Mr. Cuthbert, "I'll manage that all right. I thought you weregoing to see the representative of a syndicate at eleven. "

Mr. Shorter, with a sigh, acknowledged this necessity, and escortedHonora gallantly through the office and across the sidewalk to thewaiting hansom. Cuthbert got in beside her. 

"Jerry's a joker, " he observed as they drove off, "you mustn't mindhim. "

"I think he's delightful, " said Honora. 

"One wouldn't believe that a man of his size and appearance could be sofond of women, " said Mr. Cuthbert. "He's the greatest old lady-killerthat ever breathed. For two cents he would have come with us thismorning, and let a five thousand dollar commission go. Do you know Mrs. Shorter?"

"No, " replied Honora. "She looks most attractive. I caught a glimpse ofher at the polo that day with you. "

"I've been at her house in Newport ever since. Came down yesterdayto try to earn some money, " he continued, cheerfully making himselfagreeable. "Deuced clever woman, much too clever for me and Jerry too. Always in a tete-a-tete with an antiquarian or a pathologist, or apsychologist, and tells novelists what to put into their next books andjurists how to decide cases. Full of modern and liberal ideas--believesin free love and all that sort of thing, and gives Jerry the dickens forpractising it. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Honora. 

Mr. Cuthbert, however, did not appear to realize that he had shockedher. 

"By the way, " he asked, "have you seen Cecil Grainger since theQuicksands game?"

"No, " she replied. "Has Mr. Grainger been at Quicksands since?"

"Nobody knows where he's been, " answered Mr. Cuthbert. "It's a mystery. He hasn't been home--at Newport, I mean-for a fortnight. He's neverstayed away so long without letting any one know where he is. Naturallythey thought he was at Mrs. Kame's in Banbury, but she hasn't laid eyeson him. It's a mystery. My own theory is that he went to sleep in aparlour car and was sent to the yards, and hasn't waked up. "

"And isn't Mrs. Grainger worried?" asked Honora. 

"Oh, you never can tell anything about her, " he said. "Do you know her?She's a sphinx. All the Pendletons are Stoics. And besides, she's beenso busy with this Charities Conference that she hasn't had time to thinkof Cecil. Who's that?"

"That" was a lady from Rivington, one of Honora's former neighbours, towhom she had bowed. Life, indeed, is full of contrasts. Mr. Cuthbert, too, was continually bowing and waving to acquaintances on the Avenue. 

Thus pleasantly conversing, they arrived at the first house on the list, and afterwards went through a succession of them. Once inside, Honorawould look helplessly about her in the darkness while her escort wouldraise the shades, admitting a gloomy light on bare interiors or shroudedfurniture. 

And the rents: Four, five, six, and seven and eight thousand dollarsa year. Pride prevented her from discussing these prices with Mr. Cuthbert; and in truth, when lunch time came, she had seen nothing whichrealized her somewhat vague but persistent ideals. 

"I'm so much obliged to you, " she said, "and I hope you'll forgive mefor wasting your time. "

Mr. Cuthbert smiled broadly, and Honora smiled too. 

Indeed, there was something ludicrous in the remark. He assumed anattitude of reflection. 

"I imagine you wouldn't care to go over beyond Lexington Avenue, wouldyou? I didn't think to ask you. "

"No, " she replied, blushing a little, "I shouldn't care to go over asfar as that. "

He pondered a while longer, when suddenly his face lighted up. 

"I've got it!" he cried, "the very thing--why didn't. I think of it?Dicky Farnham's house, or rather his wife's house. I'll get it straightafter a while, --she isn't his wife any more, you know; she marriedEustace Rindge last month. That's the reason it's for rent. Dicky sayshe'll never get married again--you bet! They planned it together, laidthe corner-stone and all that sort of thing, and before it was finishedshe had a divorce and had gone abroad with Rindge. I saw her before shesailed, and she begged me to rent it. But it isn't furnished. "

"I might look at it, " said Honora, dubiously. 

"I'm sure it will just suit you, " he declared with enthusiasm. "It's areal find. We'll drive around by the office and get the keys. "

The house was between Fifth Avenue and Madison, on a cross streetnot far below Fifty-Ninth, and Honora had scarcely entered the littleoak-panelled hall before she had forgotten that Mr. Cuthbert was a realestate agent--a most difficult thing to remember. 

Upstairs, the drawing-room was flooded with sunlight that poured inthrough a window with stone mullions and leaded panes extending theentire width of the house. Against the wall stood a huge stone mantel ofthe Tudor period, and the ceiling was of wood. Behind the little hall acosey library lighted by a well, and behind that an ample dining-room. And Honora remembered to have seen, in a shop on Fourth Avenue, just thesideboard for such a setting. 

On the third floor, as Mr. Cuthbert pointed out, there was a bedroom andboudoir for Mrs. Spence, and a bedroom and dressing-room for Mr. Spence. Into the domestic arrangement of the house, however important, we neednot penetrate. The rent was eight thousand dollars, which Mr. Cuthbertthought extremely reasonable. 

"Eight thousand dollars!" As she stood with her back turned, looking outon the street, some trick of memory brought into her mind the fact thatshe had once heard her uncle declare that he had bought his house andlot for that exact sum. And as cashier of Mr. Isham's bank, he did notearn so much in a year. 

She had found the house, indeed, but the other and mightier half of thetask remained, of getting Howard into it. In the consideration of thismost difficult of problems Honora, who in her exaltation had beheldherself installed in every room, grew suddenly serious. She was startledout of her reflections by a remark of almost uncanny penetration on thepart of Mr. Cuthbert. 

"Oh, he'll come round all right, when he sees the house, " that younggentleman declared. 

Honora turned quickly, and, after a moment of astonishment, laughed inspite of herself. It was impossible not to laugh with Mr. Cuthbert, soirresistible and debonair was he, so confiding and sympathetic, thathe became; before one knew it, an accomplice. Had he not poured outto Honora, with a charming gayety and frankness, many of his financialtroubles?

"I'm afraid he'll think it frightfully expensive, " she answered, becoming thoughtful once more. And it did not occur to her that neitherof them had mentioned the individual to whom they referred. 

"Wait until he's feeling tiptop, " Mr. Cuthbert advised, "and then bringhim up here in a hurry. I say, I hope you do take the house, " he added, with a boyish seriousness after she had refused his appeal to lunch withhim, "and that you will let me come and see you once in a while. "

She lunched alone, in a quiet corner of the dining-room of one of thelarge hotels, gazing at intervals absently out of the window. And by themiddle of the afternoon she found herself, quite unexpectedly, inthe antique furniture shop, gazing at the sideboard and a set ofleather-seated Jacobean chairs, and bribing the dealer with a smile tohold them for a few days until she could decide whether she wished them. In a similar mood of abstraction she boarded the ferry, but it was notuntil the boat had started on its journey that she became aware of atrim, familiar figure in front of her, silhouetted against the ruffedblue waters of the river--Trixton Brent's. And presently, as though theconcentration of her thoughts upon his back had summoned him, he turned. 

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked. "I haven't seen you foran age. "

"To Seattle. "

"To Seattle!" she exclaimed. "What were you doing there?"

"Trying to forget you, " he replied promptly, "and incidentallyattempting to obtain control of some properties. Both efforts, I mayadd, were unsuccessful. "

"I'm sorry, " said Honora. 

"And what mischief, " he demanded, "have you been up to?"

"You'll never guess!" she exclaimed. 

"Preparing for the exodus, " he hazarded. 

"You surely don't expect me to stay in Quicksands all winter?" shereplied, a little guiltily. 

"Quicksands, " he declared, "has passed into history. "

"You always insist upon putting a wrong interpretation upon what I do, "she complained. 

He laughed. 

"What interpretation do you put on it?" he asked. 

"A most natural and praiseworthy one, " she answered. "Education, improvement, growth--these things are as necessary for a woman as fora man. Of course I don't expect you to believe that--your idea of womennot being a very exalted one. "

He did not reply, for at that instant the bell rang, the passengerspressed forward about them, and they were soon in the midst of theconfusion of a landing. It was not until they were seated in adjoiningchairs of the parlour-car that the conversation was renewed. 

"When do you move to town?" he inquired. 

However simple Mr. Brent's methods of reasoning may appear to others, his apparent clairvoyance never failed to startle Honora. 

"Somebody has told you that I've been looking at houses!" she exclaimed. 

"Have you found one?"

She hesitated. 

"Yes--I have found one. It belongs to some people named Farnham--they'redivorced. "

"Dicky Farnham's ex-wife, " he supplied. "I know where itis--unexceptionable neighbourhood and all that sort of thing. "

"And it's just finished, " continued Honora, her enthusiasm gaining onher as she spoke of the object which had possessed her mind for fourhours. "It's the most enchanting house, and so sunny for New York. If Ihad built it myself it could not have suited me better. Only--"

"Only--" repeated Trixton Brent, smiling. 

"Well, " she said slowly, "I really oughtn't to talk about it. I--Ihaven't said anything to Howard yet, and he may not like it. I ranacross it by the merest accident. "

"What will you give me, " he said, "if I can induce Howard to like it?"

"My eternal friendship, " she laughed. 

"That's not enough, " said Trixton Brent. 

CHAPTER IX. INTRODUCING A REVOLUTIONIZING VEHICLE

"Howard, " said Honora that evening, "I've been going through housesto-day. "

"Houses!" he exclaimed, looking up from his newspaper. 

"And I've been most fortunate, " she continued. "I found one that Mrs. Farnham built--she is now Mrs. Rindge. It is just finished, and soattractive. If I'd looked until doomsday I couldn't have done anybetter. "

"But great Scott!" he ejaculated, "what put the notion of a town houseinto your head?"

"Isn't it high time to be thinking of the winter?" she asked. "It'snearly the end of September. "

He was inarticulate for a few moments, in an evident desperate attemptto rally his forces to meet such an unforeseen attack. 

"Who said anything about going to town?" he inquired. 

"Now, Howard, don't be foolish, " she replied. "Surely you didn't expectto stay in Quicksands all winter?"

"Foolish!" he repeated, and added inconsequently, "why not?"

"Because, " said Honora, calmly, "I have a life to lead as well as you. "

"But you weren't satisfied until you got to Quicksands, and now you wantto leave it. "

"I didn't bargain to stay here in the winter, " she declared. "You knowvery well that if you were unfortunate it would be different. But you'requite prosperous. "

"How do you know?" he demanded unguardedly. 

"Quicksands tells me, " she said. "It is--a little humiliating not tohave more of your confidence, and to hear such things from outsiders. "

"You never seemed interested in business matters, " he answered uneasily. 

"I should be, " said Honora, "if you would only take the trouble to tellme about them. " She stood up. "Howard, can't you see that it is makingus--grow apart? If you won't tell me about yourself and what you'redoing, you drive me to other interests. I am your wife, and I ought toknow--I want to know. The reason I don't understand is because you'venever taken the trouble to teach me. I wish to lead my own life, it istrue--to develop. I don't want to be like these other women down here. I--I was made for something better. I'm sure of it. But I wish mylife to be joined to yours, too--and it doesn't seem to be. Andsometimes--I'm afraid I can't explain it to you--sometimes I feel lonelyand frightened, as though I might do something desperate. And I don'tknow what's going to become of me. "

He laid down his newspaper and stared at her helplessly, with the air ofa man who suddenly finds himself at sea in a small boat without oars. 

"Oh, you can't understand!" she cried. "I might have known you nevercould. "

He was, indeed, thoroughly perplexed and uncomfortable: unhappy mightnot be too strong a word. He got up awkwardly and put his hand on herarm. She did not respond. He drew her, limp and unresisting, down on thelounge beside him. 

"For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Honora?" he faltered. "I--Ithought we were happy. You were getting on all right, and seemed to behaving a good time down here. You never said anything about--this. "

She turned her head and looked at him--a long, searching look withwidened eyes. 

"No, " she said slowly, "you don't understand. I suppose it isn't yourfault. "

"I'll try, " he said, "I don't like to see you--upset like this. I'll doanything I can to make you happy. "

"Not things, not--not toys, " Trixton Brent's expression involuntarilycoming to her lips. "Oh, can't you see I'm not that kind of a woman?I don't want to be bought. I want you, whatever you are, if you are. Iwant to be saved. Take care of me--see a little more of me--be a littleinterested in what I think. God gave me a mind, and--other men havediscovered it. You don't know, you can't know, what temptations yousubject me to. It isn't right, Howard. And oh, it is humiliating not tobe able to interest one's husband. "

"But you do interest me, " he protested. 

She shook her head. 

"Not so much as your business, " she said; "not nearly so much. "

"Perhaps I have been too absorbed, " he confessed. "One thing hasfollowed another. I didn't suspect that you felt this way. Come, I'lltry to brace up. " He pressed her to him. "Don't feel badly. You'reoverwrought. You've exaggerated the situation, Honora. We'll go in onthe eight o'clock train together and look at the house--although I'mafraid it's a little steep, " he added cautiously. 

"I don't care anything about the house, " said Honora. "I don't want it. "

"There!" he said soothingly, "you'll feel differently in the morning. We'll go and look at it, anyway. "

Her quick ear, however, detected an undertone which, if not preciselyresentment, was akin to the vexation that an elderly gentleman might bejustified in feeling who has taken the same walk for twenty years, and is one day struck by a falling brick. Howard had not thought ofconsulting her in regard to remaining all winter in Quicksands. And, although he might not realize it himself, if he should consent to go toNew York one reason for his acquiescence would be that the country inwinter offered a more or less favourable atmosphere for the recurrenceof similar unpleasant and unaccountable domestic convulsions. Businessdemands peace at any price. And the ultimatum at Rivington, thoughdelivered in so different a manner, recurred to him. 

The morning sunlight, as is well known, is a dispeller of moods, adisintegrator of the night's fantasies. It awoke Honora at what for herwas a comparatively early hour, and as she dressed rapidly she heard herhusband whistling in his room. It is idle to speculate on the phenomenontaking place within her, and it may merely be remarked in passing thatshe possessed a quality which, in a man, leads to a career and fame. Unimagined numbers of America's women possess that quality--a fact thatis becoming more and more apparent every day. 

"Why, Honora!" Howard exclaimed, as she appeared at the breakfast table. "What's happened to you?"

"Have you forgotten already, " she asked, smilingly, as she poured outher coffee, "that we are going to town together?"

He readjusted his newspaper against the carafe. 

"How much do you think Mrs. Farnham--or Mrs. Rindge--is worth?" heasked. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " she replied. 

"Old Marshall left her five million dollars. "

"What has that to do with it?" inquired Honora. 

"She isn't going to rent, especially in that part of town, for nothing. "

"Wouldn't it be wiser, Howard, to wait and see the house. You know youproposed it yourself, and it won't take very much of your time. "

He returned to a perusal of the financial column, but his eye fromtime to time wandered from the sheet to his wife, who was reading herletters. 

"Howard, " she said, "I feel dreadfully about Mrs. Holt. We haven't beenat Silverdale all summer. Here's a note from her saying she'll be intown to-morrow for the Charities Conference, asking me to come to seeher at her hotel. I think I'll go to Silverdale a little later. "

"Why don't you?" he said. "It would do you good. "

"And you?" she asked. 

"My only day of the week is Sunday, Honora. You know that. And Iwouldn't spend another day at Silverdale if they gave me a deed to theproperty, " he declared. 

On the train, when Howard had returned from the smoking car and theywere about to disembark at Long Island City, they encountered Mr. Trixton Brent. 

"Whither away?" he cried in apparent astonishment. "Up at dawn, and theeight o'clock train!"

"We were going to look at a house, " explained Honora, "and Howard has noother time. "

"I'll go, too, " declared Mr. Brent, promptly. "You mightn't think me ajudge of houses, but I am. I've lived in so many bad ones that I know agood one when I see it now. "

"Honora has got a wild notion into her head that I'm going to takethe Farnham house, " said Howard, smiling. There, on the deck of theferryboat, in the flooding sunlight, the idea seemed to give himamusement. With the morning light Pharaoh must have hardened his heart. 

"Well, perhaps you are, " said Mr. Brent, conveying to Honora his delightin the situation by a scarcely perceptible wink. "I shouldn't like totake the other end of the bet. Why shouldn't you? You're fat and healthyand making money faster than you can gather it in. "

Howard coughed, and laughed a little, uncomfortably. Trixton Brent wasnot a man to offend. 

"Honora has got that delusion, too, " he replied. He steeled himself inhis usual manner for the ordeal to come by smoking a cigarette, forthe arrival of such a powerful ally on his wife's side lent a differentaspect to the situation. 

Honora, during this colloquy, was silent. She was a littleuncomfortable, and pretended not to see Mr. Brent's wink. 

"Incredible as it may seem, I expected to have my automobile ready thismorning, " he observed; "we might have gone in that. It landed threedays ago, but so far it has failed to do anything but fire off revolvershots. "

"Oh, I do wish you had it, " said Honora, relieved by the change ofsubject. "To drive in one must be such a wonderful sensation. "

"I'll let you know when it stops shooting up the garage and consents tomove out, " he said. "I'll take you down to Quicksands in it. "

The prospective arrival of Mr. Brent's French motor car, whichwas looked for daily, had indeed been one of the chief topics ofconversation at Quicksands that summer. He could appear at no lunchor dinner party without being subjected to a shower of questions as towhere it was, and as many as half a dozen different women among whom wasMrs. Chandos--declared that he had promised to bring them out from NewYork on the occasion of its triumphal entry into the colony. Honora, needless to say, had betrayed no curiosity. 

Neither Mr. Shorter nor Mr. Cuthbert had appeared at the real estateoffice when, at a little after nine o'clock; Honora asked for the keys. And an office boy, perched on the box seat of the carriage, drove withthem to the house and opened the wrought-iron gate that guarded theentrance, and the massive front door. Honora had a sense of unrealityas they entered, and told herself it was obviously ridiculous that sheshould aspire to such a dwelling. Yesterday, under the spell of thatsomewhat adventurous excursion with Mr. Cuthbert, she had picturedherself as installed. He had contrived somehow to give her a sense ofintimacy with the people who lived thereabout--his own friends. 

Perhaps it was her husband who was the disillusionizing note as he stoodon the polished floor of the sunflooded drawing-room. Although bare offurniture, it was eloquent to Honora of a kind of taste not to befound at Quicksands: it carried her back, by undiscernible channels ofthought, to the impression which, in her childhood, the Hanbury mansionhad always made. Howard, in her present whimsical fancy, even seemeda little grotesque in such a setting. His inevitable pink shirt andobviously prosperous clothes made discord there, and she knew in thismoment that he was appraising the house from a commercial standpoint. His comment confirmed her guess. 

"If I were starting out to blow myself, or you, Honora, " he said, pokingwith his stick a marmouset of the carved stone mantel, "I'd get a littlemore for my money while I was about it. "

Honora did not reply. She looked out of the window instead. 

"See here, old man, " said Trixton Brent, "I'm not a real estate dealeror an architect, but if I were in your place I'd take that carriage andhustle over to Jerry Shorter's as fast as I could and sign the lease. "

Howard looked at him in some surprise, as one who had learnedthat Trixton Brent's opinions were usually worth listening to. Characteristically, he did not like to display his ignorance. 

"I know what you mean, Brent, " he replied, "and there may be somethingto the argument. It gives an idea of conservativeness and prosperity. "

"You've made a bull's-eye, " said Trixton Brent, succinctly. 

"But--but I'm not ready to begin on this scale, " objected Howard. 

"Why, " cried Brent, with evident zest--for he was a man whoenjoyed sport in all its forms, even to baiting the husbands of hisfriends, --"when I first set eyes on you, old fellow, I thought you knewa thing or two, and you've made a few turns since that confirmed theopinion. But I'm beginning to perceive that you have limitations. Icould sit down here now, if there were any place to sit, and calculatehow much living in this house would be worth to me in Wall Street. "

Honora, who had been listening uneasily, knew that a shrewder or moredisturbing argument could not have been used on her husband; and it camefrom Trixton Brent--to Howard at least--ex cathedra. She was filled witha sense of shame, which was due not solely to the fact that she was alittle conscience-stricken because of her innocent complicity, nor thather husband did not resent an obvious attempt of a high-handed manto browbeat him; but also to the feeling that the character of thediscussion had in some strange way degraded the house itself. Why was itthat everything she touched seemed to become contaminated?

"There's no use staying any longer, " she said. "Howard doesn't like it. "

"I didn't say so, " he interrupted. "There's something about the placethat grows on you. If I felt I could afford it--"

"At any rate, " declared Honora, trying to control her voice, "I'vedecided, now I've seen it a second time, that I don't want it. I onlywished him to look at it, " she added, scornfully aware that she wastaking up the cudgels in his behalf. But she could not bring herself, in Brent's presence, to declare that the argument of the rent seemeddecisive. 

Her exasperation was somewhat increased by the expression on TrixtonBrent's face, which plainly declared that he deemed her last remarks tobe the quintessence of tactics; and he obstinately refused, as they wentdown the stairs to the street, to regard the matter as closed. 

"I'll take him down town in the Elevated, " he said, as he put her intothe carriage. "The first round's a draw. "

She directed the driver to the ferry again, and went back to Quicksands. Several times during the day she was on the point of telephoning Brentnot to try to persuade Howard to rent the house, and once she even gotso far as to take down the receiver. But when she reflected, it seemedan impossible thing to do. At four o'clock she herself was called tothe telephone by Mr. Cray, a confidential clerk in Howard's office, whoinformed her that her husband had been obliged to leave town suddenly onbusiness, and would not be home that night. 

"Didn't he say where he was going?" asked Honora. 

"He didn't even tell me, Mrs. Spence, " Cray replied, "and Mr. Dallamdoesn't know. "

"Oh, dear, " said Honora, "I hope he realizes that people are coming fordinner to-morrow evening. "

"I'm positive, from what he said, that he'll be back some timeto-morrow, " Cray reassured her. 

She refused an invitation to dine out, and retired shortly after herown dinner with a novel so distracting that she gradually regained anequable frame of mind. The uneasiness, the vague fear of the future, wore away, and she slept peacefully. In the morning, however; she foundon her breakfast tray a note from Trixton Brent. 

Her first feeling after reading it was one of relief that he had notmentioned the house. He had written from a New York club, asking her tolunch with him at Delmonico's that day and drive home in the motor. Noanswer was required: if she did not appear at one o'clock, he would knowshe couldn't come. 

Honora took the eleven o'clock train, which gave her an hour after shearrived in New York to do as she pleased. Her first idea, as she stoodfor a moment amidst the clamour of the traffic in front of the ferryhouse, was to call on Mrs. Holt at that lady's hotel; and then sheremembered that the Charities Conference began at eleven, and decidedto pay a visit to Madame Dumond, who made a specialty of importingnovelties in dress. Her costume for the prospective excursion in theautomobile had cost Honora some thought that morning. As the day wascool, she had brought along an ulster that was irreproachable. But howabout the hat and veil?

Madame Dumond was enchanted. She had them both, --she had landed withthem only last week. She tried them on Honora, and stood back withher hands clasped in an ecstasy she did not attempt to hide. Whata satisfaction to sell things to Mrs. Spence! Some ladies she couldmention would look like frights in them, but Madame Spence had 'de larace'. She could wear anything that was chic. The hat and veil, saidMadame, with a simper, were sixty dollars. 

"Sixty dollars!" exclaimed Honora. 

"Ah, madame, what would you?" Novelties were novelties, the UnitedStates Custom authorities robbers. 

Having attended to these important details, Honora drove to therestaurant in her hansom cab, the blood coursing pleasantly in herveins. The autumn air sparkled, and New York was showing signs ofanimation. She glanced furtively into the little mirror at the side. Her veil was grey, and with the hat gave her somewhat the air of areligieuse, an aspect heightened by the perfect oval of her face; andsomething akin to a religious thrill ran through her. 

The automobile, with its brass and varnish shining in the sunlight, waswaiting a little way up the street, and the first person Honora metin the vestibule of Delmonico's was Lula Chandos. She was, as usual, elaborately dressed, and gave one the impression of being lost, soanxiously was she scanning the face of every new arrival. 

"Oh, my dear, " she cried, staring hard at the hat and the veil, "haveyou seen Clara Trowbridge anywhere?"

A certain pity possessed Honora as she shook her head. 

"She was in town this morning, " continued Mrs. Chandos, "and I was sureshe was coming here to lunch. Trixy just drove up a moment ago in hisnew car. Did you see it?"

Honora's pity turned into a definite contempt. 

"I saw an automobile as I came in, " she said, but the brevity of herreply seemed to have no effect upon Mrs. Chandos. 

"There he is now, at the entrance to the cafe, " she exclaimed. 

There, indeed, was Trixton Brent, staring at them from the end of thehall, and making no attempt to approach them. 

"I think I'll go into the dressing-room and leave my coat, " said Honora, outwardly calm but inwardly desperate. Fortunately, Lula made no attemptto follow her. 

"You're a dream in that veil, my dear, " Mrs. Chandos called after her. "Don't forget that we're all dining with you to-night in Quicksands. "

Once in the dressing-room, Honora felt like locking the doors andjumping out of the window. She gave her coat to the maid, rearranged herhair without any apparent reason, and was leisurely putting on her hatagain, and wondering what she would do next, when Mrs. Kame appeared. 

"Trixy asked me to get you, " she explained. "Mr. Grainger and I aregoing to lunch with you. "

"How nice!" said Honora, with such a distinct emphasis of relief thatMrs. Kame looked at her queerly. 

"What a fool Trixy was, with all his experience, to get mixed up withthat Chandos woman, " that lady remarked as they passed through thehallway. "She's like molasses--one can never get her off. Lucky thinghe found Cecil and me here. There's your persistent friend, Trixy, "she added, when they were seated. "Really, this is pathetic, when aninvitation to lunch and a drive in your car would have made her sohappy. "

Honora looked around and beheld, indeed, Mrs. Chandos and two otherQuicksands women, Mrs. Randall and Mrs. Barclay, at a table in thecorner of the room. 

"Where's Bessie to-day, Cecil--or do you know?" demanded Mrs. Kame, after an amused glance at Brent, who had not deigned to answer her. "Ipromised to go to Newport with her at the end of the week, but I haven'tbeen able to find her. "

"Cecil doesn't know, " said Trixton Brent. "The police have been lookingfor him for a fortnight. Where the deuce have you been, Cecil?"

"To the Adirondacks, " replied Mr Grainger, gravely. 

This explanation, which seemed entirely plausible to Honora, appeared toafford great amusement to Brent, and even to Mrs. Kame. 

"When did you come to life?" demanded Brent. 

"Yesterday, " said Mr. Grainger, quite as solemnly as before. 

Mrs. Kame glanced curiously at Honora, and laughed again. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Trixy, " she said. 

"Why?" he asked innocently. "There's nothing wrong in going to theAdirondacks--is there, Cecil?"

"No, " said Mr. Grainger, blinking rapidly. 

"The Adirondacks, " declared Mrs. Kame, "have now become classic. "

"By the way, " observed Mr. Grainger, "I believe Bessie's in town to-dayat a charity pow-wow, reading a paper. I've half a mind to go over andlisten to it. The white dove of peace--and all that kind of thing. "

"You'd go to sleep and spoil it all, " said Brent. 

"But you can't, Cecil!" cried Mrs. Kame. "Don't you remember we're goingto Westchester to the Faunces' to spend the night and play bridge? Andwe promised to arrive early. "

"That's so, by George, " said Mr. Grainger, and he drank the rest of hiswhiskey-and-soda. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, if Mrs. Spence is willing, " suggestedBrent. "If you start right after lunch, I'll take you out. We'll haveplenty of time, " he added to Honora, "to get back to Quicksands fordinner. "

"Are you sure?" she asked anxiously. "I have people for dinner tonight. "

"Oh, lots of time, " declared Mrs. Kame. "Trixy's car is some unheard-ofhorse-power. It's only twenty-five miles to the Faunces', and you'll beback at the ferry by half-past four. "

"Easily, " said Trixton Brent. 

CHAPTER X. ON THE ART OF LION TAMING

After lunch, while Mrs. Kame was telephoning to her maid and Mr. Grainger to Mrs. Faunce, Honora found herself alone with Trixton Brentin the automobile at a moment when the Quicksands party were taking acab. Mrs. Chandos parsed long enough to wave her hand. 

"Bon voyage!" she cried. "What an ideal party! and the chauffeur doesn'tunderstand English. If you don't turn up this evening, Honora, I'llentertain your guests. "

"We must get back, " said Honora, involuntarily to Brent. "It would betoo dreadful if we didn't!"

"Are you afraid I'll run off with you?" he asked. 

"I believe you're perfectly capable of it, " she replied. "If I werewise, I'd take the train. "

"Why don't you?" he demanded. 

She smiled. 

"I don't know. It's because of your deteriorating influence, I suppose. And yet I trust you, in spite of my instincts and--my eyes. I'mseriously put out with you. "

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later, if you're at a loss, " she said, as Mrs. Kame andMr. Grainger appeared. 

Eight years have elapsed since that day and this writing--an aeon inthis rapidly moving Republic of ours. The roads, although far fromperfect yet, were not then what they have since become. But the weatherwas dry and the voyage to Westchester accomplished successfully. It washalf-past three when they drove up the avenue and deposited Mrs. Kameand Cecil Grainger at the long front of the Faunce house: and Brent, who had been driving, relinquished the wheel to the chauffeur and joinedHonora in the tonneau. The day was perfect, the woods still heavy withsummer foliage, and the only signs of autumn were the hay mounds and theyellowing cornstalks stacked amidst the stubble of the fields. 

Brent sat silently watching her, for she had raised her veil in sayinggood-by to Mrs. Kame, and--as the chauffeur was proceeding slowly--hadnot lowered it. Suddenly she turned and looked him full in the face. 

"What kind of woman do you think I am?" she demanded. 

"That's rather a big order, isn't it?" he said. 

"I'm perfectly serious, " continued Honora, slowly. 

"I'd really like to know. "

"Before I begin on the somewhat lengthy list of your qualities, " hereplied, smiling, "may I ask why you'd like to know?"

"Yes, " she said quickly. "I'd like to know because I think you'vemisjudged me. I was really more angry than you have any idea of at themanner in which you talked to Howard. And did you seriously suppose thatI was in earnest when we spoke about your assistance in persuading himto take the house?"

He laughed. 

"You are either the cleverest woman in the world, " he declared, "or elseyou oughtn't to be out without a guardian. And no judge in possession ofhis five senses would appoint your husband. "

Indignant as she was, she could not resist smiling. There was somethingin the way Brent made such remarks that fascinated her. 

"I shouldn't call you precisely eligible, either, " she retorted. 

He laughed again. But his eyes made her vaguely uneasy. 

"Are these harsh words the reward for my charity? he asked. 

"I'm by no means sure it's charity, " she said. "That's what is troublingme. And you have no right to say such things about my husband. "

"How was I to know you were sensitive on the subject? he replied. 

"I wonder what it would be like to be so utterly cynical as you, " shesaid. 

"Do you mean to say you don't want the house?"

"I don't want it under those conditions, " she answered with spirit. "Ididn't expect to be taken literally. And you've always insisted, " sheadded, "in ascribing to me motives that--that never occurred to me. You make the mistake of thinking that because you have no ideals, otherpeople haven't. I hope Howard hasn't said he'd take the house. He's goneoff somewhere, and I haven't been able to see him. "

Trixton Brent looked at her queerly. 

"After that last manoeuvre of yours, " he said, "it was all I could doto prevent him from rushing over to Jerry Shorter's--and signing thelease. "

She did not reply. 

"What do these sudden, virtuous resolutions mean?" he asked. "Resignation? Quicksands for life? Abandonment of the whole campaign?"

"There isn't any I campaign, " she said--and her voice caught insomething like a sob. "I'm not that sordid kind of a person. And if Idon't like Quicksands, it's because the whole atmosphere seems to becharged with--with just such a spirit. "

Her hand was lying on the seat. He covered it with his own so quicklythat she left it there for a moment, as though paralyzed, while shelistened to the first serious words he had ever addressed to her. 

"Honora, I admire you more than any woman I have ever known, " he said. 

Her breath came quickly, and she drew her hand away. 

"I suppose I ought to feel complimented, " she replied. 

At this crucial instant what had been a gliding flight of the automobilebecame, suddenly, a more or less uneven and jerky progress, accompaniedby violent explosions. At the first of these Honora, in alarm, leapedto her feet. And the machine, after what seemed an heroic attempt tocontinue, came to a dead stop. They were on the outskirts of a village;children coming home from school surrounded them in a ring. Brent jumpedout, the chauffeur opened the hood, and they peered together into whatwas, to Honora, an inexplicable tangle of machinery. There followed acolloquy, in technical French, between the master and the man. 

"What's the matter?" asked Honora, anxiously. 

"Nothing much, " said Brent, "spark-plugs. We'll fix it up in a fewminutes. " He looked with some annoyance at the gathering crowd. "Standback a little, can't you?" he cried, "and give us room. "

After some minutes spent in wiping greasy pieces of steel which thechauffeur extracted, and subsequent ceaseless grinding on the crank, the engine started again, not without a series of protesting cracks likepistol shots. The chauffeur and Brent leaped in, the bystanders partedwith derisive cheers, and away they went through the village, only toannounce by another series of explosions a second disaster at the otherend of the street. A crowd collected there, too. 

"Oh, dear!" said Honora, "don't you think we ought to take the train, Mr. Brent? If I were to miss a dinner at my own house, it would be tooterrible!"

"There's nothing to worry about, " he assured her. "Nothing broken. It'sonly the igniting system that needs adjustment. "

Although this was so much Greek to Honora, she was reassured. TrixtonBrent inspired confidence. There was another argument with thechauffeur, a little more animated than the first; more greasy plugstaken out and wiped, and a sharper exchange of compliments withthe crowd; more grinding, until the chauffeur's face was steeped inperspiration, and more pistol shots. They were off again, but lamely, spurting a little at times, and again slowing down to the pace of anox-cart. Their progress became a series of illustrations of the fable ofthe hare and the tortoise. They passed horses, and the horses shiedinto the ditch: then the same horses passed them, usually at the periodschosen by the demon under the hood to fire its pistol shots, and intothe ditch went the horses once more, their owners expressing theirthoughts in language at once vivid and unrestrained. 

It is one of the blessed compensations of life that in times ofprosperity we do not remember our miseries. In these enlightened days, when everybody owns an automobile and calmly travels from Chicagoto Boston if he chooses, we have forgotten the dark ages when thesemachines were possessed by devils: when it took sometimes as much asthree hours to go twenty miles, and often longer than that. How many ofus have had the same experience as Honora!

She was always going to take the train, and didn't. Whenever hermind was irrevocably made up, the automobile whirled away on all fourcylinders for a half a mile or so, until they were out of reach of therailroad. There were trolley cars, to be sure, but those took forever toget anywhere. Four o'clock struck, five and six, when at last the fiendwho had conspired with fate, having accomplished his evident purpose ofcompelling Honora to miss her dinner, finally abandoned them as suddenlyand mysteriously as he had come, and the automobile was a lamb oncemore. It was half-past six, and the sun had set, before they saw thelights twinkling all yellow on the heights of Fort George. At that hourthe last train they could have taken to reach the dinner-party in timewas leaving the New York side of the ferry. 

"What will they think?" cried Honora. "They saw us leave Delmonico's attwo o'clock, and they didn't know we were going to Westchester. "

It needed no very vivid imagination to summon up the probable remarks ofMrs. Chandos on the affair. It was all very well to say the motor brokedown; but unfortunately Trixton Brent's reputation was not much betterthan that of his car. 

Trixton Brent, as might have been expected, was inclined to treat thematter as a joke. 

"There's nothing very formal about a Quicksands dinner-party, " hesaid. "We'll have a cosey little dinner in town, and call 'em up on thetelephone. "

She herself was surprised at the spirit of recklessness stealing overher, for there was, after all, a certain appealing glamour in theadventure. She was thrilled by the swift, gliding motion of theautomobile, the weird and unfamiliar character of these upper reaches ofa great city in the twilight, where new houses stood alone or in rowson wide levelled tracts; and old houses, once in the country, were seenhigh above the roadway behind crumbling fences, surrounded by gloomy oldtrees with rotting branches. She stole a glance at the man close besideher; a delightful fear of him made her shiver, and she shrank closerinto the corner of the seat. 

"Honora!"

All at once he had seized her hand again, and held it in spite of herefforts to release it. 

"Honora, " he said, "I love you as I have never loved in my life. As Inever shall love again. "

"Oh--you mustn't say that!" she cried. 

"Why not?" he demanded. "Why not, if I feel it?"

"Because, " faltered Honora, "because I can't listen to you. "

Brent made a motion of disdain with his free hand. 

"I don't pretend that it's right, " he said. "I'm not a hypocrite, anyway, thank God! It's undoubtedly wrong, according to all moral codes. I've never paid any attention to them. You're married. I'm happy to sayI'm divorced. You've got a husband. I won't be guilty of the bad tasteof discussing him. He's a good fellow enough, but he never thinks aboutyou from the time the Exchange opens in the morning until he gets homeat night and wants his dinner. You don't love him--it would be a miracleif a woman with any spirit did. He hasn't any more of an idea of what hepossesses by legal right than the man I discovered driving in a cartone of the best hunters I ever had in my stables. To say that he doesn'tappreciate you is a ludicrous understatement. Any woman would have donefor him. "

"Please don't!" she implored him. "Please don't!"

But for the moment she knew that she was powerless, carried along like achip on the crest of his passion. 

"I don't pretend to say how it is, or why it is, " he went on, paying noheed to her protests. "I suppose there's one woman for every man in theworld--though I didn't use to think so. I always had another idea ofwoman before I met you. I've thought I was in love with 'em, but now Iunderstand it was only--something else. I say, I don't know what it isin you that makes me feel differently. I can't analyze it, and I don'twant to. You're not perfect, by a good deal, and God knows I'm not. You're ambitious, but if you weren't, you'd be humdrum--yet there'sno pitiful artifice in you as in other women that any idiot can seethrough. And it would have paralyzed forever any ordinary woman to havemarried Howard Spence. "

A new method of wooing, surely, and evidently peculiar to Trixton Brent. Honora, in the prey of emotions which he had aroused in spite of her, needless to say did not, at that moment, perceive the humour in it. Hiswords gave her food for thought for many months afterwards. 

The lion was indeed aroused at last, and whip or goad or wile of noavail. There came a time when she no longer knew what he was saying:when speech, though eloquent and forceful, seemed a useless medium. Her appeals were lost, and she found herself fighting in his arms, whensuddenly they turned into one of the crowded arteries of Harlem. Shemade a supreme effort of will, and he released her. 

"Oh!" she cried, trembling. 

But he looked at her, unrepentant, with the light of triumph in hiseyes. 

"I'll never forgive you!" she exclaimed, breathless. 

"I gloried in it, " he replied. "I shall remember it as long as I live, and I'll do it again. "

She did not answer him. She dropped her veil, and for a long space wassilent while they rapidly threaded the traffic, and at length turnedinto upper Fifth Avenue, skirting the Park. She did not so much asglance at him. But he seemed content to watch her veiled profile in thedusk. 

Her breath, in the first tumult of her thought, came and went deeply. But gradually as the street lights burned brighter and familiarsights began to appear, she grew more controlled and became capableof reflection. She remembered that there was a train for Quicksands atseven-fifteen, which Howard had taken once or twice. But she felt thatthe interval was too short. In that brief period she could not calmherself sufficiently to face her guests. Indeed, the notion of appearingalone, or with Brent, at that dinner-party, appalled her. And suddenlyan idea presented itself. 

Brent leaned over, and began to direct the chauffeur to a well-knownhotel. She interrupted him. 

"No, " she said, "I'd rather go to the Holland House. "

"Very well, " he said amicably, not a little surprised at thisunlooked-for acquiescence, and then told his man to keep straight ondown the Avenue. 

She began mechanically to rearrange her hat and veil; and after that, sitting upright, to watch the cross streets with feverish anticipation, her hands in her lap. 

"Honora?" he said. 

She did not answer. 

"Raise the veil, just for a moment, and look at me. "

She shook her head. But for some reason, best known to herself, shesmiled a little. Perhaps it was because her indignation, which wouldhave frightened many men into repentance, left this one undismayed. Atany rate, he caught the gleam of the smile through the film of her veil, and laughed. 

"We'll have a little table in the corner of the room, " he declared, "andyou shall order the dinner. Here we are, " he cried to the chauffeur. "Pull up to the right. "

They alighted, crossed the sidewalk, the doors were flung open toreceive them, and they entered the hotel. 

Through the entrance to the restaurant Honora caught sight of the redglow of candles upon the white tables, and heard the hum of voices. Inthe hall, people were talking and laughing in groups, and it came asa distinct surprise to her that their arrival seemed to occasion noremark. At the moment of getting out of the automobile, her courage hadalmost failed her. 

Trixton Brent hailed one of the hotel servants. 

"Show Mrs. Spence to the ladies' parlour, " said he. And added toHonora, "I'll get a table, and have the dinner card brought up in a fewmoments. "

Honora stopped the boy at the elevator door. 

"Go to the office, " she said, "and find out if Mrs. Joshua Holt is in, and the number of her room. And take me to the telephone booths. I'llwait there. "

She asked the telephone operator to call up Mr. Spence's house atQuicksands--and waited. 

"I'm sorry, madam, " he said, after a little while, which seemedlike half an hour to Honora, "but they've had a fire in the Kingstonexchange, and the Quicksands line is out of order. "

Honora's heart sank; but the bell-boy had reappeared. Yes, Mrs. Holt wasin. 

"Take me to her room, " she said, and followed him into the elevator. 

In response to his knock the door was opened by Mrs. Holt herself. Shewore a dove-coloured gown, and in her hand was a copy of the reportof the Board of Missions. For a moment she peered at Honora over theglasses lightly poised on the uncertain rim of her nose. 

"Why--my dear!" she exclaimed, in astonishment. "Honora!"

"Oh, " cried Honora, "I'm so glad you're here. I was so afraid you'd beout. "

In the embrace that followed both the glasses and the mission reportfell to the floor. Honora picked them up. 

"Sit down, my dear, and tell me how you happen to be here, " said Mrs. Holt. "I suppose Howard is downstairs. "

"No, he isn't, " said Honora, rather breathlessly; "that's the reasonI came here. That's one reason, I mean. I was coming to see you thismorning, but I simply didn't have time for a call after I got to town. "

Mrs. Holt settled herself in the middle of the sofa, the only pieceof furniture in the room in harmony with her ample proportions. Herattitude and posture were both judicial, and justice itself spoke in herdelft-blue eyes. 

"Tell me all about it, " she said, thus revealing her suspicions thatthere was something to tell. 

"I was just going to, " said Honora, hastily, thinking of Trixton Brentwaiting in the ladies' parlour. "I took lunch at Delmomico's with Mr. Grainger, and Mr. Brent, and Mrs. Kame--"

"Cecil Grainger?" demanded Mrs. Holt. 

Honora trembled. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"I knew his father and mother intimately, " said Mrs. Holt, unexpectedly. "And his wife is a friend of mine. She's one of the most executive womenwe have in the 'Working Girls' Association, ' and she read a paper todaythat was masterful. You know her, of course. "

"No, " said Honora, "I haven't met her yet. "

"Then how did you happen to be lunching with her husband?

"I wasn't lunching with him, Mrs. Holt, " said Honora; "Mr. Brent wasgiving the lunch. "

"Who's Mr. Brent?" demanded Mrs. Holt. "One of those Quicksands people?"

"He's not exactly a Quicksands person. I scarcely know how to describehim. He's very rich, and goes abroad a great deal, and plays polo. That's the reason he has a little place at Quicksands. He's been awfullykind both to Howard and me, " she added with inspiration. 

"And Mrs. Kame?" said Mrs. Holt. 

"She's a widow, and has a place at Banbury. 

"I never heard of her, " said Mrs. Holt, and Honora thanked her stars. 

"And Howard approves of these mixed lunches, my dear? When I was young, husbands and wives usually went to parties together. "

A panicky thought came to Honora, that Mrs. Holt might suddenly inquireas to the whereabouts of Mr. Brent's wife. 

"Oh, Howard doesn't mind, " she said hastily. "I suppose times havechanged, Mrs. Holt. And after lunch we all went out in Mr. Brent'sautomobile to the Faunces' in Westchester--"

"The Paul Jones Faunces?" Mrs. Holt interrupted. 

"What a nice woman that young Mrs. Faunce is! She was Kitty Esterbrook, you know. Both of them very old families. "

"It was only, " continued Honora, in desperation, "it was only to leaveMr. Grainger and Mrs. Kame there to spend the night. They all said wehad plenty of time to go and get back to Quicksands by six o'clock. Butcoming back the automobile broke down--"

"Of course, " said Mrs. Holt, "it serves any one right for trusting tothem. I think they are an invention of the devil. "

"And we've only just got back to New York this minute. "

"Who?" inquired Mrs. Holt. 

"Mr. Brent and I, " said Honora, with downcast eyes. 

"Good gracious!" exclaimed the elder lady. 

"I couldn't think of anything else to do but come straight here to you, "said Honora, gazing at her friend. "And oh, I'm so glad to find you. There's not another train to Quicksands till after nine. "

"You did quite right, my dear, under the circumstances. I don't say youhaven't been foolish, but it's Howard's fault quite as much as yours. Hehas no business to let you do such things. "

"And what makes it worse, " said Honora, "is that the wires are down toQuicksands, and I can't telephone Howard, and we have people todinner, and they don't know I went to Westchester, and there's no usetelegraphing: it wouldn't be delivered till midnight or morning. "

"There, there, my dear, don't worry. I know how anxious you feel on yourhusband's account--"

"Oh--Mrs. Holt, I was going to ask you a great, great favour. Wouldn'tyou go down to Quicksands with me and spend the night--and pay us alittle visit? You know we would so love to have you!"

"Of course I'll go down with you, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt. "I'msurprised that you should think for an instant that I wouldn't. It's myobvious duty. Martha!" she called, "Martha!"

The door of the bedroom opened, and Mrs. Holt's elderly maid appeared. The same maid, by the way, who had closed the shutters that memorablestormy night at Silverdale. She had, it seemed, a trick of appearing atcrises. 

"Martha, telephone to Mrs. Edgerly--you know her number-and say that Iam very sorry, but an unexpected duty calls me out of town to-night, andask her to communicate with the Reverend Mr. Field. As for staying withyou, Honora, " she continued, "I have to be back at Silverdale to-morrownight. Perhaps you and Howard will come back with me. My frank opinionis, that a rest from the gayety of Quicksands will do you good. "

"I will come, with pleasure, " said Honora. "But as for Howard--I'mafraid he's too busy. "

"And how about dinner?" asked Mrs. Holt. 

"I forgot to say, " said Honora, "that Mr. Brent's downstairs. He broughtme here, of course. Have you any objection to his dining with us?"

"No, " answered Mrs. Holt, "I think I should like to see him. "

After Mrs. Holt had given instructions to her maid to pack, and Honorahad brushed some of the dust of the roads from her costume, theydescended to the ladies' parlour. At the far end of it a waiter holdinga card was standing respectfully, and Trixton Brent was pacing up anddown between the windows. When he caught sight of them he stopped in histracks, and stared, and stood as if rooted to the carpet. Honora cameforward. 

"Oh, Mr. Brent!" she cried, "my old friend, Mrs. Holt, is here, andshe's going to take dinner with us and come down to Quicksands for thenight. May I introduce Mr. Brent. "

"Wasn't it fortunate, Mr. Brent, that Mrs. Spence happened to find me?"said Mrs. Holt, as she took his hand. "I know it is a relief to you. "

It was not often, indeed, that Trixton Brent was taken off his guard;but some allowance must be made for him, since he was facing a situationunparalleled in his previous experience. Virtue had not often been sotriumphant, and never so dramatic as to produce at the critical instantso emblematic a defender as this matronly lady in dove colour. Fora moment, he stared at her, speechless, and then he gathered himselftogether. 

"A relief?" he asked. 

"It would seem so to me, " said Mrs. Holt. "Not that I do not think youare perfectly capable of taking care of her, as an intimate friend ofher husband. I was merely thinking of the proprieties. And as I am aguest in this hotel, I expect you both to do me the honour to dine withme before we start for Quicksands. "

After all, Trixton Brent had a sense of humour, although it must notbe expected that he should grasp at once all the elements of a joke onhimself so colossal. 

"I, for one, " he said, with a slight bow which gave to his words a touchsomewhat elaborate, "will be delighted. " And he shot at Honora a glancecompounded of many feelings, which she returned smilingly. 

"Is that the waiter?" asked Mrs. Holt. 

"That is a waiter, " said Trixton Brent, glancing at the motionlessfigure. "Shall I call him?"

"If you please, " said Mrs. Holt. "Honora, you must tell me what youlike. "

"Anything, Mrs. Holt, " said Honora. 

"If we are to leave a little after nine, " said that lady, balancing herglasses on her nose and glancing at the card, "we have not, I'm afraid, time for many courses. "

The head waiter greeted them at the door of the dining-room. He, too, was a man of wisdom and experience. He knew Mrs. Holt, and he knewTrixton Brent. If gravity had not been a life-long habit with him, onemight have suspected him of a desire to laugh. As it was, he seemedpalpably embarrassed, --for Mr. Brent had evidently been conversing withhim. 

"Two, sir?" he asked. 

"Three, " said Mrs. Holt, with dignity. 

The head waiter planted them conspicuously in the centre of the room;one of the strangest parties, from the point of view of a connoisseur ofNew York, that ever sat down together. Mrs. Holt with her curls, and herglasses laid flat on the bosom of her dove-coloured dress; Honora in acostume dedicated to the very latest of the sports, and Trixton Brent inEnglish tweeds. The dining-room was full. But here and there amongst thediners, Honora observed, were elderly people who smiled discreetly asthey glanced in their direction--friends, perhaps, of Mrs. Holt. Andsuddenly, in one corner, she perceived a table of six where the mirthwas less restrained. 

Fortunately for Mr. Brent, he had had a cocktail, or perhaps two, inHonora's absence. Sufficient time had elapsed since their administrationfor their proper soothing and exhilarating effects. At the sound ofthe laughter in the corner he turned his head, a signal for renewedmerriment from that quarter. Whereupon he turned back again and facedhis hostess once more with a heroism that compelled Honora's admiration. As a sportsman, he had no intention of shirking the bitterness ofdefeat. 

"Mrs. Grainger and Mrs. Shorter, " he remarked, "appear to be enjoyingthemselves. "

Honora felt her face grow hot as the merriment at the corner table roseto a height it had not heretofore attained. And she did not dare to lookagain. 

Mrs. Holt was blissfully oblivious to her surroundings. She was, asusual, extremely composed, and improved the interval, while drinkingher soup, with a more or less undisguised observation of Mr. Brent;evidently regarding him somewhat in the manner that a suspicioushouseholder would look upon a strange gentleman whom he accidentallyfound in his front hall. Explanations were necessary. That Mr. Brent'sappearance, on the whole, was in his favour did not serve to mitigateher suspicions. Good-looking men were apt to be unscrupulous. 

"Are you interested in working girls, Mr. Brent?" she inquiredpresently. 

Honora, in spite of her discomfort, had an insane desire to giggle. Shedid not dare to raise her eyes. 

"I can't say that I've had much experience with them, Mrs. Holt, " hereplied, with a gravity little short of sublime. 

"Naturally you wouldn't have had, " said Mrs. Holt. "What I meant was, are you interested in the problems they have to face?"

"Extremely, " said he, so unexpectedly that Honora choked. "I can't saythat I've given as many hours as I should have liked to a study of thesubject, but I don't know of any class that has a harder time. As arule, they're underpaid and overworked, and when night comes they areeither tired to death or bored to death, and the good-looking ones aresubject to temptations which some of them find impossible to resist, in a natural desire for some excitement to vary the routine of theirlives. "

"It seems to me, " said Mrs. Holt, "that you are fairly conversant withthe subject. I don't think I ever heard the problem stated so succinctlyand so well. Perhaps, " she added, "it might interest you to attend oneof our meetings next month. Indeed, you might be willing to say a fewwords. "

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Holt. I'm a rather busyman, and nothing of a public speaker, and it is rarely I get off in thedaytime. "

"How about automobiling?" asked Mrs. Holt, with a smile. 

"Well, " said Trixton Brent, laughing in spite of himself, "I like theworking girls, I have to have a little excitement occasionally. And Ifind it easier to get off in the summer than in the winter. "

"Men cover a multitude of sins under the plea of business, " said Mrs. Holt, shaking her head. "I can't say I think much of your method ofdistraction. Why any one desires to get into an automobile, I don'tsee. "

"Have you ever been in one?" he asked. "Mine is here, and I was about toinvite you to go down to the ferry in it. I'll promise to go slow. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Holt, "I don't object to going that distance, if youkeep your promise. I'll admit that I've always had a curiosity. "

"And in return, " said Brent, gallantly, "allow me to send you a chequefor your working girls. "

"You're very good, " said Mrs. Holt. 

"Oh, " he protested, "I'm not in the habit of giving much to charities, I'm sorry to say. I'd like to know how it feels. "

"Then I hope the sensation will induce you to try it again, " said Mrs. Holt. 

"Nobody, Mrs. Holt, " cried Honora, "could be kinder to his friends thanMr. Brent!"

"We were speaking of disinterested kindness, my dear, " was Mrs. Holt'sreply. 

"You're quite right, Mrs. Holt, " said Trixton Brent, beginning, as thedinner progressed, to take in the lady opposite a delight that surprisedhim. "I'm willing to confess that I've led an extremely selfishexistence. "

"The confession isn't necessary, " she replied. "It's written all overyou. You're the type of successful man who gets what he wants. I don'tmean to say that you are incapable of kindly instincts. " And her eyetwinkled a little. 

"I'm very grateful for that concession, at any rate, " he declared. 

"There might be some hope for you if you fell into the hands of a goodwoman, " said Mrs. Holt. "I take it you are a bachelor. Mark my words, the longer you remain one, the more steeped in selfishness you arelikely to become in this modern and complex and sense-satisfying lifewhich so many people lead. "

Honora trembled for what he might say to this, remembering his bitterreferences of that afternoon to his own matrimonial experience. Visionsof a scene arose before her in the event that Mrs. Holt should discoverhis status. But evidently Trixton Brent had no intention of discussinghis marriage. 

"Judging by some of my married friends and acquaintances, " he said, "Ihave no desire to try matrimony as a remedy for unselfishness. "

"Then, " replied Mrs. Holt, "all I can say is, I should make new friendsamongst another kind of people, if I were you. You are quite right, andif I were seeking examples of happy marriages, I should not begin mysearch among the so-called fashionable set of the present day. They areso supremely selfish that if the least difference in taste develops, orif another man or woman chances along whom they momentarily fancy morethan their own husbands or wives, they get a divorce. Their idea ofmarriage is not a mutual sacrifice which brings happiness through trialsborne together and through the making of character. No, they have anotion that man and wife may continue to lead their individual lives. That isn't marriage. I've lived with Joshua Holt thirty-five years lastApril, and I haven't pleased myself in all that time. "

"All men, " said Trixton Brent, "are not so fortunate as Mr. Holt. "

Honora began to have the sensations of a witness to a debate betweenMephistopheles and the powers of heaven. Her head swam. But Mrs. Holt, who had unlooked-for flashes of humour, laughed, and shook her curls atBrent. 

"I should like to lecture you some time, " she said; "I think it would doyou good. "

He shook his head. 

"I'm beyond redemption. Don't you think so, Honora?" he asked, with anunexpected return of his audacity. 

"I'm afraid I'm not worthy to judge you, " she replied, and coloured. 

"Stuff and nonsense, " said Mrs. Holt; "women are superior to men, andit's our duty to keep them in order. And if we're really going to riskour lives in your automobile, Mr. Brent, you'd better make sure it'sthere, " she added, glancing at her watch. 

Having dined together in an apparent and inexplicable amity, their exitwas of even more interest to the table in the corner than their entrancehad been. Mrs. Holt's elderly maid was waiting in the hall, Mrs. Holt'slittle trunk was strapped on the rear of the car; and the lady herself, with something of the feelings of a missionary embarking for the wildsof Africa, was assisted up the little step and through the narrowentrance of the tonneau by the combined efforts of Honora and Brent. An expression of resolution, emblematic of a determination to die, ifnecessary, in the performance of duty, was on her face as the machinerystarted; and her breath was not quite normal when, in an incrediblybrief period, they descended at the ferry. 

The journey to Quicksands was accomplished in a good fellowship whichHonora, an hour before, would not have dreamed of. Even Mrs. Holt wasnot wholly proof against the charms of Trixton Brent when he chose toexert himself; and for some reason he did so choose. As they stood inthe starlight on the platform of the deserted little station whilehe went across to Whelen's livery stable to get a carriage, Mrs. Holtremarked to Honora:

"Mr. Brent is a fascinating man, my dear. "

"I am so glad that you appreciate him, " exclaimed Honora. 

"And a most dangerous one, " continued Mrs. Holt. "He has probably, inhis day, disturbed the peace of mind of a great many young women. Notthat I haven't the highest confidence in you, Honora, but honesty forcesme to confess that you are young and pleasure-loving, and a littleheedless. And the atmosphere in which you live is not likely to correctthose tendencies. If you will take my advice, you will not see too muchof Mr. Trixton Brent when your husband is not present. "

Indeed, as to the probable effect of this incident on the relationsbetween Mr. Brent and herself Honora was wholly in the dark. Although, from her point of view, what she had done had been amply justified bythe plea of self-defence, it could not be expected that he would acceptit in the same spirit. The apparent pleasure he had taken in the presentsituation, once his amazement had been overcome, profoundly puzzled her. 

He returned in a few minutes with the carriage and driver, and theystarted off. Brent sat in front, and Honora explained to Mrs. Holt theappearance of the various places by daylight, and the names of theirowners. The elderly lady looked with considerable interest at theblazing lights of the Club, with the same sensations she would no doubthave had if she had been suddenly set down within the Moulin Rouge. Shortly afterwards they turned in at the gate of "The Brackens. " Thelight streamed across the porch and driveway, and the sound of musicfloated out of the open windows. Within, the figure of Mrs. Barclaycould be seen; she was singing vaudeville songs at the piano. Mrs. Holt's lips were tightly shut as she descended and made her way up thesteps. 

"I hope you'll come in, ", said Honora to Trixton Brent, in a low voice. 

"Come in!" he replied, "I wouldn't miss it for ten thousand dollars. "

Mrs. Holt was the first of the three to appear at the door of thedrawing-room, and Mrs. Barclay caught sight of her, and stopped in themiddle of a bar, with her mouth open. Some of the guests had left. Atable in the corner, where Lula Chandos had insisted on playing bridge, was covered with scattered cards and some bills, a decanter of whiskey, two soda bottles, and two glasses. The blue curling smoke from Mrs. Chandos' cigarette mingled with the haze that hung between the ceilingand the floor, and that lady was in the act of saying cheerfully toHoward, who sat opposite, --"Trixy's run off with her. "

Suddenly the chill of silence pervaded the room. Lula Chandos, whoseback was turned to the door, looked from Mrs. Barclay to Howard, who, with the other men had risen to his feet. 

"What's the matter?" she said in a frightened tone. And, following theeyes of the others, turned her head slowly towards the doorway. 

Mrs. Holt, who filled it, had been literally incapable of speech. Closebehind her stood Honora and Trixton whose face was inscrutable. 

"Howard, " said Honora, summoning all the courage that remained in her, "here's Mrs. Holt. We dined with her, and she was good enough to comedown for the night. I'm so sorry not to have been here, " she added toher guests, "but we went to Westchester with Mrs. Kame and Mr. Grainger, and the automobile broke down on the way back. "

Mrs. Holt made no attempt to enter, but stared fixedly at the cigarettethat Mrs. Chandos still held in her trembling fingers. Howard crossedthe room in the midst of an intense silence. 

"Glad to see you, Mrs. Holt, " he said. "Er--won't you come in and--andsit down?"

"Thank you, Howard" she replied, "I do not wish to interrupt your party. It is my usual hour for retiring. 

"And I think, my dear, " she added, turning to Honora, "that I'll ask youto excuse me, and show me to my room. "

"Certainly, Mrs. Holt, " said Honora, breathlessly. 

"Howard, ring the bell. "

She led the way up the stairs to the guest-chamber with the rose paperand the little balcony. As she closed the door gusts of laughter reachedthem from the floor below, and she could plainly distinguish the voicesof May Barclay and Trixton Brent. 

"I hope you'll be comfortable, Mrs. Holt, " she said. "Your maid will bein the little room across the hall and I believe you like breakfast ateight. "

"You mustn't let me keep you from your guests, Honora. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " she said, on the verge of tears, "I don't want to go tothem. Really, I don't. "

"It must be confessed, " said Mrs. Holt, opening her handbag and takingout the copy of the mission report, which had been carefully folded, "that they seem to be able to get along very well without you. Isuppose I am too old to understand this modern way of living. How wellI remember one night--it was in 1886--I missed the train to Silverdale, and my telegram miscarried. Poor Mr. Holt was nearly out of his head. "

She fumbled for her glasses and dropped them. Honora picked them up, and it was then she perceived that the tears were raining down the goodlady's cheeks. At the same moment they sprang into Honora's eyes, andblinded her. Mrs. Holt looked at her long and earnestly. 

"Go down, my dear, " she said gently, "you must not neglect your friends. They will wonder where you are. And at what time do you breakfast?"

"At--at any time you like. "

"I shall be down at eight, " said Mrs. Holt, and she kissed her. 

Honora, closing the door, stood motionless in the hall, and presentlythe footsteps and the laughter and the sound of carriage wheels on thegravel died away. 

CHAPTER XI. CONTAINING SOME REVELATIONS

Honora, as she descended, caught a glimpse of the parlour maid pickingup the scattered cards on the drawing-room floor. There were voices onthe porch, where Howard was saying good-by to Mrs. Chandos and TrixtonBrent. She joined them. 

"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Chandos, interrupting Honora's apologies, "I'msure I shan't sleep a wink--she gave me such a fright. You might havesent Trixy ahead to prepare us. When I first caught sight of her, I thought it was my own dear mother who had come all the way fromCleveland, and the cigarette burned my fingers. But I must say Ithink it was awfully clever of you to get hold of her and save Trixy'sreputation. Good night, dear. "

And she got into her carriage. 

"Give my love to Mrs. Holt, " said Brent, as he took Honora's hand, "and tell her I feel hurt that she neglected to say good night to me. I thought I had made an impression. Tell her I'll send her a cheque forher rescue work. She inspires me with confidence. "

Howard laughed. 

"I'll see you to-morrow, Brent, " he called out as they drove away. Though always assertive, it seemed to Honora that her husband had anincreased air of importance as he turned to her now with his hands inhis pockets. He looked at her for a moment, and laughed again. He, too, had apparently seen the incident only in a humorous light. "Well, Honora, " he remarked, "you have a sort of a P. T. Barnum way of doingthings once in a while--haven't you? Is the old lady really tucked awayfor the night, or is she coming down to read us a sermon? And how thedeuce did you happen to pick her up?"

She had come downstairs with confession on her lips, and in theagitation of her mind had scarcely heeded Brent's words or Mrs. Chandos'. She had come down prepared for any attitude but the one inwhich she found him; for anger, reproaches, arraignments. Nay, shewas surprised to find now that she had actually hoped for these. Shedeserved to be scolded: it was her right. If he had been all of a man, he would have called her to account. There must be--there was somethinglacking in his character. And it came to her suddenly, with all theshock of a great contrast, with what different eyes she had looked uponhim five years before at Silverdale. 

He went into the house and started to enter the drawing-room, still indisorder and reeking with smoke. 

"No, not in there!" she cried sharply. 

He turned to her puzzled. Her breath was coming and going quickly. Shecrossed the hall and turned on the light in the little parlour there, and he followed her. 

"Don't you feel well?" he asked. 

"Howard, " she said, "weren't you worried?"

"Worried? No, why should I have been? Lula Chandos and May Barclay hadseen you in the automobile in town, and I knew you were high and drysomewhere. "

"High and dry, " she repeated. 

"What?"

"Nothing. They said I had run off with Mr. Brent, didn't they?"

He laughed. 

"Yes, there was some joking to that effect. "

"You didn't take it seriously?"

"No--why should I?"

She was appalled by his lack of knowledge of her. All these years shehad lived with him, and he had not grasped even the elements ofher nature. And this was marriage! Trixton Brent--short as theiracquaintance had been--had some conception of her character andpossibilities her husband none. Where was she to begin? How was she totell him the episode in the automobile in order that he might perceivesomething of its sinister significance?

Where was she to go to be saved from herself, if not to him?

"I might have run away with him, if I had loved him, " she said after apause. "Would you have cared?"

"You bet your life, " said Howard, and put his arm around her. 

She looked up into his face. So intent had she been on what shehad meant to tell him that she did not until now perceive he waspreoccupied, and only half listening to what she was saying. 

"You bet your life, " he said, patting her shoulder. "What would I havedone, all alone, in the new house?"

"In the new house?" she cried. "Oh, Howard--you haven't taken it!"

"I haven't signed the lease, " he replied importantly, smiling down ather, and thrusting his hands in his pockets. 

"I don't want it, " said Honora; "I don't want it. I told you that I'ddecided I didn't want it when we were there. Oh, Howard, why did youtake it?"

He whistled. He had the maddening air of one who derives amusement fromthe tantrums of a spoiled child. 

"Well, " he remarked, "women are too many for me. If there's any way ofpleasing 'em I haven't yet discovered it. The night before last you hadto have the house. Nothing else would do. It was the greatest findin New York. For the first time in months you get up for breakfast--apretty sure sign you hadn't changed your mind. You drag me to see it, and when you land me there, because I don't lose my head immediately, you say you don't want it. Of course I didn't take you seriously--Ithought you'd set your heart on it, so I wired an offer to Shorterto-day, and he accepted it. And when I hand you this pleasant littlesurprise, you go right up in the air. "

He had no air of vexation, however, as he delivered this somewhatreproachful harangue in the picturesque language to which he commonlyresorted. Quite the contrary. He was still smiling, as Santa Claus mustsmile when he knows he has another pack up the chimney. 

"Why this sudden change of mind?" he demanded. "It can't be because youwant to spend the winter in Quicksands. "

She was indeed at a loss what to say. She could not bring herself to askhim whether he had been influenced by Trixton Brent. If he had, she toldherself, she did not wish to know. He was her husband, after all, and itwould be too humiliating. And then he had taken the house. 

"Have you hit on a palace you like better?" he inquired, with aclumsy attempt at banter. "They tell me the elder Maitlands are goingabroad--perhaps we could get their house on the Park. "

"You said you couldn't afford Mrs. Rindge's house, " she answereduneasily, "and I--I believed you. "

"I couldn't, " he said mysteriously, and paused. 

It seemed to her, as she recalled the scene afterwards, that in thispause he gave the impression of physically swelling. She rememberedstaring at him with wide, frightened eyes and parted lips. 

"I couldn't, " he repeated, with the same strange emphasis and a palpableattempt at complacency. "But--er--circumstances have changed sincethen. "

"What do you mean, Howard?" she whispered. 

The corners of his mouth twitched in the attempt to repress a smile. 

"I mean, " he said, "that the president of a trust company can afford tolive in a better house than the junior partner of Dallam and Spence. "

"The president of a trust company!" Honora scarcely recognized her ownvoice--so distant it sounded. The room rocked, and she clutched the armof a chair and sat down. He came and stood over her. 

"I thought that would surprise you some, " he said, obviously pleased bythese symptoms. "The fact is, I hadn't meant to break it to you untilmorning. But I think I'll go in on the seven thirty-five. " (He glancedsignificantly up at the ceiling, as though Mrs. Holt had something todo with this decision. ) "President of the Orange Trust Company at fortyisn't so bad, eh?"

"The Orange Trust Company? Did you say the Orange Trust Company?"

"Yes. " He produced a cigarette. "Old James Wing and Brent practicallycontrol it. You see, if I do say it myself, I handled some things prettywell for Brent this summer, and he's seemed to appreciate it. He andWing were buying in traction stocks out West. But you could have knockedme down with a paper-knife when he came to me--"

"When did he come to you?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Yesterday. We went down town together, you remember, and he asked meto step into his office. Well, we talked it over, and I left on the oneo'clock for Newport to see Mr. Wing. Wonderful old man! I sat up withhim till midnight--it wasn't any picnic". .. 

More than once during the night Honora awoke with a sense of oppression, and each time went painfully through the whole episode from theevening--some weeks past when Trixton Brent had first mentioned thesubject of the trust company, to the occurrence in the automobile andHoward's triumphant announcement. She had but a vague notion of how thatscene had finished; or of how, limply, she had got to bed. Round andround the circle she went in each waking period. To have implored himto relinquish the place had been waste of breath; and then--her reasons?These were the moments when the current was strongest, when she grewincandescent with humiliation and pain; when stray phrases in redletters of Brent's were illuminated. Merit! He had a contempt for herhusband which he had not taken the trouble to hide. But not a businesscontempt. "As good as the next man, " Brent had said--or words to thateffect. "As good as the next man!" Then she had tacitly agreed to thebargain, and refused to honour the bill! No, she had not, she had not. Before God, she was innocent of that! When she reached this point it wasalways to James Wing that she clung--the financier, at least, had beenimpartial. And it was he who saved her. 

At length she opened her eyes to discover with bewilderment that theroom was flooded with light, and then she sprang out of bed and wentto the open window. To seaward hung an opal mist, struck here and therewith crimson. She listened; some one was whistling an air she had heardbefore--Mrs. Barclay had been singing it last night! Wheels crunchedthe gravel--Howard was going off. She stood motionless until the horse'shoofs rang on the highroad, and then hurried into her dressing-gown andslippers and went downstairs to the telephone and called a number. 

"Is this Mr. Brent's? Will you say to Mr. Brent that Mrs. Spence wouldbe greatly, obliged if he stopped a moment at her house before going totown? Thank you. "

She returned to her room and dressed with feverish haste, trying togather her wits for an ordeal which she felt it would have killed her todelay. At ten minutes to eight she emerged again and glanced anxiouslyat Mrs. Holt's door; and scarcely had she reached the lower hall beforehe drove into the circle. She was struck more forcibly than ever by thephysical freshness of the man, and he bestowed on her, as he took herhand, the peculiar smile she knew so well, that always seemed to have anenigma behind it. At sight and touch of him the memory of what she hadprepared to say vanished. 

"Behold me, as ever, your obedient servant, " he said, as he followed herinto the screened-off portion of the porch. 

"You must think it strange that I sent for you, I know, " she cried, asshe turned to him. "But I couldn't wait. I--I did not know until lastnight. Howard only told me then. Oh, you didn't do it for me! Please sayyou didn't do it for me!"

"My dear Honora, " replied Trixton Brent, gravely, "we wanted yourhusband for his abilities and the valuable services he can render us. "

She stood looking into his eyes, striving to penetrate to the soulbehind, ignorant or heedless that others before her had tried andfailed. He met her gaze unflinchingly, and smiled. 

"I want the truth, " she craved. 

"I never lie--to a woman, " he said. 

"My life--my future depends upon it, " she went on. "I'd rather scrubfloors, I'd rather beg--than to have it so. You must believe me!"

"I do believe you, " he affirmed. And he said it with a gentleness and asincerity that startled her. 

"Thank you, " she answered simply. And speech became very difficult. "If--if I haven't been quite fair with you--Mr. Brent, I am sorry. I--Iliked you, and I like you to-day better than ever before. And I canquite see now how I must have misled you into thinking--queer thingsabout me. I didn't mean to. I have learned a lesson. "

She took a deep, involuntary breath. The touch of lightness in his replyserved to emphasize the hitherto unsuspected fact that sportsmanshipin Trixton Brent was not merely a code, but assumed something of thegrandeur of a principle. 

"I, too, have learned a lesson, " he replied. "I have learned thedifference between nature and art. I am something of a connoisseur inart. I bow to nature, and pay my bets. "

"Your bets?" she asked, with a look. 

"My renunciations, forfeits, whatever you choose to call them. I havebeen fairly and squarely beaten--but by nature, not by art. That is myconsolation. "

Laughter struck into her eyes like a shaft of sunlight into a well;her emotions were no longer to be distinguished. And in that moment shewondered what would have happened if she had loved this man, and why shehad not. And when next he spoke, she started. 

"How is my elderly dove-coloured friend this morning?" he asked. "Thatdinner with her was one of the great events of my life. I didn't supposesuch people existed any more. "

"Perhaps you'll stay to breakfast with her, " suggested Honora, smiling. "I know she'd like to see you again. "

"No, thanks, " he said, taking her hand, "I'm on my way to the train--I'dquite forgotten it. Au revoir!" He reached the end of the porch, turned, and called back, "As a 'dea ex machina', she has never been equalled. "

Honora stood for a while looking after him, until she heard a footstepbehind her, --Mrs. Holt's. 

"Who was that, my dear?" she asked, "Howard?"

"Howard has gone, Mrs. Holt, " Honora replied, rousing herself. "I mustmake his apologies. It was Mr. Brent. "

"Mr. Brent!" the good lady repeated, with a slight upward lift of thefaint eyebrows. "Does he often call this early?"

Honora coloured a little, and laughed. 

"I asked him to breakfast with you, but he had to catch a train. He--wished to be remembered. He took such a fancy to you. "

"I am afraid, " said Mrs. Holt, "that his fancy is a thing to be avoided. Are you coming to Silverdale with me, Honora?"

"Yes, Mrs. Holt, " she replied, slipping her arm through that of herfriend, "for as long as you will let me stay. "

And she left a note for Howard to that effect. 

BOOK III. 

Volume 5. 

CHAPTER I. ASCENDI. 

Honora did not go back to Quicksands. Neither, in this modern chronicle, shall we. 

The sphere we have left, which we know is sordid, sometimes shinesin the retrospect. And there came a time, after the excitement offurnishing the new house was over, when our heroine, as it were, swungfor a time in space: not for a very long time; that month, perhaps, between autumn and winter. 

We need not be worried about her, though we may pause for a moment ortwo to sympathize with her in her loneliness--or rather in the moods itproduced. She even felt, in those days, slightly akin to the Lady ofthe Victoria (perfectly respectable), whom all of us fortunate enoughoccasionally to go to New York have seen driving on Fifth Avenue withan expression of wistful haughtiness, and who changes her costumes fourtimes a day. 

Sympathy! We have seen Honora surrounded by friends--what has become ofthem? Her husband is president of a trust company, and she has one ofthe most desirable houses in New York. What more could be wished for? Tojump at conclusions in this way is by no means to understand aheroine with an Ideal. She had these things, and--strange as it mayseem--suffered. 

Her sunny drawing-room, with its gathered silk curtains, was especiallybeautiful; whatever the Leffingwells or Allisons may have lacked, it wasnot taste. Honora sat in it and wondered: wondered, as she looked backover the road she had threaded somewhat blindly towards the Ideal, whether she might not somewhere have taken the wrong turn. Thefarther she travelled, the more she seemed to penetrate into a landof unrealities. The exquisite objects by which she was surrounded, andwhich she had collected with such care, had no substance: she would nothave been greatly surprised, at any moment, to see them vanish like ascene in a theatre, leaning an empty, windy stage behind them. They didnot belong to her, nor she to them. 

Past generations of another blood, no doubt, had been justified inlooking upon the hazy landscapes in the great tapestries as their own:and children's children had knelt, in times gone by, beside the carvedstone mantel. The big, gilded chairs with the silken seats mightappropriately have graced the table of the Hotel de Rambouillet. Wouldnot the warriors and the wits, the patient ladies of high degree and ofmany children, and even the 'precieuses ridicules' themselves, turn overin their graves if they could so much as imagine the contents of thesingle street in modern New York where Honora lived?

One morning, as she sat in that room, possessed by these whimsicalthough painful fancies, she picked up a newspaper and glanced throughit, absently, until her eye fell by chance upon a name on the editorialpage. Something like an electric shock ran through her, and the lettersof the name seemed to quiver and become red. Slowly they spelled--PeterErwin. 

"The argument of Mr. Peter Erwin, of St. Louis, before the Supreme Courtof the United States in the now celebrated Snowden case is universallyacknowledged by lawyers to have been masterly, and reminiscent of thegreat names of the profession in the past. Mr. Erwin is not dramatic. Heappears to carry all before him by the sheer force of intellect, and bya kind of Lincolnian ability to expose a fallacy: He is still a youngman, self-made, and studied law under Judge Brice of St. Louis, oncePresident of the National Bar Association, whose partner he is". .. . 

Honora cut out the editorial and thrust it in her gown, and threwthe newspaper is the fire. She stood for a time after it had burned, watching the twisted remnants fade from flame colour to rose, andfinally blacken. Then she went slowly up the stairs and put on her hatand coat and veil. Although a cloudless day, it was windy in the park, and cold, the ruffled waters an intense blue. She walked fast. 

She lunched with Mrs. Holt, who had but just come to town; and thelight, like a speeding guest, was departing from the city when shereached her own door. 

"There is a gentleman in the drawing-room, madam, " said the butler. "Hesaid he was an old friend, and a stranger in New York, and asked if hemight wait. "

She stood still with presentiment. 

"What is his name?" she asked. 

"Mr. Erwin, " said the man. 

Still she hesitated. In the strange state in which she found herselfthat day, the supernatural itself had seemed credible. And yet--she wasnot prepared. 

"I beg pardon, madam, " the butler was saying, "perhaps I shouldn't--?"

"Yes, yes, you should, " she interrupted him, and pushed past him upthe stairs. At the drawing-room door she paused--he was unaware of herpresence. And he had not changed! She wondered why she had expected himto change. Even the glow of his newly acquired fame was not discerniblebehind his well-remembered head. He seemed no older--and no younger. Andhe was standing with his hands behind his back gazing in simple, silentappreciation at the big tapestry nearest the windows. 

"Peter, " she said, in a low voice. 

He turned quickly, and then she saw the glow. But it was the old glow, not the new--the light m which her early years had been spent. 

"What a coincidence!" she exclaimed, as he took her hand. 

"Coincidence?"

"It was only this morning that I was reading in the newspaper all sortsof nice things about you. It made me feel like going out and tellingeverybody you were an old friend of mine. " Still holding his fingers, she pushed him away from her at arm's length, and looked at him. "Whatdoes it feel like to be famous, and have editorials about one's self inthe New York newspapers?"

He laughed, and released his hands somewhat abruptly. 

"It seems as strange to me, Honora, as it does to you. "

"How unkind of you, Peter!" she exclaimed. 

She felt his eyes upon her, and their searching, yet kindly and humorousrays seemed to illuminate chambers within her which she would have keptin darkness: which she herself did not wish to examine. 

"I'm so glad to see you, " she said a little breathlessly, flinging hermuff and boa on a chair. "Sit there, where I can look at you, and tellme why you didn't let me know you were coming to New York. "

He glanced a little comically at the gilt and silk arm-chair which shedesignated, and then at her; and she smiled and coloured, divining thehumour in his unspoken phrase. 

"For a great man, " she declared, "you are absurd. "

He sat down. In spite of his black clothes and the lounging attitudehe habitually assumed, with his knees crossed--he did not appearincongruous in a seat that would have harmonized with the flowingrobes of the renowned French Cardinal himself. Honora wondered why. Heimpressed her to-day as force--tremendous force in repose, and yet hewas the same Peter. Why was it? Had the clipping that even then lay inher bosom effected this magic change? He had intimated as much, but shedenied it fiercely. 

She rang for tea. 

"You haven't told me why you came to New York, " she said. 

"I was telegraphed for, from Washington, by a Mr. Wing, " he explained. 

"A Mr. Wing, " she repeated. "You don't mean by any chance James Wing?"

"The Mr. Wing, " said Peter. 

"The reason I asked, " explained Honora, flushing, "was because Howardis--associated with him. Mr. Wing is largely interested in the OrangeTrust Company. "

"Yes, I know, " said Peter. His elbows were resting on the arms of hischair, and he looked at the tips of his fingers, which met. Honorathought it strange that he did not congratulate her, but he appeared tobe reflecting. 

"What did Mr. Wing want?" she inquired in her momentary confusion, andadded hastily, "I beg your pardon, Peter. I suppose I ought not to askthat. "

"He was kind enough to wish me to live in New York he answered, stillstaring at the tips of his fingers. 

"Oh, how nice!" she cried--and wondered at the same time whether, onsecond thoughts, she would think it so. "I suppose he wants you to bethe counsel for one of his trusts. When--when do you come?"

"I'm not coming. "

"Not coming! Why? Isn't it a great compliment?"

He ignored the latter part of her remark; and it seemed to her, when sherecalled the conversation afterwards, that she had heard a certain noteof sadness under the lightness of his reply. 

"To attempt to explain to a New Yorker why any one might prefer to livein any other place would be a difficult task. "

"You are incomprehensible, Peter, " she declared. And yet she felt arelief that surprised her, and a desire to get away from the subject. "Dear old St. Louis! Somehow, in spite of your greatness, it seems tofit you. "

"It's growing, " said Peter--and they laughed together. 

"Why didn't you come to lunch?" she said. 

"Lunch! I didn't know that any one ever went to lunch in New York--inthis part of it, at least--with less than three weeks' notice. And bythe way, if I am interfering with any engagement--"

"My book is not so full as all that. Of course you'll come and stay withus, Peter. "

He shook his head regretfully. 

"My train leaves at six, from Forty-Second Street, " he replied. 

"Oh, you are niggardly, " she cried. "To think how little I see of you, Peter. And sometimes I long for you. It's strange, but I still miss youterribly--after five years. It seems longer than that, " she added, asshe poured the boiling water into the tea-pot. But she did not look athim. 

He got up and walked as far as a water-colour on the wall. 

"You have some beautiful things here, Honora, " he said. "I am glad Ihave had a glimpse of you surrounded by them to carry back to your auntand uncle. "

She glanced about the room as he spoke, and then at him. He seemed theonly reality in it, but she did not say so. 

"You'll see them soon, " was what she said. And considered the miracleof him staying there where Providence had placed him, and bringing theworld to him. Whereas she, who had gone forth to seek it--"The day afterto-morrow will be Sunday, " he reminded her. 

Nothing had changed there. She closed her eyes and saw the little diningroom in all the dignity of Sunday dinner, the big silver soup tureencatching the sun, the flowered china with the gilt edges, and even aglimpse of lace paper when the closet door opened; Aunt Mary and UncleTom, with Peter between them. And these, strangely, were the onlytangible things and immutable. 

"You'll give them--a good account of me?" she said. "I know that you donot care for New York, " she added with a smile. "But it is possible tobe happy here. "

"I am glad you are happy, Honora, and that you have got what youwanted in life. Although I may be unreasonable and provincial and--andWestern, " he confessed with a twinkle--for he had the characteristicnational trait of shading off his most serious remarks--"I have nevergone so far as to declare that happiness was a question of locality. "

She laughed. 

"Nor fame. " Her mind returned to the loadstar. 

"Oh, fame!" he exclaimed, with a touch of impatience, and he used theword that had possessed her all day. "There is no reality in that. Menare not loved for it. "

She set down her cup quickly. He was looking at the water-colour. 

"Have you been to the Metropolitan Museum lately?" he asked. 

"The Metropolitan Museum?" she repeated in bewilderment. 

"That would be one of the temptations of New York for me, " he said. "Iwas there for half an hour this afternoon before I presented myselfat your door as a suspicious character. There is a picture there, byCoffin, called 'The Rain, ' I believe. I am very fond of it. And lookingat it on such a winter's day as this brings back the summer. The squallcoming, and the sound of it in the trees, and the very smell of the wetmeadow-grass in the wind. Do you know it?"

"No, " replied Honora, and she was suddenly filled with shame at thethought that she had never been in the Museum. "I didn't know you wereso fond of pictures. "

"I am beginning to be a rival of Mr. Dwyer, " he declared. "I've boughtfour--although I haven't built my gallery. When you come to St. LouisI'll show them to you--and let us hope it will be soon. "

For some time after she had heard the street door close behind himHonora remained where she was, staring into the fire, and then shecrossed the room to a reading lamp, and turned it up. 

Some one spoke in the doorway. 

"Mr. Grainger, madam. "

Before she could rouse herself and recover from her astonishment, thegentleman himself appeared, blinking as though the vision of her weretoo bright to be steadily gazed at. If the city had been searched, it isdoubtful whether a more striking contrast to the man who had just leftcould have been found than Cecil Grainger in the braided, grey cutawaythat clung to the semblance of a waist he still possessed. In him HydePark and Fifth Avenue, so to speak, shook hands across the sea: put himin either, and he would have appeared indigenous. 

"Hope you'll forgive my comin' 'round on such slight acquaintance, Mrs. Spence, " said he. "Couldn't resist the opportunity to pay my respects. Shorter told me where you were. "

"That was very good of Mr. Shorter, " said Honora, whose surprise hadgiven place to a very natural resentment, since she had not the honourof knowing Mrs. Grainger. 

"Oh, " said Mr. Grainger, "Shorter's a good sort. Said he'd been herehimself to see how you were fixed, and hadn't found you in. Uncommonlywell fixed, I should say, " he added, glancing around the room withundisguised approval. "Why the deuce did she furnish it, since she'sgone to Paris to live with Rindge?"

"I suppose you mean Mrs. Rindge, " said Honora. "She didn't furnish it. "

Mr. Grainger winked at her rapidly, like a man suddenly brought face toface with a mystery. 

"Oh!" he replied, as though he had solved it. The solution came a fewmoments later. "It's ripping!" he said. "Farwell couldn't have done itany better. "

Honora laughed, and momentarily forgot her resentment. 

"Will you have tea?" she asked. "Oh, don't sit down there!"

"Why not?" he asked, jumping. It was the chair that had held Peter, andMr. Grainger examined the seat as though he suspected a bent pin. 

"Because, " said Honora, "because it isn't comfortable. Pull up thatother one. "

Again mystified, he did as he was told. She remembered his reputationfor going to sleep, and wondered whether she had been wise in her secondchoice. But it soon became apparent that Mr. Grainger, as he gazed ather from among the cushions, had no intention of dozing, His eyelidsreminded her of the shutters of a camera, and she had the feeling ofsitting for thousands of instantaneous photographs for his benefit. Shewas by turns annoyed, amused, and distrait: Peter was leaving his hotel;now he was taking the train. Was he thinking of her? He had said hewas glad she was happy! She caught herself up with a start after oneof these silences to realize that Mr. Grainger was making unwonted andindeed pathetic exertions to entertain her, and it needed no feminineeye to perceive that he was thoroughly uncomfortable. She had, unconsciously and in thinking of Peter, rather overdone the note ofrebuke of his visit. And Honora was, above all else, an artist. His airwas distinctly apologetic as he rose, perhaps a little mortified, likethat of a man who has got into the wrong house. 

"I very much fear I've intruded, Mrs. Spence, " he stammered, and he waswinking now with bewildering rapidity. "We--we had such a pleasant drivetogether that day to Westchester--I was tempted--"

"We did have a good time, " she agreed. "And it has been a pleasure tosee you again. "

Thus, in the kindness of her heart, she assisted him to cover hisretreat, for it was a strange and somewhat awful experience to see Mr. Cecil Grainger discountenanced. He glanced again, as he went out, at thechair in which he had been forbidden to sit. 

She went to the piano, played over a few bars of Thais, and dropped herhands listlessly. Cross currents of the strange events of the dayflowed through her mind: Peter's arrival and its odd heralding, and thediscomfort of Mr. Grainger. 

Howard came in. He did not see her under the shaded lamp, and she satwatching him with a curious feeling of detachment as he unfolded hisnewspaper and sank, with a sigh of content, into the cushioned chairwhich Mr. Grainger had vacated. Was it fancy that her husband's physicalattributes had changed since he had attained his new position ofdignity? She could have sworn that he had visibly swollen on the eveningwhen he had announced to her his promotion, and he seemed to haveremained swollen. Not bloated, of course: he was fatter, and--ifpossible pinker. But there was a growing suggestion in him ofhumming-and-hawing greatness. If there--were leisure in thistoo-leisurely chronicle for what might be called aftermath, the dinnerthat Honora had given to some of her Quicksands friends might bedescribed. Suffice it to recall, with Honora, that Lily Dallam, with asure instinct, had put the finger of her wit on this new attribute ofHoward's. 

"You'll kill me, Howard!" she had cried. "He even looks at the soup asthough he were examining a security!"

Needless to say, it did not cure him, although it sealed Lily Dallam'sfate--and incidentally that of Quicksands. Honora's thoughts as she satnow at the piano watching him, flew back unexpectedly to the summer atSilverdale when she had met him, and she tried to imagine, the genialand boyish representative of finance that he was then. In the midst ofthis effort he looked up and discovered her. 

"What are you doing over there, Honora?" he asked. 

"Thinking, " she answered. 

"That's a great way to treat a man when he comes home after a day'swork. "

"I beg your pardon, Howard, " she said with unusual meekness. "Who do youthink was here this afternoon?"

"Erwin? I've just come from Mr. Wing's house--he has gout to-day anddidn't go down town. He offered Erwin a hundred thousand a year to cometo New York as corporation counsel. And if you'll believe me--he refusedit. "

"I'll believe you, " she said. 

"Did he say anything about it to you?"

"He simply mentioned that Mr. Wing asked him to come to New York. Hedidn't say why. "

"Well, " Howard remarked, "he's one too many for me. He can't be makingover thirty thousand where he is. "

CHAPTER II. THE PATH OF PHILANTHROPY

Mrs. Cecil Grainger may safely have been called a Personality, and oneof the proofs of this was that she haunted people who had never seenher. Honora might have looked at her, it is true, on the memorable nightof the dinner with Mrs. Holt and Trixton Brent; but--for sufficientlyobvious reasons--refrained. It would be an exaggeration to say that Mrs. Grainger became an obsession with our heroine; yet it cannot be deniedthat, since Honora's arrival at Quicksands, this lady had, in increasingdegrees, been the subject of her speculations. The threads of Mrs. Grainger's influence were so ramified, indeed, as to be found in Mrs. Dallam, who declared she was the rudest woman in New York and yet hadcopied her brougham; in Mr. Cuthbert and Trixton Brent; in Mrs. Kame;in Mrs. Holt, who proclaimed her a tower of strength in charities; andlastly in Mr. Grainger himself, who, although he did not spend much timein his wife's company, had for her an admiration that amounted to awe. 

Elizabeth Grainger, who was at once modern and tenaciously conservative, might have been likened to some of the Roman matrons of the aristocracyin the last years of the Republic. Her family, the Pendletons, hadtraditions: so, for that matter, had the Graingers. But SenatorPendleton, antique homo virtute et fide, had been a Roman of the oldschool who would have preferred exile after the battle of Philippi; andwho, could he have foreseen modern New York and modern finance, wouldhave been more content to die when he did. He had lived in WashingtonSquare. His daughter inherited his executive ability, many of hisprejudices (as they would now be called), and his habit of regardingfavourable impressions with profound suspicion. She had never known thenecessity of making friends: hers she had inherited, and for some reasonspecially decreed, they were better than those of less fortunate people. 

Mrs. Grainger was very tall. And Sargent, in his portrait of her, hadcaught with admirable art the indefinable, yet partly supercilious andscornful smile with which she looked down upon the world about her. She possessed the rare gift of combining conventionality with personaldistinction in her dress. Her hair was almost Titian red in colour, andher face (on the authority of Mr. Reginald Farwell) was at once modernand Italian Renaissance. Not the languid, amorous Renaissance, but thelady of decision who chose, and did not wait to be chosen. Her eyeshad all the colours of the tapaz, and her regard was so baffling as toarouse intense antagonism in those who were not her friends. 

To Honora, groping about for a better and a higher life, the path ofphilanthropy had more than once suggested itself. And on the day ofPeter's visit to New York, when she had lunched with Mrs. Holt, she hadsignified her willingness (now that she had come to live in town) tojoin the Working Girls' Relief Society. Mrs. Holt, needless to say, wasoverjoyed: they were to have a meeting at her house in the near futurewhich Honora must not fail to attend. It was not, however, without afeeling of trepidation natural to a stranger that she made her way tothat meeting when the afternoon arrived. 

No sooner was she seated in Mrs. Holt's drawing-room--filled withcamp-chairs for the occasion--than she found herself listeningbreathlessly to a recital of personal experiences by a young womanwho worked in a bindery on the East side. Honora's heart was soft: hersympathies, as we know, easily aroused. And after the young woman hadtold with great simplicity and earnestness of the struggle to supportherself and lead an honest and self-respecting existence, it seemed toHonora that at last she had opened the book of life at the proper page. 

Afterwards there were questions, and a report by Miss Harber, amiddle-aged lady with glasses who was the secretary. Honora lookedaround her. The membership of the Society, judging by those present, was surely of a sufficiently heterogeneous character to satisfy eventhe catholic tastes of her hostess. There were elderly ladies, somebenevolent and some formidable, some bedecked and others unadorned;there were earnest-looking younger women, to whom dress was evidently asecondary consideration; and there was a sprinkling of others, perfectlygowned, several of whom were gathered in an opposite corner. Honora'seyes, as the reading of the report progressed, were drawn by a continualand resistless attraction to this group; or rather to the face of oneof the women in it, which seemed to stare out at her like the eat inthe tree of an old-fashioned picture puzzle, or the lineaments of GeorgeWashington among a mass of boulders on a cliff. Once one has discoveredit, one can see nothing else. In vain Honora dropped her eyes; somestrange fascination compelled her to raise them again until they metthose of the other woman: Did their glances meet? She could neverquite be sure, so disconcerting were the lights in that regard--lights, seemingly, of laughter and mockery. 

Some instinct informed Honora that the woman was Mrs. Grainger, andimmediately the scene in the Holland House dining-room came back to her. Never until now had she felt the full horror of its comedy. And then, as though to fill the cup of humiliation, came the thought of CecilGrainger's call. She longed, in an agony with which sensitive natureswill sympathize, for the reading to be over. 

The last paragraph of the report contained tributes to Mrs. Joshua Holtand Mrs. Cecil Grainger for the work each had done during the year, andamidst enthusiastic hand-clapping the formal part of the meeting cameto an end. The servants were entering with tea as Honora made her waytowards the door, where she was stopped by Susan Holt. 

"My dear Honora, " cried Mrs. Holt, who had hurried after her daughter, "you're not going?"

Honora suddenly found herself without an excuse. 

"I really ought to, Mrs. Holt. I've had such a good time-and I've beenso interested. I never realized that such things occurred. And I've gotone of the reports, which I intend to read over again. "

"But my dear, " protested Mrs. Holt, "you must meet some of the membersof the Society. Bessie!"

Mrs. Grainger, indeed--for Honora had been right in her surmise--wasstanding within ear-shot of this conversation. And Honora, who knew shewas there, could not help feeling that she took a rather redoubtableinterest in it. At Mrs. Holt's words she turned. 

"Bessie, I've found a new recruit--one that I can answer for, Mrs. Spence, whom I spoke to you about. "

Mrs. Grainger bestowed upon Honora her enigmatic smile. 

"Oh, " she declared, "I've heard of Mrs. Spence from other sources, andI've seen her, too. "

Honora grew a fiery red. There was obviously no answer to such a remark, which seemed the quintessence of rudeness. But Mrs. Grainger continuedto smile, and to stare at her with the air of trying to solve a riddle. 

"I'm coming to see you, if I may, " she said. "I've been intending tosince I've been in town, but I'm always so busy that I don't get time todo the things I want to do. "

An announcement that fairly took away Honora's breath. She managed toexpress her appreciation of Mrs. Grainger's intention, and presentlyfound herself walking rapidly up-town through swirling snow, somewhatdazed by the events of the afternoon. And these, by the way, were notyet finished. As she reached her own door, a voice vaguely familiarcalled her name. 

"Honora!"

She turned. The slim, tall figure of a young woman descended froma carriage and crossed the pavement, and in the soft light of thevestibule she recognized Ethel Wing. 

"I'm so glad I caught you, " said that young lady when they entered thedrawing-room. And she gazed at her school friend. The colour glowed inHonora's cheeks, but health alone could not account for the sparkle inher eyes. "Why, you look radiant. You are more beautiful than you wereat Sutcliffe. Is it marriage?"

Honora laughed happily, and they sat down side by side on the loungebehind the tea table. 

"I heard you'd married, " said Ethel, "but I didn't know what had becomeof you until the other day. Jim never tells me anything. It appears thathe's seen something of you. But it wasn't from Jim that I heard aboutyou first. You'd never guess who told me you were here. "

"Who?" asked Honora, curiously. 

"Mr. Erwin. "

"Peter Erwin!"

"I'm perfectly shameless, " proclaimed Ethel Wing. "I've lost my heartto him, and I don't care who knows it. Why in the world didn't you marryhim?"

"But--where did you see him?" Honora demanded as soon as she couldcommand herself sufficiently to speak. Her voice must have sounded odd. Ethel did not appear to notice that. 

"He lunched with us one day when father had gout. Didn't he tell youabout it? He said he was coming to see you that afternoon. "

"Yes--he came. But he didn't mention being at lunch at your house. "

"I'm sure that was like him, " declared her friend. And for thefirst time in her life Honora experienced a twinge of that world-oldailment--jealousy. How did Ethel know what was like him? "I made fathergive him up for a little while after lunch, and he talked about you thewhole time. But he was most interesting at the table, " continued Ethel, sublimely unconscious of the lack of compliment in the comparison; "asJim would say, he fairly wiped up the ground with father, and it isn'tan easy thing to do. "

"Wiped up the ground with Mr. Wing!" Honora repeated. 

"Oh, in a delightfully quiet, humorous way. That's what made it soeffective. I couldn't understand all of it; but I grasped enough toenjoy it hugely. Father's so used to bullying people that it's becomesecond nature with him. I've seen him lay down the law to some of thebiggest lawyers in New York, and they took it like little lambs. Hecaught a Tartar in Mr. Erwin. I didn't dare to laugh, but I wanted to. "

"What was the discussion about?" asked Honora. 

"I'm not sure that I can give you a very clear idea of it, " said Ethel. "Generally speaking, it was about modern trust methods, and what aself-respecting lawyer would do and what he wouldn't. Father took theground that the laws weren't logical, and that they were differentand conflicting, anyway, in different States. He said they impeded thenatural development of business, and that it was justifiable for thegreat legal brains of the country to devise means by which these lawscould be eluded. He didn't quite say that, but he meant it, and hehonestly believes it. The manner in which Mr. Erwin refuted it was arevelation to me. I've been thinking about it since. You see, I'd neverheard that side of the argument. Mr. Erwin said, in the nicest waypossible, but very firmly, that a lawyer who hired himself out to enableone man to take advantage of another prostituted his talents: that thebrains of the legal profession were out of politics in these days, andthat it was almost impossible for the men in the legislatures to framelaws that couldn't be evaded by clever and unscrupulous devices. Hecited ever so many cases. .. . "

Ethel's voice became indistinct, as though some one had shut a door infront of it. Honora was trembling on the brink of a discovery: holdingherself back from it, as one who has climbed a fair mountain recoilsfrom the lip of an unsuspected crater at sight of the lazy, sulphurousfumes. All the years of her marriage, ever since she had first heardhis name, the stature of James Wing had been insensibly growing, andthe vastness of his empire gradually disclosed. She had lived in thatempire: in it his word had stood for authority, his genius had beenworshipped, his decrees had been absolute. 

She had met him once, in Howard's office, when he had greeted hergruffly, and the memory of his rugged features and small red eyes, likelive coals, had remained. And she saw now the drama that had taken placebefore Ethel's eyes. The capitalist, overbearing, tyrannical, hearinga few, simple truths in his own house from Peter--her Peter. And sherecalled her husband's account of his talk with James Wing. Peter hadrefused to sell himself. Had Howard? Many times during the days thatfollowed she summoned her courage to ask her husband that question, andkept silence. She did not wish to know. 

"I don't want to seem disloyal to papa, " Ethel was saying. "He is undergreat responsibilities to other people, to stockholders; and he must getthings done. But oh, Honora, I'm so tired of money, money, money and itsstandards, and the things people are willing to do for it. I've seen toomuch. "

Honora looked at her friend, and believed her. One glance at the girl'stired eyes--a weariness somehow enhanced--in effect by the gold sheen ofher hair--confirmed the truth of her words. 

"You've changed, Ethel, since Sutcliffe, " she said. 

"Yes, I've changed, " said Ethel Wing, and the weariness was in hervoice, too. "I've had too much, Honora. Life was all glitter, like aChristmas tree, when I left Sutcliffe. I had no heart. I'm not at allsure that I have one now. I've known all kinds of people--except theright kind. And if I were to tell you some of the things that havehappened to me in five years you wouldn't believe them. Money has beenat the bottom of it all, --it ruined my brother, and it has ruined me. And then, the other day, I beheld a man whose standards simply take noaccount of money, a man who holds something else higher. I--I had beengroping lately, and then I seemed to see clear for the first time in mylife. But I'm afraid it comes too late. "

Honora took her friend's hand in her own and pressed it. 

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this, " said Ethel: "It seemsto-day as though I had always known you, and yet we weren't particularlyintimate at school. I suppose I'm inclined to be oversuspicious. Heavenknows I've had enough to make me so. But I always thought that you werea little--ambitious. You'll forgive my frankness, Honora. I don't thinkyou're at all so, now. " She glanced at Honora suddenly. "Perhaps you'vechanged, too, " she said. 

Honora nodded. 

"I think I'm changing all the time, " she replied. 

After a moment's silence, Ethel Wing pursued her own train of thought. 

"Curiously enough when he--when Mr. Erwin spoke of you I seemed to geta very different idea of you than the one I had always had. I had to goout of town, but I made up my mind I'd come to see you as soon as I gotback, and ask you to tell me something about him. "

"What shall I tell you?" asked Honora. "He is what you think he is, andmore. "

"Tell me something of his early life, " said Ethel Wing. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

There is a famous river in the western part of our country thatdisappears into a canon, the walls of which are some thousands of feethigh, and the bottom so narrow that the confined waters roar through itat breakneck speed. Sometimes they disappear entirely under the rock, toemerge again below more furiously than ever. From the river-bed can beseen, far, far above, a blue ribbon of sky. Once upon a time, not longago, two heroes in the service of the government of the United States, whose names should be graven in the immortal rock and whose story readwherever the language is spoken, made the journey through this canonand came out alive. That journey once started, there could be no turningback. Down and down they were buffeted by the rushing waters, over thefalls and through the tunnels, with time to think only of that whichwould save them from immediate death, until they emerged into thesunlight of the plain below. 

All of which by way of parallel. For our own chronicle, hithertoleisurely enough, is coming to its canon--perhaps even now begins tofeel the pressure of the shelving sides. And if our heroine be somewhatrudely tossed from one boulder to another, if we fail wholly tounderstand her emotions and her acts, we must blame the canon. She had, indeed, little time to think. 

One evening, three weeks or so after the conversation with Ethel Wingjust related, Honora's husband entered her room as her maid was givingthe finishing touches to her toilet. 

"You're not going to wear that dress!" he exclaimed. 

"Why not?" she asked, without turning from the mirror. 

He lighted a cigarette. 

"I thought you'd put on something handsome--to go to the Graingers'. Andwhere are your jewels? You'll find the women there loaded with 'em. "

"One string of pearls is all I care to wear, " said Honora--a reply withwhich he was fain to be content until they were in the carriage, whenshe added: "Howard, I must ask you as a favour not to talk that waybefore the servants. "

"What way?" he demanded. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "if you don't know I suppose it is impossible toexplain. You wouldn't understand. "

"I understand one thing, Honora, that you're too confoundedly clever forme, " he declared. 

Honora did not reply. For at that moment they drew up at a carpetstretched across the pavement. 

Unlike the mansions of vast and imposing facades that were beginningeverywhere to catch the eye on Fifth Avenue, and that followed mostlythe continental styles of architecture, the house of the Cecil Graingershad a substantial, "middle of-the-eighties" appearance. It stood on acorner, with a high iron fence protecting the area around it. Within, itgave one an idea of space that the exterior strangely belied; and it wasfurnished, not in a French, but in what might be called a comfortablyEnglish, manner. It was filled, Honora saw, with handsome and pricelessthings which did not immediately and aggressively strike the eye, butwhich somehow gave the impression of having always been there. Whatstruck her, as she sat in the little withdrawing room while the maidremoved her overshoes, was the note of permanence. 

Some of those who were present at Mrs. Grainger's that eveningremember her entrance into the drawing-room. Her gown, the colour of arose-tinted cloud, set off the exceeding whiteness of her neck andarms and vied with the crimson in her cheeks, and the single glisteningstring of pearls about the slender column of her neck served as acontrast to the shadowy masses of her hair. Mr. Reginald Farwell, whowas there, afterwards declared that she seemed to have stepped out ofthe gentle landscape of an old painting. She stood, indeed, hesitatingfor a moment in the doorway, her eyes softly alight, in the very pose ofexpectancy that such a picture suggested. 

Honora herself was almost frightened by a sense of augury, of triumph, as she went forward to greet her hostess. Conversation, for the moment, had stopped. Cecil Grainger, with the air of one who had pulled asidethe curtain and revealed this vision of beauty and innocence, crossedthe room to welcome her. And Mrs. Grainger herself was not a littlesurprised; she was not a dramatic person, and it was not often that herdrawing-room was the scene of even a mild sensation. No entrance couldhave been at once so startling and so unexceptionable as Honora's. 

"I was sorry not to find you when I called, " she said. "I was sorry, too, " replied Mrs. Grainger, regarding her with an interest that wasundisguised, and a little embarrassing. "I'm scarcely ever at home, except when I'm with the children. Do you know these people?"

"I'm not sure, " said Honora, "but--I must introduce my husband to you. "

"How d'ye do!" said Mr. Grainger, blinking at her when this ceremony wasaccomplished. "I'm awfully glad to see you, Mrs. Spence, upon my word. "

Honora could not doubt it. But he had little time to express his joy, because of the appearance of his wife at Honora's elbow with a tall manshe had summoned from a corner. 

"Before we go to dinner I must introduce my cousin, Mr. Chiltern--he isto have the pleasure of taking you out, " she said. 

His name was in the class of those vaguely familiar: vaguely familiar, too, was his face. An extraordinary face, Honora thought, glancing at itas she took his arm, although she was struck by something less tangiblethan the unusual features. He might have belonged to any nationalitywithin the limits of the Caucasian race. His short, kinky, black hairsuggested great virility, an effect intensified by a strongly bridgednose, sinewy hands, and bushy eyebrows. But the intangible distinctionwas in the eyes that looked out from under these brows the glimpse shehad of them as he bowed to her gravely, might be likened to thehasty reading of a chance page in a forbidden book. Her attention wasarrested, her curiosity aroused. She was on that evening, so to speak, exposed for and sensitive to impressions. She was on the threshold ofthe Alhambra. 

"Hugh has such a faculty, " complained Mr. Grainger, "of turning up atthe wrong moment!"

Dinner was announced. She took Chiltern's arm, and they fell into filebehind a lady in yellow, with a long train, who looked at her ratherhard. It was Mrs. Freddy Maitland. Her glance shifted to Chiltern, andit seemed to Honora that she started a little. 

"Hello, Hugh, " she said indifferently, looking back over her shoulder;"have you turned up again?"

"Still sticking to the same side of your horse, I see. " he replied, ignoring the question. "I told you you'd get lop-sided. "

The deformity, if there were any, did not seem to trouble her. 

"I'm going to Florida Wednesday. We want another man. Think it over. "

"Sorry, but I've got something else to do, " he said. 

"The devil and idle hands, " retorted Mrs. Maitland. 

Honora was sure as she could be that Chiltern was angry, although hegave no visible sign of this. It was as though the current ran from hisarm into hers. 

"Have you been away?" she asked. 

"It seems to me as though I had never been anywhere else, " he answered, and he glanced curiously at the guests ranging about the great, flower-laden table. They sat down. 

She was a little repelled, a little piqued; and a little relieved whenthe man on her other side spoke to her, and she recognized Mr. ReginaldFarwell, the architect. The table capriciously swung that way. She didnot feel prepared to talk to Mr. Chiltern. And before entering upon herexplorations she was in need of a guide. She could have found none morecharming, none more impersonal, none more subtly aware of her wants(which had once been his) than Mr. Farwell. With his hair parted withgeometrical precision from the back of his collar to his forehead, withhis silky mustache and eyes of soft hazel lights, he was all thingsto all men and women--within reason. He was an achievement thatcivilization had not hitherto produced, a combination of the Beaux Artsand the Jockey Club and American adaptability. He was of those upon whomlabour leaves no trace. 

There were preliminaries, mutually satisfactory. To see Mrs. Spence wasnever to forget her, but more delicately intimated. He remembered tohave caught a glimpse of her at the Quicksands Club, and Mrs. Dallam norher house were not mentioned by either. Honora could not have beenin New York Long. No, it was her first winter, and she felt like astranger. Would Mr. Farwell tell her who some of these people were?Nothing charmed Mr. Farwell so much as simplicity--when it was combinedwith personal attractions. He did not say so, but contrived to intimatethe former. 

"It's always difficult when one first comes to New York, " he declared, "but it soon straightens itself out, and one is surprised at how fewpeople there are, after all. We'll begin on Cecil's right. That's Mrs. George Grenfell. "

"Oh, yes, " said Honora, looking at a tall, thin woman of middle age whowore a tiara, and whose throat was covered with jewels. Honora did notimply that Mrs. Grenfell's name, and most of those that followed, wereextremely familiar to her. 

"In my opinion she's got the best garden in Newport, and she did most ofit herself. Next to her, with the bald head, is Freddy Maitland. Nextto him is Miss Godfrey. She's a little eccentric, but she can afford tobe--the Godfreys for generations have done so much for the city. Theman with the beard, next her, is John Laurens, the philanthropist. Thatpretty woman, who's just as nice as she looks, is Mrs. Victor Strange. She was Agatha Pendleton--Mrs. Grainger's cousin. And the gentleman withthe pink face, whom she is entertaining--"

"Is my husband, " said Honora, smiling. "I know something about him. "

Mr. Farwell laughed. He admired her aplomb, and he did not himselfchange countenance. Indeed, the incident seemed rather to heighten theconfidence between them. Honora was looking rather critically at Howard. It was a fact that his face did grow red at this stage of a dinner, andshe wondered what Mrs. Strange found to talk to him about. 

"And the woman on the other side of him?" she asked. "By the way, shehas a red face, too. "

"So she has, " he replied amusedly. "That is Mrs. Littleton Pryor, thegreatest living rebuke to the modern woman. Most of those jewels areinherited, but she has accustomed herself by long practice to carrythem, as well as other burdens. She has eight children, and she's onevery charity list. Her ancestors were the very roots of Manhattan. Shelooks like a Holbein--doesn't she?"

"And the extraordinary looking man on my right?" Honora asked. "I've gotto talk to him presently. "

"Chiltern!" he said. "Is it possible you haven't heard something aboutHugh Chiltern?"

"Is it such lamentable ignorance?" she asked. 

"That depends upon one's point of view, " he replied. "He's always been asort of a--well, Viking, " said Farwell. 

Honora was struck by the appropriateness of the word. 

"Viking--yes, he looks it exactly. I couldn't think. Tell me somethingabout him. "

"Well, " he laughed, lowering his voice a little, "here goes for a littlerough and ready editing. One thing about Chiltern that's to be admiredis that he's never cared a rap what people think. Of course, in a way, he never had to. His family own a section of the state, where they'vehad woollen mills for a hundred years, more or less. I believe HughChiltern has sold 'em, or they've gone into a trust, or something, butthe estate is still there, at Grenoble--one of the most beautifulplaces I've ever seen. The General--this man's father--was a violent, dictatorial man. There is a story about his taking a battery atGettysburg which is almost incredible. But he went back to Grenobleafter the war, and became the typical public-spirited citizen; built upthe mills which his own pioneer grandfather had founded, and all that. He married an aunt of Mrs. Grainger's, --one of those delicate, gentlewomen who never dare to call their soul their own. "

"And then?" prompted Honora, with interest. 

"It's only fair to Hugh, " Farwell continued, "to take his early yearsinto account. The General never understood him, and his mother diedbefore he went off to school. Men who were at Harvard with him say hehas a brilliant mind, but he spent most of his time across the CharlesRiver breaking things. It was, probably, the energy the General got ridof at Gettysburg. What Hugh really needed was a war, and he had too muchmoney. He has a curious literary streak, I'm told, and wrote a ratherremarkable article--I've forgotten just where it appeared. He raced ayacht for a while in a dare-devil, fiendish way, as one might expect;and used to go off on cruises and not be heard of for months. At last hegot engaged to Sally Harrington--Mrs. Freddy Maitland. "

Honora glanced across the table. 

"Exactly, " said Mr. Farwell. "That was seven or eight years ago. Nobodyever knew the reason why she broke it--though it may have been prettyclosely guessed. He went away, and nobody's laid eyes on him until heturned up to-night. "

Honora's innocence was not too great to enable her to read between thelines of this biography which Reginald Farwell had related with suchpraiseworthy delicacy. It was a biography, she well knew, that, like ascore of others, had been guarded as jealously as possible within thecircle on the borders of which she now found herself. Mrs. Grainger withher charities, Mrs. Littleton Pryor with her good works, Miss Godfreywith her virtue--all swallowed it as gracefully as possible. Noblesseoblige. Honora had read French and English memoirs, and knew thathistory repeats itself. And a biography that is printed in black letterand illuminated in gold is attractive in spite of its contents. Thecontents, indeed, our heroine had not found uninteresting, and sheturned now to the subject with a flutter of anticipation. 

He looked at her intently, almost boldly, she thought, and before shedropped her eyes she had made a discovery. The thing stamped upon hisface and burning in his eyes was not world-weariness, disappointment, despair. She could not tell what it was, yet; that it was none of these, she knew. It was not unrelated to experience, but transcended it. Therewas an element of purpose in it, of determination, almost--she wouldhave believed--of hope. That Mrs. Maitland nor any other woman wasa part of it she became equally sure. Nothing could have been morecommonplace than the conversation which began, and yet it held for her, between the lines as in the biography, the thrill of interest. She was awoman, and embarked on a voyage of discovery. 

"Do you live in New York?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Honora, "since this autumn. "

"I've been away a good many years, " he said, in explanation of hisquestion. "I haven't quite got my bearings. I can't tell you how queerlythis sort of thing affects me. "

"You mean civilization?" she hazarded. 

"Yes. And yet I've come back to it. "

Of course she did not ask him why. Their talk was like the starting ofa heavy train--a series of jerks; and yet both were aware of anirresistible forward traction. She had not recovered from her surprisein finding herself already so far in his confidence. 

"And the time will come, I suppose, when you'll long to get away again. "

"No, " he said, "I've come back to stay. It's taken me a long whileto learn it, but there's only one place for a man, and that's his owncountry. "

Her eyes lighted. 

"There's always so much for a man to do. "

"What would you do?" he asked curiously. 

She considered this. 

"If you had asked me that question two years ago--even a year ago--Ishould have given you a different answer. It's taken me some time tolearn it, too, you see, and I'm not a man. I once thought I should haveliked to have been a king amongst money changers, and own railroad andsteamship lines, and dominate men by sheer power. "

He was clearly interested. 

"And now?" he prompted her. 

She laughed a little, to relieve the tension. 

"Well--I've found out that there are some men that kind of power can'tcontrol--the best kind. And I've found out that that isn't the best kindof power. It seems to be a brutal, barbarous cunning power now that I'veseen it at close range. There's another kind that springs from a manhimself, that speaks through his works and acts, that influences firstthose around him, and then his community, convincing people of their ownfolly, and that finally spreads in ever widening circles to those whomhe cannot see, and never will see. "

She paused, breathing deeply, a little frightened at her own eloquence. Something told her that she was not only addressing her own soul--shewas speaking to his. 

"I'm afraid you'll think I'm preaching, " she apologized. 

"No, " he said impatiently, "no. "

"To answer your question, then, if I were a man of independent means, Ithink I should go into politics. And I should put on my first campaignbanner the words, 'No Compromise. '"

It was a little strange that, until now--to-night-she had not definitelyformulated these ambitions. The idea of the banner with its inscriptionhad come as an inspiration. He did not answer, but sat regarding her, drumming on the cloth with his strong, brown fingers. 

"I have learned this much in New York, " she said, carried on by herimpetus, "that men and women are like plants. To be useful, and to growproperly, they must be firmly rooted in their own soil. This cityseems to me like a luxurious, overgrown hothouse. Of course, " she addedhastily, "there are many people who belong here, and whose best work isdone here. I was thinking about those whom it attracts. And I haveseen so many who are only watered and fed and warmed, and whobecome--distorted. "

"It's extraordinary, " replied Chiltern, slowly, "that you should saythis to me. It is what I have come to believe, but I couldn't have saidit half so well. "

Mrs. Grainger gave the signal to rise. Honora took Chiltern's arm, andhe led her back to the drawing-room. She was standing alone by the firewhen Mrs. Maitland approached her. 

"Haven't I seen you before?" she asked. 

CHAPTER III. VINELAND

It was a pleasant Newport to which Honora went early in June, a faircity shining in the midst of summer seas, a place to light the fires ofimagination. It wore at once an air of age, and of a new and sparklingunreality. Honora found in the very atmosphere a certain magic whichshe did not try to define, but to the enjoyment of which she abandonedherself; and in those first days after her arrival she took a sheerdelight in driving about the island. Narrow Thames Street, crowded withgay carriages, with its aspect of the eighteenth and it shops of thetwentieth century; the whiffs of the sea; Bellevue Avenue, with itsglorious serried ranks of trees, its erring perfumes from brightgardens, its massed flowering shrubs beckoning the eye, its lawns of atruly enchanted green. Through tree and hedge, as she drove, came everchanging glimpses of gleaming palace fronts; glimpses that made her turnand look again; that stimulated but did not satisfy, and left a pleasantlonging for something on the seeming verge of fulfilment. 

The very stillness and solitude that seemed to envelop these palacessuggested the enchanter's wand. To-morrow, perhaps, the perfect lawnswhere the robins hopped amidst the shrubbery would become again therock-bound, windswept New England pasture above the sea, and screaminggulls circle where now the swallows hovered about the steep blue roofof a French chateau. Hundreds of years hence, would these great pleasurehouses still be standing behind their screens and walls and hedges? orwould, indeed, the shattered, vine-covered marble of a balustrade alonemark the crumbling terraces whence once the fabled owners scanned thesparkling waters of the ocean? Who could say?

The onward rush of our story between its canon walls compels usreluctantly to skip the narrative of the winter conquests of the ladywho is our heroine. Popularity had not spoiled her, and the best proofof this lay in the comments of a world that is nothing if not critical. No beauty could have received with more modesty the triumph which hadgreeted her at Mrs. Grenfell's tableaux, in April, when she had appearedas Circe, in an architectural frame especially designed by Mr. Farwellhimself. There had been a moment of hushed astonishment, followed by anacclaim that sent the curtain up twice again. 

We must try to imagine, too, the logical continuation of that triumphin the Baiae of our modern republic and empire, Newport. Open, Sesame!seems, as ever, to be the countersign of her life. Even the palace gatesswung wide to her: most of them with the more readiness because shehad already passed through other gates--Mrs. Grainger's, for instance. Baiae, apparently, is a topsy-turvy world in which, if one alightsupside down, it is difficult to become righted. To alight upside down, is to alight in a palace. The Graingers did not live in one, but in agarden that existed before the palaces were, and one that the palaceowners could not copy: a garden that three generations of Graingers, somewhat assisted by a remarkable climate, had made with loving care. The box was priceless, the spreading trees in the miniature park no lessso, and time, the unbribeable, alone could now have produced the wide, carefully cherished Victorian mansion. Likewise not purchasable byCalifornia gold was a grandfather whose name had been written large inthe pages of American history. His library was now lined with Englishsporting prints; but these, too, were old and mellow and rare. 

To reach Honora's cottage, you turned away from the pomp and glitter andnoise of Bellevue Avenue into the inviting tunnel of a leafy lanethat presently stopped of itself. As though to provide against thecontingency of a stray excursionist, a purple-plumed guard of old lilactrees massed themselves before the house, and seemed to look down withcontempt on the new brick wall across the lane. 'Odi profanum vulgus'. It was on account of the new brick wall, in fact, that Honora, throughthe intervention of Mrs. Grainger and Mrs. Shorter, had been able toobtain this most desirable of retreats, which belonged to a great-auntof Miss Godfrey, Mrs. Forsythe. 

Mr. Chamberlin, none other than he of whom we caught a glimpse someyears ago in a castle near Silverdale, owned the wall and the groundsand the palace it enclosed. This gentleman was of those who arrivein Newport upside down; and was even now, with the somewhat doubtfulassistance of his wife, making lavish and pathetic attempts to righthimself. Newport had never forgiven him for the razing of a mansion andthe felling of trees which had been landmarks, and for the driving outof Mrs. Forsythe. The mere sight of the modern wall had been too muchfor this lady--the lilacs and the leaves in the lane mercifully hid thepalace--and after five and thirty peaceful summers she had moved out, and let the cottage. It was furnished with delightful old-fashionedthings that seemed to express, at every turn, the aristocratic anduncompromising personality of the owner who had lived so long in theirmidst. 

Mr. Chamberlin, who has nothing whatever to do with this chronicleexcept to have been the indirect means of Honora's installation, used tocome through the wall once a week or so to sit for half an hour on herporch as long as he ever sat anywhere. He had reddish side-whiskers, andhe reminded her of a buzzing toy locomotive wound up tight and suddenlytaken from the floor. She caught glimpses of him sometimes in themornings buzzing around his gardeners, his painters, his carpenters, andhis grooms. He would buzz the rest of his life, but nothing short of arevolution could take his possessions away. 

The Graingers and the Grenfells and the Stranges might move mountains, but not Mr. Chamberlin's house. Whatever heart-burnings he may have hadbecause certain people refused to come to his balls, he was in Newportto remain. He would sit under the battlements until the crack of doom;or rather--and more appropriate in Mr. Chamberlin's case--walk aroundthem and around, blowing trumpets until they capitulated. 

Honora magically found herself within them, and without a siege. Beholdher at last in the setting for which we always felt she was destined. Why is it, in this world, that realization is so difficult a thing? Nowthat she is there, how shall we proceed to give the joys of her Elysiumtheir full value? Not, certainly, by repeating the word pleasure overand over again: not by describing the palaces at which she lunchedand danced and dined, or the bright waters in which she bathed, orthe yachts in which she sailed. During the week, indeed, she moveduntrammelled in a world with which she found herself in perfect harmony:it was new, it was dazzling, it was unexplored. During the week itpossessed still another and more valuable attribute--it was real. Andshe, Honora Leffingwell Spence, was part and parcel of its permanence. The life relationships of the people by whom she was surrounded becameher own. She had little time for thought--during the week. 

We are dealing, now, in emotions as delicate as cloud shadows, and thesedrew on as Saturday approached. On Saturdays and Sundays the qualityand texture of life seemed to undergo a change. Who does not recall theMonday mornings of the school days of youth, and the indefinite feelingbetwixt sleep and waking that to-day would not be as yesterday or theday before? On Saturday mornings, when she went downstairs, she was wontto find the porch littered with newspapers and her husband lounging ina wicker chair behind the disapproving lilacs. Although they had longceased to bloom, their colour was purple--his was pink. 

Honora did not at first analyze or define these emotions, and wasconscious only of a stirring within her, and a change. Reality becameunreality. The house in which she lived, and for which she felt apassion of ownership, was for two days a rented house. Other women inNewport had week-end guests in the guise of husbands, and some of themwent so far as to bewail the fact. Some had got rid of them. Honorakissed hers dutifully, and picked up the newspapers, drove him tothe beach, and took him out to dinner, where he talked oracularly offinance. On Sunday night he departed, without visible regrets, for NewYork. 

One Monday morning a storm was raging over Newport. Seized by a suddenwhim, she rang her bell, breakfasted at an unusual hour, and nineo'clock found her, with her skirts flying, on the road above the cliffsthat leads to the Fort. The wind had increased to a gale, and as shestood on the rocks the harbour below her was full of tossing whiteyachts straining at their anchors. Serene in the midst of all thishubbub lay a great grey battleship. 

Presently, however, her thoughts were distracted by the sight ofsomething moving rapidly across her line of vision. A sloop yacht, witha ridiculously shortened sail, was coming in from the Narrows, scuddingbefore the wind like a frightened bird. She watched its approach in asort of fascination, for of late she had been upon the water enoughto realize that the feat of which she was witness was not without itsdifficulties. As the sloop drew nearer she made out a bare-headed figurebent tensely at the wheel, and four others clinging to the yellow deck. In a flash the boat had rounded to, the mainsail fell, and a veil ofspray hid the actors of her drama. When it cleared the yacht was tugginglike a wild thing at its anchor. 

That night was Mrs. Grenfell's ball, and many times in later years hasthe scene come back to Honora. It was not a large ball, by no means onthe scale of Mr. Chamberlin's, for instance. The great room reminded oneof the gallery of a royal French chateau, with its dished ceiling, inthe oval of which the colours of a pastoral fresco glowed in the rubylights of the heavy chandeliers; its grey panelling, hidden here andthere by tapestries, and its series of deep, arched windows thatgave glimpses of a lantern-hung terrace. Out there, beyond a marblebalustrade, the lights of fishing schooners tossed on a blue-blackocean. The same ocean on which she had looked that morning, and whichshe heard now, in the intervals of talk and laughter, crashing againstthe cliffs, --although the wind had gone down. Like a woman stirred tothe depths of her being, its bosom was heaving still at the memory ofthe passion of the morning. 

This night after the storm was capriciously mild, the velvet gown ofheaven sewn with stars. The music had ceased, and supper was beingserved at little tables on the terrace. The conversation was desultory. 

"Who is that with Reggie Farwell?" Ethel Wing asked. 

"It's the Farrenden girl, " replied Mr. Cuthbert, whose business it wasto know everybody. "Chicago wheat. She looks like Ceres, doesn't she?Quite becoming to Reggie's dark beauty. She was sixteen, they tell me, when the old gentleman emerged from the pit, and they packed her off toa convent by the next steamer. Reggie may have the blissful experienceof living in one of his own houses if he marries her. "

The fourth at the table was Ned Carrington, who had been first secretaryat an Embassy, and he had many stories to tell of ambassadors who spokecommercial American and asked royalties after their wives. Some one hadsaid about him that he was the only edition of the Almanach de Gothathat included the United States. He somewhat resembled a golden sealemerging from a cold bath, and from time to time screwed an eyeglassinto his eye and made a careful survey of Mrs. Grenfell's guests. 

"By George!" he exclaimed. "Isn't that Hugh Chiltern?"

Honora started, and followed the direction of Mr. Carrington's glance. At sight of him, a vivid memory of the man's personality possessed her. 

"Yes, " Cuthbert was saying, "that's Chiltern sure enough. He came in onDicky Farnham's yacht this morning from New York. "

"This morning!" said Ethel Wing. "Surely not! No yacht could have comein this morning. "

"Nobody but Chiltern would have brought one in, you mean, " he correctedher. "He sailed her. They say Dicky was half dead with fright, andwanted to put in anywhere. Chiltern sent him below and kept right on. He has a devil in him, I believe. By the way, that's Dicky Farnham'sex-wife he's talking to--Adele. She keeps her good looks, doesn't she?What's happened to Rindge?"

"Left him on the other side, I hear, " said Carrington. "Perhaps she'lltake Chiltern next. She looked as though she were ready to. And they sayit's easier every time. "

"C'est le second mari qui coute, " paraphrased Cuthbert, tossing hiscigar over the balustrade. The strains of a waltz floated out of thewindows, the groups at the tables broke up, and the cotillon began. 

As Honora danced, Chiltern remained in the back of her mind, or ratheran indefinite impression was there which in flashes she connected withhim. She wondered, at times, what had become of him, and once or twiceshe caught herself scanning the bewildering, shifting sheen of gownsand jewels for his face. At last she saw him by the windows, holding afavour in his hand, coming in her direction. She looked away, towardsthe red uniforms of the Hungarian band on the raised platform at the endof the room. He was standing beside her. 

"Do you remember me, Mrs. Spence?" he asked. 

She glanced up at him and smiled. He was not a person one would belikely to forget, but she did not say so. 

"I met you at Mrs. Granger's, " was what she said. 

He handed her the favour. She placed it amongst the collection at theback of her chair and rose, and they danced. Was it dancing? The musicthrobbed; nay, the musicians seemed suddenly to have been carried outof themselves, and played as they had not played before. Her veinswere filled with pulsing fire as she was swung, guided, carried out ofherself by the extraordinary virility of the man who held her. She hadtasted mastery. 

"Thank you, " she faltered, as they came around the second time to herseat. 

He released her. 

"I stayed to dance with you, " he said. "I had to await my opportunity. "

"It was kind of you to remember me, " she replied, as she went off withMr. Carrington. 

A moment later she saw him bidding good night to his hostess. His face, she thought, had not lost that strange look of determination that sherecalled. And yet--how account for his recklessness?

"Rum chap, Chiltern, " remarked Carrington. "He might be almost anything, if he only knew it. "

In the morning, when she awoke, her eye fell on the cotillon favoursscattered over the lounge. One amongst them stood out--a silver-mountedpin-cushion. Honora arose, picked it up contemplatively, stared at itawhile, and smiled. Then she turned to her window, breathing in theperfumes, gazing out through the horse-chestnut leaves at the green, shadow-dappled lawn below. 

On her breakfast tray, amidst some invitations, was a letter from her. Uncle. This she opened first. 

 "Dear Honora, " he wrote, "amongst your father's papers, which have been in my possession since his death, was a certificate for three hundred shares in a land company. He bought them for very little, and I had always thought them worthless. It turns out that these holdings are in a part of the state of Texas that is now being developed; on the advice of Mr. Isham and others I have accepted an offer of thirty dollars a share, and I enclose a draft on New York for nine thousand dollars. I need not dwell upon the pleasure it is for me to send you this legacy from your father. And I shall only add the counsel of an old uncle, to invest this money by your husband's advice in some safe securities. ". .. 

Honora put down the letter, and sat staring at the cheque in her hand. Nine thousand dollars--and her own! Her first impulse was to send itback to her uncle. But that would be, she knew, to hurt his feelings--hehad taken such a pride in handing her this inheritance. She read theletter again, and resolved that she would not ask Howard to invest themoney. This, at least, should be her very own, and she made up her mindto take it to a bank in Thames Street that morning. 

While she was still under the influence of the excitement aroused bythe unexpected legacy, Mrs. Shorter came in, a lady with whom Honora'sintimacy had been of steady growth. The tie between them might perhapshave been described as intellectual, for Elsie Shorter professed onlyto like people who were "worth while. " She lent Honora French plays, discussed them with her, and likewise a wider range of literature, including certain brightly bound books on evolution and sociology. 

In the eighteenth century, Mrs. Shorter would have had a title and asalon in the Faubourg: in the twentieth, she was the wife of a mostfashionable and successful real estate agent in New York, and was awareof no incongruity. Bourgeoise was the last thing that could be said ofher; she was as ready as a George Sand to discuss the whole range ofhuman emotions; which she did many times a week with certain gentlemenof intellectual bent who had the habit of calling on her. She had never, to the knowledge of her acquaintances, been shocked. But while shebelieved that a great love carried, mysteriously concealed in its flame, its own pardon, she had through some fifteen years of married liferemained faithful to Jerry Shorter: who was not, to say the least, aLochinvar or a Roland. Although she had had nervous prostration and wasthirty-four, she was undeniably pretty. She was of the suggestive, andnot the strong-minded type, and the secret of her strength with theother sex was that she was in the habit of submitting her opinions fortheir approval. 

"My dear, " she said to Honora, "you may thank heaven that you are stillyoung enough to look beautiful in negligee. How far have you got? Haveyou guessed of which woman Vivarce was the lover? And isn't it the mostexciting play you've ever read? Ned Carrington saw it in Paris, anddeclares it frightened him into being good for a whole week!"

"Oh, Elsie, " exclaimed Honora, apologetically, "I haven't read a word ofit. "

Mrs. Shorter glanced at the pile of favours. 

"How was the dance?" she asked. "I was too tired to go. Hugh Chilternoffered to take me. "

"I saw Mr. Chiltern there. I met him last winter at the Graingers'. "

"He's staying with us, " said Mrs. Shorter; "you know he's a sort ofcousin of Jerry's, and devoted to him. He turned up yesterday morning onDicky Farnham's yacht, in the midst of all that storm. It appears thatDicky met him in New York, and Hugh said he was coming up here, andDicky offered to sail him up. When the storm broke they were justoutside, and all on board lost their heads, and Hugh took charge andsailed in. Dicky told me that himself. "

"Then it wasn't--recklessness, " said Honora, involuntarily. But Mrs. Shorter did not appear to be surprised by the remark. 

"That's what everybody thinks, of course, " she answered. "They say thathe had a chance to run in somewhere, and browbeat Dicky into keeping onfor Newport at the risk of their lives. They do Hugh an injustice. Hemight have done that some years ago, but he's changed. "

Curiosity got the better of Honora. 

"Changed?" she repeated. 

"Of course you didn't know him in the old days, Honora, " said Mrs. Shorter. "You wouldn't recognize him now. I've seen a good deal of men, but he is the most interesting and astounding transformation I've everknown. "

"How?" asked Honora. She was sitting before the glass, with her handraised to her hair. 

Mrs. Shorter appeared puzzled. 

"That's what interests me, " she said. "My dear, don't you think lifetremendously interesting? I do. I wish I could write a novel. Betweenourselves, I've tried. I had Mr. Dewing send it to a publisher, who saidit was clever, but had no plot. If I only could get a plot!"

Honora laughed. 

"How would I The Transformation of Mr. Chiltern' do, Elsie?"

"If I only knew what's happened to him, and how he's going to end!"sighed Mrs. Shorter. 

"You were saying, " said Honora, for her friend seemed to have relapsedinto a contemplation of this problem, "you were saying that he hadchanged. "

"He goes away for seven years, and he suddenly turns up filled withambition and a purpose in life, something he had never dreamed of. He'sbeen at Grenoble, where the Chiltern estate is, making improvements andpreparing to settle down there. And he's actually getting ready to writea life of his father, the General--that's the most surprising thing!They never met but to strike fire while the General was alive. Itappears that Jerry and Cecil Grainger and one or two other people havesome of the old gentleman's letters, and that's the reason why Hugh'scome to Newport. And the strangest thing about it, my dear, " added Mrs. Shorter, inconsequently, "is that I don't think it's a love affair. "

Honora laughed again. It was the first time she had ever heard Mrs. Shorter attribute unusual human phenomena to any other source. "He wroteJerry that he was coming back to live on the estate, --from England. Andhe wasn't there a week. I can't think where he's seen any women--thatis, " Mrs. Shorter corrected herself hastily, "of his own class. He's been in the jungle--India, Africa, Cores. That was after SallyHarrington broke the engagement. And I'm positive he's not still inlove with Sally. She lunched with me yesterday, and I watched him. Oh, I should have known it. But Sally hasn't got over it. It wasn't a grandpassion with Hugh. I don't believe he's ever had such a thing. Not thathe isn't capable of it--on the contrary, he's one of the few men I canthink of who is. "

At this point in the conversation Honora thought that her curiosity hadgone far enough. 

CHAPTER IV. THE VIKING

She was returning on foot from the bank in Thames Street, where she haddeposited her legacy, when she met him who had been the subject of herconversation with Mrs. Shorter. And the encounter seemed--and was--themost natural thing in the world. She did not stop to ask herself whyit was so fitting that the Viking should be a part of Vineland: why hiscoming should have given it the one and final needful touch. For thatdesignation of Reginald Farwell's had come back to her. Despite thefact that Hugh Chiltern had with such apparent resolution set his facetowards literature and the tillage of the land, it was as the Vikingstill that her imagination pictured him. By these tokens we may perceivethat this faculty of our heroine's has been at work, and her canvasalready sketched in. 

Whether by design or accident he was at the leafy entrance of her laneshe was not to know. She spied him standing there; and in her leisurelyapproach a strange conceit of reincarnation possessed her, and shesmiled at the contrast thus summoned up. Despite the jingling harnessesof Bellevue Avenue and the background of Mr. Chamberlin's palace wall;despite the straw hat and white trousers and blue double-breasted sergecoat in which he was conventionally arrayed, he was the sea fighterstill--of all the ages. M. Vipsanius Agrippa, who had won an empire forAugustus, had just such a head. 

Their greeting, too, was conventional enough, and he turned and walkedwith her up the lane, and halted before the lilacs. "You have Mrs. Forsythe's house, " he said. "How well I remember it! My mother used tobring me here years ago. "

"Won't you come in?" asked Honora, gently. 

He seemed to have forgotten her as they mounted in silence to the porch, and she watched him with curious feelings as he gazed about him, andpeered through the windows into the drawing-room. 

"It's just as it was, " he said. "Even the furniture. I'm glad youhaven't moved it. They used to sit over there in the corner, and havetea on the ebony table. And it was always dark-just as it is now. I cansee them. They wore dresses with wide skirts and flounces, and queer lowcollars and bonnets. And they talked in subdued voices--unlike so manywomen in these days. "

She was a little surprised, and moved, by the genuine feeling with whichhe spoke. 

"I was most fortunate to get the house, " she answered. "And I have grownto love it. Sometimes it seems as though I had always lived here. "

"Then you don't envy that, " he said, flinging his hand towards anopening in the shrubbery which revealed a glimpse of one of thepilasters of the palace across the way. The instinct of tradition whichhad been the cause of Mrs. Forsythe's departure was in him, too. He, likewise, seemed to belong to the little house as he took one of thewicker chairs. 

"Not, " said Honora, "when I can have this. "

She was dressed in white, her background of lilac leaves. Seated on therailing, with the tip of one toe resting on the porch, she smiled downat him from under the shadows of her wide hat. 

"I didn't think you would, " he declared. "This place seems to suit you, as I imagined you. I have thought of you often since we first met lastwinter. "

"Yes, " she replied hastily, "I am very happy here. Mrs. Shorter tells meyou are staying with then. "

"When I saw you again last night, " he continued, ignoring her attemptto divert the stream from his channel, "I had a vivid impression as ofhaving just left you. Have you ever felt that way about people?"

"Yes, " she admitted, and poked the toe of her boot with her parasol. 

"And then I find you in this house, which has so many associationsfor me. Harmoniously here, " he added, "if you know what I mean. Not anewcomer, but some one who must always have been logically expected. "

She glanced at him quickly, with parted lips. It was she who had donemost of the talking at Mrs. Grainger's dinner; and the imaginativequality of mind he was now revealing was unlooked for. She was surprisednot to find it out of character. It is a little difficult to knowwhat she expected of him, since she did not know herself the methods, perhaps; of the Viking in Longfellow's poem. She was aware, at least, that she had attracted him, and she was beginning to realize it was nota thing that could be done lightly. This gave her a little flutter offear. 

"Are you going to be long in Newport?" she asked. 

"I am leaving on Friday, " he replied. "It seems strange to be here againafter so many years. I find I've got out of touch with it. And I haven'ta boat, although Farnham's been kind enough to offer me his. "

"I can't imagine you, somehow, without a boat, " she said, and addedhastily: "Mrs. Shorter was speaking of you this morning, and said thatyou were always on the water when you were here. Newport must have beenquite different then. "

He accepted the topic, and during the remainder of his visit shesucceeded in keeping the conversation in the middle ground, although shehad a sense of the ultimate futility of the effort; a sense of pressurebeing exerted, no matter what she said. She presently discovered, however, that the taste for literature attributed to him which hadseemed so incongruous--existed. He spoke with a new fire when she ledhim that way, albeit she suspected that some of the fuel was derivedfrom the revelation that she shared his liking for books. As the extentof his reading became gradually disclosed, however, her feeling ofinadequacy grew, and she resolved in the future to make better use ofher odd moments. On her table, in two green volumes, was the life of aMassachusetts statesman that Mrs. Shorter had lent her. She picked it upafter Chiltern had gone. He had praised it. 

He left behind him a blurred portrait on her mind, as that of twomen superimposed. And only that morning he had had such a distinctimpression of one. It was from a consideration of this strangephenomenon, with her book lying open in her lap, that her maid arousedher to go to Mrs. Pryor's. This was Tuesday. 

Some of the modern inventions we deem most marvellous have been fittedfor ages to man and woman. Woman, particularly, possesses for instancea kind of submarine bell; and, if she listens, she can at times hearit tinkling faintly. And the following morning, Wednesday, Honora heardhers when she received an invitation to lunch at Mrs. Shorter's. Aftera struggle, she refused, but Mrs. Shorter called her up over thetelephone, and she yielded. 

"I've got Alfred Dewing for myself, " said Elsie Shorter, as she greetedHonora in the hall. "He writes those very clever things--you've readthem. And Hugh for you, " she added significantly. 

The Shorter cottage, though commodious, was simplicity itself. From thevine-covered pergola where they lunched they beheld the distant sea likea lavender haze across the flats. And Honora wondered whether there werenot an element of truth in what Mr. Dewing said of their hostess--thatshe thought nothing immoral except novels with happy endings. Chilterndid not talk much: he looked at Honora. 

"Hugh has got so serious, " said Elsie Shorter, "that sometimes I'mactually afraid of him. You ought to have done something to be asserious as that, Hugh. "

"Done something!"

"Written the 'Origin of Species, ' or founded a new political party, orexecuted a coup d'etat. Half the time I'm under the delusion that I'mentertaining a celebrity under my roof, and I wake up and it's onlyHugh. "

"It's because he looks as though he might do any of those things, "suggested Mr. Deming. "Perhaps he may. "

"Oh, " said Elsie Shorter, "the men who do them are usually little wobblyspecimens. "

Honora was silent, watching Chiltern. At times the completeness of herunderstanding of him gave her an uncanny sensation; and again she failedto comprehend him at all. She felt his anger go to a white heat, but theothers seemed blissfully unaware of the fact. The arrival of coffee madea diversion. 

"You and Hugh may have the pergola, Honora. I'll take Mr. Deming intothe garden. "

"I really ought to go in a few minutes, Elsie, " said Honora. 

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Shorter. "If it's bridge at thePlayfairs', I'll telephone and get you out of it. "

"No--"

"Then I don't see where you can be going, " declared Mrs. Shorter, anddeparted with her cavalier. 

"Why are you so anxious to get away?" asked Chiltern, abruptly. 

Honora coloured. 

"Oh--did I seem so? Elsie has such a mania for pairing peopleoff-sometimes it's quite embarrassing. "

"She was a little rash in assuming that you'd rather talk to me, " hesaid, smiling. 

"You were not consulted, either. "

"I was consulted before lunch, " he replied. 

"You mean--?"

"I mean that I wanted you, " he said. She had known it, of course. Thesubmarine bell had told her. And he could have found no woman in Newportwho would have brought more enthusiasm to his aid than Elsie Shorter. 

"And you usually--get what you want, " she retorted with a spark ofrebellion. 

"Yes, " he admitted. "Only hitherto I haven't wanted very desirablethings. "

She laughed, but her curiosity got the better of her. 

"Hitherto, " she said, "you have just taken what you desired. "

From the smouldering fires in his eyes darted an arrowpoint of flame. 

"What kind of a man are you?" she asked, throwing the impersonal to thewinds. "Somebody called you a Viking once. "

"Who?" he demanded. 

"It doesn't matter. I'm beginning to think the name singularlyappropriate. It wouldn't be the first time one landed in Newport, according to legend, " she added. 

"I haven't read the poem since childhood, " said Chiltern, looking at herfixedly, "but he became--domesticated, if I remember rightly. "

"Yes, " she admitted, "the impossible happened to him, as it usually doesin books. And then, circumstances helped. There were no other women. "

"When the lady died, " said Chiltern, "he fell upon his spear. "

"The final argument for my theory, " declared Honora. 

"On the contrary, " he maintained, smiling, "it proves there is alwaysone woman for every man--if he cars find her. If this man had lived inmodern times, he would probably have changed from a Captain Kidd into auseful citizen of the kind you once said you admired. "

"Is a woman necessary, " she asked, "for the transformation?"

He looked at her so intently that she blushed to the hair clustering ather temples. She had not meant that her badinage should go so deep. 

"It was not a woman, " he said slowly, "that brought me back to America. "

"Oh, " she exclaimed, suffused, "I hope you won't think thatcuriosity"--and got no farther. 

He was silent a moment, and when she ventured to glance up at him oneof those enigmatical changes had taken place. He was looking at hergravely, though intently, and the Viking had disappeared. 

"I wanted you to know, " he answered. "You must have heard more or lessabout me. People talk. Naturally these things haven't been repeated tome, but I dare say many of them are true. I haven't been a saint, andI don't pretend to be now. I've never taken the trouble to deceive anyone. And I've never cared, I'm sorry to say, what was said. But I'd likeyou to believe that when I agreed with with the sentiments you expressedthe first time I saw you, I was sincere. And I am still sincere. "

"Indeed, I do believe it!" cried Honora. 

His face lighted. 

"You seemed different from the other women I had known--of mygeneration, at least, " he went on steadily. "None of them could havespoken as you did. I had just landed that morning, and I should havegone direct to Grenoble, but there was some necessary business to beattended to in New York. I didn't want to go to Bessie's dinner, butshe insisted. She was short of a man. I went. I sat next to you, andyou interpreted my mind. It seemed too extraordinary not to have had asignificance. "

Honora did not reply. She felt instinctively that he was a man who wasnot wont ordinarily to talk about his affairs. Beneath his speech wasan undercurrent--or undertow, perhaps--carrying her swiftly, easily, helpless into the deep waters of intimacy. For the moment she letherself go without a struggle. Her silence was of a breathless qualitywhich he must have felt. 

"And I am going to tell you why I came home, " he said. "I have spoken ofit to nobody, but I wish you to know that it had nothing to do with anyordinary complication these people may invent. Nor was there anythingsupernatural about it: what happened to me, I suppose, is as old a storyas civilization itself. I'd been knocking about the world for a goodmany years, and I'd had time to think. One day I found myself in theinterior of China with a few coolies and a man who I suspect was aticket-of-leave Englishman. I can see the place now the yellow fog, thesand piled up against the wall like yellow snow. Desolation was a mildname for it. I think I began with a consideration of the Englishman whowas asleep in the shadow of a tower. There was something inconceivablyhopeless in his face in that ochre light. Then the place where I wasborn and brought up came to me with a startling completeness, and Ibegan to go over my own life, step by step. To make a long story short, I perceived that what my father had tried to teach me, in his own way, had some reason in it. He was a good deal of a man. I made up my mindI'd come home and start in where I belonged. But I didn't do so rightaway--I finished the trip first, and lent the Englishman a thousandpounds to buy into a firm in Shanghai. I suppose, " he added, "thatis what is called suggestion. In my case it was merely the cumulativeresult of many reflections in waste places. "

"And since then?"

"Since then I have been at Grenoble, making repairs and trying to learnsomething about agriculture. I've never been as happy in my life. "

"And you're going back on Friday, " she said. 

He glanced at her quickly. He had detected the note in her speech:though lightly uttered, it was unmistakably a command. She tried tosoften its effect in her next sentence. 

"I can't express how much I appreciate your telling me this, " she said. "I'll confess to you I wished to think that something of that kind hadhappened. I wished to believe that--that you had made this determinationalone. When I met you that night there was something about you Icouldn't account for. I haven't been able to account for it until now. "

She paused, confused, fearful that she had gone too far. A moment latershe was sure of it. A look came into his eyes that frightened her. 

"You've thought of me?" he said. 

"You must know, " she replied, "that you have an unusual personality--astriking one. I can go so far as to say that I remembered you when youreappeared at Mrs. Grenfell's--" she hesitated. 

He rose, and walked to the far end of the tiled pavement of the pergola, and stood for a moment looking out over the sea. Then he turned to her. 

"I either like a person or I don't, " he said. "And I tell you frankly Ihave never met a woman whom I cared for as I do you. I hope you're notgoing to insist upon a probationary period of months before you decidewhether you can reciprocate. "

Here indeed was a speech in his other character, and she seemed to see, in a flash, his whole life in it. There was a touch of boyishness thatappealed, a touch of insistent masterfulness that alarmed. She recalledthat Mrs. Shorter had said of him that he had never had to besiege afortress--the white flag had always appeared too quickly. Of coursethere was the mystery of Mrs. Maitland--still to be cleared up. Itwas plain, at least, that resistance merely made him unmanageable. Shesmiled. 

"It seems to me, " she said, "that in two days we have becomeastonishingly intimate. "

"Why shouldn't we?" he demanded. 

But she was not to be led into casuistry. 

"I've been reading the biography you recommended, " she said. 

He continued to look at her a moment, and laughed as he sat down besideher. Later he walked home with her. A dinner and bridge followed, andit was after midnight when she returned. As her maid unfastened her gownshe perceived that her pincushion had been replaced by the one she hadreceived at the ball. 

"Did you put that there, Mathilde?" she asked. 

Mathilde had. She had seen it on madame's bureau, and thought madamewished it there. She would replace the old one at once. 

"No, " said Honora, "you may leave it, now. "

"Bien, madame, " said the maid, and glanced at her mistress, who appearedto have fallen into a revery. 

It had seemed strange to her to hear people talking about him at thedinner that night, and once or twice her soul had sprung to arms tochampion him, only to remember that her knowledge was special. Shealone of all of them understood, and she found herself exulting in thesuperiority. The amazed comment when the heir to the Chiltern fortunehad returned to the soil of his ancestors had been revived on hisarrival in Newport. Ned Carrington, amid much laughter, had quoted thelines about Prince Hal:

 "To mock the expectations of the world, To frustrate prophecies. "

Honora disliked Mr. Carrington. 

Perhaps the events of Thursday, would better be left in the confusion inwhich they remained in Honora's mind. She was awakened by penetrating, persistent, and mournful notes which for some time she could notidentify, although they sounded oddly familiar; and it was not until shefelt the dampness of the coverlet and looked at the white square of heropen windows that she realized there was a fog. And it had not liftedwhen Chiltern came in the afternoon. They discussed literature--but thebook had fallen to the floor. 'Absit omen'! If printing had then beeninvented, undoubtedly there would have been a book instead of anapple in the third chapter of Genesis. He confided to her his planof collecting his father's letters and of writing the General's life. Honora, too, would enjoy writing a book. Perhaps the thought of thepleasure of collaboration occurred to them both at once; it was Chilternwho wished that he might have her help in the difficult places; she had, he felt, the literary instinct. It was not the Viking who was talkingnow. And then, at last, he had risen reluctantly to leave. The afternoonhad flown. She held out her hand with a frank smile. 

"Good-by, " she said. "Good-by, and good luck. "

"But I may not go, " he replied. 

She stood dismayed. 

"I thought you told me you were going on Friday--to-morrow. "

"I merely set that as a probable date. I have changed my mind. There isno immediate necessity. Do you wish me to go?" he demanded. 

She had turned away, and was straightening the books on the table. 

"Why should I?" she said. 

"You wouldn't object to my remaining a few days more?" He had reachedthe doorway. 

"What have I to do with your staying?" she asked. 

"Everything, " he answered--and was gone. 

She stood still. The feeling that possessed her now was rebellion, andakin to hate. 

Her conduct, therefore, becomes all the more incomprehensible when wefind her accepting, the next afternoon, his invitation to sail onMr. Farnham's yacht, the 'Folly'. It is true that the gods will notexonerate Mrs. Shorter. That lady, who had been bribed with AlfredDewing, used her persuasive powers; she might be likened to a skilfulartisan who blew wonderful rainbow fabrics out of glass without breakingit; she blew the tender passion into a thousand shapes, and admiredevery one. Her criminal culpability consisted in forgetting the factthat it could not be trusted with children. 

Nature seems to delight in contrasts. As though to atone for the fogshe sent a dazzling day out of the northwest, and the summer world wasstained in new colours. The yachts were whiter, the water bluer, thegrass greener; the stern grey rocks themselves flushed with purple. Thewharves were gay, and dark clustering foliage hid an enchanted city asthe Folly glided between dancing buoys. Honora, with a frightened glanceupward at the great sail, caught her breath. And she felt rather thansaw the man beside her guiding her seaward. 

A discreet expanse of striped yellow deck separated them from the wickerchairs where Mrs. Shorter and Mr. Dewing were already established. Sheglanced at the profile of the Viking, and allowed her mind to dwell foran instant upon the sensations of that other woman who had been snatchedup and carried across the ocean. Which was the quality in him thatattracted her? his lawlessness, or his intellect and ambition? Never, she knew, had he appealed to her more than at this moment, when hestood, a stern figure at the wheel, and vouchsafed her nothing butcommonplaces. This, surely, was his element. 

Presently, however, the yacht slid out from the infolding land into anopen sea that stretched before them to a silver-lined horizon. And heturned to her with a disconcerting directness, as though taking forgranted a subtle understanding between them. 

"How well you sail, " she said, hurriedly. 

"I ought to be able to do that, at least, " he declared. 

"I saw you when you came in the other day, although I didn't know who itwas until afterwards. I was standing on the rocks near the Fort, and myheart was in my mouth. "

He answered that the Dolly was a good sea boat. 

"So you decided to forgive me, " he said. 

"For what?"

"For staying in Newport. "

Before accepting the invitation she had formulated a policy, cheerfullyconfident in her ability to carry it out. For his decision not toleave Newport had had an opposite effect upon her than that she hadanticipated; it had oddly relieved the pressure. It had given her achance to rally her forces; to smile, indeed, at an onslaught that hadso disturbed her; to examine the matter in a more rational light. It hadbeen a cause for self-congratulation that she had scarcely thought ofhim the night before. And to-day, in her blue veil and blue serge gown, she had boarded the 'Folly' with her wits about her. She forgot that itwas he who, so to speak, had the choice of ground and weapons. 

"I have forgiven you. Why shouldn't I, when you have so royally atoned. "

But he obstinately refused to fence. There was nothing apologetic inthis man, no indirectness in his method of attack. Parry adroitly asshe might, he beat down her guard. As the afternoon wore on there weresilences, when Honora, by staring over the waters, tried to collect herthoughts. But the sea was his ally, and she turned her face appealinglytoward the receding land. Fascination and fear struggled within her asshe had listened to his onslaughts, and she was conscious of beingmoved by what he was, not by what he said. Vainly she glanced at the tworepresentatives of an ironically satisfied convention, only to realizethat they were absorbed in a milder but no less entrancing aspect of thesame topic, and would not thank her for an interruption. 

"Do you wish me to go away?" he asked at last abruptly, almost rudely. 

"Surely, " she said, "your work, your future isn't in Newport. "

"You haven't answered my question. "

"It's because I have no right to answer it, " she replied. "Althoughwe have known each other so short a time, I am your friend. You mustrealize that. I am not conventional. I have lived long enough tounderstand that the people one likes best are not necessarily those onehas known longest. You interest me--I admit it frankly--I speak to yousincerely. I am even concerned that you shall find happiness, and I feelthat you have the power to make something of yourself. What more canI say? It seems to me a little strange, " she added, "that under thecircumstances I should say so much. I can give no higher proof of myfriendship. "

He did not reply, but gave a sharp order to the crew. The sheet wasshortened, and the Folly obediently headed westward against the swell, flinging rainbows from her bows as she ran. Mrs. Shorter and Dewingreturned at this moment from the cabin, where they had been on a tour ofinspection. 

"Where are you taking us, Hugh?" said Mrs. Shorter. "Nowhere inparticular, " he replied. 

"Please don't forget that I am having people to dinner to-night. That'sall I ask. What have you done to him, Honora, to put him in such ahumour?"

Honora laughed. 

"I hadn't noticed anything peculiar about him, " she answered. 

"This boat reminds me of Adele, " said Mrs. Shorter. "She loved it. I cansee how she could get a divorce from Dicky--but the 'Folly'! She toldme yesterday that the sight of it made her homesick, and Eustace Rindgewon't leave Paris. "

It suddenly occurred to Honora, as she glanced around the yacht, thatMrs. Rindge rather haunted her. 

"So that is your answer, " said Chiltern, when they were alone again. 

"What other can I give you?"

"Is it because you are married?" he demanded. 

She grew crimson. 

"Isn't that an unnecessary question?"

"No, " he declared. "It concerns me vitally to understand you. You weregood enough to wish that I should find happiness. I have found thepossibility of it--in you. "

"Oh, " she cried, "don't say such things!"

"Have you found happiness?" he asked. 

She turned her face from him towards their shining wake. But he had seenthat her eyes were filled with sudden tears. 

"Forgive me, " he pleaded; "I did not mean to be brutal. I said thatbecause I felt as I have never in my life felt before. As I did not knowI could feel. I can't account for it, but I ask you to believe me. "

"I can account for it, " she answered presently, with a strangegentleness. "It is because you met me at a critical time. Such-coincidences often occur in life. I happened to be a woman; and, Iconfess it, a woman who was interested. I could not have been interestedif you had been less real, less sincere. But I saw that you were goingthrough a crisis; that you might, with your powers, build up your lifeinto a splendid and useful thing. And, womanlike, my instinct wasto help you. I should not have allowed you to go on, but--but it allhappened so quickly that I was bewildered. I--I do not understand itmyself. "

He listened hungrily, and yet at times with evident impatience. 

"No, " he said, "I cannot believe that it was an accident. It was you--"

She stopped him with an imploring gesture. 

"Please, " she said, "please let us go in. "

Without an instant's hesitation he brought the sloop about and headedher for the light-ship on Brenton's reef, and they sailed in silence. Awhile she watched the sapphire waters break to dazzling whiteness underthe westerning sun. Then, in an ecstasy she did not seek to question, she closed her eyes to feel more keenly the swift motion of theirflight. Why not? The sea, the winds of heaven, had aided others sincethe dawn of history. Legend was eternally true. On these very shoreshappiness had awaited those who had dared to face primeval things. 

She looked again, this time towards an unpeopled shore. No sentinelguarded the uncharted reefs, and the very skies were smiling, after thestorm, at the scudding fates. 

It was not until they were landlocked once more, and the Folly wasreluctantly beating back through the Narrows, that he spoke again. 

"So you wish me to go away?"

"I cannot see any use in your staying, " she replied, "after what youhave said. I--cannot see, " she added in a low voice, "that for you toremain would be to promote the happiness of--either of us. You shouldhave gone to-day. "

"You care!" he exclaimed. 

"It is because I do not wish to care that I tell you to go--"

"And you refuse happiness?"

"It could be happiness for neither of us, " said Honora. "The situationwould be impossible. You are not a man who would be satisfied withmoderation. You would insist upon having all. And you do not know whatyou are asking. "

"I know that I want you, " he said, "and that my life is won or lost withor without you. "

"You have no right to say such a thing. "

"We have each of us but one life to live. "

"And one life to ruin, " she answered. "See, you are running on therocks!"

He swung the boat around. 

"Others have rebuilt upon ruins, " he declared. 

She smiled at him. 

"But you are taking my ruins for granted, " she said. "You would makethem first. "

He relapsed into silence again. The Folly needed watching. Once heturned and spoke her name, and she did not rebuke him. 

"Women have a clearer vision of the future than men, " she beganpresently, "and I know you better than you know yourself. What--whatyou desire would not mend your life, but break it utterly. I am speakingplainly. As I have told you, you interest me; so far that is the extentof my feelings. I do not know whether they would go any farther, but onyour account as well as my own I will not take the risk. We have come toan impasse. I am sorry. I wish we might have been friends, but what youhave said makes it impossible. There is only one thing to do, and thatis for you to go away. "

He eased off his sheet, rounded the fort, and set a course for themoorings. The sun hung red above the silhouetted roofs of Conanicut, and a quaint tower in the shape of a minaret stood forth to cap theillusions of a day. 

The wind was falling, the harbour quieting for the night, and across thewaters, to the tones of a trumpet, the red bars of the battleship's flagfluttered to the deck. The Folly, making a wide circle, shot into thebreeze, and ended by gliding gently up to the buoy. 

CHAPTER V. THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

It was Saturday morning, but Honora had forgotten the fact. Not untilshe was on the bottom step did the odour of cigarettes reach her andturn her faint; and she clutched suddenly at the banisters. Thusshe stood for a while, motionless, and then went quietly into thedrawing-room. The French windows looking out on the porch were, asusual, open. 

It was an odd sensation thus to be regarding one's husband objectively. For the first time he appeared to her definitely as a stranger; asmuch a stranger as the man who came once a week to wind Mrs. Forsythe'sclocks. Nay, more. There was a sense of intrusion in this visit, ofinvasion of a life with which he had nothing to do. She examined himruthlessly, very much as one might examine a burglar taken unawares. There was the inevitable shirt with the wide pink stripes, of theabolishment or even of the effective toning down of which she had longsince despaired. On the contrary, like his complexion, they evinced acontinual tendency towards a more aggressive colour. There was also thejewelled ring, now conspicuously held aloft on a fat little finger. Thestripes appeared that morning as the banner of a hated suzerain, thering as the emblem of his overlordship. He did not belong in that house;everything in it cried out for his removal; and yet it was, in the eyesof the law at least, his. By grace of that fact she was here, enjoyingit. At that instant, as though in evidence of this, he laid down aburning cigarette on a mahogany stand he had had brought out to him. Honora seized an ash tray, hurried to the porch, and picked up thecigarette in the tips of her fingers. 

"Howard, I wish you would be more careful of Mrs. Forsythe's furniture, "she exclaimed. 

"Hello, Honora, " he said, without looking up. "I see by the Newportpaper that old Maitland is back from Europe. Things are skyrocketing inWall Street. " He glanced at the ash tray, which she had pushed towardshim. "What's the difference about the table? If the old lady makes arow, I'll pay for it. "

"Some things are priceless, " she replied; "you do not seem to realizethat. "

"Not this rubbish, " said Howard. "Judging by the fuss she made over theinventory, you'd think it might be worth something. "

"She has trusted us with it, " said Honora. Her voice shook. 

He stared at her. 

"I never saw you look like that, " he declared. 

"It's because you never look at me closely, " she answered. 

He laughed, and resumed his reading. She stood awhile by the railing. Across the way, beyond the wall, she heard Mr. Chamberlin's shrill voiceberating a gardener. 

"Howard, " she asked presently, "why do you come to Newport at all?"

"Why do I come to Newport?" he repeated. "I don't understand you. "

"Why do you come up here every week?"

"Well, " he said, "it isn't a bad trip on the boat, and I get a changefrom New York; and see men I shouldn't probably see otherwise. " Hepaused and looked at her again, doubtfully. "Why do you ask such aquestion?"

"I wished to be sure, " said Honora. 

"Sure of what?"

"That the-arrangement suited you perfectly. You do not feel--the lack ofanything, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't care to stay in Newport all the time?"

"Not if I know myself, " he replied. "I leave that part of it to you. "

"What part of it?" she demanded. 

"You ought to know. You do it pretty well, " he laughed. "By the way, Honora, I've got to have a conference with Mr. Wing to-day, and I maynot be home to lunch. "

"We're dining there to-night, " she told him, in a listless voice. 

Upon Ethel Wing had descended the dominating characteristics of theelder James, who, whatever the power he might wield in Wall Street, waslittle more than a visitor in Newport. It was Ethel's house, from thehour she had swept the Reel and Carter plans (which her father hadbrought home) from the table and sent for Mr. Farwell. The forehandedReginald arrived with a sketch, and the result, as every one knows, is one of the chief monuments to his reputation. So exquisitelyproportioned is its simple, two-storied marble front as seen through thetrees left standing on the old estate, that tourists, having beheld theChamberlin and other mansions, are apt to think this niggardly for apalace. Two infolding wings, stretching towards the water, enclosea court, and through the slender white pillars of the peristyle onebeholds in fancy the summer seas of Greece. 

Looking out on the court, and sustaining this classic illusion, is amarble-paved dining room, with hangings of Pompeiian red, and frescoesof nymphs and satyrs and piping shepherds, framed between flutedpilasters, dimly discernible in the soft lights. 

In the midst of these surroundings, at the head of his table, sat thegreat financier whose story but faintly concerns this chronicle; theman who, every day that he had spent down town in New York in the pastthirty years, had eaten the same meal in the same little restaurantunder the street. This he told Honora, on his left, as though it werenot history. He preferred apple pie to the greatest of artistic triumphsof his daughter's chef, and had it; a glorified apple pie, with frillsand furbelows, and whipped cream which he angrily swept to one side withcontempt. 

"That isn't apple pie, " he said. "I'd like to take that Frenchman tothe little New England hilltown where I went to school and show him whatapple pie is. "

Such were the autobiographical snatches--by no means so crude as theysound that reached her intelligence from time to time. Mr. Wing was toosubtle to be crude; and he had married a Playfair, a family noted forgood living. Honora did not know that he was fond of talking of thatapple pie and the New England school at public banquets; nor did Mr. Wing suspect that the young woman whom he was apparently addressing, andwho seemed to be hanging on his words, was not present. 

It was not until she had put her napkin on the table that she awokewith a start and gazed into his face and saw written there still anotherhistory than the one he had been telling her. The face was hidden, indeed, by the red beard. What she read was in the little eyes thatswept her with a look of possession: possession in a large sense, letit be emphasized, that an exact justice be done Mr. James Wing, --she wasone of the many chattels over which his ownership extended; boughtand paid for with her husband. A hot resentment ran through her at thethought. 

Mr. Cuthbert, who was many kinds of a barometer, sought her out later inthe courtyard. 

"Your husband's feeling tiptop, isn't he?" said he. 

"He's been locked up with old Wing all day. Something's in the wind, andI'd give a good deal to know what it is. "

"I'm afraid I can't inform you, " replied Honora. 

Mr. Cuthbert apologized. 

"Oh, I didn't mean to ask you far a tip, " he declared, quite confused. "I didn't suppose you knew. The old man is getting ready to make anotherkilling, that's all. You don't mind my telling you you look stunningtonight, do you?"

Honora smiled. 

"No, I don't mind, " she said. 

Mr. Cuthbert appeared to be ransacking the corners of his brain forwords. 

"I was watching you to-night at the table while Mr. Wing was talking toyou. I don't believe you heard a thing he said. "

"Such astuteness, " she answered, smiling at him, "astounds me. "

He laughed nervously. 

"You're different than you've ever been since I've known you, " he wenton, undismayed. "I hope you won't think I'm making love to you. Not thatI shouldn't like to, but I've got sense enough to see it's no use. "

Her reply was unexpected. 

"What makes you think that?" she asked curiously. 

"Oh, I'm not a fool, " said Mr. Cuthbert. "But if I were a poet, or thatfellow Dewing, I might be able to tell you what your eyes were liketo-night. "

"I'm glad you're not, " said Honora. 

As they were going in, she turned for a lingering look at the sea. Astrong young moon rode serenely in the sky and struck a path of lightacross the restless waters. Along this shimmering way the eyes of hercompanion followed hers. 

"I can tell you what that colour is, at least. Do you remember the blue, transparent substance that used to be on favours at children's parties?"he asked. "There were caps inside of them, and crackers. "

"I believe you are a poet, after all, " she said. 

A shadow fell across the flags. Honora did not move. 

"Hello, Chiltern, " said Cuthbert. "I thought you were playing bridge. .. "

"You haven't looked at me once to-night, " he said, when Cuthbert hadgone in. 

She was silent. 

"Are you angry?"

"Yes, a little, " she answered. "Do you blame me?"

The vibration of his voice in the moonlit court awoke an answering chordin her; and a note of supplication from him touched her strangely. Logicin his presence was a little difficult--there can be no doubt of that. 

"I must go in, " she said unsteadily, "my carriage is waiting. "

But he stood in front of her. 

"I should have thought you would have gone, " she said. 

"I wanted to see you again. "

"And now?"

"I can't leave while you feel this way, " he pleaded. "I can't abandonwhat I have of you--what you will let me take. If I told you I would bereasonable--"

"I don't believe in miracles, " she said, recovering a little; "at leastin modern ones. The question is, could you become reasonable?"

"As a last resort, " he replied, with a flash of humour and a touch ofhope. "If you would--commute my sentence. "

She passed him, and picking up her skirts, paused in the window. 

"I will give you one more chance, " she said. 

This was the conversation that, by repeating itself, filled the intervalof her drive home. So oblivious was she to Howard's presence, that hecalled her twice from her corner of the carriage after the vehicle hadstopped; and he halted her by seizing her arm as she was about to go upthe stairs. She followed him mechanically into the drawing-room. 

He closed the door behind them, and the other door into the darkeneddining room. He even took a precautionary glance out of the window ofthe porch. And these movements, which ordinarily might have aroused hercuriosity, if not her alarm, she watched with a profound indifference. He took a stand before the Japanese screen in front of the fireplace, thrust his hands in his pockets, cleared his throat, and surveyed herfrom her white shoulders to the gold-embroidered tips of her slippers. 

"I'm leaving for the West in the morning, Honora. If you've made anyarrangements for me on Sunday, you'll have to cancel them. I may be gonetwo weeks, I may be gone a month. I don't know. "

"Yes, " she said. 

"I'm going to tell you something those fellows in the smoking roomto-night did their best to screw out of me. If you say anything aboutit, all's up between me and Wing. The fact that he picked me out toengineer the thing, and that he's going to let me in if I push itthrough, is a pretty good sign that he thinks something of my businessability, eh?"

"You'd better not tell me, Howard, " she said. 

"You're too clever to let it out, " he assured her; and added with achuckle: "If it goes through, order what you like. Rent a house onBellevue Avenue--any thing in reason. "

"What is it?" she asked, with a sudden premonition that the thing had avital significance for her. 

"It's the greatest scheme extant, " he answered with elation. "I won't gointo details--you wouldn't understand'em. Mr. Wing and some others havetried the thing before, nearer home, and it worked like a charm. Streetrailways. We buy up the little lines for nothing, and get an interest inthe big ones, and sell the little lines for fifty times what they costus, and guarantee big dividends for the big lines. "

"It sounds to me, " said Honora, slowly, "as though some one would getcheated. "

"Some one get cheated!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Every one getscheated, as you call it, if they haven't enough sense to know what theirproperty's worth, and how to use it to the best advantage. It's a case, "he announced, "of the survival of the fittest. Which reminds me that ifI'm going to be fit to-morrow I'd better go to bed. Mr. Wing's to takeme to New York on his yacht, and you've got to have your wits about youwhen you talk to the old man. "

Volume 6. 

CHAPTER VI. CLIO, OR THALIA?

According to the ordinary and inaccurate method of measuring time, afortnight may have gone by since the event last narrated, and Honora hadtasted at last the joys of authorship. Her name was not to appear, tobe sure, on the cover of the Life and Letters of General Angus Chiltern;nor indeed, so far, had she written so much as a chapter or a page of awork intended to inspire young and old with the virtues of citizenship. At present the biography was in the crucial constructive stage. Shouldthe letters be put in one volume, and the life in another? or shouldthe letters be inserted in the text of the life? or could not there bea third and judicious mixture of both of these methods? Honora's counselon this and other problems was, it seems, invaluable. Her own tablewas fairly littered with biographies more or less famous which had beenfetched from the library, and the method of each considered. 

Even as Mr. Garrick would never have been taken for an actor in hiscoach and four, so our heroine did not in the least resemble GeorgeEliot, for instance, as she sat before her mirror at high noon withMonsieur Cadron and her maid Mathilde in worshipful attendance. Some ofthe ladies, indeed, who have left us those chatty memoirs of the daysbefore the guillotine, she might have been likened to. Monsieur Cadronwas an artist, and his branch of art was hair-dressing. It was by hisown wish he was here to-day, since he had conceived a new coiffureespecially adapted, he declared, to the type of Madame Spence. Beholdhim declaring ecstatically that seldom in his experience had he had suchhairs to work with. 

"Avec une telle chevelure, l'on peut tout faire, madame. Etre simple, c'est le comble de l'art. Ca vous donne, " he added, with clasped handsand a step backward, "ca vous donne tout a fait l'air d'une dame deNattier. "

Madame took the hand-glass, and did not deny that she was eblouissante. If madame, suggested Monsieur Cadron, had but a little dress a la MarieAntoinette? Madame had, cried madame's maid, running to fetch onewith little pink flowers and green leaves on an ecru ground. Could anycoiffure or any gown be more appropriate for an entertainment at whichClio was to preside?

It is obviously impossible that a masterpiece should be executed underthe rules laid down by convention. It would never be finished. Mr. Chiltern was coming to lunch, and it was not the first time. On herappearance in the doorway he halted abruptly in his pacing of thedrawing-room, and stared at her. 

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, " she said. 

"It was worth it, " he said. And they entered the dining room. A subdued, golden-green light came in through the tall glass doors that opened outon the little garden which had been Mrs. Forsythe's pride. The scentof roses was in the air, and a mass of them filled a silver bowl in themiddle of the table. On the dark walls were Mrs. Forsythe's preciousprints, and above the mantel a portrait of a thin, aristocraticgentleman who resembled the poet Tennyson. In the noonday shadows ofa recess was a dark mahogany sideboard loaded with softly gleamingsilver--Honora's. Chiltern sat down facing her. He looked at Honoraover the roses, --and she looked at him. A sense of unreality that was, paradoxically, stronger than reality itself came over her, a sense offitness, of harmony. And for the moment an imagination, ever strainingat its leash, was allowed to soar. It was Chiltern who broke thesilence. 

"What a wonderful bowl!" he said. 

"It has been in my father's family a great many years. He was very fondof it, " she answered, and with a sudden, impulsive movement she reachedover and set the bowl aside. 

"That's better, " he declared, "much as I admire the bowl, and theroses. "

She coloured faintly, and smiled. The feast of reason that we areimpatiently awaiting is deferred. It were best to attempt to record theintangible things; the golden-green light, the perfumes, and the faintmusical laughter which we can hear if we listen. Thalia's laughter, surely, not Clio's. Thalia, enamoured with such a theme, has taken thestage herself--and as Vesta, goddess of hearths. It was Vesta whom theyfelt to be presiding. They lingered, therefore, over the coffee, andChiltern lighted a cigar. He did not smoke cigarettes. 

"I've lived long enough, " he said, "to know that I have never lived atall. There is only one thing in life worth having. "

"What is it?" asked Honora. 

"This, " he answered, with a gesture; "when it is permanent. "

She smiled. 

"And how is one to know whether it would be--permanent?"

"Through experience and failure, " he answered quickly, "we learn todistinguish the reality when it comes. It is unmistakable. "

"Suppose it comes too late?" she said, forgetting the ancient verseinscribed in her youthful diary: "Those who walk on ice will slideagainst their wills. "

"To admit that is to be a coward, " he declared. 

"Such a philosophy may be fitting for a man, " she replied, "but for awoman--"

"We are no longer in the dark ages, " he interrupted. "Every one, manor woman, has the right to happiness. There is no reason why we shouldsuffer all our lives for a mistake. "

"A mistake!" she echoed. 

"Certainly, " he said. "It is all a matter of luck, or fate, or whateveryou choose to call it. Do you suppose, if I could have found fifteenyears ago the woman to have made me happy, I should have spent so muchtime in seeking distraction?"

"Perhaps you could not have been capable of appreciating her--fifteenyears ago, " suggested Honora. And, lest he might misconstrue her remark, she avoided his eyes. 

"Perhaps, " he admitted. "But suppose I have found her now, when I knowthe value of things. "

"Suppose you should find her now--within a reasonable time. What wouldyou do?"

"Marry her, " he exclaimed promptly. "Marry her and take her to Grenoble, and live the life my father lived before me. "

She did not reply, but rose, and he followed her to the shaded corner ofthe porch where they usually sat. The bundle of yellow-stained envelopeshe had brought were lying on the table, and Honora picked them upmechanically. 

"I have been thinking, " she said as she removed the elastics, "that itis a mistake to begin a biography by the enumeration of one's ancestors. Readers become frightfully bored before they get through the firstchapter. "

"I'm beginning to believe, " he laughed, "that you will have to writethis one alone. All the ideas I have got so far have been yours. Whyshouldn't you write it, and I arrange the material, and talk about it!That appears to be all I'm good for. "

If she allowed her mind to dwell on the vista he thus presented, she didnot betray herself. 

"Another thing, " she said, "it should be written like fiction. "

"Like fiction?"

"Fact should be written like fiction, and fiction like fact. It'sdifficult to express what I mean. But this life of your father deservesto be widely known, and it should be entertainingly done, like Lockhart, or Parton's works--"

An envelope fell to the floor, spilling its contents. Among them wereseveral photographs. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "how beautiful! What place is this?"

"I hadn't gone over these letters, " he answered. "I only got themyesterday from Cecil Grainger. These are some pictures of Grenoble whichmust leave been taken shortly before my father died. "

She gazed in silence at the old house half hidden by great maples andbeeches, their weighted branches sweeping the ground. The building wasof wood, painted white, and through an archway of verdure one saw thegenerous doorway with its circular steps, with its fan-light above, andits windows at the side. Other quaint windows, some of them of triplewidth, suggested an interior of mystery and interest. 

"My great-great-grandfather, Alexander Chiltern, built it, " he said, "onland granted to him before the Revolution. Of course the house has beenadded to since then, but the simplicity of the original has always beenkept. My father put on the conservatory, for instance, " and Chilternpointed to a portion at the end of one of the long low wings. "Hegot the idea from the orangery of a Georgian house in England, and anEnglish architect designed it. "

Honora took up the other photographs. One of them, over which shelingered, was of a charming, old-fashioned garden spattered withsunlight, and shut out from the world by a high brick wall. Behind thewall, again, were the dense masses of the trees, and at the end of apath between nodding foxgloves and Canterbury bells, in a curved recess, a stone seat. 

She turned her face. His was at her shoulder. 

"How could you ever have left it?" she asked reproachfully. 

She voiced his own regrets, which the crowding memories had awakened. 

"I don't know, " he answered, not without emotion. "I have often askedmyself that question. " He crossed over to the railing of the porch, swung about, and looked at her. Her eyes were still on the picture. "Ican imagine you in that garden, " he said. 

Did the garden cast the spell by which she saw herself on the seat? orwas it Chiltern's voice? She would indeed love and cherish it. And wasit true that she belonged there, securely infolded within those peacefulwalls? How marvellously well was Thalia playing her comedy! Which wasthe real, and which the false? What of true value, what of peace andsecurity was contained in her present existence? She had missed themeaning of things, and suddenly it was held up before her, in a garden. 

A later hour found them in Honora's runabout wandering northward alongquiet country roads on the eastern side of the island. Chiltern, who wasdriving, seemed to take no thought of their direction, until atlast, with an exclamation, he stopped the horse; and Honora beheld anabandoned mansion of a bygone age sheltered by ancient trees, with widelands beside it sloping to the water. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Beaulieu, " he replied. "It was built in the seventeenth century, Ibelieve, and must have been a fascinating place in colonial days. " Hedrove in between the fences and tied the horse, and came around by theside of the runabout. "Won't you get out and look at it?"

She hesitated, and their eyes met as he held out his hand, but sheavoided it and leaped quickly to the ground neither spoke as they walkedaround the deserted house and gazed at the quaint facade, broken by acrumbling, shaded balcony let in above the entrance door. No sound brokethe stillness of the summer's day--a pregnant stillness. The airwas heavy with perfumes, and the leaves formed a tracery against themarvellous blue of the sky. Mystery brooded in the place. Here, in thisremote paradise now in ruins, people had dwelt and loved. Thought endedthere; and feeling, which is unformed thought, began. Again she glancedat him, and again their eyes met, and hers faltered. They turned, aswith one consent, down the path toward the distant water. Paradiseovergrown! Could it be reconstructed, redeemed?

In former days the ground they trod had been a pleasance the width ofthe house, bordered, doubtless, by the forest. Trees grew out of theflower beds now, and underbrush choked the paths. The box itself, thatonce primly lined the alleys, was gnarled and shapeless. Labyrinthhad replaced order, nature had reaped her vengeance. At length, inthe deepening shade, they came, at what had been the edge of the oldterrace, to the daintiest of summer-houses, crumbling too, the shuttersoff their hinges, the floor-boards loose. Past and gone were the idylsof which it had been the stage. 

They turned to the left, through tangled box that wound hither andthither, until they stopped at a stone wall bordering a tree-archedlane. At the bottom of the lane was a glimpse of blue water. 

Honora sat down on the wall with her back to a great trunk. Chiltern, with a hand on the stones, leaped over lightly, and stood for somemoments in the lane, his feet a little apart and firmly planted, hishands behind his back. 

What had Thalia been about to allow the message of that morning to creepinto her comedy? a message announcing the coming of an intruder not inthe play, in the person of a husband bearing gifts. What right had he, in the eternal essence of things, to return? He was out of all time andplace. Such had been her feeling when she had first read the hastilywritten letter, but even when she had burned it it had risen again fromthe ashes. Anything but that! In trying not to think of it, she hadpicked up the newspaper, learned of a railroad accident, --and shuddered. Anything but his return! Her marriage was a sin, --there could be nosacrament in it. She would flee first, and abandon all rather thansubmit to it. 

Chiltern's step aroused her now. He came back to the wall where she wassitting, and faced her. 

"You are sad, " he said. 

She shook her head at him, slowly, and tried to smile. 

"What has happened?" he demanded rudely. "I can't bear to see you sad. "

"I am going away, " she said. The decision had suddenly come to her. Whyhad she not seen before that it was inevitable?

He seized her wrist as it lay on the wall, and she winced from thesudden pain of his grip. 

"Honora, I love you, " he said, "I must have you--I will have you. I willmake you happy. I promise it on my soul. I can't, I won't live withoutyou. "

She did not listen to his words--she could not have repeated themafterwards. The very tone of his voice was changed by passion; creationspoke through him, and she heard and thrilled and swayed and soared, forgetting heaven and earth and hell as he seized her in his arms andcovered her face with kisses. Thus Eric the Red might have wooed. Andby what grace she spoke the word that delivered her she never knew. Assuddenly as he had seized her he released her, and she stood before himwith flaming cheeks and painful breath. 

"I love you, " he said, "I love you. I have searched the world for youand found you, and by all the laws of God you are mine. "

And love was written in her eyes. He had but to read it there, thoughher lips might deny it. This was the man of all men she would havechosen, and she was his by right of conquest. Yet she held up her handwith a gesture of entreaty. 

"No, Hugh--it cannot be, " she said. 

"Cannot!" he cried. "I will take you. You love me. "

"I am married. "

"Married! Do you mean that you would let that man stand between you andhappiness?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, in a frightened voice. 

"Just what I say, " he cried, with incredible vehemence. "Leavehim--divorce him. You cannot live with him. He isn't worthy to touchyour hand. "

The idea planted itself with the force of a barbed arrow from astrong-bow. Struggle as she might, she could not henceforth extract it. 

"Oh!" she cried. 

He took her arm, gently, and forced her to sit down on the wall. Suchwas the completeness of his mastery that she did not resist. He sat downbeside her. 

"Listen, Honora, " he said, and tried to speak calmly, though his voicewas still vibrant; "let us look the situation m the face. As I toldyou once, the days of useless martyrdom are past. The world is moreenlightened today, and recognizes an individual right to happiness. "

"To happiness, " she repeated after him, like a child. He forgot hiswords as he looked into her eyes: they were lighted as with all thecandles of heaven in his honour. 

"Listen, " he said hoarsely, and his fingers tightened on her arm. 

The current running through her from him made her his instrument. Did hesay the sky was black, she would have exclaimed at the discovery. 

"Yes--I am listening. "

"Honora!"

"Hugh, " she answered, and blinded him. He was possessed by the tragicfear that she was acting a dream; presently she would awake--and shatterthe universe. His dominance was too complete. 

"I love you--I respect you. You are making it very hard for me. Pleasetry to understand what I am saying, " he cried almost fiercely. "Thisthing, this miracle, has happened in spite of us. Henceforth you belongto me--do you hear?"

Once more the candles flared up. 

"We cannot drift. We must decide now upon some definite action. Ourlives are our own, to make as we choose. You said you were going away. And you meant--alone?"

The eyes were wide, now, with fright. 

"Oh, I must--I must, " she said. "Don't--don't talk about it. " And sheput forth a hand over his. 

"I will talk about it, " he declared, trembling. "I have thought it allout, " and this time it was her fingers that tightened. "You are goingaway. And presently--when you are free--I will come to you. "

For a moment the current stopped. 

"No, no!" she cried, almost in terror. The first fatalist must have beena woman, and the vision of rent prison bars drove her mad. "No, we couldnever be happy. "

"We can--we will be happy, " he said, with a conviction that wasunshaken. "Do you hear me? I will not debase what I have to say byresorting to comparisons. But--others I know have been happy are happy, though their happiness cannot be spoken of with ours. Listen. You willgo away--for a little while--and afterwards we shall be together for alltime. Nothing shall separate us: We never have known life, either of us, until now. I, missing you, have run after the false gods. And you--I sayit with truth-needed me. We will go to live at Grenoble, as my fatherand mother lived. We will take up their duties there. And if it seemspossible, I will go into public life. When I return, I shall findyou--waiting for me--in the garden. "

So real had the mirage become, that Honora did not answer. The desertand its journey fell away. Could such a thing, after all, be possible?Did fate deal twice to those whom she had made novices? The mirage, indeed, suddenly became reality--a mirage only because she hadproclaimed it such. She had beheld in it, as he spoke, a Grenoble whichwas paradise regained. And why should paradise regained be a paradox?Why paradise regained? Paradise gained. She had never known it, untilhe had flung wide the gates. She had sought for it, and never found ituntil now, and her senses doubted it. It was a paradise of love, tobe sure; but one, too, of duty. Duty made it real. Work was there, andfulfilment of the purpose of life itself. And if his days hitherto hadbeen useless, hers had in truth been barren. 

It was only of late, after a life-long groping, that she had discoveredtheir barrenness. The right to happiness! Could she begin anew, andfound it upon a rock? And was he the rock?

The question startled her, and she drew away from him first her hand, and then she turned her body, staring at him with widened eyes. Hedid not resist the movement; nor could he, being male, divine what waspassing within her, though he watched her anxiously. She had no thoughtof the first days, --but afterwards. For at such times it is the womanwho scans the veil of the future. How long would that beacon burn whichflamed now in such prodigal waste? Would not the very springs of it dryup? She looked at him, and she saw the Viking. But the Viking hadfled from the world, and they--they would be going into it. Could loveprevail against its dangers and pitfalls and--duties? Love was the wordthat rang out, as one calling through the garden, and her thoughts ranmolten. Let love overflow--she gloried in the waste! And let the leanyears come, --she defied them to-day. 

"Oh, Hugh!" she faltered. 

"My dearest!" he cried, and would have seized her in his arms againbut for a look of supplication. That he had in him this innate andunsuspected chivalry filled her with an exquisite sweetness. 

"You will--protect me?" she asked. 

"With my life and with my honour, " he answered. "Honora, there will beno happiness like ours. "

"I wish I knew, " she sighed: and then, her look returning from the veil, rested on him with a tenderness that was inexpressible. "I--I don'tcare, Hugh. I trust you. "

The sun was setting. Slowly they went back together through the pathsof the tangled garden, which had doubtless seen many dramas, and thecourses changed of many lives: overgrown and outworn now, yet love wasloth to leave it. Honora paused on the lawn before the house, and lookedback at him over her shoulder. 

"How happy we could have been here, in those days, " she sighed. 

"We will be happier there, " he said. 

Honora loved. Many times in her life had she believed herself tohave had this sensation, and yet had known nothing of these aches andecstasies! Her mortal body, unattended, went out to dinner that evening. Never, it is said, was her success more pronounced. The charm ofRandolph Leffingwell, which had fascinated the nobility of threekingdoms, had descended on her, and hostesses had discovered that shepossessed the magic touch necessary to make a dinner complete. Herquality, as we know, was not wit: it was something as old as the world, as new as modern psychology. It was, in short, the power to stimulate. She infused a sense of well-being; and ordinary people, in her presence, surprised themselves by saying clever things. 

Lord Ayllington, a lean, hard-riding gentleman, who was supposed to beon the verge of contracting an alliance with the eldest of the Grenfellgirls, regretted that Mrs. Spence was neither unmarried nor an heiress. 

"You know, " he said to Cecil Grainger, who happened to be gracing hiswife's dinner-party, "she's the sort of woman for whom a man mightconsent to live in Venice. "

"And she's the sort of woman, " replied, "a man couldn't get to go toVenice. "

Lord Ayllington's sigh was a proof of an intimate knowledge of theworld. 

"I suppose not, " he said. "It's always so. And there are few Americanwomen who would throw everything overboard for a grand passion. "

"You ought to see her on the beach, " Mr. Grainger suggested. 

"I intend to, " said Ayllington. "By the way, not a few of your Americanwomen get divorced, and keep their cake and eat it, too. It's a bitdifficult, here at Newport, for a stranger, you know. "

"I'm willing to bet, " declared Mr. Grainger, "that it doesn't pay. Whenyou're divorced and married again you've got to keep up appearances--thefirst time you don't. Some of these people are working pretty hard. "

Whereupon, for the Englishman's enlightenment, he recounted a littlegossip. 

This, of course, was in the smoking room. In the drawing-room, Mrs. Grainger's cousin did not escape, and the biography was the subject oflaughter. 

"You see something of him, I hear, " remarked Mrs. Playfair, a lady thedeficiency of whose neck was supplied by jewels, and whose conversationsounded like liquid coming out of an inverted bottle. "Is he reallyserious about the biography?"

"You'll have to ask Mr. Grainger, " replied Honora. 

"Hugh ought to marry, " Mrs. Grenfell observed. 

"Why did he come back?" inquired another who had just returned from aprolonged residence abroad. "Was there a woman in the case?"

"Put it in the plural, and you'll be nearer right, " laughed Mrs. Grenfell, and added to Honora, "You'd best take care, my dear, he'sdangerous. "

Honora seemed to be looking down on them from a great height, andto Reginald Farwell alone is due the discovery of this altitude; hisreputation for astuteness, after that evening, was secure. He had satnext her, and had merely put two and two together--an operation that isprobably at the root of most prophecies. More than once that summer Mr. Farwell had taken sketches down Honora's lane, for she was on what wasknown as his list of advisers: a sheepfold of ewes, some one had calledit, and he was always piqued when one of them went astray. In additionto this, intuition told him that he had taken the name of a deity invain--and that deity was Chiltern. These reflections resulted in anotherafter-dinner conversation to which we are not supposed to listen. 

He found Jerry Shorter in a receptive mood, and drew him into CecilGrainger's study, where this latter gentleman, when awake, carried onhis lifework of keeping a record of prize winners. 

"I believe there is something between Mrs. Spence and Hugh Chiltern, after all, Jerry, " he said. 

"By jinks, you don't say so!" exclaimed Mr. Shorter, who had a profoundrespect for his friend's diagnoses in these matters. "She was dazzlingto-night, and her eyes were like stars. I passed her in the hall justnow, and I might as well have been in Halifax. "

"She fairly withered me when I made a little fun of Chiltern, " declaredFarwell. 

"I tell you what it is, Reggie, " remarked Mr. Shorter, with morefrankness than tact, "you could talk architecture with 'em from now toChristmas, and nothing'd happen, but it would take an iceberg to write abook with Hugh and see him alone six days out of seven. Chiltern knockswomen into a cocked hat. I've seen 'em stark raving crazy. Why, therewas that Mrs. Slicer six or seven years ago--you remember--that CecilGrainger had such a deuce of a time with. And there was Mrs. Dutton--Iwas a committee to see her, when the old General was alive, --to saynothing about a good many women you and I know. "

Mr. Farwell nodded. 

"I'm confoundedly sorry if it's so, " Mr. Shorter continued, withsincerity. "She has a brilliant future ahead of her. She's got goodblood in her, she's stunning to look at, and she's made her own wayin spite of that Billycock of a husband who talks like the originalRothschild. By the bye, Wing is using him for a good thing. He's senthim out West to pull that street railway chestnut out of the fire. I'm not particularly squeamish, Reggie, though I try to play the gamestraight myself--the way my father played it. But by the lord Harry, Ican't see the difference between Dick Turpin and Wing and Trixy Brent. It's hold and deliver with those fellows. But if the police get anybody, their get Spence. "

"The police never get anybody, " said Farwell, pessimistically; for thechange of topic bored him. 

"No, I suppose they don't, " answered Mr. Shorter, cheerfully finishinghis chartreuse, and fixing his eye on one of the coloured lithographs oflean horses on Cecil Grainger's wall. "I'd talk to Hugh, if I wasn't asmuch afraid of him as of Jim Jeffries. I don't want to see him ruin hercareer. "

"Why should an affair with him ruin it?" asked Farwell, unexpectedly. "There was Constance Witherspoon. I understand that went pretty far. "

"My dear boy, " said Mr. Shorter, "it's the women. Bessie Grainger here, for instance--she'd go right up in the air. And the women had--well, achildhood-interest in Constance. Self-preservation is the first law--ofwomen. "

"They say Hugh has changed--that he wants to settle down, " said Farwell. 

"If you'd ever gone to church, Reggie, " said Mr. Shorter, "you'd knowsomething about the limitations of the leopard. "

CHAPTER VII. "LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS"

That night was Honora's soul played upon by the unknown musician of thesleepless hours. Now a mad, ecstatic chorus dinned in her ears and sether blood coursing; and again despair seized her with a dirge. Periodsof semiconsciousness only came to her, and from one of these she wassuddenly startled into wakefulness by her own words. "I have the rightto make of my life what I can. " But when she beheld the road of terrorsthat stretched between her and the shining places, it seemed as thoughshe would never have the courage to fare forth along its way. To lookback was to survey a prospect even more dreadful. 

The incidents of her life ranged by in procession. Not in naturalsequence, but a group here and a group there. And it was given her, forthe first time, to see many things clearly. But now she loved. God aloneknew what she felt for this man, and when she thought of him the veryperils of her path were dwarfed. On returning home that night shehad given her maid her cloak, and had stood for a long timeimmobile, --gazing at her image in the pierglass. 

"Madame est belle comme l'Imperatrice d'Autriche!" said the maid atlength. 

"Am I really beautiful, Mathilde?"

Mathilde raised her eyes and hands to heaven in a gesture that admittedno doubt. Mathilde, moreover, could read a certain kind of history ifthe print were large enough. 

Honora looked in the glass again. Yes, she was beautiful. He had foundher so, he had told her so. And here was the testimony of her owneyes. The bloom on the nectarines that came every morning from Mr. Chamberlin's greenhouse could not compare with the colour of her cheeks;her hair was like the dusk; her eyes like the blue pools among therocks, and touched now by the sun; her neck and arms of the whiteness ofsea-foam. It was meet that she should be thus for him and for the lovehe brought her. 

She turned suddenly to the maid. 

"Do you love me, Mathilde?" she asked. 

Mathilde was not surprised. She was, on the contrary, profoundlytouched. 

"How can madame ask?" she cried impulsively, and seized Honora's hand. How was it possible to be near madame, and not love her?

"And would you go--anywhere with me?"

The scene came back to her in the night watches. For the little maid hadwept and vowed eternal fidelity. 

It was not--until the first faint herald of the morning that Honoracould bring herself to pronounce the fateful thing that stoodbetween her and happiness, that threatened to mar the perfection of aheaven-born love--Divorce! And thus, having named it resolutely severaltimes, the demon of salvation began gradually to assume a kindly aspectthat at times became almost benign. In fact, this one was not a demon atall, but a liberator: the demon, she perceived, stalked behind him, andhis name was Notoriety. It was he who would flay her for coquetting withthe liberator. 

What if she were flayed? Once married to Chiltern, once embarked uponthat life of usefulness, once firmly established on ground of her owntilling, and she was immune. And this led her to a consideration ofthose she knew who had been flayed. They were not few, and a surfeitof publicity is a sufficient reason for not enumerating them here. Andduring this process of exorcism Notoriety became a bogey, too: he hadbeen powerless to hurt them. It must be true what Chiltern had saidthat the world was changing. The tragic and the ridiculous here joininghands, she remembered that Reggie Farwell had told her that he hadrecently made a trip to western New York to inspect a house he had builtfor a "remarried" couple who were not wholly unknown. The dove-cote, hehad called it. The man, in his former marriage, had been renowned allup and down tidewater as a rake and a brute, and now it was an exceptionwhen he did not have at least one baby on his knee. And he knew, according to Mr. Farwell, more about infant diet than the whole staff ofa maternity hospital. 

At length, as she stared into the darkness, dissolution came upon it. The sills of her windows outlined themselves, and a blurred foliagewas sketched into the frame. With a problem but half solved the day hadsurprised her. She marvelled to see that it grew apace, and presentlyarose to look out upon a stillness like that of eternity: in the greylight the very leaves seemed to be holding their breath in expectancyof the thing that was to come. Presently the drooping roses raised theirheads, from pearl to silver grew the light, and comparison ended. The reds were aflame, the greens resplendent, the lawn sewn with thediamonds of the dew. 

A little travelling table was beside the window, and Honora took her penand wrote. 

 "My dearest, above all created things I love you. Morning has come, and it seems to me that I have travelled far since last I saw you. I have come to a new place, which is neither hell nor heaven, and in the mystery of it you--you alone are real. It is to your strength that I cling, and I know that you will not fail me. 

 "Since I saw you, Hugh, I have been through the Valley of the Shadow. I have thought of many things. One truth alone is clear-- that I love you transcendently. . You have touched and awakened me into life. I walk in a world unknown. 

 "There is the glory of martyrdom in this message I send you now. You must not come to me again until I send for you. I cannot, I will not trust myself or you. I will keep this love which has come to me undefiled. It has brought with it to me a new spirit, a spirit with a scorn for things base and mean. Though it were my last chance in life, I would not see you if you came. If I thought you would not understand what I feel, I could not love you as I do. 

 "I will write to you again, when I see my way more clearly. I told you in the garden before you spoke that I was going away. Do not seek to know my plans. For the sake of the years to come, obey me. 

 "HONORA. "

She reread the letter, and sealed it. A new and different exaltationhad come to her--begotten, perhaps, in the act of writing. A new couragefilled her, and now she contemplated the ordeal with a tranquillity thatsurprised her. The disorder and chaos of the night were passed, and shewelcomed the coming day, and those that were to follow it. As though thefates were inclined to humour her impatience, there was a telegramon her breakfast tray, dated at New York, and informing her that herhusband would be in Newport about the middle of the afternoon. Hiswestern trip was finished a day earlier than he expected. Honora rangher bell. 

"Mathilde, I am going away. "

"Oui, madame. "

"And I should like you to go with me. "

"Oui, madame. "

"It is only fair that you should understand, Mathilde. I am going awayalone. I am not--coming back. "

The maid's eyes filled with sudden tears. 

"Oh, madame, " she cried, in a burst of loyalty, "if madame will permitme to stay with her!"

Honora was troubled, but her strange calmness did not forsake her. Themorning was spent in packing, which was a simple matter. She took onlysuch things as she needed, and left her dinner-gowns hanging in theclosets. A few precious books of her own she chose, but the jewelleryher husband had given her was put in boxes and laid upon thedressing-table. In one of these boxes was her wedding ring. Whenluncheon was over, an astonished and perturbed butler packed theLeffingwell silver and sent it off to storage. 

There had been but one interruption in Honora's labours. A note hadarrived--from him--a note and a box. He would obey her! She had known hewould understand, and respect her the more. What would their love havebeen, without that respect? She shuddered to think. And he sent her thisring, as a token of that love, as undying as the fire in its stones. Would she wear it, that in her absence she might think of him? Honorakissed it and slipped it on her finger, where it sparkled. The letterwas beneath her gown, though she knew it by heart. Chiltern had gone atlast: he could not, he said, remain in Newport and not see her. 

At midday she made but the pretence of a meal. It was not untilafterwards, in wandering through the lower rooms of this house, becomeso dear to her, that agitation seized her, and a desire to weep. Whatwas she leaving so precipitately? and whither going? The worldindeed was wide, and these rooms had been her home. The day had grownblue-grey, and in the dining room the gentle face seemed to look downupon her compassionately from the portrait. The scent of the rosesoverpowered her. As she listened, no sound brake the quiet of the place. 

Would Howard never come? The train was in--had been in ten minutes. Hark, the sound of wheels! Her heart beating wildly, she ran to thewindows of the drawing-room and peered through the lilacs. Yes, there hewas, ascending the steps. 

"Mrs. Spence is out, I suppose, " she heard him say to the butler, whofollowed with his bag. 

"No, sir, she's is the drawing-room. "

The sight of him, with his air of satisfaction and importance, proved anunexpected tonic to her strength. It was as though he had brought intothe room, marshalled behind him, all the horrors of her marriage, andshe marvelled and shuddered anew at the thought of the years of thatsufferance. 

"Well, I'm back, " he said, "and we've made a great killing, as I wroteyou. They were easier than I expected. "

He came forward for the usual perfunctory kiss, but she recoiled, and itwas then that his eye seemed to grasp the significance of her travellingsuit and veil, and he glanced at her face. 

"What's up? Where are you going?" he demanded. "Has anything happened?"

"Everything, " she said, and it was then, suddenly, that she felt thestore of her resolution begin to ebb, and she trembled. "Howard, I amgoing away. "

He stopped short, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his checkedtrousers. 

"Going away, " he repeated. "Where?"

"I don't know, " said Honora; "I'm going away. "

As though to cap the climax of tragedy, he smiled as he produced hiscigarette case. And she was swept, as it were, by a scarlet flame thatdeprived her for the moment of speech. 

"Well, " he said complacently, "there's no accounting for women. Acase of nerves--eh, Honora? Been hitting the pace a little too hard, I guess. " He lighted a match, blissfully unaware of the quality of herlook. "All of us have to get toned up once in a while. I need it myself. I've had to drink a case of Scotch whiskey out West to get this dealthrough. Now what's the name of that new boat with everything on herfrom a cafe to a Stock Exchange? A German name. "

"I don't know, " said Honora. She had answered automatically. 

To the imminent peril of one of the frailest of Mrs. Forsythe's chairs, he sat down on it, placed his hands on his knees, flung back his head, and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. Still she stared at him, as in astate of semi-hypnosis. 

"Instead of going off to one of those thousand-dollar-a-minute doctors, let me prescribe for you, " he said. "I've handled some nervous men in mytime, and I guess nervous women aren't much different. You've had theselittle attacks before, and they blow over--don't they? Wing owes me avacation. If I do say it myself, there are not five men in New York whowould have pulled off this deal for him. Now the proposition I was goingto make to you is this: that we get cosey in a cabin de luxe on thatGerman boat, hire an automobile on the other side, and do up Europe. It's a sort of a handicap never to have been over there. "

"Oh, you're making it very hard for me, Howard, " she cried. "Imight have known that you couldn't understand, that you never couldunderstand--why I am going away. I've lived with you all this time, andyou do not know me any better than you know--the scrub-woman. I'm goingaway from you--forever. "

In spite of herself, she ended with an uncontrollable sob. 

"Forever!" he repeated, but he continued to smoke and to look at herwithout any evidences of emotion, very much as though he had receivedan ultimatum in a business transaction. And then there crept into hisexpression something of a complacent pity that braced her to continue. "Why?" he asked. 

"Because--because I don't love you. Because you don't love me. You don'tknow what love is--you never will. "

"But we're married, " he said. "We get along all right. "

"Oh, can't you see that that makes it all the worse!" she cried. "I canstand it no longer. I can't live with you--I won't live with you. I'm ofno use to you--you're sufficient unto yourself. It was all a frightfulmistake. I brought nothing into your life, and I take nothing out ofit. We are strangers--we have always been so. I am not even yourhousekeeper. Your whole interest in life is in your business, and youcome home to read the newspapers and to sleep! Home! The very word is amockery. If you had to choose between me and your business you wouldn'thesitate an instant. And I--I have been starved. It isn't your fault, perhaps, that you don't understand that a woman needs something morethan dinner-gowns and jewels and--and trips abroad. Her only possiblecompensation for living with a man is love. Love--and you haven't thefaintest conception of it. It isn't your fault, perhaps. It's my faultfor marrying you. I didn't know any better. "

She paused with her breast heaving. He rose and walked over to thefireplace and flicked his ashes into it before he spoke. His calmnessmaddened her. 

"Why didn't you say something about this before?" he asked. 

"Because I didn't know it--I didn't realize it--until now. "

"When you married me, " he went on, "you had an idea that you were goingto live in a house on Fifth Avenue with a ballroom, didn't you?"

"Yes, " said Honora. "I do not say I am not to blame. I was a fool. Mystandards were false. In spite of the fact that my aunt and uncle arethe most unworldly people that ever lived--perhaps because of it--Iknew nothing of the values of life. I have but one thing to say in mydefence. I thought I loved you, and that you could give me--what everywoman needs. "

"You were never satisfied from the first, " he retorted. "You wantedmoney and position--a mania with American women. I've made a successthat few men of my age can duplicate. And even now you are not satisfiedwhen I come back to tell you that I have money enough to snap my fingersat half these people you know. "

"How, " asked Honora, "how did you make it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

She turned away from him with a gesture of weariness. 

"No, you wouldn't understand that, either, Howard. "

It was not until then that he showed feeling. 

"Somebody has been talking to you about this deal. I'm not surprised. Alot of these people are angry because we didn't let them in. What havethey been saying?" he demanded. 

Her eyes flashed. 

"Nobody has spoken to me on the subject, " she said. "I only know what Ihave read, and what you have told me. In the first place, you deceivedthe stockholders of these railways into believing their property wasworthless, and in the second place, you intend to sell it to the publicfor much more than it is worth. "

At first he stared at her in surprise. Then he laughed. 

"By George, you'd make something of a financier yourself, Honora, " heexclaimed. And seeing that she did not answer, continued: "Well, you'vegot it about right, only it's easier said than done. It takes brains. That's what business is--a survival of the fittest. If you don't do theother man, he'll do you. " He opened the cigarette case once more. "Andnow, " he said, "let me give you a little piece of advice. It's a goodmotto for a woman not to meddle with what doesn't concern her. It isn'ther business to make the money, but to spend it; and she can usually dothat to the queen's taste. "

"A high ideal?" she exclaimed. 

"You ought to have some notion of where that ideal came from, " heretorted. "You were all for getting rich, in order to compete with thesepeople. Now you've got what you want--"

"And I am going to throw it away. That is like a woman, isn't it?"

He glanced at her, and then at his watch. 

"See here, Honora, I ought to go over to Mr. Wing's. I wired him I'd bethere at four-thirty. "

"Don't let me keep you, " she replied. 

"By gad, you are pale!" he said. "What's got into the women these days?They never used to have these confounded nerves. Well, if you are benton it, I suppose there's no use trying to stop you. Go off somewhere andtake a rest, and when you come back you'll see things differently. "

She held out her hand. 

"Good-by, Howard, " she said. "I wanted you to know that I didn't--bearyou any ill-will--that I blame myself as much as you. More, if anything. I hope you will be happy--I know you will. But I must ask you to believeme when I say that I shan't come back. I--I am leaving all the valuablethings you gave me. You will find them on my dressing-table. AndI wanted to tell you that my uncle sent me a little legacy from myfather-an unexpected one--that makes me independent. "

He did not take her hand, but was staring at her now, incredulously. 

"You mean you are actually going?" he exclaimed. 

"Yes. "

"But--what shall I say to Mr. Wing? What will he think?"

Despite the ache in her heart, she smiled. 

"Does it make any difference what Mr. Wing thinks?" she asked gently. "Need he know? Isn't this a matter which concerns us alone? I shallgo off, and after a certain time people will understand that I am notcoming back. "

"But--have you considered that it may interfere with my prospects?" heasked. 

"Why should it? You are invaluable to Mr. Wing. He can't afford todispense with your services just because you will be divorced. Thatwould be ridiculous. Some of his own associates are divorced. "

"Divorced!" he cried, and she saw that he had grown pasty white. "Onwhat grounds? Have you been--"

He did not finish. 

"No, " she said, "you need fear no scandal. There will be nothing in anyway harmful to your--prospects. "

"What can I do?" he said, though more to himself than to her. Her quickear detected in his voice a note of relief. And yet, he struck in her, standing helplessly smoking in the middle of the floor, chords of pity. 

"You can do nothing, Howard, " she said. "If you lived with me from nowto the millennium you couldn't make me love you, nor could you loveme--the way I must be loved. Try to realize it. The wrench is what youdread. After it is over you will be much more contented, much happier, than you have been with me. Believe me. "

His next remark astonished her. 

"What's the use of being so damned precipitate?" he demanded. 

"Precipitate!"

"Because I can stand it no longer. I should go mad, " she answered. 

He took a turn up and down the room, stopped suddenly, and stared ather with eyes that had grown smaller. Suspicion is slow to seize thecomplacent. Was it possible that he had been supplanted?

Honora, with an instinct of what was coming, held up her head. Had hebeen angry, had he been a man, how much humiliation he would have sparedher!

"So you're in love!" he said. "I might have known that something was atthe bottom of this. "

She took account of and quivered at the many meanings behind hisspeech--meanings which he was too cowardly to voice in words. 

"Yes, " she answered, "I am in love--in love as I never hoped to be--as Idid not think it possible to be. My love is such that I would go throughhell fire for the sake of it. I do not expect you to believe me when Itell you that such is not the reason why I am leaving you. If you hadloved me with the least spark of passion, if I thought I were in theleast bit needful to you as a woman and as a soul, as a helper and aconfidante, instead of a mere puppet to advertise your prosperity, thiswould not--could not--have happened. I love a man who would give up theworld for me to-morrow. I have but one life to live, and I am going tofind happiness if I can. "

She paused, afire with an eloquence that had come unsought. But herhusband only stared at her. She was transformed beyond his recognition. Surely he had not married this woman! And, if the truth be told, down inhis secret soul whispered a small, congratulatory voice. Although he didnot yet fully realize it, he was glad he had not. 

Honora, with an involuntary movement, pressed her handkerchief to hereyes. 

"Good-by, Howard, " she said. "I--I did not expect you to understand. IfI had stayed, I should have made you miserably unhappy. "

He took her hand in a dazed manner, as though he knew not in the leastwhat he was doing. He muttered something and found speech impossible. He gulped once, uncomfortably. The English language had ceased to be amedium. Great is the force of habit! In the emergency he reached for hiscigarette case. 

Honora had given orders that the carriage was to wait at the door. Theservants might suspect, but that was all. Her maid had been discreet. She drew down her veil as she descended the steps, and told the coachmanto drive to the station. 

It was raining. Leaning forward from under the hood as the horsesstarted, she took her last look at the lilacs. 

CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH THE LAW BETRAYS A HEART

It was still raining when she got into a carriage at Boston and droveunder the elevated tracks, through the narrow, slippery businessstreets, to the hotel. From the windows of her room, as the night fell, she looked out across the dripping foliage of the Common. Below her, androbbed from that sacred ground, were the little granite buildingsthat housed the entrances to the subway, and for a long time she stoodwatching the people crowding into these. Most of them had homes to goto! In the gathering gloom the arc-lights shone, casting yellow streakson the glistening pavement; wagons and carriages plunged into themaelstrom at the corner; pedestrians dodged and slipped; lightningsflashed from overhead wires, and clanging trolley cars pushed theirgreater bulk through the mass. And presently the higher toned and moreominous bell of an ambulance sounded on its way to the scene of anaccident. 

It was Mathilde who ordered her dinner and pressed her to eat. Butshe had no heart for food. In her bright sitting-room, with the shadestightly drawn, an inexpressible loneliness assailed her. A largeengraving of a picture of a sentimental school hung on the wall: shecould not bear to look at it, and yet her eyes, from time to time, werefatally drawn thither. It was of a young girl taking leave of her lover, in early Christian times, before entering the arena. It haunted Honora, and wrought upon her imagination to such a pitch that she went into herbedroom to write. 

For a long time nothing more was written of the letter than "Dear UncleTom and Aunt Mary": what to say to them?

 "I do not know what you will think of me. I do not know, to-night, what to think of myself. I have left Howard. It is not because he was cruel to me, or untrue. He does not love me, nor I him. I cannot expect you, who have known the happiness of marriage, to realize the tortures of it without love. My pain in telling you this now is all the greater because I realize your belief as to the sacredness of the tie--and it is not your fault that you did not instil that belief into me. I have had to live and to think and to suffer for myself. I do not attempt to account for my action, and I hesitate to lay the blame upon the modern conditions and atmosphere in which I lived; for I feel that, above all things, I must be honest with myself. 

 "My marriage with Howard was a frightful mistake, and I have grown slowly to realize it, until life with him became insupportable. Since he does not love me, since his one interest is his business, my departure makes no great difference to him. 

 "Dear Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom, I realize that I owe you much --everything that I am. I do not expect you to understand or to condone what I have done. I only beg that you will continue to --love your niece, "HONORA. "

She tried to review this letter. Incoherent though it were andincomplete, in her present state of mind she was able to add but a fewwords as a postscript. "I will write you my plans in a day or two, whenI see my way more clearly. I would fly to you--but I cannot. I am goingto get a divorce. "

She sat for a time picturing the scene in the sitting-room when theyshould read it, and a longing which was almost irresistible seized herto go back to that shelter. One force alone held her in misery whereshe was, --her love for Chiltern; it drew her on to suffer the horrors ofexile and publicity. When she suffered most, his image rose before her, and she kissed the ring on her hand. Where was he now, on this rainynight? On the seas?

At the thought she heard again the fog-horns and the sirens. 

Her sleep was fitful. Many times she went over again her talk withHoward, and she surprised herself by wondering what he had thought andfelt since her departure. And ever and anon she was startled out ofchimerical dreams by the clamour of bells-the trolley cars on theirceaseless round passing below. At last came the slumber of exhaustion. 

It was nine o'clock when she awoke and faced the distasteful task shehad set herself for the day. In her predicament she descended to theoffice, where the face of one of the clerks attracted her, and shewaited until he was unoccupied. 

"I should like you to tell me--the name of some reputable lawyer, " shesaid. 

"Certainly, Mrs. Spence, " he replied, and Honora was startled at thesound of her name. She might have realized that he would know her. "Isuppose a young lawyer would do--if the matter is not very important. "

"Oh, no!" she cried, blushing to her temples. "A young lawyer would dovery well. "

The clerk reflected. He glanced at Honora again; and later in the dayshe divined what had been going on in his mind. 

"Well, " he said, "there are a great many. I happen to think of Mr. Wentworth, because he was in the hotel this morning. He is in theTremont Building. "

She thanked him hurriedly, and was driven to the Tremont Building, through the soggy street that faced the still dripping trees of theCommon. Mounting in the elevator, she read on the glass door amongstthe names of the four members of the firm that of Alden Wentworth, andsuddenly found herself face to face with the young man, in his privateoffice. He was well groomed and deeply tanned, and he rose to meet herwith a smile that revealed a line of perfect white teeth. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Spence?" he said. "I did not think, when I met youat Mrs. Grenfell's, that I should see you so soon in Boston. Won't yousit down?"

Honora sat down. There seemed nothing else to do. She remembered himperfectly now, and she realized that the nimble-witted clerk had meantto send her to a gentleman. 

"I thought, " she faltered, "I thought I was coming to a--a stranger. They gave me your address at the hotel--when I asked for a lawyer. "

"Perhaps, " suggested Mr. Wentworth, delicately, "perhaps you wouldprefer to go to some one else. I can give you any number of addresses, if you like. "

She looked up at him gratefully. He seemed very human andunderstanding, --very honourable. He belonged to her generation, afterall, and she feared an older man. 

"If you will be kind enough to listen to me, I think I will stay here. It is only a matter of--of knowledge of the law. " She looked at himagain, and the pathos of her smile went straight to his heart. ForMr. Wentworth possessed that organ, although he did not wear it on hissleeve. 

He crossed the room, closed the door, and sat down beside her. 

"Anything I can do, " he said. 

She glanced at him once more, helplessly. 

"I do not know how to tell you, " she began. "It all seems so dreadful. "She paused, but he had the lawyer's gift of silence--of sympatheticsilence. "I want to get a divorce from my husband. "

If Mr. Wentworth was surprised, he concealed it admirably. Hisattitude of sympathy did not change, but he managed to ask her, in abusiness-like tone which she welcomed:--"On what grounds?"

"I was going to ask you that question, " said Honora. 

This time Mr. Wentworth was surprised--genuinely so, and he showed it. 

"But, my dear Mrs. Spence, " he protested, "you must remember that--thatI know nothing of the case. "

"What are the grounds one can get divorced on?" she asked. 

He coloured a little under his tan. 

"They are different in different states, " he replied. "Ithink--perhaps--the best way would be to read you the Massachusettsstatutes. "

"No--wait a moment, " she said. "It's very simple, after all, what I haveto tell you. I don't love my husband, and he doesn't love me, and it hasbecome torture to live together. I have left him with his knowledge andconsent, and he understands that I will get a divorce. "

Mr. Wentworth appeared to be pondering--perhaps not wholly on the legalaspects of the case thus naively presented. Whatever may have been hisprivate comments, they were hidden. He pronounced tentatively, and alittle absently, the word "desertion. "

"If the case could possibly be construed as desertion on your husband'spart, you could probably get a divorce in three years in Massachusetts. "

"Three years!" cried Honora, appalled. "I could never wait three years!"

She did not remark the young lawyer's smile, which revealed a greaterknowledge of the world than one would have suspected. He said nothing, however. 

"Three years!" she repeated. "Why, it can't be, Mr. Wentworth. Thereare the Waterfords--she was Mrs. Boutwell, you remember. And--and Mrs. Rindge--it was scarcely a year before--"

He had the grace to nod gravely, and to pretend not to notice theconfusion in which she halted. Lawyers, even young ones with white teethand clear eyes, are apt to be a little cynical. He had doubtless seenfrom the beginning that there was a man in the background. It was nothis business to comment or to preach. 

"Some of the western states grant divorces on--on much easier terms, " hesaid politely. "If you care to wait, I will go into our library and lookup the laws of those states. "

"I wish you would, " answered Honora. "I don't think I could bear tospend three years in such--in such an anomalous condition. And at anyrate I should much rather go West, out of sight, and have it all asquickly over with as possible. "

He bowed, and departed on his quest. And Honora waited, at momentsgrowing hot at the recollection of her conversation with him. Why--sheasked herself should the law make it so difficult, and subject her tosuch humiliation in a course which she felt to be right and natural andnoble? Finally, her thoughts becoming too painful, she got up and lookedout of the window. And far below her, through the mist, she beheld theburying-ground of Boston's illustrious dead which her cabman had pointedout to her as he passed. She did not hear the door open as Mr. Wentworthreturned, and she started at the sound of his voice. 

"I take it for granted that you are really serious in this matter, Mrs. Spence, " he said. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. 

"And that you have thoroughly reflected, " he continued imperturbably. Evidently, in spite of the cold impartiality of the law, a New Englandconscience had assailed him in the library. "I cannot take er--theresponsibility of advising you as to a course of action. You have askedme the laws of certain western states as to divorce I will read them. "

An office boy followed him, deposited several volumes on the taule, andMr. Wentworth read from them in a voice magnificently judicial. 

"There's not much choice, is there?" she faltered, when he had finished. 

He smiled. 

"As places of residence--" he began, in an attempt to relieve thepathos. 

"Oh, I didn't mean that, " she cried. "Exile is--is exile. " She flushed. After a few moments of hesitation she named at random a state the lawsof which required a six months' residence. She contemplated him. "Ihardly dare to ask you to give me the name of some reputable lawyer outthere. "

He had looked for an instant into her eyes. Men of the law are notinvulnerable, particularly at Mr. Wentworth's age, and New Englandconsciences to the contrary notwithstanding. In spite of himself, hereyes had made him a partisan: an accomplice, he told himself afterwards. 

"Really, Mrs. Spence, " he began, and caught another appealing look. Heremembered the husband now, and a lecture on finance in the Grenfellsmoking room which Howard Spence had delivered, and which had gratedon Boston sensibility. "It is only right to tell you that our firm doesnot--does not--take divorce cases--as a rule. Not that we are takingthis one, " he added hurriedly. "But as a friend--"

"Oh, thank you!" said Honora. 

"Merely as a friend who would be glad to do you a service, " hecontinued, "I will, during the day, try to get you the name of--of asreputable a lawyer as possible in that place. "

And Mr. Wentworth paused, as red as though he had asked her to marryhim. 

"How good of you!" she cried. "I shall be at the Touraine until thisevening. "

He escorted her through the corridor, bowed her into the elevator, andher spirits had risen perceptibly as she got into her cab and returnedto the hotel. There, she studied railroad folders. One confidant wasenough, and she dared not even ask the head porter the way to a localitywhere--it was well known--divorces were sold across a counter. And asshe worked over the intricacies of this problem the word her husbandhad applied to her action recurred to her--precipitate. No doubt Mr. Wentworth, too, had thought her precipitate. Nearly every important actof her life had been precipitate. But she was conscious in this instanceof no regret. Delay, she felt, would have killed her. Let her exilebegin at once. 

She had scarcely finished luncheon when Mr. Wentworth was announced. Forreasons best known to himself he had come in person; and he handed her, written on a card, the name of the Honourable David Beckwith. 

"I'll have to confess I don't know much about him, Mrs. Spence, " hesaid, "except that he has been in Congress, and is one of the prominentlawyers of that state. "

The gift of enlisting sympathy and assistance was peculiarly Honora's. And if some one had predicted that morning to Mr. Wentworth that beforenightfall he would not only have put a lady in distress on the highroadto obtaining a western divorce (which he had hitherto looked upon asdisgraceful), but that likewise he would miss his train for Pride'sCrossing, buy the lady's tickets, and see her off at the South Stationfor Chicago, he would have regarded the prophet as a lunatic. But thatis precisely what Mr. Wentworth did. And when, as her train pulled out, Honora bade him goodby, she felt the tug at her heartstrings which comesat parting with an old friend. 

"And anything I can do for you here in the East, while--while you areout there, be sure to let me know, " he said. 

She promised and waved at him from the platform as he stood motionless, staring after her. Romance had spent a whole day in Boston! And with Mr. Alden Wentworth, of all people!

Fortunately for the sanity of the human race, the tension of grief isvariable. Honora, closed in her stateroom, eased herself that night bywriting a long, if somewhat undecipherable, letter to Chiltern; and wasable, the next day, to read the greater portion of a novel. It was onlywhen she arrived in Chicago, after nightfall, that loneliness againassailed her. She was within nine hours--so the timetable said--of St. Louis! Of all her trials, the homesickness which she experienced as shedrove through the deserted streets of the metropolis of the Middle Westwas perhaps the worst. A great city on Sunday night! What travellerhas not felt the depressing effect of it? And, so far as the incomingtraveller is concerned, Chicago does not put her best foot forward. Theway from the station to the Auditorium Hotel was hacked and bruised--soit seemed--by the cruel battle of trade. And she stared, in a kind offascination that increased the ache in her heart; at the ugliness andcruelty of the twentieth century. 

To have imagination is unquestionably to possess a great capacity forsuffering, and Honora was paying the penalty for hers. It ran riot now. The huge buildings towered like formless monsters against the blacknessof the sky under the sickly blue of the electric lights, across thedirty, foot-scarred pavements, strange black human figures seemed towander aimlessly: an elevated train thundered overhead. And presentlyshe found herself the tenant of two rooms in that vast refuge of thehomeless, the modern hotel, where she sat until the small hours lookingdown upon the myriad lights of the shore front, and out beyond them onthe black waters of an inland sea. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

From Newport to Salomon City, in a state not far from the Pacific tier, is something of a transition in less than a week, though in modern lifewe should be surprised at nothing. Limited trains are wonderful enough;but what shall be said of the modern mind, that travels faster thanlight? and much too fast for the pages of a chronicle. Martha Washingtonand the good ladies of her acquaintance knew nothing about the upperwaters of the Missouri, and the words "for better, for worse, forricher, for poorer" were not merely literature to them. 

'Nous avons change tout cela', although there are yet certain cruditiesto be eliminated. In these enlightened times, if in one week a lady isnot entirely at home with husband number one, in the next week shemay have travelled in comparative comfort some two-thirds across acontinent, and be on the highroad to husband number two. Why travel?Why have to put up with all this useless expense and worry and wasteof time? Why not have one's divorce sent, C. O. D. , to one's door, or establish a new branch of the Post-office Department? Americanenterprise has surely lagged in this. 

Seated in a plush-covered rocking-chair that rocked on a track of itsown, and thus saved the yellow-and-red hotel carpet, the HonourableDave Beckwith patiently explained the vexatious process demanded by hisparticular sovereign state before she should consent to cut the Gordianknot of marriage. And his state--the Honourable Dave remarked--was inthe very forefront of enlightenment in this respect: practically allthat she demanded was that ladies in Mrs. Spence's predicament shouldbecome, pro tempore, her citizens. Married misery did not exist in theHonourable Dave's state, amongst her own bona fide citizens. And, by awise provision in the Constitution of our glorious American Union, noone state could tie the nuptial knot so tight that another state couldnot cut it at a blow. 

Six months' residence, and a whole year before the divorce could begranted! Honora looked at the plush rocking-chair, the yellow-and-redcarpet, the inevitable ice-water on the marble-topped table, and thepicture of a lady the shape of a liqueur bottle playing tennis in thelate eighties, and sighed. For one who is sensitive to surroundings, that room was a torture chamber. 

"But Mr. Beckwith, " she exclaimed, "I never could spend a year here!Isn't there a--house I could get that is a--a little--a little betterfurnished? And then there is a certain publicity about staying at ahotel. "

The Honourable Dave might have been justly called the friend of ladiesin a temporary condition of loneliness. His mission in life was notmerely that of a liberator, but his natural goodness led him to performa hundred acts of kindness to make as comfortable as possible thepurgatory of the unfortunates under his charge. He was a man of aremarkable appearance, and not to be lightly forgotten. His hair, aboveall, fascinated Honora, and she found her eyes continually returningto it. So incredibly short it was, and so incredibly stiff, that itreminded her of the needle points on the cylinder of an old-fashionedmusic-box; and she wondered, if it were properly inserted, what would bethe resultant melody. 

The Honourable Dave's head was like a cannon-ball painted white. Acrossthe top of it (a blemish that would undoubtedly have spoiled the tune)was a long scar, --a relic of one of the gentleman's many personaldifficulties. He who made the sear, Honora reflected, must have beena strong man. The Honourable Dave, indeed, had fought his way upwardthrough life to the Congress of the United States; and many were theharrowing tales of frontier life he told Honora in the long winterevenings when the blizzards came down the river valley. They would filla book; unfortunately, not this book. The growing responsibilities oftaking care of the lonely ladies that came in increasing numbers toSalomon City from the effeter portions of the continent had at lengthcompelled him to give up his congressional career. The Honourable Davewas unmarried; and, he told Honora, not likely to become so. He was thusat once human and invulnerable, a high priest dedicated to freedom. 

It is needless to say that the plush rocking-chair and the pictureof the liqueur-bottle lady did not jar on his sensibilities. Likean eminent physician who has never himself experienced neurosis, theHonourable Dave firmly believed that he understood the trouble fromwhich his client was suffering. He had seen many cases of it in ladiesfrom the Atlantic coast: the first had surprised him, no doubt. SalomonCity, though it contained the great Boon, was not esthetic. Being a keenstudent of human nature, he rightly supposed that she would not care tojoin the colony, but he thought it his duty to mention that there was acolony. 

Honora repeated the word. 

"Out there, " he said, waving his cigar to the westward, "some of theladies have ranches. " Some of the gentlemen, too, he added, for itappeared that exiles were not confined to one sex. "It's social--alittle too social, I guess, " declared Mr. Beckwith, "for you. " Adelicate compliment of differentiation that Honora accepted gravely. "They've got a casino, and they burn a good deal of electricity firstand last. They don't bother Salomon City much. Once in a while, in thewinter, they come in a bunch to the theatre. Soon as I looked at you Iknew you wouldn't want to go there. "

Her exclamation was sufficiently eloquent. 

"I've got just the thing for you, " he said. "It looks a little as if Iwas reaching out into the sanitarium business. Are you acquainted byany chance with Mrs. Boutwell, who married a fellow named Waterford?" heasked, taking momentarily out of his mouth the cigar he was smoking bypermission. 

Honora confessed, with no great enthusiasm, that she knew the presentMrs. Waterford. Not the least of her tribulations had been to listen toa partial recapitulation, by the Honourable Dave, of the ladies he hadassisted to a transfer of husbands. What, indeed, had these ladies to dowith her? She felt that the very mention of them tended to soil the puregarments of her martyrdom. 

"What I was going to say was this, " the Honourable Dave continued. "Mrs. Boutwell--that is to say Mrs. Waterford--couldn't stand this hotel anymore than you, and she felt like you do about the colony, so she renteda little house up on Wylie Street and furnished it from the East. I tookthe furniture off her hands: it's still in the house, by the way, whichhasn't been rented. For I figured it out that another lady would becoming along with the same notions. Now you can look at the house anytime you like. "

Although she had to overcome the distaste of its antecedents, the house, or rather the furniture, was too much of a find in Salomon City to beresisted. It had but six rooms, and was of wood, and painted grey, likeits twin beside it. But Mrs. Waterford had removed the stained-glasswindow-lights in the front door, deftly hidden the highly ornamentalsteam radiators, and made other eliminations and improvements, includingthe white bookshelves that still contained the lady's winter readingfifty or more yellow-and-green-backed French novels and plays. Honora'sfirst care, after taking possession, was to order her maid to removethese from her sight: but it is to be feared that they found their way, directly, to Mathilde's room. Honora would have liked to fumigate thehouse; and yet, at the same time, she thanked her stars for it. Mr. Beekwith obligingly found her a cook, and on Thursday evening she satdown to supper in her tiny dining room. She had found a temporary haven, at last. 

Suddenly she remembered that it was an anniversary. One week ago thatday, in the old garden at Beaulieu, had occurred the momentous eventthat had changed the current of her life!

CHAPTER IX. WYLIE STREET

There was a little spindle-supported porch before Honora's front door, and had she chosen she might have followed the example of her neighboursand sat there in the evenings. She preferred to watch the life abouther from the window-seat in the little parlour. The word exile suggests, perhaps, to those who have never tried it, empty wastes, isolation, loneliness. She had been prepared for these things, and Wylie Street wasa shock to her: in sending her there at this crisis in her life fatehad perpetrated nothing less than a huge practical joke. Next door, forinstance, in the twin house to hers, flaunted in the face of liberaldivorce laws, was a young couple with five children. Honora countedthem, from the eldest ones that ran over her little grass plot on theirway to and from the public school, to the youngest that spent much ofhis time gazing skyward from a perambulator on the sidewalk. Six days ofthe week, about six o'clock in the evening, there was a celebration inthe family. Father came home from work! He was a smooth-faced young manwhom a fortnight in the woods might have helped wonderfully--a clerk inthe big department store. 

He radiated happiness. When opposite Honora's front door he would openhis arms--the signal for a race across her lawn. Sometimes it was thelittle girl, with pigtails the colour of pulled molasses candy, whowon the prize of the first kiss: again it was her brother, a year herjunior; and when he was raised it was seen that the seat of his trouserswas obviously double. But each of the five received a reward, and thebaby was invariably lifted out of the perambulator. And finally therewas a conjugal kiss on the spindled porch. 

The wife was a roly-poly little body. In the mornings, at the sidewindows, Honora heard her singing as she worked, and sometimes the sunstruck with a blinding flash the pan she was in the act of shining. And one day she looked up and nodded and smiled. Strange indeed was theeffect upon our heroine of that greeting! It amazed Honora herself. Astrange current ran through her and left her hot, and even as she smiledand nodded back, unbidden tears rose scalding to her eyes. What was it?Why was it?

She went downstairs to the little bookcase, filled now with volumes thatwere not trash. For Hugh's sake, she would try to improve herself thiswinter by reading serious things. But between her eyes and the book wasthe little woman's smile. A month before, at Newport, how little shewould have valued it. 

One morning, as Honora was starting out for her lonely walk--thatusually led her to the bare clay banks of the great river--she ranacross her neighbour on the sidewalk. The little woman was settling thebaby for his airing, and she gave Honora the same dazzling smile. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Spence, " she said. 

"Good morning, " replied Honora, and in her strange confusion she leanedover the carriage. "Oh, what a beautiful baby!"

"Isn't he!" cried the little woman. "Of all of 'em, I think he's theprize. His father says so. I guess, " she added, "I guess it was becauseI didn't know so much about 'em when they first began to come. You takemy word for it, the best way is to leave 'em alone. Don't dandle 'em. It's hard to keep your hands off 'em, but it's right. "

"I'm sure of it, " said Honora, who was very red. 

They made a strange contrast as they stood on that new street, with itsnew vitrified brick paving and white stone curbs, and new little treesset out in front of new little houses: Mrs. Mayo (for such, Honora'scook had informed her, was her name) in a housekeeper's apron and ashirtwaist, and Honora, almost a head taller, in a walking costume ofdark grey that would have done justice to Fifth Avenue. The admirationin the little woman's eyes was undisguised. 

"You're getting a bill, I hear, " she said, after a moment. 

"A bill?" repeated Honora. 

"A bill of divorce, " explained Mrs. Mayo. 

Honora was conscious of conflicting emotions: astonishment, resentment, and--most curiously--of relief that the little woman knew it. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

But Mrs. Mayo did not appear to notice or resent her brevity. 

"I took a fancy to you the minute I saw you, " she said. "I can't say asmuch for the other Easterner that was here last year. But I made up mymind that it must be a mighty mean man who would treat you badly. "

Honora stood as though rooted to the pavement. She found a replyimpossible. 

"When I think of my luck, " her neighbour continued, "I'm almost ashamed. We were married on fifteen dollars a week. Of course there have beentrials, we must always expect that; and we've had to work hard, but--it hasn't hurt us. " She paused and looked up at Honora, and addedcontritely: "There! I shouldn't have said anything. It's mean of meto talk of my happiness. I'll drop in some afternoon--if you'll letme--when I get through my work, " said the little woman. 

"I wish you would, " replied Honora. 

She had much to think of on her walk that morning, and new resolutionsto make. Here was happiness growing and thriving, so far as she couldsee, without any of that rarer nourishment she had once thought sonecessary. And she had come two thousand miles to behold it. 

She walked many miles, as a part of the regimen and discipline to whichshe had set herself. Her haunting horror in this place, as she thoughtof the colony of which Mr. Beckwith had spoken and of Mrs. Boutwell'srow of French novels, was degeneration. She was resolved to returnto Chiltern a better and a wiser and a truer woman, unstained by theordeal. At the outskirts of the town she halted by the river's bank, breathing deeply of the pure air of the vast plains that surrounded her. 

She was seated that afternoon at her desk in the sitting-room upstairswhen she heard the tinkle of the door-bell, and remembered herneighbour's promise to call. With something of a pang she pushed backher chair. Since the episode of the morning, the friendship of thelittle woman had grown to have a definite value; for it was no smallthing, in Honora's situation, to feel the presence of a warm heartnext door. All day she had been thinking of Mrs. Mayo and her strangehappiness, and longing to talk with her again, and dreading it. Andwhile she was bracing herself for the trial Mathilde entered with acard. 

"Tell Mrs. Mayo I shall be down in a minute, " she said. 

It was not a lady, Mathilde replied, but a monsieur. 

Honora took the card. For a long time she sat staring at it, whileMathilde waited. It read:

 Mr. Peter Erwin. 

"Madame will see monsieur?"

A great sculptor once said to the statesman who was to be his model:"Wear your old coat. There is as much of a man in the back of hisold coat, I think, as there is in his face. " As Honora halted on thethreshold, Peter was standing looking out of the five-foot plate-glasswindow, and his back was to her. 

She was suddenly stricken. Not since she had been a child, not even inthe weeks just passed, had she felt that pain. And as a child, self-pityseized her--as a lost child, when darkness is setting in, and the willfails and distance appalls. Scalding tears welled into her eyes as sheseized the frame of the door, but it must have been her breathing thathe heard. He turned and crossed the room to her as she had known hewould, and she clung to him as she had so often done in days gone bywhen, hurt and bruised, he had rescued and soothed her. For the moment, the delusion that his power was still limitless prevailed, and her faithwhole again, so many times had he mended a world all awry. 

He led her to the window-seat and gently disengaged her hands from hisshoulders and took one of them and held it between his own. He did notspeak, for his was a rare intuition; and gradually her hand ceasedto tremble, and the uncontrollable sobs that shook her became lessfrequent. 

"Why did you come? Why did you come?" she cried. 

"To see you, Honora. "

"But you might have--warned me. "

"Yes, " he said, "it's true, I might. "

She drew her hand away, and gazed steadfastly at his face. 

"Why aren't you angry?" she said. "You don't believe in what I havedone--you don't sympathize with it--you don't understand it. "

"I have come here to try, " he said. 

She shook her head. 

"You can't--you can't--you never could. "

"Perhaps, " he answered, "it may not be so difficult as you think. "

Grown calmer, she considered this. What did he mean by it? to imply aknowledge of herself?

"It will be useless, " she said inconsequently. 

"No, " he said, "it will not be useless. "

She considered this also, and took the broader meaning that such actsare not wasted. 

"What do you intend to try to do?" she asked. 

He smiled a little. 

"To listen to as much as you care to tell me, Honora. "

She looked at him again, and an errant thought slipped in between herlarger anxieties. Wherever he went, how extraordinarily he seemed toharmonize with his surroundings. At Silverdale, and in the drawing-roomof the New York house, and in the little parlour in this far westerntown. What was it? His permanence? Was it his power? She felt that, butit was a strange kind of power--not like other men's. She felt, as shesat there beside him, that his was a power more difficult to combat. That to defeat it was at once to make it stronger, and to grow weaker. She summoned her pride, she summoned her wrongs: she summoned theego which had winged its triumphant flight far above his kindly, disapproving eye. He had the ability to make her taste defeat in thevery hour of victory. And she knew that, when she fell, he would bethere in his strength to lift her up. 

"Did--did they tell you to come?" she asked. 

"There was no question of that, Honora. I was away when--when theylearned you were here. As soon as I returned, I came. "

"Tell me how they feel, " she said, in a low voice. 

"They think only of you. And the thought that you are unhappyovershadows all others. They believe that it is to them you should havecome, if you were in trouble instead of coming here. "

"How could I?" she cried. "How can you ask? That is what makes it sohard, that I cannot be with them now. But I should only have made themstill more unhappy, if I had gone. They would not have understood--theycannot understand who have every reason to believe in marriage, whythose to whom it has been a mockery and a torture should be driven todivorce. "

"Why divorce?" he said. 

"Do you mean--do you mean that you wish me to give you the reasons why Ifelt justified in leaving my husband?"

"Not unless you care to, " he replied. "I have no right to demand them. I only ask you to remember, Honora, that you have not explained thesereasons very clearly in your letters to your aunt and uncle. They do notunderstand them. Your uncle was unable, on many accounts, to come here;and he thought that--that as an old friend, you might be willing to talkto me. "

"I can't live with--with my husband, " she cried. "I don't love him, andhe doesn't love me. He doesn't know what love is. "

Peter Erwin glanced at her, but she was too absorbed then to see thething in his eyes. He made no comment. 

"We haven't the same tastes, nor--nor the same way of looking atthings--the same views about making money--for instance. We becameabsolute strangers. What more is there to say?" she added, a littledefiantly. 

"Your husband committed no--flagrant offence against you?" he inquired. 

"That would have made him human, at least, " she cried. "It would haveproved that he could feel--something. No, all he cares for in the worldis to make money, and he doesn't care how he makes it. No woman with anatom of soul can live with a man like that. "

If Peter Erwin deemed this statement a trifle revolutionary, he did notsay so. 

"So you just--left him, " he said. 

"Yes, " said Honora. "He didn't care. He was rather relieved thanotherwise. If I had lived with him till I died, I couldn't have made himhappy. "

"You tried, and failed, " said Peter. 

She flushed. 

"I couldn't have made him happier, " she declared, correcting herself. "He has no conception of what real happiness is. He thinks he ishappy, -he doesn't need me. He'll be much more--contented without me. Ihave nothing against him. I was to blame for marrying him, I know. ButI have only one life to live, and I can't throw it away, Peter, Ican't. And I can't believe that a woman and a man were intended to livetogether without love. It is too horrible. Surely that isn't your ideaof marriage!"

"My idea of marriage isn't worth very much, I'm afraid, " he said. "IfI talked about it, I should have to confine myself to theories and--anddreams. "

"The moment I saw your card, Peter, I knew why you had come here, " shesaid, trying to steady her voice. "It was to induce me to go back to myhusband. You don't know how it hurts me to give you pain. I love you--Ilove you as I love Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary. You are a part of me. Butoh, you can't understand! I knew you could not. You have never made anymistakes--you have never lived. It is useless. I won't go back to him. If you stayed here for weeks you could not make me change my mind. "

He was silent. 

"You think that I could have prevented--this, if I had been lessselfish, " she said. 

"Where you are concerned, Honora, I have but one desire, " he answered, "and that is to see you happy--in the best sense of the term. If I couldinduce you to go back and give your husband another trial, I shouldreturn with a lighter heart. You ask me whether I think you have beenselfish. I answer frankly that I think you have. I don't pretend to sayyour husband has not been selfish also. Neither of you have ever tried, apparently, to make your marriage a success. It can't be done without anhonest effort. You have abandoned the most serious and sacred enterprisein the world as lightly as though it had been a piece of embroidery. Allthat I can gather from your remarks is that you have left your husbandbecause you have grown tired of him. "

"Yes, " said Honora, "and you can never realize how tired, unless youknew him as I did. When love dies, it turns into hate. "

He rose, and walked to the other end of the room, and turned. 

"Could you be induced, " he said, "for the sake of your aunt and uncle, if not for your own, to consider a legal separation?"

For an instant she stared at him hopelessly, and then she buried herface in her hands. 

"No, " she cried. "No, I couldn't. You don't know what you ask. "

He went to her, and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. 

"I think I do, " he said. 

There was a moment's tense silence, and then she got to her feet andlooked at him proudly. 

"Yes, " she cried, "it is true. And I am not ashamed of it. I havediscovered what love is, and what life is, and I am going to take themwhile I can. "

She saw the blood slowly leave his face, and his hands tighten. It wasnot until then that she guessed at the depth of his wound, and knew thatit was unhealed. For him had been reserved this supreme irony, that heshould come here to plead for her husband and learn from her own lipsthat she loved another man. She was suddenly filled with awe, though heturned away from her that she might not see his face: And she sought invain for words. She touched his hand, fearfully, and now it was he whotrembled. 

"Peter, " she exclaimed, "why do you bother with me? I--I am what I am. Ican't help it. I was made so. I cannot tell you that I am sorry for whatI have done--for what I am going to do. I will not lie to you--and youforced me to speak. I know that you don't understand, and that I causedyou pain, and that I shall cause--them pain. It may be selfishness--Idon't know. God alone knows. Whatever it is, it is stronger than I. Itis what I am. Though I were to be thrown into eternal fire I would notrenounce it. "

She looked at him again, and her breath caught. While she had beenspeaking, he had changed. There was a fire in his eyes she had neverseen before, in all the years she had known him. 

"Honora, " he said quietly, "the man who has done this is a scoundrel. "

She stared at him, doubting her senses, her pupils wide with terror. 

"How dare you, Peter! How dare you!" she cried. 

"I dare to speak the truth, " he said, and crossed the room to where hishat was lying and picked it up. She watched him as in a trance. Then hecame back to her. 

"Some day, perhaps, you will forgive me for saying that, Honora. I hopethat day will come, although I shall never regret having said it. I havecaused you pain. Sometimes, it seems, pain is unavoidable. I hope youwill remember that, with the exception of your aunt and uncle, you haveno better friend than I. Nothing can alter that friendship, wherever yougo, whatever you do. Goodby. "

He caught her hand, held it for a moment in his own, and the door hadclosed before she realized that he had gone. For a few moments she stoodmotionless where he had left her, and then she went slowly up the stairsto her own room. .. . 

CHAPTER X. THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

Had he, Hugh Chiltern, been anathematized from all the high pulpits ofthe world, Honora's belief in him could not have been shaken. Ivanhoeand the Knights of the Round Table to the contrary, there is no chivalryso exalted as that of a woman who loves, no courage higher, no endurancegreater. Her knowledge is complete; and hers the supreme faith that isunmoved by calumny and unbelief. She alone knows. The old Chiltern didnot belong to her: hers was the new man sprung undefiled from the sacredfire of their love; and in that fire she, too, had been born again. Peter--even Peter had no power to share such a faith, though what hehad said of Chiltern had wounded her--wounded her because Peter, of allothers, should misjudge and condemn him. Sometimes she drew consolationfrom the thought that Peter had never seen him. But she knew he couldnot understand him, or her, or what they had passed through: that kindof understanding comes alone through experience. 

In the long days that followed she thought much about Peter, and failedto comprehend her feelings towards him. She told herself that she oughtto hate him for what he had so cruelly said, and at times indeed herresentment was akin to hatred: again, his face rose before her asshe had seen it when he had left her, and she was swept by anincomprehensible wave of tenderness and reverence. And yet--paradox ofparadoxes--Chiltern possessed her!

On the days when his letters came it was as his emissary that the sunshone to give her light in darkness, and she went about the house witha song on her lips. They were filled, these letters, with an elixir ofwhich she drank thirstily to behold visions, and the weariness of herexile fell away. The elixir of High Purpose. Never was love on such aplane! He lifting her, --no marvel in this; and she--by a magic power oflevitation at which she never ceased to wonder--sustaining him. By heraid he would make something of himself which would be worthy of her. Atlast he had the incentive to enable him to take his place in the world. He pictured their future life at Grenoble until her heart was strainedwith yearning for it to begin. Here would be duty, --let him who wouldgainsay it, duty and love combined with a wondrous happiness. He at aman's labour, she at a woman's; labour not for themselves alone, but forothers. A paradise such as never was heard of--a God-fearing paradise, and the reward of courage. 

He told her he could not go to Grenoble now and begin the life withouther. Until that blessed time he would remain a wanderer, avoiding thehaunts of men. First he had cruised in the 'Folly, and then campedand shot in Canada; and again, as winter drew on apace, had charteredanother yacht, a larger one, and sailed away for the West Indies, whencethe letters came, stamped in strange ports, and sometimes as many asfive together. He, too, was in exile until his regeneration shouldbegin. 

Well he might be at such a time. One bright day in early winter Honora, returning from her walk across the bleak plains in the hope of letters, found newspapers and periodicals instead, addressed in an unknown hand. It matters not whose hand: Honora never sought to know. She had longregarded as inevitable this acutest phase of her martyrdom, and thelong nights of tears when entire paragraphs of the loathed stuff shehad burned ran ceaselessly in her mind. Would she had burned it beforereading it! An insensate curiosity had seized her, and she had read andread again until it was beyond the reach of fire. 

Save for its effect upon Honora, it is immaterial to this chronicle. Itwas merely the heaviest of her heavy payments for liberty. But what, sheasked herself shamefully, would be its effect upon Chiltern? Her faceburned that she should doubt his loyalty and love; and yet--thequestion returned. There had been a sketch of Howard, dwelling uponthe prominence into which he had sprung through his connection with Mr. Wing. There had been a sketch of her; and how she had taken what thewriter was pleased to call Society by storm: it had been intimated, witha cruelty known only to writers of such paragraphs, that ambitionto marry a Chiltern had been her motive! There had been a sketch ofChiltern's career, in carefully veiled but thoroughly comprehensiblelanguage, which might have made a Bluebeard shudder. This, of course, she bore best of all; or, let it be said rather, that it cost her theleast suffering. Was it not she who had changed and redeemed him?

What tortured her most was the intimation that Chiltern's familyconnections were bringing pressure to bear upon him to save him fromthis supremest of all his follies. And when she thought of this thestrange eyes and baffling expression of Mrs. Grainger rose before her. Was it true? And if true, would Chiltern resist, even as she, Honora, had resisted, loyally? Might this love for her not be another of his madcaprices?

How Honora hated herself for the thought that thus insistently returnedat this period of snows and blasts! It was January. Had he seen thenewspapers? He had not, for he was cruising: he had, for of coursethey had been sent him. And he must have received, from his relatives, protesting letters. A fortnight passed, and her mail contained nothingfrom him! Perhaps something had happened to his yacht! Visions ofshipwreck cause her to scan the newspapers for storms at sea, --but theshipwreck that haunted her most was that of her happiness. How easy itis to doubt in exile, with happiness so far away! One morning, when thewind dashed the snow against her windows, she found it impossible torise. 

If the big doctor suspected the cause of her illness, Mathilde knewit. The maid tended her day and night, and sought, with the tact of hernation, to console and reassure her. The little woman next door came andsat by her bedside. Cruel and infinitely happy little woman, filled withcompassion, who brought delicacies in the making of which she had spentprecious hours, and which Honora could not eat! The Lord, when he hadmade Mrs. Mayo, had mercifully withheld the gift of imagination. Onetopic filled her, she lived to one end: her Alpha and Omega were husbandand children, and she talked continually of their goodness and badness, of their illnesses, of their health, of their likes and dislikes, oftheir accomplishments and defects, until one day a surprising thinghappened. Surprising for Mrs. Mayo. 

"Oh, don't!" cried Honora, suddenly. "Oh, don't! I can't bear it. "

"What is it?" cried Mrs. Mayo, frightened out of her wits. "A turn?Shall I telephone for the doctor?"

"No, " relied Honora, "but--but I can't talk any more--to-day. "

She apologized on the morrow, as she held Mrs. Mayo's hand. "It--it wasyour happiness, " she said; "I was unstrung. I couldn't listen to it. Forgive me. "

The little woman burst into tears, and kissed her as she sat in bed. 

"Forgive you, deary!" she cried. "I never thought. "

"It has been so easy for you, " Honora faltered. 

"Yes, it has. I ought to thank God, and I do--every night. "

She looked long and earnestly, through her tears, at the young ladyfrom the far away East as she lay against the lace pillows, her palenessenhanced by the pink gown, her dark hair in two great braids on hershoulders. 

"And to think how pretty you are!" she exclaimed. 

It was thus she expressed her opinion of mankind in general, outsideof her own family circle. Once she had passionately desired beauty, the high school and the story of Helen of Troy notwithstanding. Now shebegan to look at it askance, as a fatal gift; and to pity, rather thanenvy, its possessors. 

As a by-industry, Mrs. Mayo raised geraniums and carnations in herfront cellar, near the furnace, and once in a while Peggy, with thepulled-molasses hair, or chubby Abraham Lincoln, would come puffingup Honora's stairs under the weight of a flower-pot and deposit ittriumphantly on the table at Honora's bedside. Abraham Lincoln did notobject to being kissed: he had, at least, grown to accept the processas one of the unaccountable mysteries of life. But something happened tohim one afternoon, on the occasion of his giving proof of an intellectwhich may eventually bring him, in the footsteps of his great namesake, to the White House. Entering Honora's front door, he saw on the halltable a number of letters which the cook (not gifted with his brains)had left there. He seized them in one fat hand, while with the otherhe hugged the flower-pot to his breast, mounted the steps, and arrived, breathless but radiant, on the threshold of the beautiful lady's room, and there calamity overtook him in the shape of one of the thousandarticles which are left on the floor purposely to trip up little boys. 

Great was the disaster. Letters, geranium, pieces of flower-pot, aquantity of black earth, and a howling Abraham Lincoln bestrewed thefloor. And similar episodes, in his brief experience with this world, had not brought rewards. It was from sheer amazement that his tearsceased to flow--amazement and lack of breath--for the beautifullady sprang up and seized him in her arms, and called Mathilde, whoeventually brought a white and gold box. And while Abraham sat consumingits contents in ecstasy he suddenly realized that the beautiful ladyhad forgotten him. She had picked up the letters, every one, and stoodreading them with parted lips and staring eyes. 

It was Mathilde who saved him from a violent illness, closing the boxand leading him downstairs, and whispered something incomprehensible inhis ear as she pointed him homeward. 

"Le vrai medecin--c'est toi, mon mignon. "

There was a reason why Chiltern's letters had not arrived, and greatwere Honora's self-reproach and penitence. With a party of Englishmenhe had gone up into the interior of a Central American country tovisit some famous ruins. He sent her photographs of them, and of theEnglishmen, and of himself. Yes, he had seen the newspapers. If she hadnot seen them, she was not to read them if they came to her. And if shehad, she was to remember that their love was too sacred to be soiled, and too perfect to be troubled. As for himself, as she knew, he was achanged man, who thought of his former life with loathing. She had madehim clean, and filled him with a new strength. 

The winter passed. The last snow melted on the little grass plot, whichchanged by patches from brown to emerald green; and the children ranover it again, and tracked it in the soft places, but Honora onlysmiled. Warm, still days were interspersed between the windy ones, whenthe sky was turquoise blue, when the very river banks were steeped innew colours, when the distant, shadowy mountains became real. Libertyran riot within her. If he thought with loathing on his former life, sodid she. Only a year ago she had been penned up in a New York street inthat prison-house of her own making, hemmed in by surroundings which shehad now learned to detest from her soul. 

A few more penalties remained to be paid, and the heaviest of these washer letter to her aunt and uncle. Even as they had accepted other thingsin life, so had they accepted the hardest of all to bear--Honora'sdivorce. A memorable letter her Uncle Tom had written her after Peter'sreturn to tell them that remonstrances were useless! She was theirdaughter in all but name, and they would not forsake her. When sheshould have obtained her divorce, she should go back to them. Theirhouse, which had been her home, should always remain so. Honora weptand pondered long over that letter. Should she write and tell them thetruth, as she had told Peter? It was not because she was ashamed ofthe truth that she had kept it from them throughout the winter: itwas because she wished to spare them as long as possible. Cruellestcircumstance of all, that a love so divine as hers should not beunderstood by them, and should cause them infinite pain!

The weeks and months slipped by. Their letters, after that first one, were such as she had always received from them: accounts of the weather, and of the doings of her friends at home. But now the time was at handwhen she must prepare them for her marriage with Chiltern; for theywould expect her in St. Louis, and she could not go there. And if shewrote them, they might try to stop the marriage, or at least to delay itfor some years. 

Was it possible that a lingering doubt remained in her mind that topostpone her happiness would perhaps be to lose it? In her exile she hadlearned enough to know that a divorced woman is like a rudderless shipat sea, at the mercy of wind and wave and current. She could not go backto her life in St. Louis: her situation there would be unbearable: herfriends would not be the same friends. No, she had crossed her Rubiconand destroyed the bridge deep within her she felt that delay would befatal, both to her and Chiltern. Long enough had the banner of theirlove been trailed in the dust. 

Summer came again, with its anniversaries and its dragging, interminableweeks: demoralizing summer, when Mrs. Mayo quite frankly appeared at herside window in a dressing sacque, and Honora longed to do the same. But time never stands absolutely still, and the day arrived when Mr. Beckwith called in a carriage. Honora, with an audibly beating heart, got into it, and they drove down town, past the department store whereMr. Mayo spent his days, and new blocks of banks and business housesthat flanked the wide street, where the roaring and clanging of theubiquitous trolley cars resounded. 

Honora could not define her sensations--excitement and shame and fearand hope and joy were so commingled. The colours of the red and yellowbrick had never been so brilliant in the sunshine. They stopped beforethe new court-house and climbed the granite steps. In her sensitivestate, Honora thought that some of the people paused to look afterthem, and that some were smiling. One woman, she thought, lookedcompassionate. Within, they crossed the marble pavement, the HonourableDave handed her into an elevator, and when it stopped she followed himas in a dream to an oak-panelled door marked with a legend she did notread. Within was an office, with leather chairs, a large oak desk, aspittoon, and portraits of grave legal gentlemen on the wall. 

"This is Judge Whitman's office, " explained the Honourable Dave. "He'lllet you stay here until the case is called. "

"Is he the judge--before whom--the case is to be tried?" asked Honora. 

"He surely is, " answered the Honourable Dave. "Whitman's a good friendof mine. In fact, I may say, without exaggeration, I had something to dowith his election. Now you mustn't get flustered, " he added. "It isn'tanything like as bad as goin' to the dentist. It don't amount to shucks, as we used to say in Missouri. "

With these cheerful words of encouragement he slipped out of a sidedoor into what was evidently the court room, for Honora heard a droning. After a long interval he reappeared and beckoned her with a crookedfinger. She arose and followed him into the court room. 

All was bustle and confusion there, and her counsel whispered that theywere breaking up for the day. The judge was stretching himself;several men who must have been lawyers, and with whom Mr. Beckwith wasexchanging amenities behind the railing, were arranging their books andpapers; some of the people were leaving, and others talking in groupsabout the room. The Honourable Dave whispered to the judge, a tall, lank, cadaverous gentleman with iron-grey hair, who nodded. Honora wasled forward. The Honourable Dave, standing very close to the judge andsome distance from her, read in a low voice something that she could notcatch--supposedly the petition. It was all quite as vague to Honoraas the trial of the Jack of Hearts; the buzzing of the groups stillcontinued around the court room, and nobody appeared in the leastinterested. This was a comfort, though it robbed the ceremony of allvestige of reality. It seemed incredible that the majestic and awfulInstitution of the ages could be dissolved with no smoke or fire, withsuch infinite indifference, and so much spitting. What was the use ofall the pomp and circumstance and ceremony to tie the knot if it couldbe cut in the routine of a day's business?

The solemn fact that she was being put under oath meant nothing toher. This, too, was slurred and mumbled. She found herself, trembling, answering questions now from her counsel, now from the judge; and itis to be doubted to this day whether either heard her answers. Mostconvenient and considerate questions they were. When and where she wasmarried, how long she had lived with her husband, what happened whenthey ceased to live together, and had he failed ever since to contributeto her support? Mercifully, Mr. Beckwith was in the habit of coachinghis words beforehand. A reputable citizen of Salomon City was producedto prove her residence, and somebody cried out something, not loudly, in which she heard the name of Spence mentioned twice. The judge said, "Take your decree, " and picked up a roll of papers and walked away. Her knees became weak, she looked around her dizzily, and beheld thetriumphant professional smile of the Honourable Dave Beckwith. 

"It didn't hurt much, did it?" he asked. "Allow me to congratulate you. "

"Is it--is it all over?" she said, quite dazed. 

"Just like that, " he said. "You're free. "

"Free!" The word rang in her ears as she drove back to the little housethat had been her home. The Honourable Dave lifted his felt hat as hehanded her out of the carriage, and said he would call again in theevening to see if he could do anything further for her. Mathilde, whohad been watching from the window, opened the door, and led her mistressinto the parlour. 

"It's--it's all over, Mathilde, " she said. 

"Mon dieu, madame, " said Mathilde, "c'est simple comme bonjour!"

Volume 7. 

CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH IT IS ALL DONE OVER AGAIN

All morning she had gazed on the shining reaches of the Hudson, theircolour deepening to blue as she neared the sea. A gold-bound volume ofShelley, with his name on the fly-leaf, lay in her lap. And two linesshe repeated softly to herself--two lines that held a vision:

 "He was as the sun in his fierce youth, As terrible and lovely as a tempest;"

She summoned him out of the chaos of the past, and the past became thepresent, and he stood before her as though in the flesh. Nay, she heardhis voice, his laugh, she even recognized again the smouldering flamesin his eyes as he glanced into hers, and his characteristic manners andgestures. Honora wondered. In vain, during those long months of exilehad she tried to reconstruct him thus the vision in its entirety wouldnot come: rare, fleeting, partial, and tantalizing glimpses she had beenvouchsafed, it is true. The whole of him had been withheld until thisbreathless hour before the dawn of her happiness. 

Yet, though his own impatient spirit had fared forth to meet her withthis premature gift of his attributes, she had to fight the growing fearwithin her. Now that the days of suffering were as they had not been, insistent questions dinned in her ears: was she entitled to the joys tocome? What had she done to earn them? Had hers not been an attempt, ona gigantic scale, to cheat the fates? Nor could she say whether thisfeeling were a wholly natural failure to grasp a future too big, orthe old sense of the unreality of events that had followed her sopersistently. 

The Hudson disappeared. Factories, bridges, beflagged week-end resorts, ramshackle houses, and blocks of new buildings were scattered here andthere. The train was running on a causeway between miles of tenementswhere women and children, overtaken by lassitude, hung out of thewindows: then the blackness of the tunnel, and Honora closed her eyes. Four minutes, three minutes, two minutes. .. . The motion ceased. At thesteps of the car a uniformed station porter seized her bag; and shestarted to walk down the long, narrow platform. Suddenly she halted. 

"Drop anything, Miss?" inquired the porter. 

"No, " answered Honora, faintly. He looked at her in concern, and shebegan to walk on again, more slowly. 

It had suddenly come over her that the man she was going to meet shescarcely knew! Shyness seized her, a shyness that bordered on panic. Andwhat was he really like, that she should put her whole trust in him?She glanced behind her: that way was closed: she had a mad desire toget away, to hide, to think. It must have been an obsession that hadpossessed her all these months. The porter was looking again, and hevoiced her predicament. 

"There's only one way out, Miss. "

And then, amongst the figures massed behind the exit in the grill, shesaw him, his face red-bronze with the sea tan, his crisp, curly headbared, his eyes alight with a terrifying welcome; and a tremor of a fearakin to ecstasy ran through her: the fear of the women of days gone bywhose courage carried them to the postern or the strand, and faintedthere. She could have taken no step farther--and there was no need. Newstrength flowed from the hand she held that was to carry her on and on. 

He spoke her name. He led her passive, obedient, through the press tothe side street, and then he paused and looked into her burning face. 

"I have you at last, " he said. "Are you happy?"

"I don't know, " she faltered. "Oh, Hugh, it all seems so strange! Idon't know what I have done. "

"I know, " he said exultantly; "but to save my soul I can't believe it. "

She watched him, bewildered, while he put her maid into a cab, and by aneffort roused herself. 

"Where are you going, Hugh?"

"To get married, " he replied promptly. 

She pulled down her veil. 

"Please be sensible, " she implored. "I've arranged to go to a hotel. "

"What hotel?"

"The--the Barnstable, " she said. The place had come to her memory onthe train. "It's very nice and--and quiet--so I've been told. And I'vetelegraphed for my rooms. "

"I'll humour you this once, " he answered, and gave the order. 

She got into the carriage. It had blue cushions with the familiar smellof carriage upholstery, and the people in the street still hurriedabout their business as though nothing in particular were happening. The horses started, and some forgotten key in her brain was touched asChiltern raised her veil again. 

"You'll tear it, Hugh, " she said, and perforce lifted it herself. Hereyes met his--and she awoke. Not to memories or regrets, but to thefuture, for the recording angel had mercifully destroyed his book. 

"Did you miss me?" she said. 

"Miss you! My God, Honora, how can you ask? When I look back upon theselast months, I don't see how I ever passed through them. And you arechanged, " he said. "I could not have believed it possible, but you are. You are--you are finer. "

He had chosen his word exquisitely. And then, as they trotted sedatelythrough Madison Avenue, he strained her in his arms and kissed her. 

"Oh, Hugh!" she cried, scarlet, as she disengaged, herself, "youmustn't--here!"

"You're free!" he exclaimed. "You're mine at last! I can't believe it!Look at me, and tell me so. "

She tried. 

"Yes, " she faltered. 

"Yes--what?"

"Yes. I--I am yours. "

She looked out of the window to avoid those eyes. Was this New York, orJerusalem? Were these the streets through which she had driven and trodin her former life? Her whole soul cried out denial. No episode, no accusing reminiscences stood out--not one: the very corners werechanged. Would it all change back again if he were to lessen theinsistent pressure on the hand in her lap. 

"Honora?"

"Yes?" she answered, with a start. 

"You missed me? Look at me and tell me the truth. "

"The truth!" she faltered, and shuddered. The contrast was toogreat--the horror of it too great for her to speak of. The pen of Dantehad not been adequate. "Don't ask me, Hugh, " she begged, "I can't talkabout it--I never shall be able to talk about it. If I had not lovedyou, I should have died. "

How deeply he felt and understood and sympathized she knew by thequivering pressure on her hand. Ah, if he had not! If he had failed tograsp the meaning of her purgatory. 

"You are wonderful, Honora, " was what he said in a voice broken byemotion. 

She thanked him with one fleeting, tearful glance that was as a grantof all her priceless possessions. The carriage stopped, but it was somemoments before they realized it. 

"You may come up in a little while, " she whispered, "and lunch withme--if you like. "

"If I like!" he repeated. 

But she was on the sidewalk, following the bell boy into the cool, marble-lined area of the hotel. A smiling clerk handed her a pen, andset the new universe to rocking. 

"Mrs. Leffingwell, I presume? We have your telegram. "

Mrs. Leffingwell! Who was that person? For an instant she stood blanklyholding the pen, and then she wrote rapidly, if a trifle unsteadily:"Mrs. Leffingwell and maid. " A pause. Where was her home? Then she addedthe words, "St. Louis. "

Her rooms were above the narrow canon of the side street, looking overthe roofs of the inevitable brownstone fronts opposite. While Mathilde, in the adjoining chamber, unpacked her bag, Honora stood gazing out ofthe sitting-room windows, trying to collect her thoughts. Her spiritshad unaccountably fallen, the sense of homelessness that had pursuedher all these months overtaken her once more. Never, never, she toldherself, would she enter a hotel again alone; and when at last he cameshe clung to him with a passion that thrilled him the more because hecould not understand it. 

"Hugh--you will care for me?" she cried. 

He kissed away her tears. He could not follow her; he only knew thatwhat he held to him was a woman such as he had never known before. Tender, and again strangely and fiercely tender: an instrument of suchmiraculous delicacy as to respond, quivering, to the lightest touch;an harmonious and perfect blending of strength and weakness, of joy andsorrow, --of all the warring elements in the world. What he felt was thesupreme masculine joy of possession. 

At last they sat down on either side of the white cloth the waiter hadlaid, for even the gods must eat. Not that our deified mortals ate muchon this occasion. Vesta presided once more, and after the feast was overgently led them down the slopes until certain practical affairs began totake shape in the mind of the man. Presently he looked at his watch, andthen at the woman, and made a suggestion. 

"Marry you now--this of afternoon!" she cried, aghast. "Hugh, are you inyour right senses?"

"Yes, " he said, "I'm reasonable for the first time in my life. "

She laughed, and immediately became serious. But when she sought tomarshal her arguments, she found that they had fled. 

"Oh, but I couldn't, " she answered. "And besides, there are so manythings I ought to do. I--I haven't any clothes. "

But this was a plea he could not be expected to recognize. He saw noreason why she could not buy as many as she wanted after the ceremony. 

"Is that all?" he demanded. 

"No--that isn't all. Can't you see that--that we ought to wait, Hugh?"

"No, " he exclaimed, "No I can't see it. I can only see that everymoment of waiting would be a misery for us both. I can only see that thesituation, as it is to-day, is an intolerable one for you. "

She had not expected him to see this. 

"There are others to be thought of, " she said, after a moment'shesitation. 

"What others?"

The answer she should have made died on her lips. 

"It seems so-indecorous, Hugh. "

"Indecorous!" he cried, and pushed back his chair and rose. "What'sindecorous about it? To leave you here alone in a hotel in New Yorkwould not only be indecorous, but senseless. How long would you put itoff? a week--a month--a year? Where would you go in the meantime, andwhat would you do?"

"But your friends, Hugh--and mine?"

"Friends! What have they got to do with it?"

It was the woman, now, who for a moment turned practical--and for theman's sake. She loved, and the fair fabric of the future which they wereto weave together, and the plans with which his letters had been filledand of which she had dreamed in exile, had become to-day as the stuff ofwhich moonbeams are made. As she looked up at him, eternity itself didnot seem long enough for the fulfilment of that love. But he? Wouldthe time not come when he would demand something more? and suppose thatsomething were denied? She tried to rouse herself, to think, to considera situation in which her instinct had whispered just once--there mustbe some hidden danger: but the electric touch of his hand destroyed theprocess, and made her incapable of reason. 

"What should we gain by a week's or a fortnight's delay, " he was saying, "except so much misery?"

She looked around the hotel sitting-room, and tried to imagine thedesolation of it, stripped of his presence. Why not? There was reasonin what he said. And yet, if she had known it, it was not to reason sheyielded, but to the touch of his hand. 

"We will be married to-day, " he decreed. "I have planned it all. I havebought the 'Adhemar', the yacht which I chartered last winter. She ishere. We'll go off on her together, away from the world, for as longas you like. And then, " he ended triumphantly, "then we'll go back toGrenoble and begin our life. "

"And begin our life!" she repeated. But it was not to him that shespoke. "Hugh, I positively have to have some clothes. "

"Clothes!" His voice expressed his contempt for the mundane thought. 

"Yes, clothes, " she repeated resolutely. 

He looked at his watch once more. 

"Very well, " he said, "we'll get 'em on the way. "

"On the way?" she asked. 

"We'll have to have a marriage license, I'm afraid, " he explainedapologetically. 

Honora grew crimson. A marriage license!

She yielded, of course. Who could resist him? Nor need the details ofthat interminable journey down the crowded artery of Broadway to theCentre of Things be entered into. An ignoble errand, Honora thought; andshe sat very still, with flushed cheeks, in the corner of the carriage. Chiltern's finer feelings came to her rescue. He, too, resented thissenseless demand of civilization as an indignity to their Olympianloves. And he was a man to chafe at all restraints. But at last theodious thing was over, grim and implacable Law satisfied after he hadcompelled them to stand in line for an interminable period before hisgrill, and mingle with those whom he chose, in his ignorance, to calltheir peers. Honora felt degraded as they emerged with the hatefulpaper, bought at such a price. The City Hall Park, with its movingstreams of people, etched itself in her memory. 

"Leave me, Hugh, " she said; "I will take this carriage--you must getanother one. "

For once, he accepted his dismissal with comparative meekness. 

"When shall I come?" he asked. 

"She smiled a little, in spite of herself. 

"You may come for me at six o'clock, " she replied. 

"Six o'clock!" he exclaimed; but accepted with resignation and closedthe carriage door. Enigmatical sex!

Enigmatical sex indeed! Honora spent a feverish afternoon, rest andreflection being things she feared. An afternoon in familiar places; and(strangest of all facts to be recorded!) memories and regrets troubledher not at all. Her old dressmakers, her old milliners, welcomed heras one risen, radiant, from the grave; risen, in their estimation, toa higher life. Honora knew this, and was indifferent to the wealth ofmeaning that lay behind their discretion. Milliners and dressmakers readthe newspapers and periodicals--certain periodicals. Well they knew thatthe lady they flattered was the future Mrs. Hugh Chiltern. 

Nothing whatever of an indelicate nature happened. There was no mentionof where to send the bill, or of whom to send it to. Such things asshe bought on the spot were placed in her carriage. And happiest ofall omissions, she met no one she knew. The praise that Madame Barrierelavished on Honora's figure was not flattery, because the Paris modelsfitted her to perfection. A little after five she returned to her hotel, to a Mathilde in a high state of suppressed excitement. And at six, the appointed fateful hour, arrayed in a new street gown of dark greencloth, she stood awaiting him. 

He was no laggard. The bell on the church near by was still singing fromthe last stroke when he knocked, flung open the door, and stood for amoment staring at her. Not that she had been shabby when he had wishedto marry her at noon: no self-respecting woman is ever shabby; not thather present costume had any of the elements of overdress; far from it. Being a woman, she had her thrill of triumph at his exclamation. Dianahad no need, perhaps, of a French dressmaker, but it is an open questionwhether she would have scorned them. Honora stood motionless, but hersmile for him was like the first quivering shaft of day. He openeda box, and with a strange mixture of impetuosity and reverence cameforward. And she saw that he held in his hand a string of great, glistening pearls. 

"They were my mother's, " he said. "I have had them restrung--for you. "

"Oh, Hugh!" she cried. She could find no words to express the tremorwithin. And she stood passively, her eyes half closed, while he claspedthe string around the lace collar that pressed the slender column of herneck and kissed her. 

Even the humble beings who work in hotels are responsive to unusualdisturbances in the ether. At the Barnstable, a gala note prevailed:bell boys, porters, clerk, and cashier, proud of their sudden wisdom, were wreathed in smiles. A new automobile, in Chiltern's colours, withhis crest on the panel, was panting beside the curb. 

"I meant to have had it this morning, " he apologized as he handed herin, "but it wasn't ready in time. "

Honora heard him, and said something in reply. She tried in vain torouse herself from the lethargy into which she had fallen, to cast offthe spell. Up Fifth Avenue they sped, past meaningless houses, to thePark. The crystal air of evening was suffused with the level eveninglight; and as they wound in and out under the spreading trees she caughtglimpses across the shrubbery of the deepening blue of waters. Pools ofmystery were her eyes. 

The upper West Side is a definite place on the map, and full, undoubtedly, of palpitating human joys and sorrows. So far as Honora wasconcerned, it might have been Bagdad. The automobile had stopped beforea residence, and she found herself mounting the steps at Chiltern'sside. A Swedish maid opened the door. 

"Is Mr. White at home?" Chiltern asked. 

It seemed that "the Reverend Mr. White" was. He appeared, a portlygentleman with frock coat and lawn tie who resembled the man in themoon. His head, like polished ivory, increased the beaming effect of hiswelcome, and the hand that pressed Honora's was large and soft and warm. But dreams are queer things, in which no events surprise us. 

The reverend gentleman, as he greeted Chiltern, pronounced his name withunction. His air of hospitality, of good-fellowship, of taking the worldas he found it, could not have been improved upon. He made it apparentat once that nothing could surprise him. It was the most naturalcircumstance in life that two people should arrive at his house in anautomobile at half-past six in the evening and wish to get married:if they chose this method instead of the one involving awnings andpolicemen and uncomfortably-arrayed relations and friends, it was noneof Mr. White's affair. He led them into the Gothic sanctum at therear of the house where the famous sermons were written that shook thesounding-board of the temple where the gentleman preached, --the sermonsthat sometimes got into the newspapers. Mr. White cleared his throat. 

"I am--very familiar with your name, Mr. Chiltern, " he said, "and it isa pleasure to be able to serve you, and the lady who is so shortly tobe your wife. Your servant arrived with your note at four o'clock. Tenminutes later, and I should have missed him. "

And then Honora heard Chiltern saying somewhat coldly:--"In order tosave time, Mr. White, I wish to tell you that Mrs. Leffingwell has beendivorced--"

The Reverend Mr. White put up a hand before him, and looked down at thecarpet, as one who would not dwell upon painful things. 

"Unfortunate--ahem--mistakes will occur in life, Mr. Chiltern--in thebest of lives, " he replied. "Say no more about it. I am sure, looking atyou both--"

"Very well then, " said Chiltern brusquely, "I knew you would have toknow. And here, " he added, "is an essential paper. "

A few minutes later, in continuation of the same strange dream, Honora was standing at Chiltern's side and the Reverend Mr. White wasaddressing them: What he said--apart of it at least--seemed curiouslyfamiliar. Chiltern put a ring on a finger of her ungloved hand. It was asupreme moment in her destiny--this she knew. Between her responses sherepeated it to herself, but the mighty fact refused to be registered. And then, suddenly, rang out the words:

 "Those whom God hath joined together let no man Put asunder. "

Those whom God hath joined together! Mr. White was congratulatingher. Other people were in the room--the minister's son, his wife, hisbrother-in-law. She was in the street again, in the automobile, without knowing how she got there, and Chiltern close beside her in thelimousine. 

"My wife!" he whispered. 

Was she? Could it be true, be lasting, be binding for ever and ever? Herhand pressed his convulsively. 

"Oh, Hugh!" she cried, "care for me--stay by me forever. Will youpromise?"

"I promise, Honora, " he repeated. "Henceforth we are one. "

Honora would have prolonged forever that honeymoon on summer seas. Inthose blissful days she was content to sit by the hour watching him as, bareheaded in the damp salt breeze, he sailed the great schooner andgave sharp orders to the crew. He was a man who would be obeyed, andeven his flashes of temper pleased her. He was her master, too, and shegloried in the fact. By the aid of the precious light within her, shestudied him. 

He loved her mightily, fiercely, but withal tenderly. With her alone hewas infinitely tender, and it seemed that something in him cried out forbattle against the rest of the world. He had his way, in port and outof it. He brooked no opposition, and delighted to carry, against hiscaptain's advice, more canvas than was wise when it blew heavily. Butthe yacht, like a woman, seemed a creature of his will; to know no fearwhen she felt his guiding hand, even though the green water ran in thescuppers. 

And every day anew she scanned his face, even as he scanned the faceof the waters. What was she searching for? To have so much is to becomemiserly, to fear lest a grain of the precious store be lost. On thesecond day they had anchored, for an hour or two, between the sandyheadlands of a small New England port, and she had stood on the deckwatching his receding figure under the flag of the gasoline launch asit made its way towards the deserted wharves. Beyond the wharves was anelm-arched village street, and above the verdure rose the white cupolaof the house of some prosperous sea-captain of bygone times. Honora hadnot wished to go ashore. First he had begged, and then he had laughed ashe had leaped into the launch. She lay in a chaise longue, watching itswinging idly at the dock. 

The night before he had written letters and telegrams. Once he hadlooked up at her as she sat with a book in her hand across the saloon, and caught her eyes. She had been pretending not to watch him. 

"Wedding announcements, " he said. 

And she had smiled back at him bravely. Such was the firstacknowledgment between them that the world existed. 

"A little late, " he observed, smiling in his turn as he changed hispen, "but they'll have to make allowances for the exigencies of thesituation. And they've been after me to settle down for so many yearsthat they ought to be thankful to get them at all. I've told them thatafter a decent period they may come to Grenoble--in the late autumn. Wedon't want anybody before then, do we, Honora?"

"No, " she said faintly; and added, "I shall always be satisfied with youalone, Hugh. "

He laughed happily, and presently she went up on deck and stood with herface to the breeze. There were no sounds save the musical beat of thewater against the strakes, and the low hum of wind on the toweringvibrant sails. One moulten silver star stood out above all others. Tothe northward, somewhere beyond the spot where sea and sky met in thehidden kiss of night, was Newport, --were his relations and her friends. What did they think? He, at least, had no anxieties about the world, why should she? Their defiance of it had been no greater than that ofan hundred others on whom it had smiled benignly. But had not the otherstruckled more to its conventions? Little she cared about it, indeed, andif he had turned the prow of the 'Adhemar' towards the unpeopled placesof the earth, her joy would have been untroubled. 

One after another the days glided by, while with the sharpened senses ofa great love she watched for a sign of the thing that slept in him--ofthe thing that had driven him home from his wanderings to re-create hislife. When it awoke, she would have to share him; now he was hersalone. Her feelings towards this thing did not assume the proportionsof jealousy or fear; they were merely alert, vaguely disquieting. Thesleeping thing was not a monster. No, but it might grow into one, if itsappetite were not satisfied, and blame her. 

She told herself that, had he lacked ambition, she could not haveloved him, and did not stop to reflect upon the completeness of hersatisfaction with the Viking. He seemed, indeed, in these weeks, onewhom the sea has marked for its own, and her delight in watching him ashe moved about the boat never palled. His nose reminded her of the prowof a ship of war, and his deep-set eyes were continually searching thehorizon for an enemy. Such were her fancies. In the early morningwhen he donned his sleeveless bathing suit, she could never resist thetemptation to follow him on deck to see him plunge into the cold ocean:it gave her a delightful little shiver--and he was made like one of thegods of Valhalla. 

She had discovered, too, in these intimate days, that he had theNorthman's temperament; she both loved and dreaded his moods. Andsometimes, when the yacht glided over smoother seas, it was his pleasureto read to her, even poetry and the great epics. That he should be fondof the cruel Scotch ballads she was not surprised; but his familiaritywith the book of Job, and his love for it, astonished her. It was asingular library that he had put on board the 'Adhemar'. 

One evening when the sails flapped idly and the blocks rattled, whenthey had been watching in silence the flaming orange of the sunset abovethe amethystine Camden hills, he spoke the words for which she had beenwaiting. 

"Honora, what do you say to going back to Grenoble?"

She succeeded in smiling at him. 

"Whenever you like, Hugh, " she said. 

So the bowsprit of the 'Adhemar' was turned homewards; and with everyleague of water they left behind them his excitement and impatienceseemed to grow. 

"I can't wait to show it to you, Honora--to see you in it, " heexclaimed. "I have so long pictured you there, and our life as it willbe. "

CHAPTER XII. THE ENTRANCE INTO EDEN

They had travelled through the night, and in the early morning left theexpress at a junction. Honora sat in the straight-backed seat of thesmaller train with parted lips and beating heart, gazing now and againat the pearly mists rising from the little river valley they wereclimbing. Chiltern was like a schoolboy. 

"We'll soon be there, " he cried, but it was nearly nine o'clock whenthey reached the Gothic station that marked the end of the line. Itwas a Chiltern line, he told her, and she was already within the feudaldomain. Time indeed that she awoke! She reached the platform to confronta group of upturned, staring faces, and for the moment her couragefailed her. Somehow, with Chiltern's help, she made her way to a waitingomnibus backed up against the boards. The footman touched his hat, thegrey-headed coachman saluted, and they got in. As the horses started offat a quick trot, Honora saw that the group on the station platform hadwith one consent swung about to stare after them. 

They passed through the main street of the town, lined with plate-glasswindows and lively signs, and already bustling with the business of theday, through humbler thoroughfares, and presently rumbled over a bridgethat spanned a rushing stream confined between the foundation walls ofmills. Hundreds of yards of mills stretched away on either side; millswith windows wide open, and within them Honora heard the clicking androaring of machinery, and saw the men and women at their daily tasks. Life was a strange thing that they should be doing this while she shouldbe going to live in luxury at a great country place. On one of the wallsshe read the legend Chiltern and Company. 

"They still keep our name, " said Hugh, "although they are in the trust. "

He pointed out to her, with an air of pride, every landmark by theroadside. In future they were to have a new meaning--they were to beshared with her. And he spoke of the times--as child and youth, homefrom the seashore or college, he had driven over the same road. It woundto the left, behind the mills, threaded a village of neat wooden houseswhere the better class of operatives lived, reached the river again, andturned at last through a brick gateway, past a lodge in the denseshade of sheltering boughs, into a wooded drive that climbed, by gentledegrees, a slope. Human care for generations had given to the place atradition. People had lived here and loved those trees--his people. Andcould it be that she was to inherit all this, with him? Was her namereally Chiltern?

The beating of her heart became a pain when in the distance through thespreading branches she caught a glimpse of the long, low outline of thehouse, a vision at once familiar and unreal. How often in the monthsgone by had she called up the memory of the photograph she had onceseen, only to doubt the more that she should ever behold that house andthese trees with him by her side! They drew up before the door, anda venerable, ruddy-faced butler stood gravely on the steps to welcomethem. Hugh leaped out. He was still the schoolboy. 

"Starling, " he said, "this is Mrs. Chiltern. "

Honora smiled tremulously. 

"How do you do, Starling?" she said. 

"Starling's an old friend, Honora. He's been here ever since I canremember. "

The blue eyes of the old servant were fixed on her with a strange, searching expression. Was it compassion she read in them, on this thatshould be the happiest of her days? In that instant, unaccountably, herheart went out to the old man; and something of what he had seen, and something of what was even now passing within him, came to herintuitively. It was as though, unexpectedly, she had found a friend--anda friend who had had no previous intentions of friendship. 

"I'm sure I wish you happiness, madame, --and Mr. Hugh, he said in avoice not altogether firm. 

"Happiness!" cried Hugh. "I've never known what it was before now, Starling. "

The old man's eyes glistened. 

"And you've come to stay, sir?"

"All my life, Starling, " said Hugh. 

They entered the hall. It was wide and cool, white panelled tothe ceiling, with a dark oak floor. At the back of it was aneighteenth-century stairway, with a band of red carpet running up thesteps, and a wrought-iron guard with a velvet-covered rail. Halfway up, the stairway divided at a landing, lighted by great triple windows ofsmall panes. 

"You may have breakfast in half an hour, Starling, " said Chiltern, andled Honora up the stairs into the east wing, where he flung open oneof the high mahogany doors on the south side. "These are your rooms, Honora. I have had Keller do them all over for you, and I hope you'lllike them. If you don't, we'll change them again. "

Her answer was an exclamation of delight. There was a bedroom in pink, with brocaded satin on the walls, and an oriel window thrust out overthe garden; a panelled boudoir at the corner of the house, with a marblemantel before which one of Marie Antoinette's duchesses had warmed herfeet; and shelves lined with gold-lettered books. From its windows, across the flowering shrubbery and through the trees, she saw thegleaming waters of a lake, and the hills beyond. From this view sheturned, and caught her breath, and threw her arms about her husband'sneck. He was astonished to see that her eyes were filled with tears. 

"Oh, Hugh, " she cried, "it's too perfect! It almost makes me afraid. "

"We will be very happy, dearest, " he said, and as he kissed her helaughed at the fates. 

"I hope so--I pray so, " she said, as she clung to him. "But--don'tlaugh, --I can't bear it. "

He patted her cheek. 

"What a strange little girl you are!" he said. "I suppose I shouldn't bemad about you if you weren't that way. Sometimes I wonder how many womenI have married. "

She smiled at him through her tears. 

"Isn't that polygamy, Hugh?" she asked. 

It was all like a breathless tale out of one of the wonder books ofyouth. So, at least, it seemed to Honora as she stood, refreshed witha new white linen gown, hesitating on the threshold of her door beforedescending. Some time the bell must ring, or the cock crow, or the fairybeckon with a wand, and she would have to go back. Back where? She didnot know--she could not remember. Cinderella dreaming by the embers, perhaps. 

He was awaiting her in the little breakfast room, its glass casementsopen to the garden with the wall and the round stone seat. The simmeringurn, the white cloth, the shining silver, the big green melons thatthe hot summer sun had ripened for them alone, and Hugh's eyes as theyrested on her--such was her illusion. Nor was it quite dispelled when helighted a pipe and they started to explore their Eden, wandering throughchambers with, low ceilings in the old part of the house, and larger, higher apartments in the portion that was called new. In the greatdarkened library, side by side against the Spanish leather on the walls, hung the portraits of his father and mother in heavy frames of gilt. 

Her husband was pleased that she should remain so long before them. Andfor a while, as she stood lost in contemplation, he did not speak. Once she glanced at him, and then back at the stern face of theGeneral, --stern, yet kindly. The eyes, deep-set under bushy brows, likeHugh's, were full of fire; and yet the artist had made them human, too. A dark, reddish brown, close-trimmed mustache and beard hid the mouthand chin. Hugh had inherited the nose, but the father's forehead waswider and fuller. Hugh was at once a newer type, and an older. Theface and figure of the General were characteristic of the mid-centuryAmerican of the northern states, a mixture of boldness and caution andPuritanism, who had won his battles in war and commerce by a certainnative quality of mind. 

"I never appreciated him, " said Hugh at length, "until after hedied--long after. Until now, in fact. At times we were good friends, and then something he would say or do would infuriate me, and I wouldpurposely make him angry. He had a time and a rule for everything, and Icould not bear rules. Breakfast was on the minute, an hour in his studyto attend to affairs about the place, so many hours in his office at themills, in the president's room at the bank, vestry and charity meetingsat regular intervals. No movement in all this country round about wasever set on foot without him. He was one to be finally reckoned with. And since his death, many proofs have come to me of the things he didfor people of which the world was ignorant. I have found out at lastthat his way of life was, in the main, the right way. But I know now, Honora, " he added soberly, slipping his hand within her arm, "I know nowthat without you I never could do all I intend to do. "

"Oh, don't say that!" she cried. "Don't say that!"

"Why not?" he asked, smiling at her vehemence. "It is not a confessionof weakness. I had the determination, it is true. I could--I should havedone something, but my deeds would have lacked the one thing needfulto lift them above the commonplace--at least for me. You are theinspiration. With you here beside me, I feel that I can take up thiswork with joy. Do you understand?"

She pressed his hand with her arm. 

"Hugh, " she said slowly, "I hope that I shall be a help, and not--not ahindrance. "

"A hindrance!" he exclaimed. "You don't know, you can't realize, whatyou are to me. "

She was silent, and when she lifted her eyes it was to rest them on theportrait of his mother. And she seemed to read in the sweet, sad eyes aquestion--a question not to be put into words. Chiltern, following hergaze, did not speak: for a space they looked at the portrait together, and in silence. .. . 

From one end of the house to the other they went, Hugh reviving at thesight of familiar objects a hundred memories of his childhood; and shetrying to imagine that childhood, so different from her own, passedin this wonderful place. In the glass cases of the gun room, among theshining, blue barrels which he had used in all parts of the world, wasthe little shotgun his father had had made for him when he was twelveyears old. Hugh locked the door after them when they came out, andsmiled as he put the key in his pocket. 

"My destroying days are over, " he declared. 

Honora put on a linen hat and they took the gravelled path to thestables, where the horses, one by one, were brought out into thecourtyard for their inspection. In anticipation of this hour there was ablood bay for Honora, which Chiltern had bought in New York. She gavea little cry of delight when she saw the horse shining in the sunlight, his nostrils in the air, his brown eyes clear, his tapering neckpatterned with veins. And then there was the dairy, with thefawn-coloured cows and calves; and the hillside pastures that ran downto the river, and the farm lands where the stubbled grain was yellowing. They came back by the path that wound through the trees and shrubberybordering the lake to the walled garden, ablaze in the mellow sunlightwith reds and purples, salvias and zinnias, dahlias, gladioli, andasters. 

Here he left her for a while, sitting dreamily on the stone bench. Mrs. Hugh Chiltern, of Grenoble! Over and over she repeated that name toherself, and it refused somehow to merge with her identity. Yet was shemistress of this fair domain; of that house which had sheltered themrace for a century, and the lines of which her eye caressed with aloving reverence; and the Chiltern pearls even then lay hidden aroundher throat. 

Her thoughts went back, at this, to the gentle lady to whom they hadbelonged, and whose look began again to haunt her. Honora's superstitionstartled her. What did it mean, that look? She tried to recall whereshe had seen it before, and suddenly remembered that the eyes of theold butler had held something not unlike it. Compassionate--this wasthe only word that would describe it. No, it had not proclaimed her anintruder, though it may have been ready to do so the moment beforeher appearance; for there was a note of surprise in it--surprise andcompassion. 

This was the lady in whose footsteps she was to walk, whose charitiesand household cares she was to assume! Tradition, order, observance, responsibility, authority it was difficult to imagine these as a logicalpart of the natural sequence of her life. She would begin to-day, ifGod would only grant her these things she had once contemned, and thatseemed now so precious. Her life--her real life would begin to-day. Whynot? How hard she would strive to be worthy of this incomparable gift!It was hers, hers! She listened, but the only answer was the humming ofthe bees in the still September morning. 

Chiltern's voice aroused her. He was standing in the breakfast roomtalking to the old butler. 

"You're sure there were no other letters, Starling, besides thesebills?"

Honora became tense. 

"No, sir, " she heard the butler say, and she seemed to detect in hisdeferential voice the note of anxiety suppressed in the other's. "I'mmost particular about letters, sir, as one who lived so many years withyour father would be. All that came were put in your study, Mr. Hugh. "

"It doesn't matter, " answered Chiltern, carelessly, and stepped out intothe garden. He caught sight of her, hesitated the fraction of a moment, and as he came forward again the cloud in his eyes vanished. And yet shewas aware that he was regarding her curiously. 

"What, " he said gayly, "still here?"

"It is too beautiful!" she cried. "I could sit here forever. "

She lifted her face trustfully, smilingly, to his, and he stooped downand kissed it. .. . 

To give the jealous fates not the least chance to take offence, thehigher life they were to lead began at once. And yet it seemed at timesto Honora as though this higher life were the gift the fates would mostbegrudge: a gift reserved for others, the pretensions to which were akind of knavery. Merriment, forgetfulness, music, the dance; the cup ofpleasure and the feast of Babylon--these might more readily have beenvouchsafed; even deemed to have been bargained for. But to take thatwhich supposedly had been renounced--virtue, sobriety, security, respect--would this be endured? She went about it breathlessly, like athief. 

Never was there a more exemplary household. They rose at half-pastseven, they breakfasted at a quarter after eight; at nine, young Mr. Manning, the farm superintendent, was in waiting, and Hugh spent twoor more hours in his company, inspecting, correcting, planning; fortwo thousand acres of the original Chiltern estate still remained. Twothousand acres which, since the General's death, had been at sixes andsevens. The General's study, which was Hugh's now, was piled high withnew and bulky books on cattle and cultivation of the soil. Governmentand state and private experts came and made tests and went away again;new machinery arrived, and Hugh passed hours in the sun, often withHonora by his side, installing it. General Chiltern had been presidentand founder of the Grenoble National Bank, and Hugh took up his dutiesas a director. 

Honora sought, with an energy that had in it an element of desperation, to keep pace with her husband. For she was determined that he shouldhave no interests in which she did not share. In those first days it washer dread that he might grow away from her, and instinct told her thatnow or never must the effort be made. She, too, studied farming; notfrom books, but from him. In their afternoon ride along the shady riverroad, which was the event of her day, she encouraged him to talk of hisplans and problems, that he might thus early form the habit of bringingthem to her. And the unsuspecting male in him responded, innocent of thesimple subterfuge. After an exhaustive discourse on the elements lackingin the valley soil, to which she had listened in silent intensity, hewould exclaim:

"By George, Honora, you're a continual surprise to me. I had no idea awoman would take an interest in these things, or grasp them the way youdo. "

Lordly commendations these, and she would receive them with a flush ofgratitude. 

Nor was it ever too hot, or she too busy with household cares, for herto follow him to the scene of his operations, whatever these might be:she would gladly stand for an hour listening to a consultation with theveterinary about an ailing cow. Her fear was lest some matter of likeimportance should escape her. She had private conversations withMr. Manning, that she might surprise her husband by an unsuspectedknowledge. Such were her ruses. 

The housekeeper who had come up from New York was the subject of aconjugal conversation. 

"I am going to send her away, Hugh, " Honora announced. "I don'tbelieve---your mother had one. "

The housekeeper's departure was the beginning of Honora's real intimacywith Starling. Complicity, perhaps, would be a better word for thecommencement of this relationship. First of all, there was aninspection of the family treasures: the table-linen, the silver, andthe china--Sevres, Royal Worcester, and Minton, and the pricelessdinner-set, of Lowestoft which had belonged to Alexander Chiltern, reserved, for great occasions only: occasions that Starling knew byheart; their dates, and the guests the Lowestoft had honoured. His airwas ceremonial as he laid, reverently, the sample pieces on the tablebefore her, but it seemed to Honora that he spoke as one who recallsdeparted glories, who held a conviction that the Lowestoft would neverbe used again. 

Although by unalterable custom he submitted, at breakfast, the menusof the day to Hugh, the old butler came afterwards to Honora's boudoirduring her struggle with the account books. Sometimes she would look upand surprise his eyes fixed upon her, and one day she found at her elbowa long list made out in a painstaking hand. 

"What's this, Starling?" she asked. 

"If you please, madame, " he answered, "they're the current prices in themarkets--here. "

She thanked him. Nor was his exquisite delicacy in laying stress uponthe locality lost upon her. That he realized the magnitude--for her--ofthe task to which she had set herself; that he sympathized deeply withthe spirit which had undertaken it, she was as sure as though he hadsaid so. He helped her thus in a dozen unobtrusive ways, never oncerecognizing her ignorance; but he made her feel the more that thatignorance was a shameful thing not to be spoken of. Speculations uponhim were irresistible. She was continually forgetting the nature of hissituation, and he grew gradually to typify in her mind the Grenobleof the past. She knew his principles as well as though he had spokenthem--which he never did. For him, the world had become awry; heabhorred divorce, and that this modern abomination had touched the houseof Chiltern was a calamity that had shaken the very foundations ofhis soul. In spite of this, he had remained. Why? Perhaps from habit, perhaps from love of the family and Hugh, --perhaps to see!

And having stayed, fascination had laid hold of him, --of that she wassure, --and his affections had incomprehensibly become involved. He wasas one assisting at a high tragedy not unworthy of him, the outcome ofwhich he never for an instant doubted. And he gave Honora the impressionthat he alone, inscrutable, could have pulled aside the curtain andrevealed the end. 

CHAPTER XIII. OF THE WORLD BEYOND THE GATES

Honora paused in her toilet, and contemplated for a moment the whiteskirt that her maid presented. 

"I think I'll wear the blue pongee to-day, Mathilde, " she said. 

The decision for the blue pongee was the culmination of a struggle begunwith the opening of her eyes that morning. It was Sunday, and the timewas at hand when she must face the world. Might it not be delayed alittle while--a week longer? For the remembrance of the staring eyeswhich had greeted her on her arrival at the station at Grenoble troubledher. It seemed to her a cruel thing that the house of God should holdsuch terrors for her: to-day she had a longing for it that she had neverfelt in her life before. 

Chiltern was walking in the garden, waiting for her to breakfast withhim, and her pose must have had in it an element of the self-consciouswhen she appeared, smilingly, at the door. 

"Why, you're all dressed up, " he said. 

"It's Sunday, Hugh. "

"So it is, " he agreed, with what may have been a studied lightness--shecould not tell. 

"I'm going to church, " she said bravely. 

"I can't say much for old Stopford, " declared her husband. "His sermonsused to arouse all the original sin in me, when I had to listen tothem. "

She poured out his coffee. 

"I suppose one has to take one's clergyman as one does the weather, " shesaid. "We go to church for something else besides the sermon--don't we?"

"I suppose so, if we go at all, " he replied. "Old Stopford imposes apretty heavy penalty. "

"Too heavy for you?" she asked, and smiled at him as she handed him thecup. 

"Too heavy for me, " he said, returning her smile. "To tell you thetruth, Honora, I had an overdose of church in my youth, here and atschool, and I've been trying to even up ever since. "

"You'd like me to go, wouldn't you, Hugh?" she ventured, after asilence. 

"Indeed I should, " he answered, and again she wondered to what extenthis cordiality was studied, or whether it were studied at all. "I'm veryfond of that church, in spite of the fact that--that I may be said todissemble my fondness. " She laughed with him, and he became serious. "Istill contribute--the family's share toward its support. My father wasvery proud of it, but it is really my mother's church. It was due to herthat it was built. "

Thus was comedy played--and Honora by no the means sure that it was acomedy. Even her alert instinct had not been able to detect the acting, and the intervening hours were spent in speculating whether her fearshad not been overdone. Nevertheless, under the eyes of Starling, attwenty minutes to eleven she stepped into the victoria with an outwardcourage, and drove down the shady avenue towards the gates. Sweet-tonedbells were ringing as she reached the residence portion of the town, and subdued pedestrians in groups and couples made their way along thesidewalks. They stared at her; and she in turn, with heightened colour, stared at her coachman's back. After all, this first Sunday would be themost difficult. 

The carriage turned into a street arched by old elms, and flanked bythe houses of the most prosperous townspeople. Some of these were ofthe old-fashioned, classic type, and others new examples of a nationalarchitecture seeking to find itself, --white and yellow colonial, roughcast modifications of the Shakespearian period, and nondescriptmixtures of cobblestones and shingles. Each was surrounded by trim lawnsand shrubbery. The church itself was set back from the street. It was ofbluish stone, and half covered with Virginia creeper. 

At this point, had the opportunity for a secret retreat presenteditself, Honora would have embraced it, for until now she had notrealized the full extent of the ordeal. Had her arrival been heralded bysounding trumpets, the sensation it caused could not have been greater. In her Eden, the world had been forgotten; the hum of gossip beyond thegates had not reached her. But now, as the horses approached the curb, their restive feet clattering on the hard pavement, in the darkenedinterior of the church she saw faces turned, and entering worshipperspausing in the doorway. Something of what the event meant for Grenobledawned upon her: something, not all; but all that she could bear. 

If it be true that there is no courage equal to that which a greatlove begets in a woman, Honora's at that moment was sublime. Her cheekstingled, and her knees weakened under her as she ran the gantlet to thechurch door, where she was met by a gentleman on whose face she readastonishment unalloyed: amazement, perhaps, is not too strong a word forthe sensation it conveyed to her, and it occurred to her afterwards thatthere was an element in it of outrage. It was a countenance peculiarlyadapted to such an expression--yellow, smooth-shaven, heavy-jowled, with one drooping eye; and she needed not to be told that she hadencountered, at the outset, the very pillar of pillars. The frock coat, the heavy watch chain, the square-toed boots, all combined to make aPresence. 

An instinctive sense of drama amongst the onlookers seemed to create ahush, as though these had been the unwilling witnesses to an approachingcollision and were awaiting the crash. The gentleman stood planted inthe inner doorway, his drooping eye fixed on hers. 

"I am Mrs. Chiltern, " she faltered. 

He hesitated the fraction of an instant, but he somehow managed to makeit plain that the information was superfluous. He turned without a wordand marched majestically up the aisle before her to the fourth pew fromthe front on the right. There he faced about and laid a protesting handon the carved walnut, as though absolving himself in the sight of hisGod and his fellow-citizens. Honora fell on her knees. 

She strove to calm herself by prayer: but the glances of a congregationfocussed between her shoulder-blades seemed to burn her back, and thethought of the concentration of so many minds upon her distracted herown. She could think of no definite prayer. Was this God's tabernacle?or the market-place, and she at the tail of a cart? And was she not HughChiltern's wife, entitled to his seat in the place of worship of hisfathers? She rose from her knees, and her eyes fell on the softlyglowing colours of a stained-glass window: In memoriam--Alicia ReyburnChiltern. Hugh's mother, the lady in whose seat she sat. 

The organist, a sprightly young man, came in and began turning over hismusic, and the choir took their-places, in the old-fashioned' manner. Then came the clergyman. His beard was white, his face long and narrowand shrivelled, his forehead protruding, his eyes of the cold blue ofa winter's sky. The service began, and Honora repeated the familiarprayers which she had learned by heart in childhood--until her attentionwas arrested by the words she spoke: "We have offended against Thy holylaws. " Had she? Would not God bless her marriage? It was not until thenthat she began to pray with an intensity that blotted out the world thatHe would not punish her if she had done wrong in His sight. Surely, if she lived henceforth in fear of Him, He would let her keep thispriceless love which had come to her! And it was impossible that Heshould regard it as an inordinate and sinful affection--since it hadfilled her life with light. As the wife of Hugh Chiltern she sought ablessing. Would God withhold it? He would not, she was sure, if theylived a sober and a righteous life. He would take that into account, forHe was just. 

Then she grew calmer, and it was not until after the doctrinal sermonwhich Hugh had predicted that her heart began to beat painfully oncemore, when the gentleman who had conducted her to her seat passed herthe plate. He inspired her with an instinctive fear; and she tried toimagine, in contrast, the erect and soldierly figure of General Chilternperforming the same office. Would he have looked on her more kindly?

When the benediction was pronounced, she made her way out of the churchwith downcast eyes. The people parted at the door to let her pass, and she quickened her step, gained the carriage at last, and droveaway--seemingly leaving at her back a buzz of comment. Would she everhave the courage to do it again?

The old butler, as he flung open the doors at her approach, seemed to bescrutinizing her. 

"Where's Mr. Chiltern, Starling?" she asked. 

"He's gone for a ride, madame. "

Hugh had gone for a ride!

She did not see him until lunch was announced, when he came to the tablein his riding clothes. It may have been that he began to talk a littleeagerly about the excursion he had made to an outlying farm and theconversation he had had with the farmer who leased it. 

"His lease is out in April, " said Chiltern, "and when I told him Ithought I'd turn the land into the rest of the estate he tried to bribeme into a renewal. "

"Bribe you?"

Chiltern laughed. 

"Only in joke, of course. The man's a character, and he's something of apolitician in these parts. He intimated that there would be a vacancyin this congressional district next year, that Grierson was going toresign, and that a man with a long purse who belonged to the soil mighthave a chance. I suppose he thinks I would buy it. "

"And--would you like to go to Congress, Hugh?"

"Well, " he said, smiling, "a man never can tell when he may have to eathis words. I don't say I shouldn't--in the distant future. It would havepleased the General. But if I go, " he added with characteristic vigour, "it will be in spite of the politicians, not because of them. If I go Ishan't go bound, and I'll fight for it. I should enjoy that. "

And she was able to accord him the smile of encouragement he expected. 

"I am sure you would, " she replied. "I think you might have waited untilthis afternoon and taken me, " she reproached him. "You know how I enjoygoing with you to those places. "

It was not until later in the meal that he anticipated, in an admirablyaccidental manner, the casual remark she had intended to make aboutchurch. 

"Your predictions were fulfilled, " she answered; "the sermon wasn'tthrilling. "

He glanced at her. And instead of avoiding his eyes, she smiled intothem. 

"Did you see the First Citizen of Grenoble?" he inquired. 

"I am sure of it, " she laughed, "if he's yellow, with a drooping eye anda presence; he was kind enough to conduct me to the pew. "

"Yes, " he exclaimed, "that's Israel Simpson--you couldn't miss him. HowI used to hate him when I was a boy! I haven't quite got over it yet. Iused to outdo myself to make things uncomfortable for him when he cameup here--I think it was because he always seemed to be truckling. Hewas ridiculously servile and polite in those days. He's changed since, "added Hugh, dryly. "He must quite have forgotten by this time that theGeneral made him. "

"Is--is he so much?" said Honora. 

Her husband laughed. 

"Is it possible that you have seen him and still ask that?" said he. "He is Grenoble. Once the Chilterns were. He is the head of the honouredfirm of Israel Simpson and Sons, the president of the Grenoble NationalBank, the senior warden of the church, a director in the railway. Twicea year, in the columns of the New York newspapers dedicated to theprominent arrivals at the hotels, you may read the name of IsraelSimpson of Grenoble. Three times has he been abroad, respectablyaccompanied by Maria, who invariably returns to read a paper on thecathedrals and art before the Woman's Club. "

"Maria is his wife, I suppose. "

"Yes. Didn't you run across Maria? She's quite as pronounced, in herway, as Israel. A very tower of virtue. "

"I didn't meet anybody, Hugh, " said Honora. "I'll--I'll look for hernext Sunday. I hurried out. It was a little embarrassing the firsttime, " she added, "your family being so prominent in Grenoble. "

Upon this framework, the prominence of his family, she built up duringthe coning week a new structure of hope. It was strange she had neverthought before of this quite obvious explanation for the curiosity ofGrenoble. Perhaps--perhaps it was not prejudice, after all--or notall of it. The wife of the Chiltern heir would naturally inspirea considerable interest in any event, and Mrs. Hugh Chiltern inparticular. And these people would shortly understand, if they did notnow understand, that Hugh had come back voluntarily and from a senseof duty to assume the burdens and responsibilities that so many ofhis generation and class had shirked. This would tell in their favour, surely. At this point in her meditations she consulted the mirror, tobehold a modest, slim-waisted young woman becomingly arrayed in whitelinen, whose cheeks were aglow with health, whose eyes seeminglyreflected the fire of a distant high vision. Not a Poppaea, certainly, nor a Delila. No, it was unbelievable that this, the very field itselfof their future labours, should be denied them. Her heart, at the mereconjecture, turned to stone. 

During the cruise of the Adhemar she had often watched, in the gatheringdarkness, those revolving lights on headland or shoal that spread nowa bright band across the sea, and again left the waters desolate in thenight. Thus, ceaselessly revolving from white hope to darker doubt, were her thoughts, until sometimes she feared to be alone with them, andsurprised him by her presence in his busiest moments. For he was goingahead on the path they had marked out with a faith in which she couldperceive no flaw. If faint and shadowy forms had already come betweenthem, he gave no evidence of having as yet discerned these. There wasthe absence of news from his family, for instance, --the Graingers, theStranger, the Shorters, and the Pendletons, whom she had never seen;he had never spoken to her of this, and he seemed to hold it as of noaccount. Her instinct whispered that it had left its mark, a hiddenmark. And while she knew that consideration for her prompted him tohold his peace, she told herself that she would have been happier had hespoken of it. 

Always she was brought back to Grenoble when she saw him thus, manlike, with his gaze steadily fixed on the task. If New York itself withheldrecognition, could Grenoble--provincial and conservative Grenoble, preserving still the ideas of the last century for which his family hadso unflinchingly stood--be expected to accord it? New York! New York wasmany, many things, she knew. The great house could have been filled fromweekend to week-end from New York; but not with Graingers and Pendletonsand Stranger; not with those around the walls of whose fortresses thecurrents of modernity still swept impotently; not with those who, whilenot contemning pleasure, still acknowledged duty; not with those whoseassured future was that for which she might have sold her soul itself. Social free lances, undoubtedly, and unattached men; those who lived inthe world of fashion but were not squeamish--Mrs. Kame, for example;and ladies like Mrs. Eustace Rindge, who had tried a second throw forhappiness, --such votaries of excitement would undoubtedly have been morethan glad to avail themselves of the secluded hospitality of Grenoblefor that which they would have been pleased to designate as "a livelytime. " Honora shuddered at the thought: And, as though the shudder hadbeen prophetic, one morning the mail contained a letter from Mrs. Kameherself. 

Mercifully Hugh had not noticed it. Honora did not recognize thehandwriting, but she slipped the envelope into her lap, fearful of whatit might contain, and, when she gained the privacy of her rooms, read itwith quickening breath. Mrs. Kame's touch was light and her imaginationsympathetic; she was the most adaptable of the feminine portion of hernation, and since the demise of her husband she had lived, abroad and athome, among men and women of a world that does not dot its i's or crossits t's. Nevertheless, the letter filled Honora with a deep apprehensionand a deeper resentment. Plainly and clearly stamped between itsdelicately worded lines was the claim of a comradeship born of Honora'srecent act. She tore the paper into strips and threw it into the flamesand opened the window to the cool air of the autumn morning. She had afeeling of contamination that was intolerable. 

Mrs. Kame had proposed herself--again the word "delicately" must beused--for one of Honora's first house-parties. Only an acute perceptioncould have read in the lady's praise of Hugh a masterly avoidance ofthat part of his career already registered on the social slate. Mrs. Kame had thought about them and their wonderful happiness in theseautumn days at Grenoble; to intrude on that happiness yet awhile wouldbe a sacrilege. Later, perhaps, they would relent and see something oftheir friends, and throw open again the gates of a beautiful place longclosed to the world. And--without the air of having picked the singleinstance, but of having chosen from many--Mrs. Kame added that she hadonly lately seen Elsie Shorter, whose admiration for Honora was greaterthan ever. A sentiment, Honora reflected a little bitterly, that Mrs. Shorter herself had not taken the pains to convey. Consistency was notElsie's jewel. 

It must perhaps be added for the sake of enlightenment that since goingto Newport Honora's view of the writer of this letter had changed. Inother words, enlarging ideals had dwarfed her somewhat; it was strictlytrue that the lady was a boon companion of everybody. Her Catholicismhad two limitations only: that she must be amused, and that she mustnot--in what she deemed the vulgar sense--be shocked. 

Honora made several attempts at an answer before she succeeded insaying, simply, that Hugh was too absorbed in his work of reconstructionof the estate for them to have house-parties this autumn. And even thiswas a concession hard for her pride to swallow. She would have preferrednot to reply at all, and this slightest of references to his work--andhers--seemed to degrade it. Before she folded the sheet she looked againat that word "reconstruction" and thought of eliminating it. It was tooobviously allied to "redemption"; and she felt that Mrs. Kame could notunderstand redemption, and would ridicule it. Honora went downstairs anddropped her reply guiltily into the mail-bag. It was for Hugh's sake shewas sending it, and from his eyes she was hiding it. 

And, while we are dealing with letters, one, or part of one, fromHonora's aunt, may perhaps be inserted here. It was an answer to onethat Honora had written a few days after her installation at Grenoble, the contents of which need not be gone into: we, who know her, wouldneither laugh nor weep at reading it, and its purport may be more orless accurately surmised from her aunt's reply. 

 "As I wrote you at the time, my dear, "--so it ran "the shock which your sudden marriage with Mr. Chiltern caused us was great--so great that I cannot express it in words. I realize that I am growing old, and perhaps the world is changing faster than I imagine. And I wrote you, too, that I would not be true to myself if I told you that what you have done was right in my eyes. I have asked myself whether my horror of divorce and remarriage may not in some degree be due to the happiness of my life with your uncle. I am, undoubtedly, an exceptionally fortunate woman; and as I look backwards I see that the struggles and trials which we have shared together were really blessings. 

 "Nevertheless, dear Honora, you are, as your uncle wrote you, our child, and nothing can alter that fact in our hearts. We can only pray with all our strength that you may find happiness and peace in your new life. I try to imagine, as I think of you and what has happened to you in the few years since you have left us--how long they seem!--I try to imagine some of the temptations that have assailed you in that world of which I know nothing. If I cannot, it is because God made us different. I know what you have suffered, and my heart aches for you. 

 "You say that experience has taught you much that you could not have--learned in any other way. I do not doubt it. You tell me that your new life, just begun, will be a dutiful one. Let me repeat that it is my anxious prayer that you have not builded upon sand, that regrets may not come. I cannot say more. I cannot dissemble. Perhaps I have already said too much. 

 "Your loving

 "AUNT MARY. "

An autumn wind was blowing, and Honora gazed out of the window at thesteel-blue, ruffled waters of the lake. Unconsciously she repeated thewords to herself:

"Builded upon sand!"

CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINING PHILOSOPHY FROM MR. GRAINGER

Swiftly came the autumn days, and swiftly went. A bewildering, everchanging, and glorious panorama presented itself, green hillsides struckfirst with flaming crimsons and yellows, and later mellowing into awondrous blending of gentler, tenderer hues; lavender, and wine, and thefaintest of rose colours where the bare beeches massed. Thus the slopeswere spread as with priceless carpets for a festival. Sometimes Honora, watching, beheld from her window the russet dawn on the eastern ridge, and the white mists crouching in strange, ghostly shapes abode thelake and the rushing river: and she saw these same mists gather again, shivering, at nightfall. In the afternoon they threaded valleys, silentsave for the talk between them and the stirring of the leaves undertheir horses' feet. 

So the Indian summer passed--that breathless season when even happinesshas its premonitions and its pangs. The umber fields, all ploughed andharrowed, lay patiently awaiting the coming again of the quickeningspring. Then fell the rain, the first, cold winter rain that shroudedthe valley and beat down upon the defenceless, dismantled garden andmade pools in the hollows of the stone seat: that flung itself againstHonora's window as though begrudging her the warmth and comfort within. Sometimes she listened to it in the night. 

She was watching. How intent was that vigil, how alert and sharpened hersenses, a woman who has watched alone may answer. Now, she felt, was thecrisis at hand: the moment when her future, and his was to hang in thebalance. The work on the farms, which had hitherto left Chiltern butlittle time for thought, had relaxed. In these wet days had he begunto brood a little? Did he show signs of a reversion to that otherpersonality, the Chiltern she had not known, yet glimpses of whom shehad had? She recalled the third time she had seen him, the morningat the Lilacs in Newport, that had left upon her the curious sense ofhaving looked on a superimposed portrait. That Chiltern which she calledher Viking, and which, with a woman's perversity, she had perhaps lovedmost of all, was but one expression of the other man of days gone by. The life of that man was a closed book she had never wished to open. Washe dead, or sleeping? And if sleeping, would he awake? How softly shetread!

And in these days, with what exquisite, yet tremulous skill and couragedid she bring up the subject of that other labour they were to undertaketogether--the life and letters of his father. In the early dusk, whenthey had returned from their long rides, she contrived to draw Chilterninto his study. The cheerfulness, the hopefulness, the delight withwhich she approached the task, the increasing enthusiasm she displayedfor the character of the General as she read and sorted the letters anddocuments, and the traits of his she lovingly traced in Hugh, were notwithout their effect. It was thus she fanned, ceaselessly and with asmile, and with an art the rarest women possess, the drooping flame. Andthe flame responded. 

How feverishly she worked, unknown to him, he never guessed; socarefully and unobtrusively planted her suggestions that they were bornagain in glory as his inspiration. The mist had lifted a little, and shebeheld the next stage beyond. To reach that stage was to keep him intenton this work--and--after that, to publish! Ah, if he would only havepatience, or if she could keep him distracted through this winter andtheir night, she might save him. Love such as hers can even summongenius to its aid, and she took fire herself at the thought of a bookworthy of that love, of a book--though signed by him that would redeemthem, and bring a scoffing world to its knees in praise. She spent hoursin the big library preparing for Chiltern's coming, with volumes in herlap and a note-book by her side. 

One night, as they sat by the blazing logs in his study, which had beenthe General's, Chiltern arose impulsively, opened the big safe in thecorner, and took out a leather-bound book and laid it on her lap. Honorastared at it: it was marked: "Highlawns, Visitors' Book. "

"It's curious I never thought of it before, " he said, "but my father, had a habit of jotting down notes in it on important occasions. It maybe of some use to us Honora. "

She opened it at random and read: "July 5, 1893, Picnic at Psalter'sFalls. Temperature 71 at 9 A. M. Bar. 30. Weather clear. Charles leftfor Washington, summons from President, in the midst of it. Agatha andVictor again look at the Farrar property. Hugh has a ducking. P. S. Atdinner night Bessie announces her engagement to Cecil Grainger. PresentSarah and George Grenfell, Agatha and Victor Strange, Gerald Shorter, Lord Kylie--"

Honora looked up. Hugh was at her shoulder, with his eyes on the page. 

"Psalter's Falls!" he exclaimed. "How well I remember that day! I wasjust home from my junior year at Harvard. "

"Who was 'Charles'?" inquired Honora. 

"Senator Pendleton--Bessie's father. Just after I jumped into themill-pond the telegram came for him to go to Washington, and I drove himhome in my wet clothes. The old man had a terrible tongue, a whip-lashkind of humour, and he scored me for being a fool. But he rather likedme, on the whole. He told me if I'd only straighten out I could beanything, in reason. "

"What made you jump in the mill-pond?" Honora asked, laughing. 

"Bessie Grainger. She had a devil in her, too, in those days, but shealways kept her head, and I didn't. " He smiled. "I'm willing to admitthat I was madly in love with her, and she treated me outrageously. We were standing on the bridge--I remember it as though it wereyesterday--and the water was about eight feet deep, with a clear sandbottom. She took off a gold bracelet and bet me I wouldn't get it if shethrew it in. That night, right in the middle of dinner, when there wasa pause in the conversation, she told us she was engaged to CecilGrainger. It turned out, by the way, to have been his bracelet Irescued. I could have wrung his neck, and I didn't speak to her for amonth. "

Honora repressed an impulse to comment on this incident. With his armover her shoulder, he turned the pages idly, and the long lists ofguests which bore witness to the former life and importance of Highlawnspassed before her eyes. Distinguished foreigners, peers of England, churchmen, and men renowned in literature: famous American statesmen, scientists, and names that represented more than one generation ofwealth and achievement--all were here. There were his school and collegefriends, five and six at a time, and besides them those of young girlswho were now women, some of whom Honora had met and known in New York orNewport. 

Presently he closed the book abruptly and returned it to the safe. Toher sharpened senses, the very act itself was significant. There wereother and blank pages in it for future years; and under differentcircumstances he might have laid it in its time-honoured place, on thegreat table in the library. 

It was not until some weeks later that Honora was seated one afternoonin the study waiting for him to come in, and sorting over some of theletters that they had not yet examined, when she came across a newlot thrust carelessly at the bottom of the older pile. She undid theelastic. Tucked away in one of the envelopes she was surprised to finda letter of recent date--October. She glanced at it, read involuntarilythe first lines, and then, with a little cry, turned it over. It wasfrom Cecil Grainger. She put it back into the envelope whence it came, and sat still. 

After a while, she could not tell how long, she heard Hugh stamping thesnow from his feet in the little entry beside the study. And in a fewmoments he entered, rubbing his hands and holding them out to the blaze. 

"Hello, Honora, " he said; "are you still at it? What's the matter--ahitch?"

She reached mechanically into the envelope, took out the letter, andhanded it to him. 

"I found it just now, Hugh. I didn't read much of it--I didn't mean toread any. It's from Mr. Grainger, and you must have overlooked it. "

He took it. 

"From Cecil?" he said, in an odd voice. "I wasn't aware that he had sentme anything-recently. "

As he read, she felt the anger rise within him, she saw it in his eyesfixed upon the sheet, and the sense of fear, of irreparable loss, thathad come over her as she had sat alone awaiting him, deepened. Andyet, long expected verdicts are sometimes received in a spirit ofrecklessness: He finished the letter, and flung it in her lap. 

"Read it, " he said. 

"Oh, Hugh!" she protested tremulously. "Perhaps--perhaps I'd betternot. " He laughed, and that frightened her the more. It was the laugh, she was sure, of the other man she had not known. 

"I've always suspected that Cecil was a fool--now I'm sure of it. Readit!" he repeated, in a note of command that went oddly with his nextsentence; "You will find that it is only ridiculous. "

This assurance of the comedy it contained, however, did not serve tofortify her misgivings. It was written from a club. 

 "DEAR HUGH: Herewith a few letters for the magnum opus which I have extracted from Aunt Agatha, Judge Gaines, and others, and to send you my humble congratulations. By George, my boy, you have dashed off with a prize, and no mistake. I've never made any secret, you know, of my admiration for Honora--I hope I may call her so now. And I just thought I'd tell you you could count on me for a friend at court. Not that I'm any use now, old boy. I'll have to be frank with you--I always was. Discreet silence, and all that sort of thing: as much as my head is worth to open my mouth. But I had an idea it would be an act of friendship to let you know how things stand. Let time and works speak, and Cecil will give the thing a push at the proper moment. I understand from one of the intellectual journals I read that you have gone in for simple life and scientific farming. A deuced canny move. And for the love of heaven, old man, keep it up for a while, anyhow. I know it's difficult, but keep it up. I speak as a friend. 

 "They received your letters all right, announcing your marriage. You always enjoyed a row--I wish you could have been on hand to see and hear this one. It was no place for a man of peace, and I spent two nights at the club. I've never made any secret, you know, of the fact that I think the Pendleton connection hide-bound. And you understand Bessie--there's no good of my explaining her. You'd have thought divorce a brand-new invention of the devil, instead of a comparatively old institution. And if you don't mind my saying so, my boy, you took this fence a bit on the run, the way you do everything. 

 "The fact is, divorce is going out of fashion. Maybe it's because the Pendleton-Grenfell element have always set their patrician faces against it; maybe its been a bit overdone. Most people who have tried it have discovered that the fire is no better than the frying- pan--both hot as soon as they warm up. Of course, old boy, there's nothing personal in this. Sit tight, and stick to the simple life-- that's your game as I see it. No news--I've never known things to be so quiet. Jerry won over two thousand night before last--he made it no trumps in his own hand four times running. 

 "Yours, "CECIL. "

Honora returned this somewhat unique epistle to her husband, and hecrushed it. There was an ill-repressed, terrifying savagery in the act, and her heart was torn between fear and pity for this lone messageof good-will. Whatever its wording, such it was. A dark red flush hadmounted his forehead to the roots of his short curly hair. 

"Well?" he said. 

She was fighting for her presence of mind. Flashes of his temper she hadknown, but she had never seen the cruel, fiendish thing--his anger. Nothis anger, but the anger of the destroyer that she beheld waking nowafter its long sleep, and taking possession of him, and transforming himbefore her very eyes. She had been able to cope with the new man, butshe felt numb and powerless before the resuscitated demon of the old. 

"What do you expect me to say, Hugh?" she faltered, with a queer feelingthat she was not addressing him. 

"Anything you like, " he replied. 

"Defend Cecil. "

"Why should I defend him?" she said dully. 

"Because you have no pride. "

A few seconds elapsed before the full import and brutality of thisinsult reached her intelligence, and she cried out his name in a voiceshrill with anguish. But he seemed to delight in the pain he had caused. 

"You couldn't be expected, I suppose, to see that this letter is a d--dimpertinence, filled with an outrageous flippancy, a deliberate affront, an implication that our marriage does not exist. "

She sat stunned, knowing that the real pain would come later. Thatwhich slowly awoke in her now, as he paced the room, was a high senseof danger, and a persistent inability to regard the man who had insultedher as her husband. He was rather an enemy to them both, and he wouldoverturn, if he could, the frail craft of their happiness in the storm. She cried out to Hugh as across the waters. 

"No, --I have no pride, Hugh, --it is gone. I have thought of you only. The fear that I might separate you from your family, from your friends, and ruin your future has killed my pride. He--Mr. Grainger meant to bekind. He is always like that--it's his way of saying things. He wishesto show that he is friendly to you--to me--"

"In spite of my relations, " cried Chiltern, stopping in the middle ofthe room. "They cease to be my relations from this day. I disown them. Isay it deliberately. So long as I live, not one of them shall come intothis house. All my life they have begged me to settle down, to come uphere and live the life my father did. Very well, now I've done it. AndI wrote to them and told them that I intended to live henceforth like agentleman and a decent citizen--more than some of them do. No, I washmy hands of them. If they were to crawl up here from the gate on theirknees, I'd turn them out. "

Although he could not hear her, she continued to plead. 

"Hugh, try to think of how--how our marriage must have appeared to them. Not that I blame you for being angry. We only thought of one thing--ourlove--" her voice broke at the word, "and our own happiness. We did notconsider others. It is that which sometimes has made me afraid, that webelieved ourselves above the law. And now that we have--begun so well, don't spoil it, Hugh! Give them time, let them see by our works that weare in earnest, that we intend to live useful lives. 

"I don't mean to beg them, " she cried, at sight of his eyes. "Oh, Idon't mean that. I don't mean to entreat them, or even to communicatewith them. But they are your flesh and blood--you must remember that. Let us prove that we are--not--like the others, " she said, lifting herhead, "and then it cannot matter to us what any one thinks. We shallhave justified our act to ourselves. "

But he was striding up and down the room again. It was as shefeared--her plea--had fallen on unheeding ears. A sudden convulsiveleaping of the inner fires sent him to his desk, and he seized somenote-paper from the rack. Honora rose to her feet, and took a steptowards him. 

"Hugh--what are you going to do?"

"Do!" he cried, swinging in his chair and facing her, "I'm going todo what any man with an ounce of self-respect would do under thecircumstances. I'm going to do what I was a fool not to have done threemonths ago--what I should have done if it hadn't been for you. If intheir contemptible, pharisaical notions of morality they choose toforget what my mother and father were to them, they cease to exist forme. If it's the last act of my life I'm going to tell them so. "

She stood gazing at him, but she was as one of whom he took no account. He turned to the desk and began to write with a deliberation all themore terrible to her because of the white anger he felt. And still shestood. He pressed the button on his desk, and Starling responded. 

"I want a man from the stable to be ready to take some letters to townin half an hour, " he said. 

It was not until then that she turned and slowly left the room. A mortalsickness seemed to invade her vitals, and she went to her own chamberand flung herself, face downward, on the lace covering of the bed: andthe sobs that shook her were the totterings of the foundations of heruniverse. For a while, in the intensity of her anguish, all thought wasexcluded. Presently, however, when the body was spent, the mind beganto practise its subtle and intolerable torture, and she was invaded by asense of loneliness colder than the space between the worlds. 

Where was she to go, whither flee, now that his wrath was turnedagainst her? On the strength of his love alone she had pinned her faith, discarded and scorned all other help. And at the first contact with thatgreater power which he had taught her so confidently to despise, thatstrength had broken!

Slowly, she gazed back over the path she had trod; where roses once hadheld up smiling heads. It was choked now by brambles that scratched hernakedness at every step. Ah, how easily she had been persuaded to enterit! "We have the right to happiness, " he had said, and she hadlooked into his eyes and believed him. What was this strange, elusivehappiness, that she had so pantingly pursued and never overtaken? thatessence pure and unalloyed with baser things? Ecstasy, perhaps, she hadfound--for was it delirium? Fear was the boon companion of these; orbetter, the pestilence that stalked behind them, ever ready to strike. 

Then, as though some one had turned on a light--a sickening, yetpenetrating blue light--she looked at Hugh Chiltern. She did not wish tolook, but that which had turned on the light and bade her was strongerthan she. She beheld, as it were, the elements of his being, the verysources of the ceaseless, restless energy that was driving him on. Andscan as she would, no traces of the vaunted illimitable power thatis called love could she discern. Love he possessed; that she had notdoubted, and did not doubt, even now. But it had been given her to seethat these springs had existed before love had come, and would flow, perchance, after it had departed. Now she understood his anger; it waslike the anger of a fiercely rushing river striving to break a dam andinvade the lands below with devastating floods. All these months thewaters had been mounting. .. . 

Turning at length from the consideration of this figure, she askedherself whether, if with her present knowledge she had her choice tomake over again, she would have chosen differently. The answer was astartling negative. She loved him. Incomprehensible, unreasonable, andun reasoning sentiment! That she had received a wound, she knew; whetherit were mortal, or whether it would heal and leave a scar, she could notsay. One salient, awful fact she began gradually to realize, that if shesank back upon the pillows she was lost. Little it would profit her tosave her body. She had no choice between her present precarious footholdand the abyss, and wounded as she was she would have to fight. There wasno retreat:

She sat up, and presently got to her feet and went to the window andstared through the panes until she distinguished the blue whiteness ofthe fallen snow on her little balcony. The night, despite the clouds, had a certain luminous quality. Then she drew the curtains, searched forthe switch, and flooded the room with a soft glow--that beautifulroom in which he had so proudly installed her four months before. Shesmoothed the bed, and walking to the mirror gazed intently at herface, and then she bathed it. Afterwards she opened her window again, admitting a flurry of snow, and stood for some minutes breathing in thesharp air. 

Three quarters of an hour later she was dressed and descending thestairs, and as she entered the library dinner was announced. Let usspare Honora the account of that repast or rather a recital of theconversation that accompanied it. What she found to say under the eyesof the servants is of little value, although the fact itself deserves tobe commended as a high accomplishment; and while she talked, she studiedthe brooding mystery that he presented, and could make nothing of it. His mood was new. It was not sullenness, nor repressed rage; and hisanswers were brief, but he was not taciturn. It struck her that in spiteof a concentration such as she had never in her life bestowed on anyother subject, her knowledge of him of the Chiltern she had married--wasstill wofully incomplete, and that in proportion to the lack ofperfection of that knowledge her danger was great. Perhaps the Chilternshe had married was as yet in a formative state. Be this as it may, what she saw depicted on his face to-night corresponded to no formerexperience. 

They went back to the library. Coffee was brought and carried off, andHonora was standing before the fire. Suddenly he rose from his chair, crossed the room, and before she could draw away seized and crushed herin his arms without a word. She lay there, inert, bewildered as in thegrip of an unknown force, until presently she was aware of the beatingof his heart, and a glimmering of what he felt came to her. Nor was itan understandable thing, except to the woman who loved him. And yet andyet she feared it even in that instant of glory. 

When at last she dared to look up, he kissed away the tears from hercheeks. 

"I love you, " he said. "You must never doubt it--do you understand?"

"Yes, Hugh. "

"You must never doubt it, " he repeated roughly. 

His contrition was a strange thing--if it were contrition. Andlove--woman's love--is sometimes the counsellor of wisdom. Her solereproach was to return his kiss. 

Presently she chose a book, and he read to her. 

CHAPTER XV. THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY

One morning, as he gathered up his mail, Chiltern left lying on thebreakfast table a printed circular, an appeal from the trustees ofthe Grenoble Hospital. As Honora read it she remembered that thisinstitution had been the favourite charity of his mother; and that Mrs. Chiltern, at her death, had bequeathed an endowment which at the timehad been ample. But Grenoble having grown since then, the deficit forthis year was something under two thousand dollars, and in a lowercorner was a request that contributions be sent to Mrs. Israel Simpson. 

With the circular in her hand, Honora went thoughtfully up the stairsto her sitting-room. The month was February, the day overcast and muggy, and she stood for a while apparently watching the holes made in the snowby the steady drip from the cap of the garden wall. What she really sawwas the face of Mrs. Israel Simpson, a face that had haunted her thesemany months. For Mrs. Simpson had gradually grown, in Honora's mind, totypify the hardness of heart of Grenoble. With Grenoble obdurate, whatwould become of the larger ambitions of Hugh Chiltern?

Mrs. Simpson was indeed a redoubtable lady, whose virtue shone with aparticular high brightness on the Sabbath. Her lamp was brimming withoil against the judgment day, and she was as one divinely appointed tobe the chastener of the unrighteous. So, at least, Honora beheld her. Her attire was rich but not gaudy, and had the air of proclaiming theprosperity of Israel Simpson alone as its unimpeachable source: her nosewas long, her lip slightly marked by a masculine and masterful emblem, and her eyes protruded in such a manner as to give the impression ofwatchfulness on all sides. 

It was this watchfulness that our heroine grew to regard as a salientcharacteristic. It never slept--even during Mr. Stopford's sermons. Shewas aware of it when she entered the church, and she was sure thatit escorted her as far as the carriage on her departure. It seemed tooppress the congregation. And Honora had an idea that if it could havebeen withdrawn, her cruel proscription would have ended. For at timesshe thought that she read in the eyes of some of those who made way forher, friendliness and even compassion. 

It was but natural, perhaps, in the situation in which our heroine foundherself, that she should have lost her sense of proportion to the extentof regarding this lady in the light of a remorseless dragon barring heronly path to peace. And those who might have helped her--if any therewere--feared the dragon as much as she. Mrs. Simpson undoubtedly wouldnot have relished this characterization, and she is not to have theopportunity of presenting her side of the case. We are looking at itfrom Honora's view, and Honora beheld chimeras. The woman changed, forHonora, the very aspect of the house of God; it was she who appeared topreside there, or rather to rule by terror. And Honora, as she glancedat her during the lessons, often wondered if she realized the appallingextent of her cruelty. Was this woman, who begged so audibly to bedelivered from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy, in reality a Christian?Honora hated her, and yet she prayed that God would soften her heart. Was there no way in which she could be propitiated, appeased? Forthe sake of the thing desired, and which it was given this woman towithhold, she was willing to humble herself in the dust. 

Honora laid the hospital circular on the desk beside her account book. She had an ample allowance from Hugh; but lying in a New York bank waswhat remained of the unexpected legacy she had received from her father, and it was from this that she presently drew a cheque for five hundreddollars, --a little sacrifice that warmed her blood as she wrote. Not forthe unfortunate in the hospital was she making it, but for him: and thatshe could do this from the little store that was her very own gave hera thrill of pride. She would never need it again. If he deserted her, itmattered little what became of her. If he deserted her!

She sat gazing out of the window over the snow, and a new questionwas in her heart. Was it as a husband--that he loved her? Did theirintercourse have that intangible quality of safety that belonged tomarried life? And was it not as a mistress rather than a wife that, intheir isolation, she watched his moods so jealously? A mistress! Herlips parted, and she repeated the word aloud, for self-torture is human. 

Her mind dwelt upon their intercourse. There were the days they spenttogether, and the evenings, working or reading. Ah, but had the timeever been when, in the depths of her being, she had felt the realsecurity of a wife? When she had not always been dimly conscious ofa desire to please him, of a struggle to keep him interested andcontented? And there were the days when he rode alone, the nights whenhe read or wrote alone, when her joy was turned to misery; there werethe alternating periods of passion and alienation. Alienation, perhaps, was too strong a word. Nevertheless, at such times, her feeling was oneof desolation. 

His heart, she knew, was bent upon success at Grenoble, and one of thebooks which they had recently read together was a masterly treatise, byan Englishman, on the life-work of an American statesman. The vastwidth of the country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, was stirred withpolitics: a better era was coming, the pulse of the nation beating withrenewed life; a stronger generation was arising to take the Republicinto its own hands. A campaign was in progress in the State, and twiceher husband had gone some distance to hear the man who embodied the newideas, and had come back moody and restless, like a warrior condemnedto step aside. Suppose his hopes were blighted--what would happen? Wouldthe spirit of reckless adventure seize him again? Would the wilds callhim? or the city? She did not dare to think. 

It was not until two mornings later that Hugh tossed her across thebreakfast table a pink envelope with a wide flap and rough edges. Itssender had taken advantage of the law that permits one-cent stamps forlocal use. 

"Who's your friend, Honora?" he asked. 

She tried to look calmly at the envelope that contained her fate. 

"It's probably a dressmaker's advertisement, " she answered, and went onwith the pretence of eating her breakfast. 

"Or an invitation to dine with Mrs. Simpson, " he suggested, laughingly, as he rose. "It's just the stationery she would choose. "

Honora dropped her spoon in her egg-cup. It instantly became evident, however, that his remark was casual and not serious, for he gatheredup his mail and departed. Her hand trembled a little as she opened theletter, and for a moment the large gold monogram of its sender dancedbefore her eyes. 

 "Dear Madam, Permit me to thank you in the name of the Trustees of the Grenoble Hospital for your generous contribution, and believe me, Sincerely yours, "MARIA W. SIMPSON. "

The sheet fluttered to the floor. 

When Sunday came, for the first time her courage failed her. She hadheard the wind complaining in the night, and the day dawned wild andwet. She got so far as to put on a hat and veil and waterproof coat;Starling had opened the doors, and through the frame of the doorway, onthe wet steps, she saw the footman in his long mackintosh, his umbrellaraised to escort her to the carriage. Then she halted, irresolute. Theimpassive old butler stood on the sill, a silent witness, she knew, tothe struggle going on within her. It seemed ridiculous indeed to playout the comedy with him, who could have recited the lines. And yet sheturned to him. 

"Starling, you may send the coachman back to the stable. "

"Very good, madam. "

As she climbed the stairs she saw him gravely closing the doors. Shepaused on the landing, her sense of relief overborne by a greater senseof defeat. There was still time! She heard the wheels of the carriageon the circle--yet she listened to them die away. Starling softly caughtthe latch, and glanced up. For an instant their looks crossed, and shehurried on with palpitating breast, reached her boudoir, and closedthe door. The walls seemed to frown on her, and she remembered that thesitting-room in St. Louis had worn that same look when, as a child, she had feigned illness in order to miss a day at school. With a leadenheart she gazed out on the waste of melting snow, and then tried invain to read a novel that a review had declared amusing. But a questionalways came between her and the pages: was this the turning point ofthat silent but terrible struggle, when she must acknowledge to herselfthat the world had been too strong for her? After a while her lonelinessbecame unbearable. Chiltern was in the library. 

"Home from church?" he inquired. 

"I didn't go, Hugh. "

He looked up in surprise. 

"Why, I thought I saw you start, " he said. 

"It's such a dreary day, Hugh. "

"But that has never prevented you before. "

"Don't you think I'm entitled to one holiday?" she asked. 

But it was by a supreme effort she kept back the tears. He looked at herattentively, and got up suddenly and put his hands upon her shoulders. She could not meet his eyes, and trembled under his touch. 

"Honora, " he said, "why don't you tell me the truth?"

"What do you mean, Hugh?"

"I have been wondering how long you'd stand it. I mean that these women, who call themselves Christians, have been brutal to you. They haven'tso much as spoken to you in church, and not one of them has been to thishouse to call. Isn't that so?"

"Don't let us judge them yet, Hugh, " she begged, a little wildly, feeling again the gathering of another destroying storm in him thatmight now sweep the last vestige of hope away. And she seized thearguments as they came. "Some of them may be prejudiced, I know. Butothers--others I am sure are kind, and they have had no reason tobelieve I should like to know them--to work among them. I--I could notgo to see them first, I am glad to wait patiently until some accidentbrings me near them. And remember, Hugh, the atmosphere in which we bothlived before we came here--an atmosphere they regard as frivolousand pleasure-loving. People who are accustomed to it are not usuallysupposed to care to make friends in a village, or to bother their headsabout the improvement of a community. Society is not what it was inyour mother's day, who knew these people or their mothers, and took aninterest in what they were doing. Perhaps they think me--haughty. " Shetried to smile. "I have never had an opportunity to show them that I amnot. "

She paused, breathless, and saw that he was unconvinced. 

"Do you believe that, Honora?" he demanded. 

"I--I want to believe it. And I am sure, that if it is not true now, itwill become so, if we only wait. "

He shook his head. 

"Never, " he said, and dropped his hands and walked over to the fire. Shestood where he had left her. 

"I understand, " she heard him say, "I understand that you sent Mrs. Simpson five hundred dollars for the hospital. Simpson told me soyesterday, at the bank. "

"I had a little money of my own--from my father and I was glad to do it, Hugh. That was your mother's charity. "

Her self-control was taxed to the utmost by the fact that he was moved. She could not see his face, but his voice betrayed it. 

"And Mrs. Simpson?" he asked, after a moment. 

"Mrs. Simpson?"

"She thanked you?"

"She acknowledged the cheque, as president. I was not giving it to her, but to the hospital. "

"Let me see the letter. "

"I--I have destroyed it. "

He brought his hands together forcibly, and swung about and faced her. 

"Damn them!" he cried, "from this day I forbid you to have anything todo with them, do you hear. I forbid you! They're a set of confounded, self-righteous hypocrites. Give them time! In all conscience they havehad time enough, and opportunity enough to know what our intentionsare. How long do they expect us to fawn at their feet for a word ofrecognition? What have we done that we should be outlawed in this wayby the very people who may thank my family for their prosperity? Wherewould Israel Simpson be to-day if my father had not set him up inbusiness? Without knowing anything of our lives they pretend to sit injudgment on us. Why? Because you have been divorced, and I married you. I'll make them pay for this!"

"No!" she begged, taking a step towards him. "You don't know what you'resaying, Hugh. I implore you not to do anything. Wait a little while!Oh, it is worth trying!" So far the effort carried her, and no farther. Perhaps, at sight of the relentlessness in his eyes, hope left her, andshe sank down on a chair and buried her face in her hands, her voicebroken by sobs. "It is my fault, and I am justly punished. I have noright to you--I was wicked, I was selfish to marry you. I have ruinedyour life. "

He went to her, and lifted her up, but she was like a child whompassionate weeping has carried beyond the reach of words. He could saynothing to console her, plead as he might, assume the blame, and sweareternal fealty. One fearful, supreme fact possessed her, the wreck ofChiltern breaking against the rocks, driven there by her. .. . 

That she eventually grew calm again deserves to be set down as a tributeto the organism of the human body. 

That she was able to breathe, to move, to talk, to go through thepretence of eating, was to her in the nature of a mild surprise. Lifewent on, but it seemed to Honora in the hours following this scene thatit was life only. Of the ability to feel she was utterly bereft. Hercalmness must have been appalling: her own indifference to what mighthappen now, --if she could have realized it, --even more so. And inthe afternoon, wandering about the house, she found herself in theconservatory. It had been built on against the library, and sometimes, on stormy afternoons, she had tea there with Hugh in the red-cushionedchairs beside the trickling fountain, the flowers giving them anillusion of summer. 

Under ordinary circumstances the sound of wheels on the gravel wouldhave aroused her, for Hugh scarcely ever drove. And it was not untilshe glanced through the open doors into the library that she knew thata visitor had come to Highlawns. He stood beside the rack for themagazines and reviews, somewhat nervously fingering a heavy watch charm, his large silk hat bottom upward on the chair behind him. It was Mr. Israel Simpson. She could see him plainly, and she was by no meanshidden from him by the leaves, and yet she did not move. He had come tosee Hugh, she understood; and she was probably going to stay whereshe was and listen. It seemed of no use repeating to herself thatthis conversation would be of vital importance; for the mechanism thatformerly had recorded these alarms and spread them, refused to work. Shesaw Chiltern enter, and she read on his face that he meant to destroy. It was no news to her. She had known it for a long, long time--in fact, ever since she had came to Grenoble. Her curiosity, strangely enough--orso it seemed afterwards--was centred on Mr. Simpson, as though he werean actor she had been very curious to see. 

It was this man, and not her husband, whom she perceived from the firstwas master of the situation. His geniality was that of the commanderof an overwhelming besieging force who could afford to be generous. Sheseemed to discern the cloudy ranks of the legions behind him, and theyencircled the world. He was aware of these legions, and their presencecompletely annihilated the ancient habit of subserviency with whichin former years he had been wont to enter this room and listen to theinstructions of that formidable old lion, the General: so much wasplain from the orchestra. He went forward with a cheerful, if ponderousbonhomie. 

"Ah, Hugh, " said he, "I got your message just in time. I was on thepoint of going over to see old Murdock. Seriously ill--you know--lasttime, I'm afraid, " and Mr. Simpson shook his head. He held out his hand. Hugh did not appear to notice it. 

"Sit down, Mr. Simpson, " he said. 

Mr. Simpson sat down. Chiltern took a stand before him. 

"You asked me the other day whether I would take a certain amount of thestock and bonds of the Grenoble Light and Power Company, in whichyou are interested, and which is, I believe, to supply the town withelectric light, the present source being inadequate. "

"So I did, " replied Mr. Simpson, urbanely, "and I believe the investmentto be a good one. There is no better power in this part of the countrythan Psalter's Falls. "

"I wished to inform you that I do not intend to go into the Light andPower Company, " said Chiltern. 

"I am sorry to hear it, " Mr. Simpson declared. "In my opinion, if yousearched the state for a more profitable or safer thing, you could notfind it. "

"I have no doubt the investment is all that could be desired, Mr. Simpson. I merely wished you to know, as soon as possible, that I didnot intend to put my money into it. There are one or two other littlematters which you have mentioned during the week. You pointed out thatit would be an advantage to Grenoble to revive the county fair, and youasked me to subscribe five thousand dollars to the Fair Association. "

This time Mr. Simpson remained silent. 

"I have come to the conclusion, to-day, not to subscribe a cent. I alsointend to notify the church treasurer that I will not any longer rent apew, or take any further interest in the affairs of St. John's church. My wife was kind enough, I believe, to send five hundred dollars to theGrenoble hospital. That will be the last subscription from any member ofmy family. I will resign as a director of the Grenoble Bank to-morrow, and my stock will be put on the market. And finally I wished to tellyou that henceforth I do not mean to aid in any way any enterprise inGrenoble. "

During this announcement, which had been made with an ominous calmness, Mr. Simpson had gazed steadily at the brass andirons. He cleared histhroat. 

"My dear Hugh, " said he, "what you have said pains meexcessively-excessively. I--ahem--fail to grasp it. As an old friendof your family--of your father--I take the liberty of begging you toreconsider your words. "

Chiltern's eyes blazed. 

"Since you have mentioned my father, Mr. Simpson, " he exclaimed, "I mayremind you that his son might reasonably have expected at your hands adifferent treatment than that you have accorded him. You have asked meto reconsider my decision, but I notice that you have failed to inquireinto my reasons for making it. I came back here to Grenoble with everyintention of devoting the best efforts of my life in aiding to build upthe community, as my father had done. It was natural, perhaps, thatI should expect a little tolerance, a little friendliness, a littlerecognition in return. My wife was prepared to help me. We did notask much. But you have treated us like outcasts. Neither you nor Mrs. Simpson, from whom in all conscience I looked for consideration andfriendship, have as much as spoken to Mrs. Chiltern in church. You havemade it clear that, while you are willing to accept our contributions, you cared to have nothing to do with us whatever. If I have overstatedthe case, please correct me. "

Mr. Simpson rose protestingly. 

"My dear Hugh, " he said. "This is very painful. I beg that you willspare me. "

"My name is Chiltern, " answered Hugh, shortly. "Will you kindly explain, if you can, why the town of Grenoble has ignored us?"

Israel Simpson hesitated a moment. He seemed older when he looked atChiltern again, and in his face commiseration and indignation were oddlyintermingled. His hand sought his watch chain. 

"Yes, I will tell you, " he replied slowly, "although in all my lifeno crueller duty has fallen on me. It is because we in Grenoble areold-fashioned in our views of morality, and I thank God we are so. It isbecause you have married a divorced woman under circumstances that haveshocked us. The Church to which I belong, and whose teachings I respect, does not recognize such a marriage. And you have, in my opinion, committed an offence against society. To recognize you by socialintercourse would be to condone that offence, to open the door topractices that would lead, in a short time, to the decay of our people. "

Israel Simpson turned, and pointed a shaking forefinger at the portraitof General Augus Chiltern. 

"And I affirm here, fearlessly before you, that he, your father, wouldhave been the last to recognize such a marriage. "

Chiltern took a step forward, and his fingers tightened. 

"You will oblige me by leaving my father's name out of this discussion, "he said. 

But Israel Simpson did not recoil. 

"If we learn anything by example in this world, Mr. Chiltern, " hecontinued, "and it is my notion that we do, I am indebted to your fatherfor more than my start in life. Through many years of intercoursewith him, and contemplation of his character, I have gained more thanriches. --You have forced me to say this thing. I am sorry if I havepained you. But I should not be true to the principles to which hehimself was consistent in life, and which he taught by example so manyothers, if I ventured to hope that social recognition in Grenoble wouldbe accorded you, or to aid in any way such recognition. As long as Ilive I will oppose it. There are, apparently, larger places in the worldand less humble people who will be glad to receive you. I can onlyhope, as an old friend and well-wisher of your family, that you may findhappiness. "

Israel Simpson fumbled for his hat, picked it up, and left the room. Fora moment Chiltern stood like a man turned to stone, and then he pressedthe button on the wall behind him. 

Volume 8. 

CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH A MIRROR IS HELD UP

Spring came to Highlawns, Eden tinted with myriad tender greens. Yellow-greens, like the beech boughs over the old wall, and gentleblue-greens, like the turf; and the waters of the lake were blue andwhite in imitation of the cloud-flecked sky. It seemed to Honora, as shesat on the garden bench, that the yellow and crimson tulips could notopen wide enough their cups to the sun. 

In these days she looked at her idol, and for the first time believedit to be within her finite powers to measure him. She began by askingherself if it were really she who had ruined his life, and whether hewould ultimately have redeemed himself if he had married a woman whomthe world would have recognized. Thus did the first doubt invade herheart. It was of him she was thinking still, and always. But there wasthe doubt. If he could have stood this supreme test of isolation, of theworld's laughter and scorn, although it would have made her own heavyburden of responsibility heavier, yet could she still have rejoiced. That he should crumble was the greatest of her punishments. 

Was he crumbling? In these months she could not quite be sure, andshe tried to shut her eyes when the little pieces fell off, toremind herself that she must make allowances for the severity of hisdisappointment. Spring was here, the spring to which he had so eagerlylooked forward, and yet the listlessness with which he went about hiswork was apparent. Sometimes he did not appear at breakfast, althoughHonora clung with desperation to the hour they had originally fixed:sometimes Mr. Manning waited for him until nearly ten o'clock, only toreceive curt dismissal. He went off for long rides, alone, and to thedespair of the groom brought back the horses in a lather, with droopingheads and heaving sides; one of them he ruined. He declared there wasn'ta horse in the stable fit to give him exercise. 

Often he sat for hours in his study, brooding, inaccessible. She hadthe tennis-court rolled and marked, but the contests here werepitifully-unequal; for the row of silver cups on his mantel, engravedwith many dates, bore witness to his athletic prowess. She wrote fora book on solitaire, but after a while the sight of cards becamedistasteful. With a secret diligence she read the reviews, and sent fornovels and memoirs which she scanned eagerly before they were begun withhim. Once, when she went into his study on an errand, she stood for aminute gazing painfully at the cleared space on his desk where oncehad lain the papers and letters relative to the life of General AngusChiltern. 

There were intervals in which her hope flared, in which she tasted, fearfully and with bated breath, something that she had not thought toknow again. It was characteristic of him that his penitence was neverspoken: nor did he exhibit penitence. He seemed rather at such timesmerely to become normally himself, as one who changes personality, apparently oblivious to the moods and deeds of yesterday. And theseoccasions added perplexity to her troubles. She could not reproachhim--which perhaps in any event she would have been too wise to do;but she could not, try as she would, bring herself to the point of adiscussion of their situation. The risk, she felt, was too great; now, at least. There were instances that made her hope that the hour mightcome. 

One fragrant morning Honora came down to find him awaiting her, andto perceive lying on her napkin certain distilled drops of the springsunshine. In language less poetic, diamonds to be worn in the ears. Thewheel of fashion, it appeared, had made a complete revolution since theearly days of his mother's marriage. She gave a little exclamation, andher hand went to her heart. 

"They are Brazilian stones, " he explained, with a boyish pleasure thatawoke memories and held her speechless. "I believe it's very difficult, if not impossible, to buy them now. My father got them after the war andI had them remounted. " And he pressed them against the pink lobes of herears. "You look like the Queen of Sheba. "

"How do you know?" she asked tremulously. "You never saw her. "

"According to competent judges, " he replied, "she was the most beautifulwoman of her time. Go upstairs and put them on. "

She shook her head. An inspiration had come to her. 

"Wait, " she cried. And that morning, when Hugh had gone out, she sentfor Starling and startled him by commanding that the famous Lowestoftset be used at dinner. He stared at her, and the corners of his mouthtwitched, and still he stood respectfully in the doorway. 

"That is all, Starling. "

"I beg pardon, madam. How--how many will there be at the table?"

"Just Mr. Chiltern and I, " she replied. But she did not look at him. 

It was superstition, undoubtedly. She was well aware that Starling hadnot believed that the set would be used again. An extraordinary order, that might well have sent him away wondering; for the Lowestoft had beenreserved for occasions. Ah, but this was to be an occasion, a festival!The whimsical fancy grew in her mind as the day progressed, and shelonged with an unaccustomed impatience for nightfall, and anticipationhad a strange taste. Mathilde, with the sympathetic gift of her nation, shared the excitement of her mistress in this fete. The curtains in thepink bedroom were drawn, and on the bed, in all its splendour of laceand roses, was spread out the dinner-gown-a chef-d'oeuvre of MadameBarriere's as yet unworn. And no vulgar, worldly triumph was it toadorn. 

Her heart was beating fast as she descended the stairway, bright spotsof colour flaming in her cheeks and the diamonds sparkling in her ears. A prima donna might have guessed her feelings as she paused, a littlebreathless on the wide landing under the windows. She heard a footstep. Hugh came out of the library and stood motionless, looking up at her. But even those who have felt the silence and the stir that prefaces theclamorous applause of the thousands could not know the thrill that swepther under his tribute. She came down the last flight of steps, slowly, and stopped in front of him. 

"You are wonderful, Honora!" he said, and his voice was not quite undercontrol. He took her hand, that trembled in his, and he seemed to beseeking to express something for which he could find no words. Thus maythe King have looked upon Rosamond in her bower; upon a beauty createdfor the adornment of courts which he had sequestered for his eyes alone. 

Honora, as though merely by the touch of his hand in hers, divined histhought. 

"If you think me so, dear, " she whispered happily, "it's all I ask. "

And they went in to dinner as to a ceremony. It was indeed a ceremonyfilled for her with some occult, sacred, meaning that she could not putinto words. A feast symbolical. Starling was sent to the wine-cellar tobring back a cobwebbed Madeira near a century old, brought out on rareoccasions in the family. And Hugh, when his glass was filled, looked athis wife and raised it in silence to his lips. 

She never forgot the scene. The red glow of light from the shadedcandles on the table, and the corners of the dining room filled withgloom. The old butler, like a high priest, standing behind his master'schair. The long windows, with the curtains drawn in the deep, panelledarches; the carved white mantelpiece; the glint of silver on' thesideboard, with its wine-cooler underneath, --these, spoke of generationsof respectability and achievement. Would this absorbed isolation, thismarvellous wild love of theirs, be the end of it all? Honora, as onedetached, as a ghost in the corner, saw herself in the picture withstartling clearness. When she looked up, she met her husband's eyes. Always she met them, and in them a questioning, almost startled lookthat was new. "Is it the earrings?" she asked at last. "I don't know, "he answered. "I can't tell. They seem to have changed you, but perhapsthey have brought out something in your face and eyes I have never seenbefore. "

"And--you like it, Hugh?"

"Yes, I like it, " he replied, and added enigmatically, "but I don'tunderstand it. "

She was silent, and oddly satisfied, trusting to fate to send moremysteries. 

Two days had not passed when that restlessness for which she watched sonarrowly revived. He wandered aimlessly about the place, and flared upinto such a sudden violent temper at one of the helpers in the fieldsthat the man ran as for his life, and refused to set foot again on anyof the Chiltern farms. In the afternoon he sent for Honora to ride withhim, and scolded her for keeping him waiting. And he wore a spur, and pressed his horse so savagely that she cried out in remonstrance, although at such times she had grown to fear him. 

"Oh, Hugh, how can you be so cruel!"

"The beast has no spirit, " he said shortly. "I'll get one that has. "

Their road wound through the western side of the estate towards mistyrolling country, in the folds of which lay countless lakes, and atlength they caught sight of an unpainted farmhouse set amidst a whitecloud of apple trees in bloom. On the doorstep, whittling, sat abearded, unkempt farmer with a huge frame. In answer to Hugh's questionhe admitted that he had a horse for sale, stuck his knife in the step, rose, and went off towards the barn near by; and presently reappeared, leading by a halter a magnificent black. The animal stood jerking hishead, blowing and pawing the ground while Chiltern examined him. 

"He's been ridden?" he asked. 

The man nodded. 

Chiltern sprang to the ground and began to undo his saddle girths. Asudden fear seized Honora. 

"Oh, Hugh, you're not going to ride him!" she exclaimed. 

"Why not? How else am I going to find out anything about him?"

"He looks--dangerous, " she faltered. 

"I'm tired of horses that haven't any life in them, " he said, as helifted off the saddle. 

"I guess we'd better get him in the barn, " said the farmer. 

Honora went behind them to witness the operation, which was not devoidof excitement. The great beast plunged savagely when they tightened thegirths, and closed his teeth obstinately against the bit; but the farmerheld firmly to his nose and shut off his wind. They led him out from thebarn floor. 

"Your name Chiltern?" asked the farmer. 

"Yes, " said Hugh, curtly. 

"Thought so, " said the farmer, and he held the horse's head. 

Honora had a feeling of faintness. 

"Hugh, do be careful!" she pleaded. 

He paid no heed to her. His eyes, she noticed, had a certain feverishglitter of animation, of impatience, such as men of his type must wearwhen they go into battle. He seized the horse's mane, he put his footin the stirrup; the astonished animal gave a snort and jerked the bridlefrom the farmer's hand. But Chiltern was in the saddle, with kneespressed tight. 

There ensued a struggle that Honora will never forget. And although shenever again saw that farm-house, its details and surroundings come backto her in vivid colours when she closes her eyes. The great horse inevery conceivable pose, with veins standing out and knotty musclestwisting in his legs and neck and thighs. Once, when he dashed into theapple trees, she gave a cry; a branch snapped, and Chiltern emerged, still seated, with his hat gone and the blood trickling from a scratchon his forehead. She saw him strike with his spurs, and in a twinklinghorse and rider had passed over the dilapidated remains of a fenceand were flying down the hard clay road, disappearing into a dip. Areverberating sound, like a single stroke, told them that the bridge atthe bottom had been crossed. 

In an agony of terror, Honora followed, her head on fire, her heartpounding faster than the hoof beats. But the animal she rode, though agood one, was no match for the great infuriated beast which she pursued. Presently she came to a wooded corner where the road forked thrice, andbeyond, not without difficulty, --brought her sweating mare to a stand. The quality of her fear changed from wild terror to cold dread. A hermitthrush, in the wood near by, broke the silence with a song inconceivablysweet. At last she went back to the farm-house, hoping against hopethat Hugh might have returned by another road. But he was not there. Thefarmer was still nonchalantly whittling. 

"Oh, how could you let any one get on a horse like that?" she cried. 

"You're his wife, ain't you?" he asked. 

Something in the man's manner seemed to compel her to answer, in spiteof the form of the question. 

"I am Mrs. Chiltern, " she said. 

He was looking at her with an expression that she foundincomprehensible. His glance was penetrating, yet here again she seemedto read compassion. He continued to gaze at her, and presently, when hespoke, it was as though he were not addressing her at all. 

"You put me in mind of a young girl I used to know, " he said; "seemslike a long time ago. You're pretty, and you're young, and ye didn'tknow what you were doin, ' I'll warrant. Lost your head. He has a way ofgittin' 'em--always had. "

Honora did not answer. She would have liked to have gone away, but thatwhich was stronger than her held her. 

"She didn't live here, " he explained, waving his hand deprecatinglytowards the weather-beaten house. "We lived over near Morrisvillein them days. And he don't remember me, your husband don't. I ain'tsurprised. I've got considerable older. "

Honora was trembling from head to foot, and her hands were cold. 

"I've got her picture in there, if ye'd like to look at it, " he said, after a while. 

"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no!"

"Well, I don't know as I blame you. " He sat down again and began towhittle. "Funny thing, chance, " he remarked; "who'd a thought I shouldhave owned that there hoss, and he should have come around here to rideit?"

She tried to speak, but she could not. The hideous imperturbabilityof the man's hatred sickened her. And her husband! The chips fell insilence until a noise on the road caused them to look up. Chiltern wascoming back. She glanced again at the farmer, but his face was equallyincapable, or equally unwilling, to express regret. Chiltern rode intothe dooryard. The blood from the scratch on his forehead had crossed histemple and run in a jagged line down his cheek, his very hair (as shehad sometimes seen it) was damp with perspiration, blacker, kinkier; hiseyes hard, reckless, bloodshot. So, in the past, must he have emergedfrom dozens of such wilful, brutal contests with man and beast. He hadbeaten the sweat-stained horse (temporarily--such was the impressionHonora received), but she knew that he would like to have killed it forits opposition. 

"Give me my hat, will you?" he cried to the farmer. 

To her surprise the man obeyed. Chiltern leaped to the ground. 

"What do you want for him?" he demanded. 

"I'll take five hundred dollars. "

"Bring him over in the morning, " said Chiltern, curtly. 

They rode homeward in silence. Honora had not been able to raise hervoice against the purchase, and she seemed powerless now to warn herhusband of the man's enmity. She was thinking, rather, of the horror ofthe tragedy written on the farmer's face, to which he had given her thekey: Hugh Chiltern, to whom she had intrusted her life and granted herall, had done this thing, ruthlessly, even as he had satisfied to-dayhis unbridled cravings in maltreating a horse! And she thought of thatother woman, on whose picture she had refused to look. What was theessential difference between that woman and herself? He had wanted themboth, he had taken them both for his pleasure, heedless of the painhe might cause to others and to them. For her, perhaps, the higherorganism, had been reserved the higher torture. She did not know. Thevision of the girl in the outer darkness reserved for castaways wasterrible. 

Up to this point she had, as it were, been looking into one mirror. Nowanother was suddenly raised behind her, and by its aid she beheld nota single, but countless, images of herself endlessly repeated. Howmany others besides this girl had there been? The question gave herthe shudder of the contemplation of eternity. It was not the first timeHonora had thought of his past, but until today it had lacked reality;until to-day she had clung to the belief that he had been misunderstood;until to-day she had considered those acts of his of the existence ofwhich she was collectively aware under the generic term of wild oats. He had had too much money, and none had known how to control him. Now, through this concrete example of another's experience, she was given tounderstand that which she had strangely been unable to learn from herown. And she had fancied, in her folly, that she could control him!Unable as yet to grasp the full extent of her calamity, she rode on byhis side, until she was aware at last that they had reached the door ofthe house at Highlawns. 

"You look pale, " he said as he lifted her off her horse. The demon inhim, she perceived, was tired. 

"Do I?"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, " she answered. 

He laughed. 

"It's confoundedly silly to get frightened that way, " he declared. "Thebeast only wants riding. "

Three mornings later she was seated in the garden with a frame of fancywork. Sometimes she put it down. The weather was overcast, langourous, and there was a feeling of rain in the air. Chiltern came in through thegaffe, and looked at her. 

"I'm going to New York on the noon train, " he said. 

"To New York?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"There's no reason why you shouldn't if you wish to, " she replied, picking up her frame. 

"Anything I can get you?" he asked. 

"No, thank you. "

"You've been in such a deuced queer mood the last few days I can't makeyou out, Honora. "

"You ought to have learned something about women by this time, " shesaid. 

"It seems to me, " he announced, "that we need a little livening up. "

CHAPTER XVII. THE RENEWAL OF AN ANCIENT HOSPITALITY

There were six letters from him, written from a club, representing theseven days of his absence. He made no secret of the fact that his visitto the metropolis was in the nature of a relaxation and a changeof scene, but the letters themselves contained surprisingly littleinformation as to how he was employing his holiday. He had encounteredmany old friends, supposedly all of the male sex: among them--mostwelcome of surprises to him!--Mr. George Pembroke, a boon companion atHarvard. And this mention of boon companionship brought up to Honora asufficiently vivid idea of Mr. Pembroke's characteristics. The extentof her knowledge of this gentleman consisted in the facts that he wasa bachelor, a member of a prominent Philadelphia family, and that timehung heavy on his hands. 

One morning she received a telegram to the effect that her husband wouldbe home that night, bringing three people with him. He sent his love, but neglected to state the names and sexes of the prospective guests. And she was still in a quandary as to what arrangements to make whenStarling appeared in answer to her ring. 

"You will send the omnibus to the five o'clock train, " she said. "There will be three extra places at dinner, and tea when Mr. Chilternarrives. "

Although she strove to speak indifferently, she was sure from the waythe old man looked at her that her voice had not been quite steady. Oflate her curious feeling about him had increased in intensity; and manytimes, during this week she had spent alone, she had thought that hiseyes had followed her with sympathy. She did not resent this. Her worldhaving now contracted to that wide house, there was a comfort in knowingthat there was one in it to whom she could turn in need. For she feltthat she could turn to Starling; he alone, apparently, had measuredthe full depth of her trouble; nay, had silently predicted it fromthe beginning. And to-day, as he stood before her, she had an almostirresistible impulse to speak. Just a word-a human word would have beensuch a help to her! And how ridiculous the social law that kept the oldman standing there, impassive, respectful, when this existed betweenthem! Her tragedy was his tragedy; not in the same proportion, perhaps;nevertheless, he had the air of one who would die of it. 

And she? Would she die? What would become of her? When she thought ofthe long days and months and years that stretched ahead of her, shefelt that her soul would not be able to survive the process of steadydegradation to which it was sure to be subjected. For she was aprisoner: the uttermost parts of the earth offered no refuge. To-day, she knew, was to see the formal inauguration of that process. She hadknown torture, but it had been swift, obliterating, excruciating. Andhereafter it was to be slow, one turn at a time of the screws, squeezingby infinitesimal degrees the life out of her soul. And in the end--mostfearful thought of all--in the end, painless. Painless! She buried herhead in her arms on the little desk, shaken by sobs. 

How she fought that day to compose herself, fought and prayed! Prayedwildly to a God whose help, nevertheless, she felt she had forfeited, who was visiting her with just anger. At half-past four she heard thecarriage on the far driveway, going to the station, and she went downand walked across the lawn to the pond, and around it; anything to keepmoving. She hurried back to the house just in time to reach the hall asthe omnibus backed up. And the first person she saw descend, after Hugh, was Mrs. Kame. 

"Here we are, Honora, " she cried. "I hope you're glad to see us, andthat you'll forgive our coming so informally. You must blame Hugh. We'vebrought Adele. "

The second lady was, indeed, none other than Mrs. Eustace Rindge, formerly Mrs. Dicky Farnham. And she is worth--even at this belatedstage in our chronicle an attempted sketch, or at least an attemptedimpression. She was fair, and slim as a schoolgirl; not very tall, not exactly petite; at first sight she might have been taken for aparticularly immature debutante, and her dress was youthful and rathermannish. Her years, at this period of her career, were in truth but twoand twenty, yet she had contrived, in the comparatively brief time sinceshe had reached the supposed age of discretion, to marry two men andbuild two houses, and incidentally to see a considerable portion of whatis known as the world. The suspicion that she was not as innocent as adove came to one, on closer inspection, as a shock: her eyes were tired, though not from loss of sleep; and her manner--how shall it be describedto those whose happy lot in life has never been to have made theacquaintance of Mrs. Rindge's humbler sisters who have acquired--morecoarsely, it is true--the same camaraderie? She was one of those forwhom, seemingly, sex does not exist. Her air of good-fellowship with menwas eloquent of a precise knowledge of what she might expect from them, and she was prepared to do her own policing, --not from any deep moralconvictions. She belonged, logically, to that world which is disposedto take the law into its own hands, and she was the possessor of fivemillions of dollars. 

"I came along, " she said to Honora, as she gave her hand-bag to afootman. "I hope you don't mind. Abby and I were shopping and we raninto Hugh and Georgie yesterday at Sherry's, and we've been togetherever since. Not quite that--but almost. Hugh begged us to come up, andthere didn't seem to be any reason why we shouldn't, so we telephoneddown to Banbury for our trunks and maids, and we've played bridge allthe way. By the way, Georgie, where's my pocket-book?"

Mr. Pembroke handed it over, and was introduced by Hugh. He looked atHonora, and his glance somehow betokened that he was in the habit oflooking only once. He had apparently made up his mind about her beforehe saw her. But he looked again, evidently finding her at variance witha preconceived idea, and this time she flushed a little under his stare, and she got the impression that Mr. Pembroke was a man from whom fewsecrets of a certain kind were hid. She felt that he had seized, at asecond glance, a situation that she had succeeded in hiding from thewomen. He was surprised, but cynically so. He was the sort of personwho had probably possessed at Harvard the knowledge of the world ofa Tammany politician; he had long ago written his book--such as itwas--and closed it: or, rather, he had worked out his system at aprecocious age, and it had lasted him ever since. He had decided thatundergraduate life, freed from undergraduate restrictions, was a goodthing. And he did not, even in these days, object to breaking somethingvaluable occasionally. 

His physical attributes are more difficult to describe, so closely werethey allied to those which, for want of a better word, must be calledmental. He was neither tall nor short, he was well fed, but hard, hisshoulders too broad, his head a little large. If he should have happenedto bump against one, the result would have been a bruise--not forhim. His eyes were blue, his light hair short, and there was a slightbaldness beginning; his face was red-tanned. There was not the slightestdoubt that he could be effectively rude, and often was; but it wasevident, for some reason, that he meant to be gracious (for Mr. Pembroke) to Honora. Perhaps this was the result of the second glance. One of his name had not lacked, indeed, for instructions in gentility. It must not be thought that she was in a condition to care much aboutwhat Mr. Pembroke thought or did, and yet she felt instinctively that hehad changed his greeting between that first and second glance. 

"I hope you'll forgive my coming in this way, " he said. "I'm an oldfriend of Hugh's. "

"I'm very glad to have Hugh's friends, " she answered. 

He looked at her again. 

"Is tea ready?" inquired Mrs. Kame. "I'm famished. " And, as they walkedthrough the house to the garden, where the table was set beside thestone seat: "I don't see how you ever can leave this place, Honora. I've always wanted to come here, but it's even more beautiful than Ithought. "

"It's very beautiful, " said Honora. 

"I'll have a whiskey and soda, if I may, " announced Mrs. Rindge. "Openone, Georgie. "

"The third to-day, " said Mr. Pembroke, sententiously, as he obeyed. 

"I don't care. I don't see what business it is of yours. "

"Except to open them, " he replied. 

"You'd have made a fortune as a barkeeper, " she observed, dispassionately, as she watched the process. 

"He's made fortunes for a good many, " said Chiltern. 

"Not without some expert assistance I could mention, " Mr. Pembrokeretorted. 

At this somewhat pointed reference to his ancient habits, Chilternlaughed. 

"You've each had three to-day yourselves, " said Mrs. Rindge, in whosebosom Mr. Pembroke's remark evidently rankled, "without counting thoseyou had before you left the club. "

Afterwards Mrs. Kame expressed a desire to walk about a little, aproposal received with disfavour by all but Honora, who as hostessresponded. 

"I feel perfectly delightful, " declared Mrs. Rindge. "What's the use ofmoving about?" And she sank back in the cushions of her chair. 

This observation was greeted with unrestrained merriment by Mr. Pembrokeand Hugh. Honora, sick at heart, led Mrs. Kame across the garden andthrough the gate in the wall. It was a perfect evening of early June, the great lawn a vivid green in the slanting light. All day the cheerfulmusic of the horse-mowers had been heard, and the air was fragrantwith the odour of grass freshly cut. The long shadows of the maples andbeeches stretched towards the placid surface of the lake, dimpled hereand there by a fish's swirl: the spiraeas were laden as with freshlyfallen snow, a lone Judas-tree was decked in pink. The steep pasturesbeyond the water were touched with gold, while to the northward, on thedistant hills, tender blue lights gathered lovingly around the copses. Mrs. Kame sighed. 

"What a terrible thing it is, " she said, "that we are never satisfied!It's the men who ruin all this for us, I believe, and prevent ourenjoying it. Look at Adele. "

Honora had indeed looked at her. 

"I found out the other day what is the matter with her. She's madly inlove with Dicky. "

"With--with her former husband?"

"Yes, with poor little innocent Dicky Farnham, who's probably stillcongratulating himself, like a canary bird that's got out of a cage. Somehow Dicky's always reminded me of a canary; perhaps it's his name. Isn't it odd that she should be in love with him?"

"I think, " replied Honora, slowly, "that it's a tragedy. "

"It is a tragedy, " Mrs. Kame hastily agreed. "To me, this case is one ofthe most incomprehensible aspects of the tender passion. Adele's ideaof existence is a steeplechase with nothing but water-jumps, Dicky'sto loiter around in a gypsy van, and sit in the sun. During his briefmatrimonial experience with her, he nearly died for want of breath--orrather the life was nearly shaken out of him. And yet she wants Dickyagain. She'd run away with him to-morrow if he should come withinhailing distance of her. "

"And her husband?" asked Honora. 

"Eustace? Did you ever see him? That accounts for your question. He onlyleft France long enough to come over here and make love to her, and heswears he'll never leave it again. If she divorces him, he'll have tohave alimony. "

At last Honora was able to gain her own room, but even seclusion, thoughpreferable to the companionship of her guests, was almost intolerable. The tragedy of Mrs. Rindge had served--if such a thing could be--toenhance her own; a sudden spectacle of a woman in a more advanced stageof desperation. Would she, Honora, ever become like that? Up to thepresent she felt that suffering had refined her, and a great love hadburned away all that was false. But now--now that her god had turned toclay, what would happen? Desperation seemed possible, notwithstandingthe awfulness of the example. No, she would never come to that! Andshe repeated it over and over to herself as she dressed, as though tostrengthen her will. 

During her conversation with Mrs. Kame she had more than once suspected, in spite of her efforts, that the lady had read her state of mind. For Mrs. Kame's omissions were eloquent to the discerning: Chiltern'srelatives had been mentioned with a casualness intended to imply that nobreach existed, and the fiction that Honora could at any moment take upher former life delicately sustained. Mrs. Kame had adaptably chosen theattitude, after a glance around her, that Honora preferred Highlawnsto the world: a choice of which she let it be known that she approved, while deploring that a frivolous character put such a life out of thequestion for herself. She made her point without over-emphasis. Onthe other hand, Honora had read Mrs. Kame. No very careful perusalwas needed to convince her that the lady was unmoral, and that incharacteristics she resembled the chameleon. But she read deeper. Sheperceived that Mrs. Kame was convinced that she, Honora, would adjustherself to the new conditions after a struggle; and that while she hada certain sympathy in the struggle, Mrs. Kame was of opinion thatthe sooner it was over with the better. All women were born to bedisillusionized. Such was the key, at any rate, to the lady's conductthat evening at dinner, when she capped the anecdotes of Mr. Pembrokeand Mrs. Rindge and even of Chiltern with others not less risque butmore fastidiously and ingeniously suggestive. The reader may be sparedtheir recital. 

Since the meeting in the restaurant the day before, which had resultedin Hugh's happy inspiration that the festival begun should be continuedindefinitely at Highlawns, a kind of freemasonry had sprung up betweenthe four. Honora found herself, mercifully, outside the circle: for suchwas the lively character of the banter that a considerable adroitnesswas necessary to obtain, between the talk and--laughter, the ear ofthe company. And so full were they of the reminiscences which had beencrowded into the thirty hours or so they had spent together, that hercomparative silence remained unnoticed. To cite an example, Mr. Pembrokewas continually being addressed as the Third Vice-president, an allusionthat Mrs. Rindge eventually explained. 

"You ought to have been with us coming up on the train, " she cried toHonora; "I thought surely we'd be put off. We were playing bridge inthe little room at the end of the car when the conductor came for ourtickets. Georgie had 'em in his pocket, but he told the man to goaway, that he was the third vice-president of the road, and we were hisfriends. The conductor asked him if he were Mr. Wheeler, or some suchname, and Georgie said he was surprised he didn't know him. Well, theman stood there in the door, and Georgie picked up his hand and made ithearts--or was it diamonds, Georgie?"

"Spades, " said that gentleman, promptly. 

"At any rate, " Mrs. Rindge continued, "we all began to play, althoughwe were ready to blow up with laughter, and after a while Georgie lookedaround and said, 'What, are you there yet?' My dear, you ought tohave seen the conductor's face! He said it was his duty to establishGeorgie's identity, or something like that, and Georgie told him toget off at the next station and buy Waring's Magazine--was that it, Georgie?"

"How the deuce should I know?"

"Well, some such magazine. Georgie said he'd find an article in iton the Railroad Kings and Princes of America, and that his picture, Georgie's, was among the very first!" At this juncture in her narrativeMrs. Rindge shrieked with laughter, in which she was joined by Mrs. Kameand Hugh; and she pointed a forefinger across the table at Mr. Pembroke, who went on solemnly eating his dinner. "Georgie gave him ten centswith which to buy the magazine, " she added a little hysterically. "Well, there was a frightful row, and a lot of men came down to that end of thecar, and we had to shut the door. The conductor said the most outrageousthings, and Georgie pretended to be very indignant, too, and gave himthe tickets under protest. He told Georgie he ought to be in an asylumfor the criminally insane, and Georgie advised him to get a photographalbum of the high officials of the railroad. The conductor saidGeorgie's picture was probably in the rogue's gallery. And we lost twopacks of cards out of the window. "

Such had been the more innocent if eccentric diversions with which theyhad whiled away the time. When dinner was ended, a renewal of the bridgegame was proposed, for it had transpired at the dinner-table that Mrs. Rindge and Hugh had been partners all day, as a result of which therewas a considerable balance in their favour. This balance Mr. Pembrokewas palpably anxious to wipe out, or at least to reduce. But Mrs. Kameinsisted that Honora should cut in, and the others supported her. 

"We tried our best to get a man for you, " said Mrs. Rindge to Honora. "Didn't we, Abby? But in the little time we had, it was impossible. Theonly man we saw was Ned Carrington, and Hugh said he didn't think you'dwant him. "

"Hugh showed a rare perception, " said Honora. 

Be it recorded that she smiled. One course had been clear to her fromthe first, although she found it infinitely difficult to follow; she wasdetermined, cost what it might, to carry through her part of the affairwith dignity, but without stiffness. This is not the place to dwell uponthe tax to her strength. 

"Come on, Honora, " said Hugh, "cut in. " His tone was of what may betermed a rough good nature. She had not seen him alone since hisreturn, but he had seemed distinctly desirous that she should enjoy thefestivities he had provided. And not to yield would have been to betrayherself. 

The game, with its intervals of hilarity, was inaugurated in thelibrary, and by midnight it showed no signs of abating. At this hour theoriginal four occupied the table for the second time, and endurance hasits limits. The atmosphere of Liberty Hall that prevailed made Honora'sretirement easier. 

"I'm sure you won't mind if I go to bed, " she said. "I've been so usedto the routine of--of the chickens. " She smiled. "And I've spent the dayin the open air. "

"Certainly, my dear, " said Mrs. Kame; "I know exactly how one feels inthe country. I'm sure it's dreadfully late. We'll have one more rubber, and then stop. "

"Oh, don't stop, " replied Honora; "please play as long as you like. "

They didn't stop--at least after one more rubber. Honora, as she layin the darkness, looking through the open square of her window at thesilver stars, heard their voiced and their laughter floating up atintervals from below, and the little clock on her mantel had struck thehour of three when the scraping of chairs announced the breaking upof the party. And even after that an unconscionable period elapsed, beguiled, undoubtedly, by anecdotes; spells of silence--when she thoughtthey had gone--ending in more laughter. Finally there was a crash ofbreaking glass, a climax of uproarious mirth, and all was still. .. 

She could not have slept much, but the birds were singing when shefinally awoke, the sunlight pouring into her window: And the hands ofher clock pointed to half-past seven when she rang her bell. It was arelief to breakfast alone, or at least to sip her coffee in solitude. And the dew was still on the grass as she crossed the wide lawn andmade her way around the lake to the path that entered the woods at itsfarther end. She was not tired, yet she would have liked to have laindown under the green panoply of the forest, where the wild flowers shylyraised sweet faces to be kissed, and lose herself in the forgetfulnessof an eternal sleep; never to go back again to an Eden contaminated. But when she lingered the melody of a thrush pierced her through andthrough. At last she turned and reluctantly retraced her steps, as onewhose hour of reprieve has expired. 

If Mrs. Rindge had a girlish air when fully arrayed for the day, shelooked younger and more angular still in that article of attire known asa dressing gown. And her eyes, Honora remarked, were peculiarly bright:glittering, perhaps, would better express the impression they gave; asthough one got a glimpse through them of an inward consuming fire. Herlaughter rang shrill and clear as Honora entered the hall by the reardoor, and the big clock proclaimed that the hour was half-past eleven. Hugh and Mr. Pembroke were standing at the foot of the stairs, gazingupward. And Honora, following their glances, beheld the two ladies, inthe negligee referred to above, with their elbows on the railing ofthe upper hall and their faces between their hands, engaged in a livelyexchange of compliments with the gentlemen. Mrs. Kame looked sleepy. 

"Such a night!" she said, suppressing a yawn. "My dear, you did well togo to bed. "

"And to cap it all, " cried Mrs. Rindge, "Georgie fell over backwards inone of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there's literally nothing leftof it. If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight train, it couldn'thave been more thoroughly demolished. "

"You pushed me, " declared Mr. Pembroke. 

"Did I, Hugh? I barely touched him. "

"You knocked him into a cocked hat, " said Hugh. "And if you'd been inthat kimono, you could have done it even easier. "

"Georgie broke the whole whiskey service, --or whatever it is, " Mrs. Rindge went on, addressing Honora again. "He fell into it. "

"He's all right this morning, " observed Mrs. Kame, critically. 

"I think I'll take to swallowing swords and glass and things in public. I can do it so well, " said Mr. Pembroke. 

"I hope you got what you like for breakfast, " said Honora to the ladies. 

"Hurry up and come down, Adele, " said Hugh, "if you want to look overthe horses before lunch. "

"It's Georgie's fault, " replied Mrs. Rindge; "he's been standing in thedoor of my sitting-room for a whole half-hour talking nonsense. "

A little later they all set out for the stables. These buildings atHighlawns, framed by great trees, were old-fashioned and picturesque, surrounding three sides of a court, with a yellow brick wall on thefourth. The roof of the main building was capped by a lantern, the homeof countless pigeons. Mrs. Rindge was in a habit, and one by one thesaddle horses were led out, chiefly for her inspection; and she seemedto Honora to become another woman as she looked them over with acritical eye and discussed them with Hugh and O'Grady, the stud-groom, and talked about pedigrees and strains. For she was renowned in thisdepartment of sport on many fields, both for recklessness and skill. 

"Where did you get that brute, Hugh?" she asked presently. 

Honora, who had been talking to Pembroke, looked around with a start. And at the sight of the great black horse, bought on that unforgettableday, she turned suddenly faint. 

"Over here in the country about ten miles, " Chiltern was saying. "Iheard of him, but I didn't expect anything until I went to look at himlast week. "

"What do you call him?" asked Mrs. Rindge. 

"I haven't named him. "

"I'll give you a name. "

Chiltern looked at her. "What is it?" he said. 

"Oblivion, " she replied:

"By George, Adele, " he exclaimed, "you have a way of hitting it off!"

"Will you let me ride him this afternoon?" she asked. 

"I'm a--a candidate for oblivion. " She laughed a little and her eyesshone feverishly. 

"No you don't, " he said. "I'm giving you the grey. He's got enough inhim for any woman--even for you: And besides, I don't think the blackever felt a side saddle, or any other kind, until last week. "

"I've got another habit, " she said eagerly. "I'd rather ride himastride. I'll match you to see who has him. "

Chiltern laughed. 

"No you don't, " he repeated. "I'll ride him to-day, and consider itto-morrow. "

"I--I think I'll go back to the house, " said Honora to Pembroke. "It'srather hot here in the sun. "

"I'm not very keen about sunshine, either, " he declared. 

At lunch she was unable to talk; to sustain, at least, a conversation. That word oblivion, which Mrs. Rindge had so aptly applied to the horse, was constantly on her lips, and it would not have surprised her if shehad spoken it. She felt as though a heavy weight lay on her breast, andto relieve its intolerable pressure drew in her breath deeply. She waswild with fear. The details of the great room fixed themselves indeliblyin her brain; the subdued light, the polished table laden with silverand glass, the roses, and the purple hot-house grapes. All this seemedin some way to be an ironic prelude to disaster. Hugh, pausing in hisbadinage with Mrs. Rindge, looked at her. 

"Cheer up, Honora, " he said. 

"I'm afraid this first house-party is too much for her, " said Mrs. Kame. 

Honora made some protest that seemed to satisfy them, tried to rallyherself, and succeeded sufficiently to pass muster. After lunch theyrepaired again to the bridge table, and at four Hugh went upstairsto change into his riding clothes. Five minutes longer she controlledherself, and then made some paltry excuse, indifferent now as to whatthey said or thought, and followed him. She knocked at his dressing-roomdoor and entered. He was drawing on his boots. "Hello, Honora, " he said. 

Honora turned to his man, and dismissed him. 

"I wish to speak to Mr. Chiltern alone. "

Chiltern paused in his tugging at the straps, and looked up at her. 

"What's the matter with you to-day, Honora?" he asked. "You looked likethe chief mourner at a funeral all through lunch. "

He was a little on edge, that she knew. He gave another tug at the boot, and while she was still hesitating, he began again. 

"I ought to apologize, I know, for bringing these people up withoutnotice, but I didn't suppose you'd object when you understood hownaturally it all came about. I thought a little livening up, as I said, wouldn't, hurt us. We've had a quiet winter, to put it mildly. " Helaughed a little. "I didn't have a chance to see you until this morning, and when I went to your room they told me you'd gone out. "

"Hugh, " she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. "It isn't the guests. If you want people, and they amuse you, I'm--I'm glad to have them. Andif I've seemed to be--cold to them, I'm sorry. I tried my best--I mean Idid not intend to be cold. I'll sit up all night with them, if you like. And I didn't come to reproach you, Hugh. I'll never do that--I've got noright to. "

She passed her hand over her eyes. If she had any wrongs, if she hadsuffered any pain, the fear that obsessed her obliterated all. In spiteof her disillusionment, in spite of her newly acquired ability to seehim as he was, enough love remained to scatter, when summoned, her prideto the winds. 

Having got on both boots, he stood up. 

"What's the trouble, then?" he asked. And he took an instant's hold ofher chin--a habit he had--and smiled at her. 

He little knew how sublime, in its unconscious effrontery, his questionwas! She tried to compose herself, that she might be able to presentcomprehensively to his finite masculine mind the ache of today. 

"Hugh, it's that black horse. " She could not bring herself to pronouncethe name Mrs. Rindge had christened him. 

"What about him?" he said, putting on his waistcoat. 

"Don't ride him!" she pleaded. "I--I'm afraid of him--I've been afraidof him ever since that day. 

"It may be a foolish feeling, I know. Sometimes the feelings that hurtwomen most are foolish. If I tell you that if you ride him you willtorture me, I'm sure you'll grant what I ask. It's such a little thingand it means so much--so much agony to me. I'd do anything for you--giveup anything in the world at your slightest wish. Don't ride him!"

"This is a ridiculous fancy of yours, Honora. The horse is all right. I've ridden dozens of worse ones. "

"Oh, I'm sure he isn't, " she cried; "call it fancy, call it instinct, call it anything you like--but I feel it, Hugh. That woman--Mrs. Rindge--knows something about horses, and she said he was a brute. "

"Yes, " he interrupted, with a short laugh, "and she wants to ride him. "

"Hugh, she's reckless. I--I've been watching her since she came here, and I'm sure she's reckless with--with a purpose. "

"You're morbid, " he said. "She's one of the best sportswomen in thecountry--that's the reason she wanted to ride the horse. Look here, Honora, I'd accede to any reasonable request. But what do you expect meto do?" he demanded; "go down and say I'm afraid to ride him? or thatmy wife doesn't want me to? I'd never hear the end of it. And the firstthing Adele would do would be to jump on him herself--a little wisp of awoman that looks as if she couldn't hold a Shetland pony! Can't you seethat what you ask is impossible?"

He started for the door to terminate a conversation which had alreadybegun to irritate him. For his anger, in these days, was very near thesurface. She made one more desperate appeal. 

"Hugh--the man who sold him--he knew the horse was dangerous. I'm surehe did, from something he said to me while you were gone. "

"These country people are all idiots and cowards, " declared Chiltern. "I've known 'em a good while, and they haven't got the spirit of mongreldogs. I was a fool to think that I could do anything for them. They'rekind and neighbourly, aren't they?" he exclaimed. "If that old rascalflattered himself he deceived me, he was mistaken. He'd have beenmightily pleased if the beast had broken my neck. "

"Hugh!"

"I can't, Honora. That's all there is to it, I can't. Now don't cut upabout nothing. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Adele's waiting. "

He came back, kissed her hurriedly, turned and opened the door. Shefollowed him into the hallway, knowing that she had failed, knowing thatshe never could have succeeded. There she halted and watched him go downthe stairs, and stand with her hands tightly pressed together: voicesreached her, a hurrah from George Pembroke, and the pounding of hoofs onthe driveway. It had seemed such a little thing to ask!

But she did not dwell upon this, now, when fear was gnawing her: how shehad humbled her pride for days and weeks and months for him, and howhe had refused her paltry request lest he should be laughed at. Herreflections then were not on his waning love. She was filled with theterror of losing him--of losing all that remained to her in the world. Presently she began to walk slowly towards the stairs, descendedthem, and looked around her. The hall, at least, had not changed. Shelistened, and a bee hummed in through the open doorway. A suddenlonging for companionship possessed her-no matter whose; and she walkedhurriedly, as though she were followed, through the empty roomsuntil she came upon George Pembroke stretched at full length on theleather-covered lounge in the library. He opened his eyes, and got upwith alacrity. 

"Please don't move, " she said. 

He looked at her. Although his was not what may be called a sympathetictemperament, he was not without a certain knowledge of women;superficial, perhaps. But most men of his type have seen them indespair; and since he was not related to this particular despair, whatfiner feelings he had were the more easily aroused. It must have beenclear to her then that she had lost the power to dissemble, all theclearer because of Mr. Pembroke's cheerfulness. 

"I wasn't going to sleep, " he assured her. "Circumstantial evidence isagainst me, I know. Where's Abby? reading French literature?"

"I haven't seen her, " replied Honora. 

"She usually goes to bed with a play at this hour. It's a horridhabit--going to bed, I mean. Don't you think? Would you mind showing meabout a little?"

"Do you really wish to?" asked Honora, incredulously. 

"I haven't been here since my senior year, " said Mr. Pembroke. "If theold General were alive, he could probably tell you something of thatvisit--he wrote to my father about it. I always liked the place, although the General was something of a drawback. Fine old man, with nomemory. "

"I should have thought him to have had a good memory, " she said. 

"I have always been led to believe that he was once sent away fromcollege in his youth, --for his health, " he explained significantly. "Noman has a good memory who can't remember that. Perhaps the battle ofGettysburg wiped it out. "

Thus, in his own easy-going fashion, Mr. Pembroke sought to distracther. She put on a hat, and they walked about, the various scenesrecalling incidents of holidays he had spent at Highlawns. And after awhile Honora was thankful that chance had sent her in this hour to himrather than to Mrs. Kame. For the sight, that morning of this lady inher dressing-gown over the stairway, had seemingly set the seal on agrowing distaste. Her feeling had not been the same about Mrs. Rindge:Mrs. Kame's actions savoured of deliberate choice, of an inherent andcalculating wickedness. 

Had the distraction of others besides himself been the chief business ofMr. Pembroke's life, he could not have succeeded better that afternoon. He must be given this credit: his motives remain problematical; atlength he even drew laughter from her. The afternoon wore on, theyreturned to the garden for tea, and a peaceful stillness continued toreign about them, the very sky smiling placidly at her fears. Not byassuring her that Hugh was unusual horseman, that he had passed throughmany dangers beside which this was a bagatelle, could the student of thefeminine by her side have done half so well. And it may have been thathis success encouraged him as he saw emerging, as the result of hishandiwork, an unexpectedly attractive--if still somewhat serious-womanfrom the gloom that had enveloped her. That she should still have herdistrait moments was but natural. 

He talked to her largely about Hugh, of whom he appeared sincerely fond. The qualities which attracted Mr. Pembroke in his own sex were somewhatpeculiar, and seemingly consisted largely in a readiness to drop thebusiness at hand, whatever it might be, at the suggestion of a friend todo something else; the "something else, " of course, to be the conceptionof an ingenious mind. And it was while he was in the midst of ananecdote proving the existence of this quality in his friend that hefelt a sudden clutch on his arm. 

They listened. Faintly, very faintly, could be heard the sound of hoofbeats; rapid, though distant. 

"Do you hear?" she whispered, and still held his arm. 

"It's just like them to race back, " said Pembroke, with admirablenonchalance. 

"But they wouldn't come back at this time--it's too early. Hugh alwaystakes long rides. They started for Hubbard's--it's twelve miles. "

"Adele changes her mind every minute of the day, " he said. 

"Listen!" she cried, and her clutch tightened. The hoof beats grewlouder. "It's only one--it's only one horse!"

Before he could answer, she was already halfway up the garden pathtowards the house. He followed her as she ran panting through thebreakfast room, the dining room, and drawing-room, and when they reachedthe hall, Starling, the butler, and two footmen were going out at thedoor. A voice--Mrs. Kame's--cried out, "What is it?" over the stairs, but they paid no heed. As they reached the steps they beheld the slightfigure of Mrs. Rindge on a flying horse coming towards them up thedriveway. Her black straw hat had slipped to the back of her neck, herhair was awry, her childish face white as paper. Honora put her hand toher heart. There was no need to tell her the news--she had known thesemany hours. 

Mrs. Rindge's horse came over the round grass-plot of the circle andplanted his fore feet in the turf as she pulled him up. She lurchedforward. It was Starling who lifted her off--George Pembroke stood byHonora. 

"My God, Adele, " he exclaimed, "why don't you speak?"

She was staring at Honora. 

"I can't!" she cried. "I can't tell you--it's too terrible! The horse--"she seemed to choke. 

It was Honora who went up to her with a calmness that awed them. 

"Tell me, " she said, "is he dead?"

Mrs. Rindge nodded, and broke into hysterical sobbing. 

"And I wanted to ride him myself, " she sobbed, as they led her up thesteps. 

In less than an hour they brought him home and laid him in the room inwhich he had slept from boyhood, and shut the door. Honora looked intohis face. It was calm at last, and his body strangely at rest. Thepassions which had tortured it and driven it hither and thither througha wayward life had fled: the power gone that would brook no guidinghand, that had known no master. It was not until then that she fell uponhim, weeping. .. . 

CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH MR. ERWIN SEEK PARIS

As she glanced around the sitting-room of her apartment in Paris oneSeptember morning she found it difficult, in some respects, to realizethat she had lived in it for more than five years. After Chiltern'sdeath she had sought a refuge, and she had found it here: a refuge inwhich she meant--if her intention may be so definitely stated--to passthe remainder of her days. 

As a refuge it had become dear to her. When first she had entered it shehad looked about her numbly, thankful for walls and roof, thankful forits remoteness from the haunts of the prying: as a shipwrecked castawayregards, at the first light, the cave into which he has stumbled intothe darkness-gratefully. And gradually, castaway that she felt herselfto be, she had adorned it lovingly, as one above whose horizon the sailsof hope were not to rise; filled it with friends not chosen in a day, whose faithful ministrations were not to cease. Her books, but onlythose worthy to be bound and read again; the pictures she had boughtwhen she had grown to know what pictures were; the music she had come tolove for its eternal qualities--these were her companions. 

The apartment was in the old quarter across the Seine, and she had foundit by chance. The ancient family of which this hotel had once been thehome would scarce have recognized, if they had returned the part of itHonora occupied. The room in which she mostly lived was above thecorner of the quiet street, and might have been more aptly calleda sitting-room than a salon. Its panels were the most delicate ofblue-gray, fantastically designed and outlined by ribbings of blue. Some of them contained her pictures. The chairs, the sofas, the littletabourets, were upholstered in yellow, their wood matching the panels. Above the carved mantel of yellowing marble was a quaintly shaped mirrorextending to the high ceiling, and flanked on either side by sconces. The carpet was a golden brown, the hangings in the tall windows yellow. And in the morning the sun came in, not boisterously, but as a well-bredand cheerful guest. An amiable proprietor had permitted her also to adda wrought-iron balcony as an adjunct to this room, and sometimes she satthere on the warmer days reading under the seclusion of an awning, or gazing at the mysterious facades of the houses opposite, or atinfrequent cabs or pedestrians below. 

An archway led out of the sitting-room into a smaller room, once theboudoir of a marquise, now Honora's library. This was in blue and gold, and she had so far modified the design of the decorator as to replacethe mirrors of the cases with glass; she liked to see her books. Beyondthe library was a dining room in grey, with dark red hangings; itoverlooked the forgotten garden of the hotel. 

One item alone of news from the outer world, vital to her, had driftedto her retreat. Newspapers filled her with dread, but it was from anewspaper, during the first year of her retirement, that she had learnedof the death of Howard Spence. A complication of maladies was mentioned, but the true underlying cause was implied in the article, and this hadshocked but not surprised her. A ferment was in progress in her owncountry, the affairs of the Orange Trust Company being investigated, andits president under indictment at the hour of his demise. Her feelingsat the time, and for months after, were complex. She had been movedto deep pity, for in spite of what he had told her of his businesstransactions, it was impossible for her to think of him as a criminal. That he had been the tool of others, she knew, but it remained aquestion in her mind how clearly he had perceived the immorality of hiscourse, and of theirs. He had not been given to casuistry, and he hadbeen brought up in a school the motto of which he had once succinctlystated: the survival of the fittest. He had not been, alas, one of thoseto survive. 

Honora had found it impossible to unravel the tangled skein of theirrelationship, and to assign a definite amount of blame to each. She didnot shirk hers, and was willing to accept a full measure. That she haddone wrong in marrying him, and again in leaving him to marry anotherman, she acknowledged freely. Wrong as she knew this to have been, severely though she had been punished for it, she could not bringherself to an adequate penitence. She tried to remember him as he hadbeen at Silverdale, and in the first months of their marriage, and notas he had afterwards become. There was no question in her mind, now thatit was given her to see things more clearly, that she might have triedharder, much harder, to make their marriage a success. He might, indeed, have done more to protect and cherish her. It was a man's part to guarda woman against the evils with which she had been surrounded. On theother hand, she could not escape the fact, nor did she attempt to escapeit, that she had had the more light of the two: and that, though thetask were formidable, she might have fought to retain that light andinfuse him with it. 

That she did not hold herself guiltless is the important point. Many ofher hours were spent in retrospection. She was, in a sense, as one dead, yet retaining her faculties; and these became infinitely keen now thatshe was deprived of the power to use them as guides through life. Shefelt that the power had come too late, like a legacy when one is old. And she contemplated the Honora of other days--of the flesh, as thoughshe were now the spirit departed from that body; sorrowfully, poignantlyregretful of the earthly motives, of the tarnished ideals by which ithad been animated and led to destruction. 

Even Hugh Chiltern had left her no illusions. She thought of him attunes with much tenderness; whether she still loved him or not shecould not say. She came to the conclusion that all capacity for intensefeeling had been burned out of her. And she found that she could permither mind to rest upon no period of her sojourn at Grenoble without asense of horror; there had been no hour when she had seemed secure fromhaunting terror, no day that had not added its mite to the gatheringevidence of an ultimate retribution. And it was like a nightmare tosummon again this spectacle of the man going to pieces under hereyes. The whole incident in her life as time wore on assumed an aspectbizarre, incredible, as the follies of a night of madness appear in thesaner light of morning. Her great love had bereft her of her senses, forhad the least grain of sanity remained to her she might have known thatthe thing they attempted was impossible of accomplishment. 

Her feeling now, after four years, might be described as relief. Toemploy again the figure of the castaway, she often wondered why sheof all others had been rescued from the tortures of slow drowning andthrown up on an island. What had she done above the others to deservepreservation? It was inevitable that she should on occasions picture toherself the years with him that would have stretched ahead, even as thevision of them had come to her that morning when, in obedience to histelegram, she had told Starling to prepare for guests. Her escape hadindeed been miraculous!

Although they had passed through a ceremony, the conviction had nevertaken root in her that she had been married to Chiltern. The tie thathad united her to him had not been sacred, though it had been no lessbinding; more so, in fact. That tie would have become a shackle. Her perception of this, after his death, had led her to instruct herattorney to send back to his relatives all but a small income from hisestate, enough for her to live on during her lifetime. There had beensome trouble about this matter; Mrs. Grainger, in particular, hadsurprised her in making objections, and had finally written a letterwhich Honora received with a feeling akin to gratitude. Whether her ownaction had softened this lady's feelings, she never understood; shehad cherished the letter for its unexpectedly charitable expressions. Chiltern's family had at last agreed to accept the estate on thecondition that the income mentioned should be tripled. And to thisHonora had consented. Money had less value than ever in her eyes. 

She lived here in Paris in what may be called a certain peace, made nodemands upon the world, and had no expectations from it. She was now inhalf mourning, and intended to remain so. Her isolation was of her ownchoice, if a stronger expression be not used. She was by no means anenforced outcast. And she was even aware that a certain sympathy for herhad grown up amongst her former friends which had spread to the colonyof her compatriots in Paris; in whose numbers there were some, by nomeans unrecognized, who had defied the conventions more than she. HughChiltern's reputation, and the general knowledge of his career, had nodoubt aided to increase this sympathy, but the dignity of her conductsince his death was at the foundation of it. Sometimes, on her walksand drives, she saw people bowing to her, and recognized friends oracquaintances of what seemed to her like a former existence. 

Such had been her life in Paris until a certain day in early September, a month before this chapter opens. It was afternoon, and she was sittingin the balcony cutting a volume of memoirs when she heard the rattle ofa cab on the cobbles below, and peered curiously over the edge of therailing. Although still half a block away, the national characteristicsof the passenger were sufficiently apparent. He was an American--of thatshe was sure. And many Americans did not stray into that quarter. Thelength of his legs, for one thing, betrayed him: he found the seat ofthe fiacre too low, and had crossed one knee over the other. Otherand less easily definable attributes he did not lack. And as he leanedagainst the faded blue cushions regarding with interest the buildingshe passed, he seemed, like an ambassador, to convert the cab in which herode into United States territory. Then she saw that it was Peter Erwin. 

She drew back her head from the balcony rail, and tried to sit still andto think, but she was trembling as one stricken with a chill. The cabstopped; and presently, after an interval, his card was handed her. Sherose, and stood for a moment with her hand against the wall before shewent into the salon. None of the questions she had asked herself wereanswered. Was she glad to see him? and what would be his attitudetowards her? When she beheld him standing before her she had strengthonly to pronounce his name. 

He came forward quickly and took her hand and looked down into herface. She regarded him tremulously, instinctively guessing the vitalimportance of this moment for him; and she knew then that he had beenlooking forward to it in mingled hope and dread, as one who gazesseaward after a night of tempest for the ship he has seen at dusk in theoffing. What had the tempest done to her? Such was his question. And herheart leaped as she saw the light growing in his eyes, for it meant muchto her that he should see that she was not utterly dismantled. She fell;his own hand tremble as he relinquished hers. He was greatly moved; hisvoice, too, betrayed it. 

"You see I have found you, " he said. 

"Yes, " she answered; "--why did you come?"

"Why have I always come to you, when it was possible?" he asked. 

"No one ever had such a friend, Peter. Of that I am sure:'

"I wanted to see Paris, " he said, "before I grew too decrepit to enjoyit. "

She smiled, and turned away. 

"Have you seen much of it?"

"Enough to wish to see more. "

"When did you arrive?"

"Some time in the night, " he said, "from Cherbourg. And I'm staying ata very grand hotel, which might be anywhere. A man I crossed with on thesteamer took me there. I think I'd move to one of the quieter ones, the French ones, if I were a little surer of my pronunciation and thesubjunctive mood. "

"You don't mean to say you've been studying French!"

He coloured a little, and laughed. 

"You think it ridiculous at my time of life? I suppose you're right. You should have seen me trying to understand the cabmen. The way thesepeople talk reminds me more of a Gatling gun than anything I can thinkof. It certainly isn't human. "

"Perhaps you have come over as ambassador, " she suggested. "When I sawyou in the cab, even before I recognized you, I thought of a bit of oursoil broken off and drifted over here. "

Her voice did not quite sustain the lighter note--the emotion his visitwas causing her was too great. He brought with him into her retreat notso much a flood of memories as of sensations. He was a man whose imagetime with difficulty obliterates, whose presence was a shining thing: soshe had grown to value it in proportion as she had had less of it. Shedid inevitably recall the last time she had seen him, in the littleWestern city, and how he had overwhelmed her, invaded her with doubtsand aroused the spirit which had possessed her to fight fiercely for itsfoothold. And to-day his coming might be likened to the entrance ofa great physician into the room of a distant and lonely patient whomamidst wide ministrations he has not forgotten. She saw now that hehad been right. She had always seen it, clearly indeed when he had beenbeside her, but the spirit within her had been too strong, untilnow. Now, when it had plundered her soul of treasures--once so littlevalued--it had fled. Such were her thoughts. 

The great of heart undoubtedly possess this highest quality of thephysician, --if the statement may thus be put backhandedly, --and PeterErwin instinctively understood the essential of what was going on withinher. He appeared to take a delight in the fancy she had suggested; thathe had brought a portion of the newer world to France. 

"Not a piece of the Atlantic coast, certainly, " he replied. "One of themuddy islands, perhaps, of the Mississippi. "

"All the more representative, " she said. "You seem to have takenpossession of Paris, Peter--not Paris of you. You have annexed the seatof the Capets, and brought democracy at last into the Faubourg. "

"Without a Reign of Terror, " he added quizzically. 

"If you are not ambassador, what are you?" she asked. "I have expectedat any moment to read in the Figaro that you were President of theUnited States. "

"I am the American tourist, " he declared, "with Baedeker for my Bible, who desires to be shown everything. And I have already discovered thatthe legend of the fabulous wealth of the Indies is still in force here. There are many who are willing to believe that in spite of my modestappearance--maybe because of it--I have sailed over in a galleonfilled with gold. Already I have been approached from every side byconfidential gentlemen who announced that they spoke English--one ofthem said 'American'--who have offered to show me many things, and whohave betrayed enough interest in me to inquire whether I were married orsingle. "

Honora laughed. They were seated in the balcony by this time, and he hadthe volume of memoirs on his knee, fingering it idly. 

"What did you say to them?" she asked. 

"I told them I was the proud father of ten children, " he replied. "Thatseemed to stagger them, but only for a moment. They offered to take usall to the Louvre. "

"Peter, you are ridiculous! But, in spite of your nationality, you don'tlook exactly gullible. "

"That is a relief, " he said. "I had begun to think I ought to leave myaddress and my watch with the Consul General. .. . "

Of such a nature was the first insidious rupture of that routine she hadgrown to look upon as changeless for the years to come, of the life shehad chosen for its very immutable quality. Even its pangs of lonelinesshad acquired a certain sweet taste. Partly from a fear of a world thathad hurt her, partly from fear of herself, she had made her burrow deep, that heat and cold, the changing seasons, and love and hate might bethings far removed. She had sought to remove comparisons, too, from thelimits of her vision; to cherish and keep alive, indeed, such regrets asshe had, but to make no new ones. 

Often had she thought of Peter Erwin, and it is not too much to say thathe had insensibly grown into an ideal. He had come to represent to herthe great thing she had missed in life, missed by feverish searching inthe wrong places, digging for gold where the ground had glittered. And, if the choice had been given her, she would have preferred his spiritualto his bodily companionship--for a while, at least. Some day, when sheshould feel sure that desire had ceased to throb, when she should haveacquired an unshakable and absolute resignation, she would see him. Itis not too much to say, if her feeling be not misconstrued and stretchedfar beyond her own conception of it, that he was her one remaininginterest in the world. She had scanned the letters of her aunt and unclefor knowledge of his doings, and had felt her curiosity justified by acertain proprietorship that she did not define, faith in humankind, or the lack of it, usually makes itself felt through one's comparativecontemporaries. That her uncle was a good man, for instance, had no sucheffect upon Honora, as the fact that Peter was a good man. And that hehad held a true course had gradually become a very vital thing to her, perhaps the most vital thing; and she could have imagined no greaterpersonal calamity now than to have seen him inconsistent. For thereare such men, and most people have known them. They are the men who, unconsciously, keep life sweet. 

Yet she was sorry he had invaded her hiding-place. She had not yetachieved peace, and much of the weary task would have to be done overafter he was gone. 

In the meantime she drifted with astounding ease into another existence. For it was she, and not the confidential gentlemen, who showed PeterParis: not the careless, pleasure-loving Paris of the restaurants, butof the Cluny and the Carnavalet. The Louvre even was not neglected, andas they entered it first she recalled with still unaccustomed laughterhis reply to the proffered services of the guide. Indeed, there was muchlaughter in their excursions: his native humour sprang from the samewell that held his seriousness. She was amazed at his ability to stripa sham and leave it grotesquely naked; shams the risible aspect of whichshe had never observed in spite of the familiarity four years hadgiven her. Some of his own countrymen and countrywomen afforded himthe greatest amusement in their efforts to carry off acquired European"personalities, " combinations of assumed indifference and effrontery, and an accent the like of which was never heard before. But he wasneither bitter nor crude in his criticisms. He made her laugh, but henever made her ashamed. His chief faculty seemed to be to give her thepower to behold, with astonishing clearness, objects and truths whichhad lain before her eyes, and yet hidden. And she had not thought toacquire any more truths. 

The depth of his pleasure in the things he saw was likewise arevelation to her. She was by no means a bad guide to the Louvre and theLuxembourg, but the light in her which had come slowly flooded him withradiance at the sight of a statue or a picture. He would stop with anexclamation and stand gazing, self-forgetful, for incredible periods, and she would watch him, filled with a curious sense of the limitationsof an appreciation she had thought complete. Where during his busy lifehad he got this thing which others had sought in many voyages in vain?

Other excursions they made, and sometimes these absorbed a day. It was awonderful month, that Parisian September, which Honora, when she allowedherself to think, felt that she had no right to. A month filled to thebrim with colour: the stone facades of the houses, which in certainlights were what the French so aptly call bleuatre; the dense greenfoliage of the horse-chestnut trees, the fantastic iron grills, theArc de Triomphe in the centre of its circle at sunset, the wide shadedavenues radiating from it, the bewildering Champs Elysees, the bluewaters of the Seine and the graceful bridges spanning it, Notre Dameagainst the sky. Their walks took them, too, into quainter, forgottenregions where history was grim and half-effaced, and they speculated onthe France of other days. 

They went farther afield; and it was given them to walk together downgreen vistas cut for kings, to linger on terraces with the river farbelow them, and the roofs of Paris in the hazy distance; that Paris, sullen so long, the mutterings of which the kings who had sat there musthave heard with dread; that Paris which had finally risen in its wrathand taken the pleasure-houses and the parks for itself. 

Once they went out to Chantilly, the cameo-like chateau that standsmirrored in its waters, and wandered through the alleys there. Honorahad left her parasol on the parapet, and as they returned Peter went toget it, while she awaited him at a little distance. A group was chattinggayly on the lawn, and one of them, a middle-aged, well-dressed manhailed him with an air of fellowship, and Peter stopped for a moment'stalk. 

"We were speaking of ambassadors the other day, " he said when he joinedher; "that was our own, Minturn. "

"We were speaking of them nearly a month ago, " she said. 

"A month ago! I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. 

"What did he say to you?" Honora inquired presently. 

"He was abusing me for not letting him know I was in Paris. "

"Peter, you ought to have let him know!"

"I didn't come over here to see the ambassador, " answered Peter, gayly. 

She talked less than usual on their drive homeward, but he did notseem to notice the fact. Dusk was already lurking in the courtyards andbyways of the quiet quarter when the porter let them in, and the stonestairway of the old hotel was almost in darkness. The sitting-room, withits yellow, hangings snugly drawn and its pervading but soft light, wasa grateful change. And while she was gone to--remove her veil and hat, Peter looked around it. 

It was redolent of her. A high vase of remarkable beauty, filled withwhite roses, stood on the gueridon. He went forward and touched it, and closed his eyes as though in pain. When he opened them he saw herstanding in the archway. 

She had taken off her coat, and was in a simple white muslin gown, witha black belt--a costume that had become habitual. Her age was thirty. The tragedy and the gravity of her life during these later years hadtouched her with something that before was lacking. In the street, in the galleries, people had turned to look at her; not with impudentstares. She caught attention, aroused imagination. Once, the yearbefore, she had had a strange experience with a well-known painter, who, in an impulsive note, had admitted following her home and bribing theconcierge. He craved a few sittings. Her expression now, as she lookedat Peter, was graver than usual. 

"You must not come to-morrow, " she said. 

"I thought we were going to Versailles again, " he replied in surprise. "I have made the arrangements. "

"I have changed my mind. I'm not going. "

"You want to postpone it?" he asked. 

She took a chair beside the little blaze in the fireplace. 

"Sit down, Peter. I wish to say something to you. I have been wishing todo so for some time. "

"Do you object if I stand a moment?" he said. "I feel so much morecomfortable standing, especially when I am going to be scolded. "

"Yes, " she admitted, "I am going to scold you. Your conscience haswarned you. "

"On the contrary, " he declared, "it has never been quieter. If I haveoffended; it is through ignorance. "

"It is through charity, as usual, " she said m a low voice. "Ifyour conscience be quiet, mine is not. It is in myself that I amdisappointed--I have been very selfish. I have usurped you. I haveknown it all along, and I have done very wrong in not relinquishing youbefore. "

"Who would have shown me Paris?" he exclaimed. 

"No, " she continued, "you would not have been alone. If I had neededproof of that fact, I had it to-day--"

"Oh, Minturn, " he interrupted; "think of me hanging about an Embassy andtrying not to spill tea!" And he smiled at the image that presented. 

Her own smile was fleeting. 

"You would never do that, I know, " she said gravely. 

"You are still too modest, Peter, but the time has gone by when I canbe easily deceived. You have a great reputation among men of affairs, anunique one. In spite of the fact that you are distinctly American, youhave a wide interest in what is going on in the world. And you have anopportunity here to meet people of note, people really worth while fromevery point of view. You have no right to neglect it. "

He was silent a moment, looking down at her. She was leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the fire, her hands clasped between her knees. 

"Do you think I care for that?" he asked. 

"You ought to care, " she said, without looking up. "And it is my duty totry to make you care. "

"Honora, why do you think I came over here?" he said. 

"To see Paris, " she answered. "I have your own word for it. To--tocontinue your education. It never seems to stop. "

"Did you really believe that?"

"Of course I believed it. What could be more natural? And you have neverhad a holiday like this. "

"No, " he agreed. "I admit that. "

"I don't know how much longer you are going to stay, " she said. "Youhave not been abroad before, and there are other places you ought togo. "

"I'll get you to make out an itinerary. "

"Peter, can't you see that I'm serious? I have decided to take mattersin my own hands. The rest of the time you are here, you may come to seeme twice a week. I shall instruct the concierge. "

He turned and grasped the mantel shelf with both hands, and touched thelog with the toe of his boot. 

"What I told you about seeing Paris may be called polite fiction, " hesaid. "I came over here to see you. I have been afraid to say it untilto-day, and I am afraid to say it now. "

She sat very still. The log flared up again, and he turned slowly andlooked at the shadows in her face. 

"You-you have always been good to me, " she answered. "I have neverdeserved it--I have never understood it. If it is any satisfaction foryou to know that what I have saved of myself I owe to you, I tell you sofreely. "

"That, " he said, "is something for which God forbid that I should takecredit. What you are is due to the development of a germ within you, adevelopment in which I have always had faith. I came here to see you, Icame here because I love you, because I have always loved you, Honora. "

"Oh, no, not that!" she cried; "not that!"

"Why not?" he asked. "It is something I cannot help, something beyondmy power to prevent if I would. But I would not. I am proud of it, and Ishould be lost without it. I have had it always. I have come over to begyou to marry me. "

"It's impossible! Can't you see it's impossible?"

"You don't love me?" he said. Into those few words was thrown all thesuffering of his silent years. 

"I don't know what I feel for you, " she answered in an agonized voice, her fingers tightening over the backs of her white hands. "If reverencebe love--if trust be love, infinite and absolute trust--if gratitude belove--if emptiness after you are gone be a sign of it--yes, I love you. If the power to see clearly only through you, to interpret myself onlyby your aid be love, I acknowledge it. I tell you so freely, as of yourright to know. And the germ of which you spoke is you. You have grownuntil you have taken possession of--of what is left of me. If I hadonly been able to see clearly from the first, Peter, I should be anotherwoman to-day, a whole woman, a wise woman. Oh, I have thought of itmuch. The secret of life was there at my side from the time I was ableto pronounce your name, and I couldn't see it. You had it. You stayed. You took duty where you found it, and it has made you great. Oh, I don'tmean to speak in a worldly sense. When I say that, it is to express thehighest human quality of which I can think and feel. But I can't marryyou. You must see it. "

"I cannot see it, " he replied, when he had somewhat gained control ofhimself. 

"Because I should be wronging you. "

"How?" he asked. 

"In the first place, I should be ruining your career. "

"If I had a career, " he said, smiling gently, "you couldn't ruin it. Youboth overestimate and underestimate the world's opinion, Honora. As mywife, it will not treat you cruelly. And as for my career, as you callit, it has merely consisted in doing as best I could the work that hascome to me. I have tried to serve well those who have employed me, andif my services be of value to them, and to those who may need me inthe future, they are not going to reject me. If I have any worth in theworld, you will but add to it. Without you I am incomplete. "

She looked up at him wonderingly. 

"Yes, you are great, " she said. "You pity me, you think of myloneliness. "

"It is true I cannot bear to picture you here, " he exclaimed. "Thethought tortures me, but it is because I love you, because I wish totake and shield you. I am not a man to marry a woman without love. Itseems to me that you should know me well enough to believe that, Honora. There never has been any other woman in my life, and there never can be. I have given you proof of it, God knows. "

"I am not what I was, " she said, "I am not what I was. I have beendragged down. "

He bent and lifted her hand from her knee, and raised it to his lips, ahomage from him that gave her an exquisite pain. 

"If you had been dragged down, " he answered simply, "my love would havebeen killed. I know something of the horrors you have been through, asthough I had suffered them myself. They might have dragged down anotherwoman, Honora. But they have strangely ennobled you. "

She drew her hand away. 

"No, " she said, "I do not deserve happiness. It cannot be my destiny. "

"Destiny, " he repeated. "Destiny is a thing not understandable by finiteminds. It is not necessarily continued tragedy and waste, of that I amcertain. Only a little thought is required, it seems to me, to assure usthat we cannot be the judges of our own punishment on this earth. And ofanother world we know nothing. It cannot be any one's destiny to throwaway a life while still something may be made of it. You would bethrowing your life away here. That no other woman is possible, or evercan be possible, for me should be a consideration with you, Honora. WhatI ask of you is a sacrifice--will you make me happy?"

Her eyes filled with tears. 

"Oh, Peter, do you care so much as that? If--if I could be sure that Iwere doing it for you! If in spite--of all that has happened to me, Icould be doing something for you--!"

He stooped and kissed her. 

"You can if you will, " he said. 

PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

 Best way is to leave 'em alone. Don't dandle 'em (babies) Blessed are the ugly, for they shall not be tempted Comparisons, as Shakespeare said, are odorous Constitutionally honest Conversation was a mockery Every one, man or woman, has the right to happiness Fact should be written like fiction, and fiction like fact Fetters of love Happy the people whose annals are blank in history's book He has always been too honest to make a great deal of money Her words of comfort were as few as her silent deeds were many How can you talk of things other people have and not want them Immutable love in a changing, heedless, selfish world Intense longing is always followed by disappointment Little better than a gambling place (Stock Exchange) No reason why we should suffer all our lives for a mistake Often in real danger at the moment when they feel most secure Providence is accepted by his beneficiaries as a matter of fact Regarding favourable impressions with profound suspicion Resented the implication of possession Rocks to which one might cling, successful or failing Self-torture is human She had never known the necessity of making friends Sleep! A despised waste of time in childhood So glad to have what other people haven't Sought to remove comparisons Taking him like daily bread, to be eaten and not thought about That magic word Change The greatest wonders are not at the ends of the earth, but near The days of useless martyrdom are past Thinking that because you have no ideals, other people haven't Those who walk on ice will slide against their wills Time, the unbribeable Weak coffee and the Protestant religion seemed inseparable Why should I desire what I cannot have