SPRING DAYS

BY GEORGE MOORE

PREFACE

When Henry Vizetelly, that admirable scholar, historian, andjournalist, was sent to prison for publishing Zola's novels mine weretaken over by Walter Scott, and all were reprinted except "SpringDays. " This book was omitted from the list of my acknowledged works, for public and private criticism had shown it no mercy; and I had lostfaith in it. All the welcome it had gotten were a few contemptuousparagraphs scattered through the Press, and an insolent article in_The Academy_, which I did not see, but of which I was notified by afriend in the Strand at the corner of Wellington Street. 

"Was the article a long one?"

"No, I don't think they thought your book worth slashing. All I cantell you is that if any book of mine had been spoken of in that way Ishould never write another. "

I left my friend, hoping that the number of _The Academy_ would notfall into the hands of the editor of the great London review, to whom Ihad dedicated the book after a night spent listening to him quotingfrom the classics, Greek, English, and Latin. "A very poor testimony, one which he won't thank me for, " I muttered, and stopped before St. Clement Danes to think what kind of letter he would write to me. But hedid not even acknowledge through his secretary the copy I sent to him, and I accepted the rebuff without resentment, arguing that the faultwas mine. "The proofs should have been submitted to him, but theprinters were calling for them! There's no going back; the mischief isdone, " and I waited, putting my trust in time, which blots out allunfortunate things, "even dedications, " I said. 

Three months later, on opening my door one day, I found him standingwith a common friend on the landing. I remember wondering what hisreason was for bringing the friend, whether he had come as a sort ofchaperon or witness. He left us after a few minutes, and I satwatching the great man of my imagination, asking myself if he weregoing to speak of "Spring Days, " hoping that he would avoid thepainful subject. The plot and the characters of my new book mightplease him. If he would only allow me to speak about it he might bepersuaded to accept a second dedication as some atonement for thefirst. 

"You were kind enough to dedicate your novel---"

"'Spring Days'?"

"Yes, 'Spring Days. ' I know that you wished to pay me a compliment, and if I didn't write before it was because----"

"Was it so very bad?"

A butty little man raised Oriental eyes and square hands in protest. 

"You have written other books, " he said, and proposed that we shouldgo out together and walk in the Strand. 

"Yes, 'The Confessions of a Young Man' was much liked here and inFrance. Will you let me give it to you?" We stopped at a book shop. "It will please you and help you to forget 'Spring Days. '" He smiled. "Never mention that book again, " I added. "I wonder how I could havewritten it. "

We were in a hansom; he turned his head and looked at me withoutattempting to answer my question; and from that day till six monthsago my impulse was to destroy every copy that came my way. A copy of"Spring Days" excited in me an uncontrollable desire of theft, andwhenever I caught sight of one in a friend's house I put it in mypocket without giving a thought to the inconvenience that the larcenymight cause; the Thames received it, and I returned homecongratulating myself that there was one copy less in the world of"Spring Days. "

When the Boer War drove me out of London I said: "Dublin doesn'tcontain a copy of that book;" and for nearly eight years I was left inpeace, only Edward Martyn teasing me, saying that one of these days hemust read the book. 

"R---- always says, 'I like "Spring Days". '"

"Insolent little ass, " I answered, "I'll cut him dead when we meetagain. "

But Edward was not joking as I thought he was, and some timeafterwards he told me that after a good deal of advertising he hadsucceeded in obtaining a copy of "Spring Days. " The moment he left theroom I searched the table and bookcase for it, but he kept it atTillyra, else it would have gone into the Liffey, which receives allthings. 

"My dear George, I like the book better than any of your novels, " hesaid one day on his return from Galway. "It is the most original, itis like no other novel, and that is why people didn't understand it. "

Of course it was impossible to quarrel with dear Edward, but Iwondered if I ever should find pleasure in speaking to him again; andwhen A. E. Told me a few weeks later that he had come upon a novel ofmine which he had never read before--"Spring Days, " I said. 

"Edward gave it to you?"

"No, " he answered, "I haven't seen him for many months. "

"The worst book I ever wrote. " A. E. Did not answer. "What do youthink of it?" To my surprise I found him of the same opinion asEdward. 

"My dear A. E. , you know how I rely on your judgment. For twenty-fiveyears I have refused to allow this book to be reprinted. Shall Irelent?"

A. E. Did not seem to think the book unworthy of me, and pressed me toread it. 

"I'll lend you my copy. "

I received it next day, but returned it to him unread, my couragehaving failed me at the last moment. 

A few months later I met Richard Best, one of the librarians at theNational Library. He had just returned from his holidays; he had beenspending them in Wales for the sake of the language. 

"By the way, " he said, "I came across an old novel of yours--'SpringDays. '"

"You didn't like it?"

"On the contrary, I liked it as well, if not better, than any novelyou have written. It is so entirely original. My wife... I think youvalue her opinion--"

"She liked it?"

"Come home with me, and she'll tell you how it struck her. "

"I will, on one condition, that you don't mention that you spoke to meabout the book. "

Best promised, and we had not been many minutes in the house beforeMrs. Best interrupted my remarks about the weather to tell me what shethought of "Spring Days. "

"The matter is important. Sooner or later I shall have to think abouta collected edition. Is it to be included?"

Mrs. Best, like A. E. , offered to lend me her copy, but I could notbring myself to accept it, and escaped from the book till I came tolive in London. Then Fate thrust it into my hands, the means employedbeing a woman to whom I had written for "Impressions and Opinions. "She had lost her copy; there was, however, an old book of mine whichshe had never heard me speak of--"Spring Days"--and which, etc. , shewas sending me the book. 

"Omens are omens, " I muttered, "and there's no use kicking against thepricks eternally;" and cutting the string of the parcel I sat down toread a novel which I had kept so resolutely out of my mind for twenty-five years, that all I remembered of its story and characters was anold gentleman who lived in a suburb, and whose daughters were a greatsource of trouble to him. I met the style of the narrative as I mightthat of an original writer whose works I was unacquainted with. Therewas a zest in it, and I read on and on; I must have read for nearlytwo hours, which is a long read for me, laying the book aside fromtime to time, so that I might reflect at my ease on the tenacity withwhich it had clung to existence. Every effort had been made to drownit; again and again it had been flung into the river, literally andmetaphorically, but it had managed to swim ashore like a cat. It wouldseem that some books have nine hundred and ninety and nine lives, andGod knows how long my meditation might have lasted if the front doorbell had not rung. 

"Are you at home, sir, to Mr. --?"

"Yes. "

There is time for one word more, dear reader, and whilst my visitorlays his hat and coat on the table in the passage I will beseech younot to look forward to a sentimental story; "Spring Days" is as freefrom sentiment or morals as Daphnis and Chloe. 

G. M. 

I

"Miss, I'll have his blood; I will, miss, I will. "

"For goodness' sake, cook, go back to your kitchen; put that dreadfulpair of boots under your apron. "

"No, miss; I'll be revenged. He has insulted me. "

"You can't be revenged now, cook; you see he has shut himself in; youhad better go back to your kitchen. "

The groom, who was washing the carriage, stood, mop in hand, grinning, appreciating the discomfiture of the coachman, who was paying thepenalty of his joke. 

"Cook, if you don't go back to your kitchen instantly, I'll give younotice. It is shameful--think what a scandal you are making in thestable-yard. Go back to your kitchen--I order you. It is half-pastsix, go and attend to your master's dinner. "

"He has insulted me, he has insulted me. I'll have your blood!" shecried, battering at the door. The rattling of chains was heard as thehorses turned their heads. 

"Put those boots under your apron, cook; go back to your kitchen, doas I tell you. "

The woman retreated, Maggie following. At intervals there werestoppages, and cook re-stated her desire to have the coachman's blood. Maggie did not attempt to argue with her, but sternly repeated herorder to go back to her kitchen, and to conceal the old boots underher apron. 

"What business had he to rummage in my box, interfering with mythings; he put them all along the kitchen table; he did it because Itold you, miss, that he was carrying on with the kitchenmaid. He goeswith her every evening into the wood shed, and a married man, too! Iwouldn't be his poor wife. "

"Go back to your kitchen, cook; do as I tell you. "

With muttered threats cook entered the house, and commanded thekitchenmaid to interfere no more with the oven, but to attend to hersaucepans. 

"What a violent woman, " thought Maggie, "horrid woman. I am sure she'sIrish. I'll get rid of her as soon as I can. The place is filthy, butI daren't speak to her now. She's stirring the saucepan with herfinger. "

At that moment quick steps were heard coming down the corridor, andSally entered. 

"Cook, cook, I want you to put back the dinner half an hour. I have togo down the town. "

"O Sally, I beg of you, what will father say?"

"Father isn't everybody. I daresay the train will be a little late; itoften is. He won't know anything about it, that is if you don't tellhim. "

"What do you want to go down the town for?"

"Never you mind. I don't ask you what you do. "

"You want to go down the slonk, " whispered Maggie. 

The cook stopped stirring the saucepan, and the kitchenmaid stoodlistening greedily. 

"Nothing of the kind, " Sally answered defiantly. "You're always tryingto get up something against me. Cook, will you keep back the dinnertwenty minutes?"

"Cook, I forbid you. I'm mistress here. "

"How dare you insult me before the servants! Grace is mistress here, if it comes to that. "

"Grace has given me over the housekeeping. I am mistress when she istoo unwell to attend to it. "

"Nothing of the sort. Grace is the eldest, I would give way to her, but I'm not going to give way to you. Cook, the dinner won't be readyfor another half hour, will it?"

"I don't know when the dinner will be ready, and I don't care. "

"It is a quarter to seven now, dinner won't be ready before seven, will it, cook? Keep it back a bit. Now I must be off. "

And, as Maggie expected, Sally ran past the glass houses and the pearand apple trees, for there was at the end of the vegetable garden adoor in the brick wall that enclosed the manor house. It was used bythe gardeners, and it communicated with a path leading through somecorn and grass land to the high road. There were five acres of landattached to the manor house, tennis lawn, shady walks, flower garden, kitchen garden, stables, and coach house at the back, and all thisspoke in somewhat glaring fashion the wealth and ease of a rich citymerchant. 

"There she goes, " thought Maggie, flaunting her head. "What a fool sheis to bully father instead of humouring him. We shall never hear theend of this. His dinner put back so that she may continue herflirtation with Meason! I shall have to tell the truth. Why should Itell a lie?"

"Please, miss, " said the butler as Maggie passed through the baizedoor, "I think it right to tell you about cook. We find it very hardto put up with her in the servants' hall. She is a very violent-tempered woman; nor can I say much for her in other respects. Lastweek she sold twenty pounds of dripping, and it wasn't all dripping, miss, it was for the most part butter. "

"John, I really can't listen to any more stories about cook. Has thequarter-to-seven come in yet?"

"I haven't seen it pass, miss, but I saw Mr. Willy coming up the drivea minute ago. "

Willy entered, and she turned to him and said: "Where have you beento, Willy?"

"Brighton. Has father come in yet?"

"No. You came by the tramcar?"

"Yes. "

With shoulders set well back and toes turned out, Willy came along thepassage. His manner was full of deliberation, and he carried a smallbrown paper parcel under his arm as if it were a sword of state. Maggie followed him up the steep and vulgarly carpeted staircase thatbranched into the various passages forming the upper part of thehouse. Willy's room was precise and grave, and there everything washeld under lock and key. He put the brown paper parcel on the table;he took off his coat and laid it on the bed, heaving, at the sametime, a sigh. 

"Did you notice if the quarter-to-seven has been signalled?"

"Yes, but don't keep on worrying; the train is coming along theembankment. "

"Then there will be a row to-night. "

"Why?"

"Sally told cook to keep the dinner back; she has gone down the slonkto speak to Meason. "

"Why didn't you tell cook that she must take her orders from you andno one else?"

"So I did, but Sally said I was no more mistress here than she was. Isaid Grace had given me charge of the house, when she could not attendto it; but Sally will listen to no one, she'll drive father out of hismind. There's no one he hates like the Measons. "

"What is the matter with Grace? Where is she?"

"She's in her room, lying on the bed crying. She says she wants todie; she says that she doesn't care what becomes of her. She'll nevercare for another man, and father will not give his consent. What's-his-name has nothing--only a small allowance; he'll never have anymore, he isn't a working man. I know father, he'll never hear of anyone who is not a working man. I wish you'd speak to her. "

"I've quite enough to do with my own affairs; I've had bad luck enoughas it is, without running into new difficulties of my own accord. "

"If she refuses Berkins, father'll never get over it. I wish you wouldspeak to her. "

"No, don't ask me. I never meddle in other people's affairs. I've hadtrouble enough. Now I want to dress. "

When Maggie went downstairs, she found her father in the drawing-room. 

"The train was a little late to-night. Has Willy come back fromBrighton?"

"Yes, father. "

"I've been looking over his accounts and I find he has lost nearly twothousand pounds in Bond Street, and I don't think he is doing any goodwith that agency in Brighton. I never approved of one or the other. Iapprove of nothing but legitimate city business. Shops in the WestEnd! mere gambling. Where is Grace?"

"She's in her room. "

"In her room? I suppose she hasn't left it all day? This is veryterrible. I don't know what to do with you. Since your poor motherdied my life has been nothing but trouble and vexation. I can't manageyou, you are too strong for me. So she hasn't left her room; cryingher eyes out, because I won't consent to her marrying a pennilessyoung officer! But I will not squander my money. I made it all myself, by my own industry, and I refuse to keep young fellows in idleness. "

"I don't give you any trouble, father. "

"You are the best, Maggie, but you encourage your sister Sally. I hearthat you, too, were seen walking with young Meason. "

"It is not true, I assure you, father. I met him as I was going to thepost-office. I said, 'How do you do?' and I passed on. "

"Where is Sally?"

"She went out a few minutes ago. "

"Didn't she know the time? She ought to be dressing for dinner. Do youknow where she's gone?"

"I think she went down the slonk. "

His children had inherited his straight, sharp features and his small, black, vivid eyes. Their hair was of various hues of black. Maggie'swas raven black and glossy; Sally's was coarse and of a hue likeblack-lead; Grace's was abundant and relieved with sooty shades;Willy's hair was brown. He was the fair one of the family, and hishair was always closely cut in military fashion, and he wore a longflowing military moustache with a tinge of red in it. His father andhe were built on the same lines--long, spare bodies, short necks andlegs, and short, spare arms, and if the father's white hair were dyedthe years that separated him from his son would disappear, foralthough the son had only just turned thirty, he was middle-aged inface and feeling. 

Sally and Grace were both thickly built, the latter a little inclinedto fat. Maggie was thin and elegantly angular, and often stood inpicturesque attitudes; she stood in one now, with her hands linkedbehind her back, and she watched her father, and her look was subtleand insinuating. 

"When I came here, " he said, speaking rapidly, and as if he werespeaking to himself, "the place was well enough; there was nothing butthose wretched cottages facing the sea, the green, and a few cottagesabout it; but since those villas have been put up, Southwick hasbecome unbearable. All my troubles, " he murmured, "originated in theSouthdown Road. "

Maggie turned aside, smiled, and bit her lip; she did not speak, however, for she knew her father did not care to be interrupted in hismusings. 

"A hateful place--glass porticoes, and oleographs on the walls. " HereMr. Brookes stopped in his walk to admire one of his favourite Friths. "Those ridiculous haberdashers, with a bas-relief of the founder oftheir house over the doorway. The proprietors of the baths, theMeasons, poor as church mice, the son a mate of a merchant vessel--these are not proper associates for my daughters. I will not knowthem; I will not have them in my house. "

"The Measons are quite as good as we are, father. They may be poor, but as far as family goes--"

"You are just the same as the others, Maggie; once there is a youngman to flirt with, you don't care what he is or where he comes from. When there are no young men, you will snub the old ladies fast enough;and as for Sally, she is downright rude. I didn't want to see thehaberdashers, but while they were in my house I was polite to them. "

"It was the Horlocks who told them to call. "

"I know it was. If Mrs. Horlock likes to know these people, let herknow them; but what does she want to force them upon us for? That'swhat I want to know. We might never have known any one in theSouthdown Road; I mean we never should, we never could have known anyone in the Southdown Road if Mrs. Horlock hadn't come to live there. We had to call upon her. "

"Every Viceroy in India called upon her. She was the only woman whomevery Viceroy did call upon. "

"I know she was. Of course we had to call upon her. Most interestingwoman; the General is very nice, too. I like them exceedingly. I oftengo to see them, although the smell of that mastiff is more than I canbear in the hot weather, especially if lilies or strong smellingflowers are in the room. "

"She feeds the mice, she won't let them be destroyed, she lets thetraps down at night. "

"Don't let us go into the animal question. The constant smell of dogsis unpleasant, but I could put up with it--what I can't stand are heracquaintances in the Southdown Road, and when I think that we shouldnot have known any of them if it hadn't been for her! Indirectly--I donot say directly--she is the cause of all my difficulties. It was ather house Sally met young Meason; it was at her house Grace met thatyoung officer for whom she is crying her eyes out; and it was at herhouse--yes, I hadn't thought of it before--it was at her house thatWilly met that swindler who induced him to put two thousand poundsinto the Bond Street shop. The Southdown Road might have remained herefor the next five hundred years, and we should have known nothing ofit had it not been for Mrs. Horlock; if she likes to know these peoplelet her know them, but why force them upon us? It was only the otherday she was talking to me about calling on some new friends of herswho have come to live there. I dare say it is the custom to call onevery one at Calcutta, but I say that Calcutta etiquette is notSouthwick etiquette, and I don't care how many Viceroys called uponher, I will not know the Southdown Road. "

The enunciation of this last sentence was deliberate and impassioned. Mr. Brookes walked twice across the room; then he stood, his handscrossed behind his back, looking at his admired Goodall. His angermelted, and he mused on the price he had paid, and the price hethought it was now worth. Fearing he would return to the SouthdownRoad trouble, Maggie said: "I am afraid we shall be obliged to get ridof the new cook. She is Irish. Just before you came in I found her inthe stable-yard threatening to break Holt's head with a pair ofdreadful old boots. "

"I don't want to hear about the cook. The money you spend inhousekeeping is enormous. Since your poor mother died I haven't had aday's peace. If it isn't one thing it is another. You are fit fornothing but pleasure and flirtation; there isn't a young man in theplace or within ten miles you haven't flirted with. I am often ashamedto look them in the face at the station. It is past seven; why isn'tdinner ready?"

"Sally told the cook to put the dinner back half an hour. "

"Sally told the cook to put my dinner back half an hour!"

Mr. Brookes's face grew livid. The end of all things was at hand; hisdinner had been put back half an hour! This was a climax in theaffairs of his life, which for the moment he failed to grasp orestimate. Was a father ever cursed with such daughters as his? He hadbeen in the City all day working for them; he did not marry because hewished to leave them his money, and this was the return they made tohim. His dinner had been put back half an hour! Passion sustained himfor a while; but he gave way, and, pulling out a silk handkerchief, hesank into a chair. 

"Don't cry, father, don't cry. Sally is thoughtless; she didn't meanit. "

Mr. Brookes wept for a few minutes; Maggie strove to soothe him; hewaved her away, he wiped his eyes and in a voice broken with anguish, "Ah, well, " he said, "I suppose it will be all the same a hundredyears hence. " In moments of extreme trouble he sought refuge in suchphilosophy, but now it seemed inadequate and superficial, and Maggiehad begun to fear the violence of the storm she had brewed. She didnot mind stimulating ill-feeling, but she did not wish Sally toprovoke her father recklessly. 

The possibility of his marrying again and having a second family wasthe one restraining influence Mr. Brookes still retained over hisdaughters, so Maggie, who was always keenly alive to the remotestconsequences of her actions, took care that his home never becamequite unbearable to him; and when Sally entered the room, dark andbrilliant in red velvet, and in no way disposed to admit she had beenguilty of heinous wrong in countermanding the dinner, Maggie attempteda gentle pouring of oil on the waters. But waving aside her sister'sgentle interposition, she said: "You mustn't think of yourself only, father. I admit I told the cook to put back the dinner a few minutes. What then?"

"You did it that you might finish your conversation with youngMeason, " said Mr. Brookes, but his words were weak, it being doubtfulif even Meason could add to the original offence, so culminating andfinal did it seem to him. 

"Maggie didn't tell you that last week she met him on the sea road, and walked with him into Portslade. "

"Father, father, I beg of you, now, don't cry; think of the servants. "

And it was in such unity of mind and feeling that this family sat downto dinner in the great dining-room, rich with all comforts and adornedwith pictures by Frith and Goodall. Sally, who unfortunately knew nofear, talked defiantly; she addressed herself principally to herbrother, and she questioned him persistently, although the replies shereceived were generally monosyllabic. As he chewed his meat withreflection and precaution, broke his bread with deliberate and well-defined movements, and filled his mouth with carefully chosen pieces, he gradually ventured to decide that he would not speak to his fatherthat evening of the scheme he had been hatching for some months. Itwas one of his strictest rules not to think while eating, so it may besaid that it was against his will that he arrived at this conclusion. Willy suffered from indigestion, and he knew that any exercise of thebrain was most prejudicial at meal times. 

After dinner Mr. Brookes and his son retired to the billiard-room tosmoke. 

"Your sisters are a great trouble to me--a very great anxiety. Sinceyour poor mother died I've had no peace, none whatever. Poor Julia, she's gone; I shall never see her again. "

Willy made no answer. He was debating; he was still uncertain whetherthe present time could be considered a favourable one to introduce hisscheme to his father's notice, and he had made up his mind that itwas, when he was interrupted by Mr. Brookes, who had again lapsed intoone of his semi-soliloquies. 

"Your sisters give me a great deal of trouble, a very great deal ofanxiety. I am all alone. I have no one to help me since the death ofyour poor mother. "

"My sisters are fitted for nothing but pleasure, " Willy repliedseverely. 

II

Mr. Brookes went to London every day by the five minutes to ten; Willywalked into Brighton. There he had been for some time striving tofound an agency for artificial manures, and in the twilight of a smalloffice he brooded over the different means of making money that wereopen to him. The young ladies worked or played as it struck theirfancy. Sally admitted that she infinitely preferred walking round thegarden with a young man to doing wool-work in the drawing-room. Maggieshared this taste, although she did not make bold profession of it. Grace was the gentlest of the sisters, and had passed unnoticed untilshe had fallen in love with a penniless officer, and tortured herfather with tears and haggard cheeks because he refused to supply herwith money to keep a husband. The doctor had ordered her iron; she hadbeen sent to London for a change, but neither remedy was of muchavail, and when she returned home pale and melancholy she had nottaken the keys from Maggie, but had allowed her to usurp her placeinthe house. Sally was supposed to look after the conservatories, butbeyond her own special flowers she left everything to the gardeners. 

On Sundays Mr. Brookes walked through the long drawing-roomsaimlessly. Sometimes he would stop before one of his pictures. "There, that's a good picture, I paid a lot of money for it, I paid too much, mustn't do so again. " Passing his daughters, sometimes withoutspeaking, he then stopped before one of the big chimney-pieces, and, pulling out his large silk pocket handkerchief, dusted the massiveclocks and candlesticks. 

In the billiard-room, at a table drawn up close to the coke fire, Willy slowly and with much care made pencil notes, which he slowly andwith great solemnity copied into his diary. 

"Your sisters are a great source of trouble to me, a source of deepanxiety, " said Mr. Brookes, and he flicked the rearing legs of abronze horse with his handkerchief. 

"My sisters are only fit for pleasure, " said Willy and he finished thetail of the y, passed the blotting paper over, and prepared to begin afresh paragraph. 

"I am afraid Grace is scarcely any better; she will not leave herroom. I hear she is crying. It is too ridiculous, too ridiculous. Whatshe can see in that man I can't think; he is only a man of pleasure. I've told her so, but somehow she can't get to see why I will notsettle money upon her--money that I made myself, by hard work, judicious investments. "

"That's a smack at the shop, " thought Willy, as he placed his fullstop. 

"I'll not settle my money upon her, " said Mr. Brookes, as he resumedhis dusting; "and for what? to keep an idle fellow in idleness. No, I'll not do it. She'll get over it--ah, it will be all the same ahundred years hence. But tell me, have you noticed--no, you noticenothing--"

"Yes, I do; what do you want me to say, that she is looking very ill?I can't help it if she is. I've quite enough troubles of my ownwithout thinking of other people's. I'm sure I am very sorry. I wishshe'd never met the fellow. "

"That's what I say, I wish she'd never met the fellow, and she neverwould had it not been for that horrible Southdown Road. Southwick hasnever been the same since those villas were put up. "

"I know nothing about them; I won't know them. I don't go to theHorlocks because I may meet people there I don't want to know. If youhadn't allowed the girls to go there, she never would have met him. "

"But we had to call on the Horlocks. Every Viceroy that ever came toIndia called upon her, and they're excellent people--titled peoplecome down from London to see them: but I daresay their bankingaccounts wouldn't bear looking into. She walks about the green withthe chemist's wife, and has the people of the baths to dinner. Mostextraordinary woman. I like her, I enjoy her society; but I can'tfollow her in her opinions. She says that only men are bad; that allanimals are good; that it is only men who make them bad. Her views onhydrophobia are most astonishing. She says it is a mild and easydeath, and sees no reason why the authorities should attempt to stampit out. She quite frightened me with the story she told me of a maddog that died in her arms. But that by the way. The point is not nowwhether she is right to feed mice in her bedroom instead of gettingrid of them, but whether we should call on people we don't want toknow because she asks us to do so. I say we should not. When she spoketo me the other day about the lady whose mother was a housemaid, Isaid, 'My dear Mrs. Horlock, it is very well for you to call on thosepeople. I approve of, I admire magnanimity; but what you can do Icannot do. You have no daughters to bring out; every Viceroy that evercame to India called on you, your position in the world is assured, your friends will not think the less of you no matter how intimatelyyou know the chemist's wife, but you could not do these things if youhad daughters to bring out. '"

"What did she say to that?"

"She was just going out to walk with her pugs. Angel began to--youknow, and for the moment she could think of nothing else; when thelittle beast had finished I had forgotten the thread of my argument. However, I spoke to her about Grace; and she promised that sheshouldn't meet the fellow again. I can't think of his name, I get lostin the different names, and they are all so alike I scarcely know onefrom the other. I have had nothing but trouble since your poor motherdied. Your sisters give me a great deal of trouble, and you have givenme a great deal of trouble. We couldn't get on in business together onaccount of your infernal slowness. No man is more for keeping hisaccounts and letters straight than I, but your exactitude drives memad; it drives me mad; there you are at it again. I should like toknow what you are copying into that diary. One would think you werewriting an article for the _Times_, from the care with which you'redrawing out every letter; 'pon my word it isn't writing at all, it'spainting. You can't write for a pair of boots without taking a copy ofthe letter, entering it into this book, and entering it into that book;'pon my word it is maddening. "

Willy laughed. "Each person has his own way of doing business; I don'tsee how it interferes with you, or what difference it makes to you, ifI spend three minutes or three days writing a letter. "

"Perhaps not, perhaps not; but I am terribly upset about Grace, " saidMr. Brookes, and he walked slowly across the room and stood looking athis Bouguereau; "she'll get over it, but in any case she'll miss herchance of marrying Berkins; that is what distresses me. The man stinksof money. I hear that he has been appointed manager of a colliery, that alone will bring him another thousand a year. His business isgoing up, he must be worth now between seven and eight thousand ayear. And he began as an office boy, he hadn't a penny piece, made itall himself. "

"So I should think; a purse-proud ass!"

"Never mind, his eight thousand is as good an eight thousand as any inthe land, better than a great many. I wouldn't give a snap of myfingers for your broken-down landowners; Berkins has always madeexcellent investments, and I hear he is now getting as much as fifteenper cent. For money invested. "

Willy had been to Oxford, and the arrogance and pomposity of thispurse-proud man shocked his sense of decorum. Berkins's vulgarity wasmore offensive than that of Mr. Brookes. Mr. Brookes was a simple, middle-class man, who had made money straightforwardly and honestly, and he had cultivated his natural taste for pictures to the limit ofhis capacities and opportunities. Berkins, however, had been born agentleman, but had had to shift for himself, even when a lad, and hehad caught at all chances; he was more sophisticated, he was agentleman in a state of retrograde, and was in all points inferior tohim whom he crossed in his descent. Berkins had bought a small place, a villa with some hundred acres attached to it, on the other side ofPreston Park. There he had erected glass houses, and bred a fewpheasants in the corner of a field, and it surprised him to find thatthe county families took no notice of him. Mr. Brookes hadsympathised, but the young people laughed at him and Willy had told astory how he had been to shoot at ----, and when a partridge got upright in front of his gun, Berkins turned round and shot it, exclaiming: "That's the way to bring them down!"

And now whenever his name was mentioned, Willy thought of thisincident, so very typical did it seem to him of the man, and he likedto twit his father with it. But Mr. Brookes could not be brought tosee the joke, and he fell back on the plausible and insidious argumentthat, notwithstanding his manners, Berkins was worth eight thousand ayear. 

"And very few girls get the chance of catching eight thousand a year;and she'll miss it, she'll miss it if she doesn't take care. "

"You talk of it as if it were an absolute certainty; you don't knowthat Berkins wants to marry Grace; he hasn't been here for the lastmonth. "

"Mr. Berkins is not like the young good-for-nothings your sisterswaste their time with, he is a man of means, of eight thousand a year;you don't expect him to come round here every evening to tea, and toplay tennis, and to walk in the moonlight and talk nonsense. Berkinsis a man of means, he is a man who can make a settlement. "

"Has he spoken to you on the subject, then?"

"No, Mr. Berkins is a man of tact, however you may laugh at him forhaving shot your partridge. He spoke to your Aunt Mary, or rather shespoke to him. Ah, clever woman, your Aunt Mary, wonderful manner, wonderful will, when she wants a thing done it must be done. Your poormother--I mean no disparagement--but I must say she couldn't comparewith her for determination; Sally reminds me of her, but Sally'sdetermination is misdirected, deplorably misdirected; it is directedagainst me, entirely against me. She must be made submissive; when Ispoke to Aunt Mary about her, she said her spirit must be broken; andif she were here she'd break it. If she were here things would be verydifferent, your sisters wouldn't be flirting with all the littleclerks in the Southdown Road; but I am alone. I have no one to turnto. "

"You were telling me that Berkins had spoken to Aunt Mary aboutGrace. "

"Your Aunt Mary spoke to Berkins about Grace; she told him he ought tobe thinking of marrying; that he wanted a wife. Then the conversationturned on my daughters, and Mary no doubt mentioned that at my deaththey would all have large fortunes. "

"Ah, so it is the money that Berkins is after. "

"Money comes first. If a man can make a settlement he will naturallydemand a--that is to say he will naturally look forward, he willconsider what her prospects are; not her immediate prospects, thatwould be mercenary, but her future prospects. "

Willy smiled. "And what did Berkins say?"

"He said he wanted to marry, and he spoke of Grace; he said he admiredher. I shouldn't be surprised if we saw him at church to-day. "

"Are you going to ask him to lunch?"

"Certainly, if he's there. " Then, after a long silence, Mr. Brookessaid: "He'll come in here to smoke. Of course you'll leave us alone. Do you mind leaving out your cigars?"

"I have only half a box left; I think really you might keep some inthe house to supply your own guests with. You always object if Iinterfere with your things. "

"I am out of my best cigars--it is so hard to remember. He won't smokemore than one. "

"I'll put one in the cigar case then. "

"You had better fill it; it will look so bad if there is only one; hewon't take it. "

"He'll take all he can get; he took my bird, I know that!"

"This is a matter of great importance. "

"To you and to Grace, not to me, " said Willy, and with very bad gracehe unlocked a drawer, and placed a box of cigars on the table. 

"Thank you. Now what time is it? Half-past ten. By Jove! we must bethinking of starting; I suppose you aren't coming?"

"I am afraid I've too much to do this morning. "

The young ladies appeared in new dresses, and with prayer-books intheir hands. Mr. Brookes took his hat and umbrella, and Willy watchedthem depart with undisguised satisfaction. "Now I shall be able to getthrough some work, " he said, untying a large bundle of letters. Hewrote a page in his diary, tied up the letters, diary, and notebook inbrown paper, and, with a sigh, admitting that he did not feel up tomuch work to-day, he took up the envelopes that had contained hisletters and began tearing off the stamps, and he did this veryattentively as if he did not trust his dry thick fingers. Somebody hadtold him that ten thousand old stamps were worth--he had forgotten theprice of old stamps, and wondering he dozed off. When he awoke hecried: "Half-past twelve, they must be on their way back; I wonder ifBerkins is with them!" And he strolled out on the gravel. 

A few spring flowers marked the brown earth about the trees, and abeautiful magnolia, white as a bride, shed its shell-like petals in anangle beneath a window; the gold of the berberis glowed at the end ofthe path; and the greenery was blithe as a girl in clear muslin andribbons. The blackbirds chattered and ran, and in turn flew to the panof water placed for them, and drank, lifting their heads withexquisite motion. The trees rustled in the cold wind; the sky waswhite along the embankment, where an engine moved slowly up and downthe line. 

Willy was sensible that the scene was pleasant and pretty, andremembering he was fond of birds, he thrust his hands deeper in hispockets and walked slowly down the drive, his toes well turned out. "Iwonder if they met Berkins at church?" was the question he put tohimself gravely. "What a cad he is! No wonder the county people fightshy of us; a fellow like that is enough to close their doors againstus for ever. My father pooh-poohs everything but riches; he positivelyflies in their faces, so what can I do? I don't care to ask my Oxfordfriends down here; one never knows how he will receive them. He cantalk of nothing but his business. Had I a free hand, had I not been sohampered, we might have known all the best county families, eventheduke. "

The latch of the gate clicked, and Mr. Brookes and his familyappeared. Maggie and Sally walked on the right and left of theirfather; Grace came on behind with Berkins, and it seemed to Willy thatthe city magnate bore himself with something even more than his usualdignity. At first sight he suggested that anomalous creature--afootman with a beard; and the slow, deliberate enunciation marked himas one accustomed to speak in public. His manner of sitting at a tablesuggested letters and dictation of letters, his manner of moving hisglasses on his nose accounts, and at no moment would it have beensurprising to see him place his strong finger at the bottom of a lineof figures, and begin "Gentlemen, " etc. 

During lunch, Sally and Maggie spoke in undertones; they glancedoccasionally at Grace, who sat by and received Berkins's bald remarkswith deference. The girls trembled with excitement; they had pressedand extorted from Grace a hurried statement of what had happened. Berkins had proposed to her, he had told her he had never seen any oneexcept her whom he would care to make his wife. What had she said? Shedidn't know. She couldn't really remember. She had been taken sosuddenly, she was so upset, that she hadn't known what to say. Shethought she had said something about the honour--but she really hadnot had time to say much, for at that moment they were at the gate. Did she intend to accept him? She didn't know; she could not make upher mind. It was a terrible thing to throw over poor Jack; she didn'tthink she could do it--no matter what father might say. However, sheknew he would never give his consent, so it was no use thinking, "I hope she won't begin to cry, " whispered Sally, who had followedMaggie to the sideboard. 

"Father looks as if he were going to cry, " replied Maggie, moving thedecanters and pretending to look for a glass. 

Seven thousand a year, ten thousand a year! Would Grace have him? Whatwould father settle on her? The sum he settled on her he must settleon them when they married. As Berkins's wife Grace would haveservants, jewels, rich dresses, and a house in London, and theythought of the advantage this marriage would be to them. 

The knives clattered; cheese and celery were being eaten. Mr. Brookeshad drunk several glasses of port, and was on the verge of tears. Berkins's high shoulders and large voice dominated the dining-table;he was decidedly more than usually impressed by his own worth, and theworth of the money of which he was the representative. Willy chewedhis cheese; there were many wrinkles about his eyes--deep linesturning towards the ears; and when he lifted his tumbler one noticedthe little nails, almost worn away, of his lean hands. 

At last Mr. Brookes said: "I daresay you would like a cigar, Berkins--will you come into the billiard-room?"

Berkins inclined to this suggestion. Willy, who had not quitefinished, remained at table. The girls watched each other, and as soonas the elderly men turned their backs they fled upstairs to theirrooms. 

"Will you try one of these?" said Mr. Brookes, offering a box ofchoice havannas. 

"Thank you. My tobacconist--I must ask you to visit his shop--receivesjust a few cases of a very special cigar; I have at least two-thirdsof them, sometimes more; when you dine with me I'll give you one. Thisis Chartreuse, I think. My wine merchant knows a man whose cousin isone of the monks. Now the monks set aside the very cream of theliqueur, if I may so speak, for themselves. This liqueur cannot bebought in the open market. You may go up to London prepared to write acheque for any figure you may like to name, and I will defy you to buya bottle. I never have any other. It is really quite delicious. Idaresay I could get you some. "

Mr. Brookes expressed thanks for the amiable offer, and both mensmoked on in silence. 

"Do you play billiards?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. "

Inwardly they congratulated themselves. Presently Mr. Brookes said: "Ihear you have been staying with my sister, Mrs. Haltom. You wereshooting there, were you not?"

"Yes, they were kind enough to ask me. Very nice shooting they have, too. "

"I hear that you have gone in for rearing pheasants. "

"Yes; we shot a hundred brace last year. "

The conversation dropped, and in an impressive silence both menwondered what they had better say to lead honourably up to the subjectthey had come to speak on. 

"Is your house your own design? Did you build it entirely yourself?Iforget. I ought to know; you told me all about it when I dined withyou. "

"There was a house there, but I altered it considerably after my ownidea, and not a bad idea, I flatter myself. I spent a good deal ofmoney in laying out the grounds, putting up conservatories, and soforth. "

"You are a single man?"

"For a single man the house is, of course, too large; but I do notintend to remain always single, and--and now, Mr. Brookes, as we areon the subject, I had better tell you that I have asked Miss Brookesto be my wife. "

Mr. Brookes grasped at the first words. "I am sure I am very pleasedto hear it, Mr. Berkins, and I hope the answer was a favourable one. "

"Miss Brookes is a modest girl. She has been well brought up, as agirl who is, I hope, to be my wife should be, and she was naturally alittle overcome. I did not exactly catch what she said, and I didn'tlike to press her for an immediate answer. But suppose we assume forthe moment that Miss Brookes's reply will be a favourable one--I have, I confess, much faith in her good sense--we might consider thebusiness side. "

Notwithstanding his admiration of a man who had made three thousand ayear more than he had succeeded in doing, Mr. Brookes could not butfeel irritated at Berkins, who, with increasing gravity, continued toassume all things to his own advantage. It had not occurred to him toconsider that Grace might refuse him. Why should she refuse him? Shecould not hope to do better. She appeared to him as a very nice girlindeed, one entirely fitted for the position for which he intendedher. He understood that all girls, at least those in society, wereinnocent and virtuous; he understood that when they married they madefaithful and dutiful wives; and he had chosen her not because he hadfallen in love, nor yet because he had noticed she was likely to makea better wife than her sisters, but because she was the eldest. Evenso he would be twenty years his wife's senior, and he had chosen tomarry one of the Brookes girls because he knew them and saw themconstantly; because he knew that at their father's death his fortunewould be divided between them. Grace was, therefore, an heiress inperspective. The prospect was agreeable, but he foresaw that it wouldbe put forward as an excuse for fixing the sum of marriage settlementsas low as possible. It would, however, be difficult for Brookes tosettle less on his daughter than he, Berkins, was willing to settle onhis wife; so partly in the hopes of forcing Mr. Brookes, and partlybecause of the pleasure it gave him to speak of himself, he continuedtalking of his position and possessions. 

"In dealing with me, " he said, "you are dealing, as you know, Mr. Brookes, with a man of means, a man who can afford to do the thingproperly; you will not misunderstand me--you remember you told me thatyou had great difficulty in keeping the little folk who live here outof your house. "

"The neighbourhood has never been the same since they put up that rowof villas. A lot of indigent fortune-hunters, they know my girls willhave large fortunes at my death, so they come sneaking round the placelike so many wolves. "

"I can readily sympathise with you; one doesn't make money to keepidle young fellows in the luxuries of life. "

"That is what I say. "

"But you aren't sufficiently firm, Mr. Brookes; had you been broughtup in the hard school that I was you would be more firm; firmness iseverything. You married early, I couldn't afford to do that. Atsixteen I had to shift for myself. I was three years a clerk at twopounds a week, and not many chances to rise come in the way of a clerkat two pounds a week; he must be pretty sharp, and if he doesn't seizethe little chance when it comes, he will remain a little clerk all hislife. It is the first steps that are difficult, the rest are nothing. You don't know what the first steps are; I do. Once you've made athousand pounds you can swim along a bit, but the first hundred, Ishall never forget it! Afterwards it is just the same; the proportionsare changed, that is all. The first twenty thousand is very uphillwork, the second is on the flat, the third is going downhill--itbrings itself along. "

"A very good simile indeed. There's no doubt that it is money thatmakes money. When you have none you cannot make it. It is like corn;give a man a handful, and he must be a fool if he can't fill his barn. The beginnings are hard; none knows that better than I. But for thelast ten years I've been doing fairly well. "

"I had never intended to get married, but when money really begins toaccumulate it pushes you along. It is curious how money takes youalong. It is like a tide. You first begin thinking of a little placein the country where you can stay from Saturday till Monday. Thelittle place grows; it is extraordinary how it grows. You find youwant flowers, and you put up a glass house; then you begin to getinterested in orchids or roses, and you put up two, maybe half a dozenglass houses. Suddenly you find the rabbits are breeding in thehedgerows, and you go out yonder ferretting, but the coachman does notknow how to manage the ferrets, and you start a keeper. The keepersays one morning, 'It wouldn't require much to get up a stock ofpheasants in that little wood. ' You say, 'Very well;' and there youare before you know it, with glass houses, rabbit-shooting, and apheasant preserve. You have friends to stay with you for the shooting, you get talked about in the clubs, people ask why you aren't married--the place where the wife ought to be stares you in the face: a man ofmoney, of real money, must get married. The friends who come and staywith you suggest a little dance, you think it would be very pleasant;but you know no one in the neighbourhood, the county people won'tvisit you, so the thing comes about, and you are head over heels insettlements before you know where you are. "

"Do you find the county people very standoffish over Preston Parkway?"

"I am not in a position to judge; they could not very well call on mesituated as I am, a young--well, I will say, a marriageable--man, known to be wealthy; but I have no doubt when I am married they willcall on us. "

"Twirl them round my little finger, stuck-up lot; I should like toknow what they have to be proud of, half of them are broken--theirland is worthless. Give me good sound investments, five or six percent. For some money I am getting seven; the waterworks paysfourteen. "

The conversation suddenly dropped, they looked at each other blankly;they felt they had talked a good deal, but without approaching anynearer the subject they had met to speak on. 

"Our intention was, " said Berkins, in his most solemn and professionalmanner, "assuming that Miss Brookes is not averse from my suit, todiscuss the business side, for there is a business side to allquestions, as you, Mr. Brookes, will be the first to see. "

Mr. Brookes had begun to anger; he would have liked to have answeredthat such a discussion was altogether premature, but he yielded beforeBerkins's authoritative manner, and he replied instead that he wouldbe glad indeed to hear whatever proposal Mr. Berkins had to make. 

"I should like to say, then--I will assume that we stand as man toman, equal; you have probably more money invested than I; I am makingpossibly a larger income--you will forgive me if I am mistaken, butyou told me the other day as we went up in the train that you had hada very bad year. "

"Three thousand dead loss. It does not matter so much to me, my moneyis invested, but it would have gone hard with many a man who wasrelying on his business. Three thousand pounds dead loss!"

"How was that? I suppose the temperance societies affect you; theymust have had a great effect on the sale of liquor. "

"No one who was not in the trade would believe in the falling off inthe quantity of whisky drunk. But it was not that. "

"What then?"

"Trade generally, trade depression affects every one; the failure ofone makes bad debts for the other. It was bad debts that did it. Itwas very stupid of me, but I was worried at home: those fortune-hunters from the villas--my daughters are very young, and since theirpoor mother died they have had no one to look after them. Willy, too, is a great trial to me. Poor boy, he is most anxious to do something, but things don't go right with him; he thought he was going to do agood thing in a Bond Street shop that was converted into a company, but he lost two thousand pounds. "

"I thought he was in the distillery with you. "

"He was for a while, but he irritated me; he is so confoundedlymethodical, everything must go into his diary, he spends half the dayfilling it up. Besides after you have conducted a business so manyyears you don't want a partner; you have your own way of doing things, and don't want to be interfered with. He draws a certain income, buthe has nothing now to do with the business. We were talking ofsettlements. "

"You do not act as I should regarding the villa residences. I wouldput them down. I would not have it; but, as you say, we were talkingof settlements. I think I said we stood as man to man. In roundnumbers your fortune equals mine, mine equals yours--very well, let usact equally. I will settle five hundred a year on Miss Brookes, do youlikewise; what do you say to that?"

"Pooh, pooh! I couldn't think of such a thing. Five hundred a year!"said Mr. Brookes, and throwing his cigar into the fireplace, he walkedup the room indignantly. "I was wrong to consent to discuss thematter; to say the least, it is premature; I never heard of such athing. Five hundred a year! This is worse than the Southdown Road, many degrees worse. "

"Sir, such insinuations are most uncalled for; I must beg of you towithdraw them. I must ask you to remember you are talking to one atleast in the same position as yourself, to a man of seven thousand ayear!"

"Pooh, pooh! seven thousand a year--you are making that to-day, to-morrow you mayn't be making three. Yours isn't invested money. "

Berkins had risen from the great leather armchair, and he stoodexpressionless as a piece of office furniture, his grave face dividedby the green shade of the billiard lamp; Mr. Brookes remained with hisback--his straight fat back bound in a new frock coat that defined thesenile fatness of the haunches--turned to his guest. He stooped as ifto examine his favourite Linnell, but, in his passion, he did not seeit. The table, covered with a grey cloth, lay like an account spreadout between the moneyed men. 

"Taking your words into due consideration, I think I had better wishyou good-morning, Mr. Brookes. "

"Mr. Berkins, I would not wish you to misunderstand me, " said Mr. Brookes, whom the prospect of losing seven thousand a year hadsuddenly cooled. "My daughter will have--my children, I should say--will have my fortune divided amongst them at my death, and when wecome to go into figures you will find--"

"But in the meantime, what do you propose to settle on her?"

Mr. Brookes hesitated. He was angry at being pressed. Berkins'sdomineering tone irritated him; he would have liked to bundle him fromthe house. 

Presently he said: "I think, considering the very large sums of moneymy daughters will come into at my death, that a settlement of twohundred a year is ample. "

"Very well, in that case I shall settle the same. "

"I could not, I will not, consent to any such arrangement. The man mydaughter marries must settle on her a sum of money equivalent--"

"To what you settle on her. "

"To her position, to her expectations, " replied Mr. Brookes, growingmore and more angry. 

"But I don't know what her expectations are; you may marry again. ""I do not intend to marry again. "

"Very possibly, but I know nothing of that; business is business, andI should be a fool if I settle five hundred to your two hundred. "

Mr. Brookes stopped in his walk, and he looked at Berkins, who stood, his hand laid upon the billiard table as upon a huge balance sheet. The word business had carried the men back to their offices in London, and, quite forgetful of the subject of their bargaining, each stroveto obtain an advantage over the other. 

"Well, let us say two hundred and fifty, that is my last word. "

"Then, Mr. Brookes, I will not take your daughter. "

III

"Willy, make haste, I beg of you; I shall miss my train. It is nowexactly half-past nine. "

"You had better go without me; I cannot start now. I haven't nearlygot my things together. "

"Very well, very well. "

Willy walked from room to room tying and untying brown paper parcelsin his most methodical and most dilatory manner. His sisters stoodwatching him from the drawing-room door. 

"Did father tell you nothing when Berkins left? They had a row, hadn'tthey? It isn't off, is it?"

"I wish you would not speak so loud, Sally; you can be heard all overthe house. "

"Do tell us. "

"But I don't know. Father was very much upset. I couldn't speak to himabout my own business, I know that. "

"Well, I suppose we shall hear about it to-night. You are going tomeet Frank in Brighton, aren't you?"

"Yes; he is coming to lunch with me. "

"Don't keep him all day; send him on here, we might have a game oftennis. "

Willy did not answer; and he thought as he went upstairs, what atrouble young girls were in a house. "They think of nothing butpleasure, nothing but pleasure. "

One, two, or three more delays, and he was ready, and with his brownpaper parcel tucked under his arm he set forth. Upon the young blue ofthe sky, the fresh green of the buds melted. There were a few elms, but hardly enough to constitute an avenue. The house looked as if ithad been repeatedly altered. It ran into unexpected corners andangles; but it was far enough from the road to justify a gate lodge. The swards were interspersed with shrubs in the most modern fashion, and the sumptuous glass-houses could be seen gleaming in the sun. Itwas a hot day, and the brick wall was dappled with hanging foliage, and further out, opposite the windows of the "Stag and Hounds, " whereSteyning's ales could be obtained, the over-reaching sprays of a greatchestnut tree fell in delicate tracery on the white dust. The road ledunder the railway embankment, and looking through the arched opening, one could see the dirty town, straggling along the canal or harbour, which runs parallel with the sea. A black stain was the hull of agreat steamer lying on her side in the mud, but the tapering masts ofyachts were beautiful on the sky, and at the end of a row ofslatternly houses there were sometimes spars and rigging so strangeand bygone that they suggested Drake and the Spanish main. 

Southwick is half a suburb, half a village. In the summer months thegreen seems a living thing. It is there the children talk and tumblewhen school is over. They are told to go to the green, they areforbidden to go to the green, and it is from the green the eldest girlleads the naughty boy howling. When they are a little older they avoidthe green, it is too public then. It is to the green that elevens comefrom far and near to play their matches. All the summer through thegreen is a _fete_ of cricket. It is to the green the brass bands comeon Saturday. On the green, bat and trap is played till the balldisappears in shadow. The green is common; horses and cows are turnedout there. All profit by the green. It is on the edge of the green thehousewives come to talk in the limpid moonlight. It is on the greenthe fathers smoke when the little cottage rooms are unbearable withsummer heat. It is on the green that Mrs. Horlock walks with her pugsand the chemist's wife, to the enormous scandal of the neighbourhood. 

To the right, facing the embankment, and overlooking some fields, isthe famous Southdown road, and parallel with the green is Mr. Brookes's property--a solid five acres, with all modern improvementsand embellishments, and surrounded by a brick wall over six feet high. 

Willy hated Southwick. He thought it ugly and vulgar; he regretteddeeply that his father would make no advances, and that they were asfar from county society to-day as when they came to live in the placethirty years ago. "I knew the best people when I was at Oxford, whycan I not know them now? Here we are doing the same thing from year'send to year's end; why, with our money we ought to be hob-nobbing withthe duke. " In moments of dejection this was one of Willy's commonestthoughts. "I did my best, but I was opposed. Father doesn't care, andas for the girls, they'll take up with any man so long as he is young. Still, in spite of them I should have got on if I hadn't lost my nerveand had to give up hunting; and without hunting there is no way ofmaking acquaintances. "

Willy had relied on a hunter as Berkins had on pheasants and glass-houses. But he hated hunting, and finding he got no further than a fewbreakfasts, he had told a story of a heavy fall and sold his horses. He had then insisted on dinner-parties, and some few people more orless "county" had been collected; the pretext was politics, but Willyand politics were but a doleful mixture, and the scheme collapsed. Thefamily was not endowed with any social qualifications, Willy least ofall, and having failed to advance himself individually, and his familycollectively, he threw up the game. 

We rarely cultivate for long things in which we may not succeed in--the lady with a small waist pinches it, the man with pretty feet wearspretty shoes, and in no circumstances could Willy have shone insociety. He failed to interest the ladies he met on the King's Road, he knew this; and to sum up his deficiencies, let us say he waslacking in "go. " He was too timid to succeed with the more facileloves whom he met in the evenings on the pier. All the same he had hadhis love affair. 

Oh! men of inferior aspect and speech, often in you a true heartabides; you, and you only, are faithful to the end. 

To this unromantic person a shred of pure romance was attached. Noneknew the whole story, and none spoke of it now; but his sistersremembered that Willy had fallen in love with a girl whom he had seenplay "Sweet Anne Page. " They remembered long letters, tears and wildlooks. He had sent her diamonds; and one night he had attemptedsuicide. All was now forgotten; at least it was the past, and nothingremained but one little melody which he had heard her sing, and whichhe sometimes whistled out of tune. 

But sooner or later a man's talents, and if not his talents, histastes, appear through the mists of youth, and henceforth they leadhim. Willy's efforts in society had resulted in abortive dinner-parties, his efforts in sport had been cut short by nerves, hisefforts in dissipation had left him with a tolerably well-filledwardrobe, his efforts in love had brought him tears and a commonplacemistress, whom he kept in the necessaries of life in various lodging-houses. So his youth had passed; but in all this mediocrity a certainspirit of resistance endured. His taste for figures grew morepronounced; he surrounded himself with account books, letter books, and diaries; he took note of every penny that passed through hishands. Money-making, profitable investments--that was to be his aim inlife; and as each year closed his thoughts fixed themselves moredefinitely and entirely on it; and it was natural that it should beso, since all other outlets for the passion of life were barred tohim. His forced retirement from the distillery did not worry him. Noone could please his father in business; his uncle had once threatenedto throw his brother out of the window. Besides, the business was adeclining one, and twelve thousand pounds for a junior partnership wasnot bad. Nor did his failure to make a success of the manure agencydiscourage him; the shop was a different matter, that was his ownidea, he had thought of a fortune, and had lost two thousand pounds. It had crippled him for life. True enough, there were other things todo. Some stockbrokers make twenty per cent. On their money, not inwild speculation, but in straightforward genuine business. He might goup to London and learn the business--he had heard that it would nottake more than six months or a year to pick it up--and start on hisown account. A thousand pounds would be sufficient to begin with; orhe might buy a partnership--he could do that for three or fourthousand. Either of these courses would suit him, the latter forpreference, but a certain amount of capital would be necessary beforehe could take either, and that he hadn't got, and to all appearancesit would be very difficult to persuade his father to consent to drawanymore money out of the distillery. 

So Willy's thoughts ran as he ascended the flight of wooden steps thatled to the platform of the little country station. "The folk down herethink there is nothing in me, that I am good for nothing but walkingup and down the King's Road, but they little know what I have in myhead. I'll make them open their eyes one of these days. " The sting ofvanity is in us all. Our heads may be greed, our bellies lust, ourlimbs charity, faithfulness, truth, and goodwill, but in some crannyof our tails vanity always lies, only it may be marvellously wellhidden, as in Willy. The keenest observer would not have detected itin him, and when he came out of his habitual reserve and lamented thatbad luck had always followed him and spoke of his projects, one mighthave suspected him of greed, but hardly of vanity. Now he stoodleaning on the wooden paling, and his movements showed the back andloins in strong outline, marking the thick calves. Without taking anyheed, his eyes followed the cricket ball, which was in turn sloggedinto the horse-pond and cottage gardens. Through long familiarity, thegreen had faded from his notice, nor did the burnt-up crops on theDowns attract his thoughts, nor yet the sinuous lines of the hills. From the platform one saw the whole of Southwick. The green with itscricket match, Mrs. Horlock and her dogs, the forge, the stile, thevarious cottages, the long fields full of green wheat, and, far away, the carriages passing like insects along the road under the Downs;then on the right were the back gardens of the cottages, a largeinscription announcing the different branches of the grocery business, a few fields with cows leaning their muzzles over the rough palings, some more cottages, a barn, and then the magnificent five acres of theManor House, rich with glass-houses, and beautiful in a cloud oftrees. From the platform of the station one could see the sea, notmuch of it, but one could see the sea; the slates of the street thatwent along the water's edge did not quite bar the view. The very smallpresence of Southwick contrived to hide the sea; even when one walkedto the water's side the great mass of shingle which forms the outerbank of the canal allowed only one narrow rim of blue to appear. Theinhabitants forget they live by the sea, and when the breeze fillstheir gardens with a smell of boats and nets they think of the seawith surprise. 

Tired of the monotonous running to and fro of the cricket players, Willy walked up the platform. Arrow-like, the line lay in front ofhim, and in the tinted distance, in faint lines and flashes of lightand shade, Brighton stretched from hill to hill. Morning was still inthe sky, and the sea was deep blue between the yellow chimney-pots. Apuff of steam showed up upon a distant field, and the train came alongfrom Portslade, one of the links of the great chain of towns thatbinds the south coast. "I hope Frank won't arrive in Brighton beforeme, " thought Willy. 

They had been big boy and little boy at school. The vivacity of theCelt amused the good-natured south Saxon, and when Lord Mount Rorkecalled to see his nephew, he found him talking with Brookes. OnceWilly had been invited to spend part of his holidays at Mount Rorke. Afterwards they visited each other's rooms, and so their friendshiphad been decided, and, in spite of--or, perhaps, on account of--a verymarked difference in their characters and temperaments, gatheredstrength as it matured. Another link between the men was that Escotthad accompanied Willy to the theatre when he went to see the actresswhom he had loved so madly. Frank had heard her sing the song whichWilly whistled when his thoughts went wandering. Willy confided in noone--great sorrows cannot be and never are confided; but Frank hadseen her, and he played her songs on the piano, and that was enoughfor Willy. 

The young men had not seen each other for two years. Frank had shownsome taste for painting, and his uncle, whose heir he was, had senthim, if not to study, at least to think about art in Italy. From Italyhe had gone to Greece and Russia, he had returned home throughGermany, he had visited Holland and France. 

"Is the London train come in?" Willy asked when he arrived inBrighton. 

"Yes, sir, just come in, about five minutes, " said the man as heopened the door. Willy waited until the train had stopped dead, he gotout carefully, and, looking through the confusion of luggage andbookstall trade, he saw Escott questioning a porter and hailing acarriage. "By Jove! I shall miss him, " cried Willy, and he hastenedhis steps and broke into a sharp trot. "Frank! Frank!" he cried. 

"Oh, there you are!" cried Frank, and he lifted his stick, and calledsharply to a large black and white bull-dog that paddled about on itsbow legs, saliva dripping from its huge jaws, looking in itshideousness like something rare and exquisite from Japan. He dismissedthe porter and the carriage, which he had hailed with an arrogant waveof his stick. He was tall and he was thin. His trousers were extremelyelegant, a light cloth, black and white check, hung on his legs ingraceful lines, and he wore tiny boots with light brown cloth tops. The jacket and waistcoat were in dark brown cloth, and the odour ofthe gardenia in his buttonhole contrasted with that of the sachet-scented silk pocket-handkerchief which lay in his side pocket. Histhroat showed white and healthy in the high collar tied with a whitesilk cravat in a sailor's knot, fastened with a small diamond. Hishands were coarse and brown; he wore two rings, and a bracelet fellout of his cuff when he dropped his arm. His chest was broad and full, but the shoulders were too square; the coat was padded. There waslittle that could be called Celtic in his face or voice, the admixtureof race was manifested in that dim blue stare, at once vague and wild, which the eyes of the Celt so often exhibit. The nose was long, low, and straight, the nostrils were cleanly marked, the mouth wasuncertain, the chin was uncertain, the face was long, deadly pale, rather large, the forehead was high, receding at the temples. The hair(now he removes his hat, for the air is heavy and hot, and the sunfalls fiercely on the pavement) is pale brown, and it waves thinlyover the high forehead, so expressive of a vague and ill-consideredidealism. Frank Escott was of Saxon origin on his father's side, butthe family had been in Ireland for the last two hundred years, and hadmarried into many Irish families that had at different times receiveddirect contributions of Celtic blood. Long residence in England hadremoved all Irish accent and modes of speech; but in hook, and book, and cook he lengthened the vowel sound. Occasionally a somethingstrange grated on the ear, and declared him not of the south ofEngland, suggested the north, and insinuated Cumberland; an actorcould not reproduce these trifling differences with caricaturing them. He was absolutely good-looking, and he was too well dressed. Helaughed a good deal, and his conversation was sprinkled with cynicalremarks and cutting observations. 

"You don't seem to go in for dress now as you used to. "

"I haven't the money to spend on it; but tell me, don't you like thissuit?"

"Well, pretty well; whose is it? Did Walpole make it? Do you deal withhim still?"

"Yes, it is one of Walpole's, but I have had it turned. "

"Had it turned? I have heard of turning an overcoat, but a morningcoat! I did not know it could be done; that's what makes it look soshaky. "

"Now don't you get laughing at my coat, it looks very well indeed. Isuppose you think I am not fit to walk with you. I daresay it doesn'tlook as smart as yours, which has just come out of Walpole's shop. "

The young men had so much to say, and were so genuinely glad to seeeach other, that their thoughts hesitated and they were embarrassed. 

"I suppose you enjoyed your trip abroad very much, " Willy said drilyand punctiliously; "you were more than a year away--nearly eighteenmonths, I think. "

"About that. I enjoyed myself. I think I liked Italy best; it has beenmore painted and described than any country, and yet it is quitedifferent from what one imagines; it is grey and dim and green anddusty. It looks--how shall I put it?--it looks worn out and faded. "

"The women aren't worn out and faded if all one hears is true, " saidWilly, with a short laugh. 

"The women are right enough. I must tell you about them one of thesedays, lots of stories. There was a little Italian girl I met at Milan. It was a job to get away from her; she followed me, 'pon my word, shedid; she declared she would commit suicide. I was awfully frightened. Naples is really too shocking. I'm not a prude, but Naples is really--"

"I suppose it is the same all over the Continent. One of these days Imust go abroad and have a look round. You were a long time in Rome?"

"No, only a few weeks, but I was too taken up with the pictures tothink of anything else. The Michael Angelos are beyond anything anyone can imagine. He is the only one who can compare with the Greeks, and I don't see why one shouldn't say he is as great. Of course thereare things, the daughters of--I forget the name--the group of twowomen leaning back in each other's arms in the British Museum. But Idon't know, Michael Angelo is quite different, and I can't see thatanything can be said to be finer than the figures of Day and Night--how often I have drawn them--the figure of Night, the heavy breasts toshow that she has suckled the Day. "

"But which way are we going? I must go to Truefitt's to have my haircut. "

"You haven't forgotten the old place, I see. Do you still keep up yoursubscription?"

"I suppose mine has run out, I have been abroad so long. Nothing likea good shampoo; for a guinea a year you can have it done as often asyou like. "

"I haven't subscribed lately. There used to be such a pretty girl atthe counter. Do you remember?"

"You dog, always thinking of them, " and laughing loudly they passedthrough the shop, and it was Frank that stared most at the young lady. They read _Punch_ aloud to each other; they cracked jokes with thehairdressers; they snorted and laughed through the soap and jets of hotand cold water. Frank allowed scent and ivories to be pressed upon himby the young lady at the counter; Willy declined to be led into suchextravagances. 

As he stepped out into the shine of the street, and took step from hisfriend, he said: "By George! it makes me feel young again. It is justlike old times. "

"Yes, it does make one feel jollier, doesn't it?"

"How jolly it is here; not too warm, just nice. What shall we do? Sitdown on that bench in front of the pier?"

"I'm agreeable. How jolly it is. Just look at those boats! One couldmake a picture of that. "

Over the sea hung a white veil of mist, but the sun glowed through andmelted into it, and harmonised it with the water green andtranslucent. The sea sucked about the shingle with little suddensighs; the sails of the pleasure boat waved in the fairy-like depths, and all the little brown fishing-boats lay becalmed, heavingtremulously like tired butterflies upon the breast of a blue flower. The nursemaids lay together on the shingle, and their novels slippeddown the stones to their feet. The children played with the tide andthe sand. There were crowds of women--Jewesses with loud dresses: andthe strange world of bath chairs! Ladies so old that they seem certainto fall to pieces when they are taken out; ladies with chestnut curlssoft and fresh--why were they in bath chairs? General officers, mounted on white Arabs; acrobats and songs. 

The young men sat facing the sea. Frank called, "Triss, Triss. Splendid dog that is. If I were to let him he would guzzle the otherdog in about two minutes. "

"He looks a ferocious brute. "

"You don't like dogs? You couldn't see a handsomer dog than that;unfortunately, he's the wrong colour; if he were brindle or white, he'd take a first prize. Come here, you brute. "

Amid some little excitement and anxious looks, Triss came up, growlingand showing his teeth. Frank explained that it was only his manner. Frank took the paw that was extended to him, but Triss's friendlinessseemed somewhat dubious, for he still further uncovered his formidablefangs. 

"I really don't care to sit here with that ferocious brute. "

"I assure you he won't bite, it is only his manner. Isn't it, Triss?Kiss me, kiss me at once, " and amid many growls of almost subterraneanawfulness, the dog licked his master's face. 

"I wish you would tie him up--to oblige me. "

Highly pleased at the fear and wonder his dog had struck in the gaudyJewesses and the shaky generals, Frank threatened and finally forcedthe dog to lie down. He continued to expatiate on the dog's points--the number of wrinkles, the bandiness of the legs, etc. Theconversation dropped in heat and glare, and the picturesqueness of thesea. 

"How horribly out of tune you do whistle--you go into a different key;this is more like it. "

"Yes, how sweetly she used to sing it. Do you remember the night wewent to see her, the last time the piece was played? I threw her abouquet, a splendid one it was, too, cost me three guineas in CoventGarden. We went afterwards and had supper at Scott's in the Haymarket. How jolly those days were. I don't seem to be able to enjoy myself nowas I used to then. "

"What has become of her? One never hears of her. "

"She died soon after. "

"I am sorry I spoke of her; I didn't know. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter. " Then after a long silence, Willy said: "Ihear your engagement is broken off. "

"Yes. " Frank drew a long and expressive breath, and, with melodramaticmovements of the shoulders, he sighed. "I have not seen you since. Oh, I had terrible scenes with the father. They had a house up the river. I followed them, and put up at the Angler's Hotel. She told her fatherthat I must be allowed to come to the house, and he had to give way. You don't know the river? Well, it is wonderful to awake at Maidenheadin the morning and hear the sparrows twittering in a piece of tangledvine; to see that great piece of water flowing so mildly in all thepretty summer weather. We used to live in flannels, and spent longafternoons together in the boat--we had such a spiffing boat, as lightand as clean in the water as a fish--and we used to linger in thebulrushes, and come back when the moon was rising with our hands fullof flowers. "

"But why was it broken off?"

"My uncle, old Mount Rorke, wants me to marry an heiress, and I havenothing except what he allows me, or scarcely anything. She used towear a broad-brimmed straw hat, and the shadow fell over her face. Imade a lot of sketches. I must show them to you one of these days whenyou come up to town, and I filled an album with verses. I used towrite them at night. My window was right in front of the river, andthe moon used to sail past, and in the morning I used to read her thepoems I made overnight beneath the branches of the cedar, where weused to run the boat. But the father was a brute. I got the best ofhim once though. It was a private view day at the Academy, and he hadforbidden Nellie to speak to me--even to notice me. I went straight upto her, and took her away under his very nose before he could stop us. We walked about all day. Oh! he was mad. "

"If she was willing to brave her father in that way, why was yourengagement broken off?"

"My uncle was so very difficult to deal with. I didn't see her forsome time. " Frank did not say--perhaps, he did not know--that hisengagement had been broken off through his own instability andweakness of character. The young lady, whom he called Nellie, had toldhim she would wait if he would elect a profession and work for a placein it. But Frank had not been able to forego late hours andrestaurants, and Nellie had married some one who could. "You know Iconverted her. Doesn't her father hate me for that! We used to go tohigh mass at the oratory. I explained to her the whole of the Catholicreligion. "

"But I thought you didn't believe in it yourself?"

"I am talking of some time ago; besides, a woman, it isn't quite thesame thing; and if I have saved her soul! I don't know if I told youthat I was writing a novel; I don't think I did. The idea of it isthis: A young man has loved three women. The first charmed him by herexceeding beauty; he lives with her for a time. The second captivateshim, or rather holds him through his senses; his love for her ismerely a sensuality; then he falls in love with a fair young girl aspure as falling snow of any stain in deed or in thought; he is engagedto marry her--or, I don't know, I haven't made up my mind on thatpoint, perhaps it would be better if he did marry her. Well, the womanwhom he has loved with a merely sensual passion comes back, and torevenge herself she tries to tempt the good girl to go wrong; shetalks to her of men and pleasures; this is a good idea, I think, for Ifeel sure it is women far more than men who lead women astray. Thenthe first woman whom he has loved for her beauty merely, comes alongand continues the diabolical work of the first, by suggesting--I don'tknow, anything--that the young girl should go in for dress; the youngman finds out the scheme, and to save the girl he murders her, he isthrown into prison, he is tried, and in the crowded Court he makes agreat speech--he tells how he murdered her to save her from sin, hetells the judge that on the Judgment Day a pure white soul will pleadfor him. What an opportunity for a piece of splendid writing! TheCourt would be filled with fashionable women, that weep and sob, theycannot contain themselves, the judge would wish to stop the young man, but he cannot. What a splendid scene to describe! And the young mangoes to execution confident, and assured that he has done well. Whatdo you think of it?"

"It is really difficult for me to say; I never like giving an opinionon a subject I don't understand. "

"I know; but what do you think?"

Fortunately for Willy's peace, the conversation was at this momentviolently interrupted by Triss. He rushed forth, and Frank was only intime to prevent a pitched battle. He returned leading the dog by hissilk handkerchief, amid the murmur of nurse-maids and Jewesses. 

"That's the worst of him; he never can see a big dog without wantingto go for him. Down, sir, down--I won't have you growl at me. "

"I can't see what pleasure you can find in a brute like that. "

"I assure you he's very good-tempered; he has a habit of growling, buthe does not mean anything by it. What were we talking about?"

"I think we were talking about the ladies. Have you seen anything nicelately? What's the present Mrs. Escott like, dark or fair?"

"There isn't one, I assure you. I met rather a nice woman at myuncle's, about two months ago, a Lady Seely. I don't know that youwould call her a pretty woman; rather a turned-up nose, a pinched-inwaist, beautiful shoulders. Hair of a golden tinge, diamonds, anddresses covered with beads. She flirted a great deal. We talked aboutlove, and we laughed at husbands, and she asked me to come and see herin rather a pointed way. It is rather difficult to explain thesethings, but I think that if I were to go in for her--"

"That you would pull it off?"

The young men laughed loudly, and then Frank said: "But somehow Idon't much care about her. I met such a pretty girl the other day atthe theatre. There were no stalls, and as I wanted to see the piecevery much, I went into the dress circle. There was only one seat inthe back row. I struggled past a lot of people, dropped into my place, and watched the piece without troubling myself to see who was sittingnext to me. It was not until the _entr'acte_ that I looked round. Ifelt my neighbour's eyes were fixed upon me. She was one of theprettiest girls you ever saw in your life--a blonde face, pale brownhair, and such wonderful teeth--her laughter, I assure you, wasbeautiful. I asked her what she thought of the piece. She looked awayand didn't answer. It was rather a slap in the face for me, but I amnot easily done. I immediately said: 'I should have apologised beforefor the way I inconvenienced you in crushing into my seat, but, really, the place is so narrow that you don't know how to get by. 'This rather stumped her, she was obliged to say something. The girl onthe other side (not half a bad looking girl, short brown curly hair, rather a roguish face) was the most civil at first. She wasn't aspretty as the one next to me, but she spoke the more willingly; theone next to me tried to prevent her. However, I got on with them, onething led to another, and when the piece was over, I fetched theirhats and coats and we walked a little way up the street together. Itried to get them to come to supper; they couldn't do that, for theyhad to be in at a certain time, so we went to Gatti's and had somecoffee. I couldn't make out for a long time what they were; they wereevidently not prostitutes, and they did not seem to me to be quiteladies. What do you think they were?"

"I haven't an idea--actresses?"

"No. They wouldn't tell me for a long time. I got it out of them atlast; they're at the bar in the Gaiety Restaurant. "

"Bar girls?"

"Yes. "

"Some of those bar girls are very pretty; rather dangerous, though, Ishould think. "

"They seemed to me to be very nice girls; you would be surprised ifyou heard them talk. I assure you the one that sat next to me spokejust like a lady. You know in these hard times people must dosomething. Lots of ladies have to buckle to and work for their bread. "

Frank lapsed into silence. Willy sat apparently watching the blue andgreen spectacle of the sea. Frank knew that it interested him not theleast, and he wondered if his friend had heard what he had beensaying. Triss, seeing that smelling and fighting were equally vainendeavours, had laid himself out in the sun, and he returned hismaster's caresses by deep growls. One more menacing than the otherswoke Willy from his meditation, and he said: "What's the time? Itought to be getting on to lunch time. "

"I daresay it is. "

"Where shall we go? Do you know of a good place? What about thatrestaurant opposite the pier?"

"Well, " said Willy, with a short, abrupt laugh, "the fact is, I mustlunch at my office; but I shall be very glad if you will come. "

"I didn't know you had an office--an office for what?"

"I started an agency at the beginning of the year for artificialmanure, but I think I shall drop it. I am arranging to go on the StockExchange. The difficulty is whether I shall be able to get my fatherto allow me to take enough money out of the business. "

"What business?"

"The distillery. "

"Oh, but what about this office? Why are you obliged to lunch at youroffice? Are you expecting customers? I know nothing about that sort ofthing. "

"No, I wish I were. The fact is, my missis is staying in Brighton fora few weeks. The child has been ailing a good deal lately, and thedoctor ordered change of air. "

"Child! Missis! I know nothing of this. "

"A very nice woman, I think you'll like her. She is devoted to me. We've been together now two years or more, I can't say exactly, Ishould have to refer to my diary. "

"But the child?"

"The child isn't mine. She had the child before I knew her. "

"And what is the matter with it?"

"Curvature of the spine. The doctor says she will outgrow it. Cissywill be quite strong and healthy although she may never have what youwould call a good figure. But there is a matter on which I want tospeak to you. The fact is, I am going to be married. "

"To whom?"

"To the lady whom you will see at lunch, Cissy's mother. "

Frank said: "If you really love her I have nothing to say against it. "Willy did not answer. Frank waited for an answer and then broke thesilence: "But do you love her?"

"Yes, I am very fond of her; she is a very good sort. "

Frank was implacable. "Do you love her like the other one?" Thequestion wounded, but Frank was absorbed in his own specialsentimentalities. 

"I was younger then, it is not the same; I am getting old. How manyyears older am I than you--seven, I think? You are three-and-twenty, Iam thirty. How time flies!"

"Yes, I am three-and-twenty--you don't look thirty. "

"I feel it, though; few fellows have had so much trouble as I have. Your life has been all pleasure. "

"If a man really loves a woman he is always right to marry her. Whyshould we suppose that a woman may not reform--that true love may notraise her? I was talking to a novelist the other day; he told methestory of a book he is writing. It is about a woman who leaves thehusband she has never loved for the man she adores; she goes away withhim, he marries her, and she sinks lower and lower, until she becomesa common prostitute. "

"You are quite mistaken. I am sure that when you see the missis--"

"My dear fellow, pray do not misunderstand me. I would not for worlds. I am only telling you about a book, if you will only listen. I toldhim that I thought the story would be ten times as interesting if, instead of being degraded, the woman were raised by the love of theman who took her away from her husband. He made the husband asnivelling little creature, and the lover good-looking--that's the oldgame. I would have made the lover insignificant and the husband good-looking. Nevertheless she loved the lover better. I know of nothingmore noble than for a man to marry the woman he loves, and to raiseher by the force of his love; he could teach her, instruct her. Nelliewill never forget me. I gave her a religion, I taught her andexplained to her the whole of the Catholic faith--"

"I hope you won't try to convert my sisters. "

"You do pull me up so! Don't you understand that I was very youngthen? I was only twenty, not much more; besides, I was engaged toNellie. "

"Come back to what we were talking about. "

"Well, I have said that if you love her I believe you are quite rightto marry her. But do you love her?"

"Yes, I do; how many times more do you want me to say I do?"

"Of _course_ if you are going to be rude--"

"No--you understand what I mean, don't you? I am very fond of themissis; if I weren't I shouldn't marry, that goes without saying, butone likes to have things settled. I have been with her now more thantwoyears. I've thought it out. There's nothing like having thingssettled. I'm sure I'm right. "

The young men looked at each other in silence--Frank quite at a loss;he could nowise enter into the feelings of a man whom an undue senseof order and regularity compelled to marry his mistress, as it did towaste half his life in copying letters and making entries in a diary. 

"Then why did you consult me?" he said, for he came to the pointsharply when his brain was not muddled with sentiment. 

"I am not heir to an entailed estate, like you. "

"I am not heir to an entailed estate. Mount Rorke might marry to-morrow. "

"He is not likely to do that. It is an understood thing that you areheir. My father might cut me off with a shilling if he were to hear Ihad married without his consent, and I should be left with the fewhundreds which I draw out of the distillery, a poor man all my life. "

"If that is so, why marry? You are not in love with her--at least notwhat I should call being in love. "

"But can't you understand--"

"No, I can't, unless you mean that you are down with marriage fever. "

"I have considered the matter carefully, and am convinced I am right, "he answered, looking at Frank as if he would say, but didn't dare, "don't let's talk about it any more, it only distresses me. " "Themarriage must be kept a secret. If my father were to hear of it Ishould be ruined, whereas if Mary will consent to go on living as weare living now, one of these days she will be a rich woman. I daresaymy share of his money will come to at least fifteen hundred a year, and then I shall be able to recompense her for the years she haswaited for it. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. The only thing I don't see is how I am to influence her. You've no doubt told her and fully explained to her what theconsequences would be if you were to publish the banns. "

"I have, but it would strengthen my hand if you were to tell her allyou know of my father. Tell her that he is very obstinate, pig-headed, and would certainly cut me off; tell her that he is sixty-six, that itis a hundred to one against his living till he is eighty, even if hedid there would be only fourteen years to wait for fifteen hundred ayear; tell her if she tells that I have married her it is just as ifshe threw fifteen hundred a year out of the window. "

"And when shall I tell her all this?"

"Now. We are going to have lunch at my offices, she'll be there. We'lltalk the matter over after lunch. "

"Very well, let's start. Come along, Triss. "

With Triss tugging dangerously at the silk handkerchief whenever hesaw a likely pair of legs or a dog that he fancied, the young mensauntered up West Street. 

"But tell me: how do you manage to have so many people to lunch inyour office; your premises must be pretty extensive?"

"I have the whole house; I was obliged to take it. I couldn't getanother place that would suit me, and I thought I should be able tolet the upper part; I did have a tenant for a little while, but he wasobliged to leave. I believe I am the unluckiest fellow alive. Here'sthe place. "

"Agency for Artificial Manure" was printed over the door. Willy askedthe office-boy if there were any letters, and they went upstairs. Thewindows of the front room were in view of a church spire, andoverlooked a little shadowy cemetery; and at one window Cissy sat, thelittle crutches by her side, watching the children playing amid thetombs. 

"Where's your mother, Cissy?"

"In the back room cooking herrings, uncle. "

Mrs. Brookes was a homely, honest-eyed woman, with dingy yellow hair. 

"Let me introduce you. This is my friend, Mr. Escott, you have oftenheard me speak of him. "

"You must excuse my shaking hands with you, sir, I have been cooking. "

"She is an excellent cook, too. Just you wait and see. What have wegot?"

"Some herrings and a piece of steak. "

"Is that good enough for you?"

"I love herrings. "

"I am glad of that, these are quite fresh; they were caught thismorning. You must excuse me, I must go back; they want a deal ofattending to. " Presently she appeared with a tray and a beer jug. Willy called to the office-boy. "We have no cheese, " said Mrs. Brookes. 

Cissy begged to be allowed to fetch the cheese and beer. 

"No, dear, I am afraid you aren't well enough. "

"Yes, I am, uncle; give me a shilling, and let me go with Billy. "Then, breaking off with the unexpected garrulity of children, shecontinued: "I am getting quite strong now; I was down on the beachthis morning, and watched the little boys and girls building mounds. When I am quite well, uncle, won't you buy me a spade and bucket, andmayn't I build sand mounds, too?"

"We'll see when the time comes. "

"Well, let me go with Billy and fetch the cheese. "

"No, you can't go now, dear, there are too many people about; this isnot like London. "

Cissy had the long sad face of cripples, but beautiful shining curlshung thickly, hiding the crookedness of the shoulders. She was nineyears old, and was just beginning to awake to a sense of theimportance of her affliction. 

After lunch she was sent downstairs to the office-boy. Willy satrubbing his hands slowly and methodically. After some hesitation heintroduced the subject they had come to speak on. "Mr. Escott willtell you, Mary, how important it is that our marriage should be keptsecret; he will tell you how the slightest suspicion of it would ruinmy prospects. " He then spoke of his position in the county, and thenecessity of sustaining it. Frank thought this rather bad taste; buthe assured Mrs. Brookes, with much Celtic gesticulation, that hermarriage must be kept a secret till her father-in-law's death. Theyoung men and Mrs. Brookes remained talking till the rays trailedamong the green grass of the graves, and the blue roofs that descendedinto the valley, and clung about the sides of the opposite hill. Ithad been arranged that Willy and Mrs. Brookes should go to London to-morrow to be married. Frank was convinced that she would not break herpromise, and he hoped they would be very happy. She had only raisedone objection. She had said: "What is the use of my being married if Ishall have to live with him as his mistress?"

"A great deal of good. Your position will be secured. Willy will notbe able to leave you, even if he felt inclined, and you will know thatonly one life, that of an old man, stands between you and fifteenhundred a year. "

"I want no assurance that my dear Willy will not leave me, " she said, going over and putting her arms about him; "but as you like. I shallnever say anything about the marriage till Willy tells me. I hope Ishall never do anything but what he tells me. " And she went over andsat on his knees. 

"You are a dear old thing, " he said, squeezing and planting a vigorouskiss on her neck. 

Frank's eyes filled with hot tears, his heart seemed like bursting. "What a beautiful thing love is!" he said to himself, and the worldmelted away from him in the happiness he drew from the contemplationof these who were about to bind themselves together for life. 

"Be most careful what you say to my sisters. I would not trust them. The temptation to get me cut out of everything might--I ought not tosay that, but one never knows. I dare say no such accident couldhappen to any one else, but if I leave the smallest thing to chance Iam sure to come to grief. They will question you. They will want toknow what we did all day. "

"I'll say we sat on the beach. ""That's it. Good-bye. I shall be home the day after to-morrow. "

IV

When the young ladies at the Manor House did not get their dressesfrom London, a dressmaker came from Brighton to help them, and alltogether they sat sewing and chattering in the work-room. Maggie wouldtake a bow or a flower, and moving it quickly, guided by the instinctof a bird building its nest, would find the place where it decoratedthe hat or bonnet best. Neither Sally nor Grace could do this, norcould they drape a skirt or fit a bodice, but they could work well andenjoy their work. But what they enjoyed more was the opportunity theseworking days afforded for gossip. Mrs. Wood had the Brighton scandalat her tongue's tip, and what she would not tell, her niece told themwhen her aunt left the room. Secrecy was enjoined, but sometimes theyforgot, and in Mrs. Wood's presence alluded too pointedly to storiesthat had not yet found their way beyond the precincts of the servants'hall, and then the dressmaker raised her mild eyes, and looked throughlarge spectacles at Susan, who sat biting her lips. Susan told theyoung ladies of her love affairs; they told Susan of theirs; and thedifferent codes of etiquette gave added zest to the anecdotes, inthemselves interesting. The story of the young man who had said, "I amafraid that parcel is too heavy for you, miss, " and had been promiseda walk in the twilight on the cliff, evoked visions of liberty, andthe story of the officer at the Henfield ball, with whom Sally haddiscovered a room that none knew of, did not fail to impress thelittle dressmaker. They talked a great deal about Frank. His face andmanner called up the name, and after a few hesitations they used hisChristian name as they did when he came to see them years ago. 

"He is a very good fellow--I don't say he isn't. No one could say hewasn't nice-looking, but somehow he doesn't make you feel--you know, right down, you know, through and through. "

"Electricity, " said Maggie, with a low, subtle laugh, and her threadcracked through the straw of the hat. 

"Yes, " cried Sally boisterously. "Electricity, I never heard it calledthat before; but it isn't a bad name for it; it is like electricity. When a man looks at you--you know, in a peculiar way, it goes rightdown your back from the very crown of your head. "

"No, not down my back; I feel it down my chest, just like forkedlightning. Isn't it horrid? You know that it is coming and you can'thelp it. Some men fix their eyes on you. "

"It is just when you meet a man's eyes--a man you like, but haven'tseen much of. "

"I don't think liking has anything to do with it. I hate it; don'tyou?"

"No, I don't know that I do. I can't see anything so disagreeable asthat in it. 'Tis rather a shock, a sort of pang. "

Mrs. Wood raised her mild face and looked surprised through her thickspectacles; the merry niece bit her lips, and strove to stay herlaughter. Then Maggie said: "Sue, have you ever felt electricity?"

"Oh, miss! I don't think I understand, " and she glanced at her auntover the hem she was running. 

"Now, come, tell the truth. You mean to say you never feltelectricity?"

"I don't think I ever did, miss. "

"I don't believe you. Not when that nice young man you were telling usabout looked at you? Come, now, tell the truth. "

"Well, miss, I don't know--I thought it was very revolting. "

Mrs. Wood said nothing; with her hand in suspended gesture and herspectacles a-glimmer with round surprise, she sat looking at MissMaggie. Her reveries, however, were soon cut short, for Sally not onlyasked her if she had ever experienced the doubtful pleasure ofelectricity, but advised her when she returned home to try if herhusband's looks could thrill her. 

"I don't think the conversation at all nice, " said Grace, who had upto the present taken no part either by looks, or words, or laughter. 

"Who cares what you think? You used to be fond enough of sitting outdances with him. You mean to say he never gave you electricity?"

"No, never. "

"Then I hope Berkins will, " said Sally, with a coarse laugh. 

The association of Berkins with electricity proved so generallyludicrous that Mrs. Wood, conscious of the respect she owed MissBrookes, pretended to look for her handkerchief, and it was for amoment doubtful if the spectacles would preserve their gravity. Tearsstarted to Grace's eyes, and she bent over her work to hide them fromher sisters, which was unnecessary, for Maggie and Sally were absorbedin past experiences. 

"What about Frank?" Sally asked, and Susan looked up curious to hearMaggie's answer. 

"Well, " said Maggie, staring at the window, "Frank is very good-looking, but I don't think that he electrifies one... He did once. "

"And when was that?" said Sally. 

"You remember the first time he came to stay here? Willy brought himdown from London. We went to bed early and left them playingbilliards; I lay awake waiting to hear them come up the stairs, and ashe passed my room Frank stopped and I thought he was coming in. I feltit all down my spine, but never afterwards. You see, I didn't know himmuch then. "

"And Jimmy?"

"I never liked Jimmy. "

"If you don't like him why trouble about him?" Sally replied in herusually defiant manner. "You always take good care to trouble about mymen. You tried all you could to get Jimmy away from me, yet youpretend to father that you never flirted with him. "

"I didn't flirt with him; once a young man looks at you you think noone must speak to him but yourself. If young Meason asks me to dancewith him, I cannot refuse; I am not going to make myself ridiculousthough you were to look all the daggers in the world at me, but as forflirting with him, I never cared enough about him. "

"And what about meeting him in London?"

Maggie coloured a little, and repudiated the accusation. 

"You told him you were going to London, and you asked him if he weregoing, and what he would be doing that day. I don't know what more youcould say. "

"I never said any such thing. "

"I have it from his own lips. "

"It isn't true; I will ask him to your face if he ever said such athing; I will tell father that. "

"Well, there's no use in quarrelling, " said Grace, "and I wouldn'tadvise you to worry father about it. You know he can't stand the nameof Meason. It seems to me that neither of you care much whom you flirtwith, you like so many young men. "

"It is better to like a dozen young men than one old one. "

"I shan't marry Mr. Berkins, no matter what you say. However, youcan't accuse me of interfering in your affairs. "

"No, _you_ don't. "

"No more do I. If you want Frank, take him, only don't come sneakingafter Charley. I don't want Frank; I don't care twopence about him. Ifyou want to see it out with him, I shan't interfere; only don't youcome interfering with me and Jimmy, or Charley either. "

Maggie did not like the idea of Sally getting two to her one. Shewould have liked to have introduced a proviso about Alfred, but thetitle Mount Rorke slipped between her thoughts, and she refrained. Sheknew the present treaty secured her immunity from Sally only so longas the affections and attentions of Jimmy and Charley showed no signsof declension, and she was aware that her promise would only hold goodso long as Frank interested and Charley remained away in London. 

The canary that had been twittering, now burst forth into long andprolonged shrillings. Grace folded up her work along her knees; andholding it in her hand like a roll of music, she said that they wouldnever hear the end of this tennis party. 

"I don't see why father should ever know anything about it, he hastaken that horrid old Joseph with him, he never says more than a fewwords to the footman, and he never sees the cook or housemaid. We haveall to-morrow to get the house straight. "

"It is not certain that he is going to stay the night in London. "

"Yes it is. Don't fidget. Have you got the wine out? We should have adozen of champagne. Mind you make no mistake; '80, that is the wineyou must get. Jimmy is most particular what he drinks, and Alfred hasthe most frightful headaches if he drinks anything but the very best. I hope he'll find the '80 all right. "

"That's father's favourite wine; you mean to say that he won't missit? Then the port and Burgundy and cherry brandy--I won't take theresponsibility. "

"Nobody asked you. All you have to do is to return the keys to Maggiethat you took from her. "

"I don't think father will be as angry as you think, Grace; besidesthere's no drawing back now the invitations are out. I think it wouldbe better to tell him that we had a few friends in for tennis. Weneedn't tell him who was there--we will suppress the name of theSouthdown Road people; and we can take the bottles out from the back. The wine won't be missed for a long time, and we will invent somebetter excuse before then. We will say that two bottles were drunk atthis party and three at that; and further than that we can'tremember. "

"And what about the peaches? There are only a few ripe, and Sally saysshe'll want them all. Father has been looking forward to them forweeks and weeks. "

"He'll have to do without them; if he wants peaches, he had betterbring some down from Covent Garden. "

A knock was heard at the door. "Please Miss, Mr. Escott is in thedrawing-room. "

"Tell him I will be downstairs in a moment, " cried Maggie. 

"Now off you go, my Lady Mount Rorke, " said Sally, who had alreadybegun to regret her promises, and to consider if she had not betterbreak them. 

Maggie asked him what train he came down by, then she called the dog;"Come here, my beautiful boy, come and kiss me. " The bull-dog growledand wagged his tail. 

"He won't hurt you; 'tis only his way of talking. "

Maggie laughed, and they walked out on the green sward. "I supposeyou've been to a great many balls this season?"

"I don't know that I have; a few, perhaps. I am glad to get away fromtown. I like no place like this. I don't know if it is the place orthe associations. "

"You are used to much finer places. I can fancy Mount Rorke--the lakesand the mountains; somehow I think I can see it. Isn't it strange, there are certain things and places you can realise so much betterthan others, and for no very understandable reason?"

"Yes, that is so, " said Frank, obviously pleased by the remark. Then, after a pause, "Mount Rorke is a pretty place, and I don't think Icould live long away from it. After a time I always find myselfsighing for the bleakness and barrenness of the West. The hedgerows ofEngland are pretty enough; but I hate the brick buildings. "

"What kind of buildings do you have in Ireland?"

"Everything is built of grey stone, a cold grey tint on a backgroundof green pasture lands and blue mountains. I daresay you wouldn't likeit. It would recall nothing to you, but when I think of it, much lesssee it, I re-live my childhood all over again. I am a great person forold times. That is the reason I like coming down here. I knew you allso long ago; how well I can remember you--three dark little things. You used to sit on my knee. "

"And do you find nothing nice in the present?"

"Of course I do; it is nice to walk in the garden with you, but itseems to me you have all moved away from me a little. Grace isengaged, you are engaged--"

"Who said I was engaged?"

"Ha, ha, you see I hear everything. What is his name--Alfred?"

"I suppose Sally told you. "

"I won't tell you who told me, I never betray secrets. You had adesperate flirtation two years ago, and the man had to go away, andyou promised to wait for him. "

"I don't mind telling you--I did meet a man about two years ago whom Irather liked; I used to see a great deal of him at tennis parties andballs; he used to ask me to marry him. He wanted me to engage myselfto him, and I told him it would be much better to wait and see whatfather would say. "

"And what did your father say?"

"Father, he never knew anything about it. You may as well tell me, Iknow it was Sally. I suppose she told you I was very much in love withhim?"

"She said, at least, the person who told me said, that you would nevercare for any one else. "

"So you've been talking about me though you promised you wouldn't talkany more, " Maggie said to herself, "All right, my lady--very well, weshall see. "

"Grace is waving her parasol to us. Lunch must be ready. "

Maggie and Grace had calculated that if they could limit the champagneto half a dozen bottles they would be able to hide the deficit fromtheir father's scrutiny; but the servants seemed to be always fillingthe glasses of the Southdown Road people, and lunch was not half overwhen they heard the fourth bottle go pop. Maggie looked at Sallyacross the pile of peaches, but Sally had no ears for the report, onlyfor Jimmy's voice. Her head wagged as she talked, and Maggie wonderedif they were exchanging napkins or rings beneath the table. 

At that moment the servant handed a letter on a salver to Maggie, saying, "From Mrs. Horlock; the servant is waiting an answer, miss. "Grace trembled. Sally whispered to Jimmy, "What can she want?" In areassuring voice Maggie said, "She has heard we are having a fewpeople in to tennis, and she wants to know if she may send us round ayoung man; she will come round herself with the General some timeduring the afternoon. " At the mention of a young man many eyesgleamed, and Sally said, "You had better go at once and write a noteand say that we shall be delighted. " When they went into the verandahcoffee was handed round, and Maggie, as the gentlemen lit theircigarettes, said to Grace, "Nothing could have happened better; fatheris sure to hear of this, we couldn't have kept it from him: now we cansay Mrs. Horlock was our chaperon. None will know when she came, orwhen she went away. " Then turning to her company, Maggie said, "Nowgentlemen, as soon as you have finished your cigarettes we willbegin. "

Sally not only insisted on playing, but on playing with Jimmy; andGrace, who was striving to struggle into the position of Miss Brookes, could do nothing but set the girl in the florid dress and the man whostood next to her to play against them. The garden seemed to absorbthe girls, but Maggie, catching sight of Mrs. Horlock, went to meether. 

Mrs. Horlock was sixty, but her figure was like a girl's. She led ablind pug in a complicated leading apparatus, and several other pugsin various stages of fat and decrepitude followed her. It was not longbefore she raised a discussion on hydrophobia, defending the diseasefrom all the charges of horror and contagion that had been urgedagainst it, narrating vehemently how a mad dog had died in her armslicking her hands and face, and appealing to the General, whodenounced muzzling; but when the mangy mastiff came near him hewhispered to Frank, "I wish they were all shot. You must come and seeus; you must come and see us; I have a pretty little place in theSouthdown Road (dreadful place to mention here, they don't like it; ofcourse the people there aren't all quite the thing, but what are youto do, you know?). Lunch at two, dinner at eight--old Indians, youknow. I have everything I want. Too many animals, perhaps, but thatcan't be helped. "

"Do you live here all the year?"

"Yes, all the year round. We don't go away much. We have everythinghere--coach-houses, horses, you'll see when you come. The only thing Iwant is a little occupation, a little something to bring me out, youknow. I read the _Morning Post_ every morning, and I have the _StJames's_ in the evening; but then there is the middle of the day, " and, with laughter full of genial kindness and goodwill, the Generalrepeated this phrase: "I want a little something to bring me out, youknow. "

Forty years of Indian sun! Balls in the Government House in Calcutta!Viceroys, tigers, horse-racing, elephants, jealousies, flirtations, deaths, all now forgotten, and if not forgotten, at rest; and now gladto watch life unfolding itself again in an English village, this oldcouple sat in the calm sunlight of an English garden, relics ofanother generation, emblems of an England drawing to a close. 

At five o'clock Grace was busy at the tea-table; and very hot andmoist Sally threw herself into a cane chair. Maggie, who had suddenlyappeared upon the scene, arranged some fresh sets in which she andFrank did not take part--she having promised to walk with him; andthey went towards the shade of the sycamores. She had neglected himnearly the whole day, and he was vexed with her. But she excusedherself volubly, accusing Sally of indifference to all things excepther own pleasures, and impressed upon him that it was her duty to showsome politeness to Mrs. Horlock's friend. 

"Sally would play tennis, she played two sets, three if I am notmistaken, and she never left Jimmy's side. She took no notice of anyone; for that reason I hate having people to the house when she ishere; everything devolves upon Grace and me. It is really too bad. Father wouldn't mind our giving this party at all, if it weren't forhim. If he hears that he was here, well, I don't know what willhappen. "

"He doesn't look quite a gentleman, does he? He is a ship's mate, isn't he?"

"Yes, but it isn't that; father cannot bear those Southdown Roadpeople. A lot of young men live there--quite as good as ourselves, nodoubt, but they are all so poor, and father thinks of nothing butmoney. And Sally meets them. When she goes out driving in the cart shepicks them up, and they go off together. Father doesn't know any ofthem, and he says they laugh at him when he goes to the station in themorning. 'Tisn't true, it is only his imagination; but I can quitewell understand his feelings. You know Sally won't give way inanything. Once she ran into the kitchen, and told cook to put back thedinner, so that she might run down the slonk to finish herconversation with him. Of course father was mad at that, coming hometired from the City, and finding that his dinner had been put back. You saw the way they went on at lunch, sitting close together. "

"We were all sitting close together. "

"Yes, but not like they were. And all that nonsense with their napkinsunder the table. If you didn't see it, so much the better. I thoughteverybody saw it. I wish Sally wouldn't do it. Father, as you know, has a lot of money to leave, and if she did really go too far, I fearhe would cut her off. "

"But she never would go too far. "

"No, I don't think so; I am sure Sally wouldn't do anything that wasreally wrong, but she is very imprudent. "

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know that I ought to tell you. "

"I promise not to tell any one--you know you can trust me. "

"Well, she brings people up to her room. "

"You don't mean to her bedroom?"

"She says you can't call it a bedroom, but she sleeps there for allthat. She covers up the bed and makes it look like a couch; she keepsbirds and dogs there; Flossie had her puppies there. That's her room, "said Maggie, lifting one of the boughs. "I shouldn't be surprised ifJimmy were there with her now. "

The foliage glinted in the sunset, and as Maggie stood pointing, stillholding the bough, the picture flashed upon Frank, and he said: "Oh, how pretty you are now! How I should like to paint you!" And a momentafter he said, interested, solely interested in sentimental affection, "Sally's ideas of love seem to me very funny; if she really lovesMeason, why doesn't she marry him?"

"He has no money, and father would never hear of it. "

"Never hear of it! If I loved a girl, nothing in the world wouldprevent my marrying her. "

"I wonder if that's true, " said Maggie, and she let go the bough andstood facing him, her hands clasped behind her back. 

"Of course it is. What is life for if it isn't to get the woman welove?"

"It is nice to hear you say so; but I am afraid very few young menthink like you nowadays. One woman is the same as another to them. "

"I cannot understand any one thinking so. If it were so, the wholecharm would be lost. "

So the young people talked, and lost in the charm of each thrillingminute, they walked through the shadows and darkening leaves. The softgarden echoed with the sound of a girl's voice crying, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, " and the white dresses flew over the sward, and the young menran after them and caught them. They were playing hide and seek. Excited beyond endurance, Triss barked loudly, and forms were seenflying precipitately. 

"Tie him up to this tree, " said Maggie. 

"No, no, better take him to the house, " said Frank; "it would make himsavage to tie him up. "

When the ninth bottle of champagne had been opened, and the suppertable was noisy, Frank whispered to Maggie, "Did you ever see_Macbeth_?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Because I can't help thinking what a splendid occasion it would befor Banquo's ghost to appear. "

Maggie pressed his hand and laughed. 

Soon after the sound of wheels was heard. Grace turned pale, Sallysaid: "Who would have thought it?" A moment after Mr. Brookes, withBerkins and Willy behind him, entered. He stood amazed, and seeingthat the tears were mounting to his eyes, Maggie said: "Father, howtired and faint you look. We thought you wouldn't be coming home to-night. Do sit down and have a glass of wine. " But neither winningwords nor ways could soothe this storm, and in reply to a questionfrom Berkins, Mr. Brookes declared passionately that he knew none ofthe young men who came to his house. 

V

"Father's just gone downstairs. I think we had better wait a minute ortwo. In that way we shall escape a scolding. Father won't miss the teno'clock. "

"Not a bad idea. You are always up to some cunning dodge. What's thetime?"

"Twenty minutes to nine. I'll slip down the passage and tell Grace togo down and give him his breakfast. He won't say anything to her; heknows well that since Fatty went to India she wouldn't see a soul ifshe could help it. "

"Father never says anything to you either; you tell him a lot of lies, and leave him to understand that I do everything. "

"That's not true; I never speak against you to father; but at the sametime I must say that if it weren't for you we could do as we liked. You don't try to manage father. "

"Manage him, indeed! that's what I can't bear in you, you're alwaystrying to manage some one; I hate the word. "

"You got out of bed the wrong side this morning. However, I must goand tell Grace to go down at once, or father will be ringing for us. "

"What did she say?" said Sally, when Maggie returned. 

"'Tis all right; I got her to go, and she said she was always beingmade a cat's-paw of. I assure you it wasn't easy to persuade her to godown to father, but I told her she might be the means of averting avery serious row. "

"I suppose you said there was no counting on what answers I might maketo father?"

This was exactly what Maggie had said. 

"Very well; you are always objecting to what I do, and the way I doit. I wish you would go and do things yourself. You think of nothingbut yourself, or some young man you are after. I wouldn't do what youdid yesterday. I wouldn't go sneaking round the garden with a youngman I had never seen before. "

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and went on dressing. Sally, who hadtaken a seat on the bed, watched her. She thought how she might bestpursue the quarrel, but her stomach called her thoughts from hersister, and she said: "I don't know how you feel, but I am dying ofhunger. What time is it now?"

"Nine o'clock. "

"Another half-hour. I suppose he won't start before the half-hour. "

"Miss, " said the maid, knocking at the door, "Mr. Brookes wants toknow if you are coming down to breakfast. "

"Say that we are not nearly ready; that there's no use waiting forus. "

"I think I had better go back to my room, " said Sally. 

"I think you had. I wish you wouldn't bring that horrid little doginto my room. She made a mess here the other day. "

"That I am sure she didn't. Flossie is the cleanest dog in the world. "

"Clean or unclean, I would rather not have her in my room. There sheis trying to drink out of my jug. Get away, you little beast!"

Sally caught up her dog, and marched out of the room, slamming thedoor after her. 

"At last I have got rid of her, " thought Maggie, and she rolled andpinned up the last plait of her black hair, but she did not go down tobreakfast until the wheels grated on the gravel and the carriage washeard moving away. Then she begged Grace to tell her what her fatherhad said. 

"He said his children were persecuting him, that he had not had anhour's peace since their poor mother died. "

"Fudge! Mother knew how to keep him in order. Do you remember when shethrew the carving knife?"

"Sally, for shame! How can you speak of poor mother so?"

"You know it is true, Hypocrisy. There is no harm in coming to thepoint. "

"It was very nearly coming to the point, " said Maggie, giggling. 

"Well, what else did he say?"

"He said he didn't know what course he should adopt, but that thingscouldn't go on as they were; he thought he should write to Aunts Maryand Hester, and just as he was going out of the door he said that he'dprefer to sell the whole place up than continue living here and be thelaughing-stock of the neighbourhood. "

At these words all looked frightened, even Sally. She flaunted herhead, however, and said disdainfully: "I wonder he didn't speak ofmarrying again. "

"Did he say nothing more?" asked Maggie, who determined to know howmatters stood. 

"He spoke of Sally; he said it must be put a stop to. I don't knowwhat he has found out, but I am sure he has found out something. "

"Why didn't you ask him?"

"I did. He said the way you were carrying on with young Meason wassomething too disgraceful, and that every one was talking of it; hesaid that you had been seen crossing the canal locks, and that you hadspent hours with him on the beach, and he spoke about the cart andBamber--I don't know if you ever drove there to meet him; I couldn'tget anything more out of him, for he began to cry. "

"Didn't he speak of the party?"

"Oh, yes, a great deal. He said that henceforth he would have none ofthe Southdown Road people, male or female, at the Manor House. Ithought he was going to curse the Horlocks; but I reminded him of theViceroys. As for the Measons, I don't know what he would have said ifhe hadn't been crying. "

"The Measons are just as good as we are, though they mayn't be sorich. I should like to know who has been talking to him about me; Iwonder who told him I spent hours on the beach with Jimmy; I met himonce there quite by accident, and we sat down for ten minutes. Idaresay it was Berkins. "

"No, Sally, don't, " said Grace, clasping her hands. "Father said thatMaggie was nearly as bad, and was a great deal too much disposedtowards young men. "

"I should think she is indeed; I wonder what father would say if hehad seen her walking round the garden out of sight of every one withthat fellow, a man she had never seen before. "

"There is no harm in walking round the garden with a man, but I shouldlike to know what father would say if he knew that you brought Jimmyup to your bed-room. "

"My bed-room isn't a bed-room. How dare you make such accusations, howdare you? I should not be surprised if you were at the bottom of allthis. I know you are mad with jealousy. Do you think I don't know howyou flirted with Jimmy? Do you think I didn't see how you shiftedFrank on to me so that you might walk with Jimmy to the station? ButI'll tell you what, I'll not stand it, and if you try to come betweenme and him I'll knock you down. "

Sally sprang from her place and raised her fist. Maggie rushed fromthe room, or, more correctly speaking, into the arms of Willy. 

"What the deuce are you up to?" cried this staid young man, who hadbeen twisted round and thrown against the wall. 

"Oh, save me! Sally says she'll knock me down, " cried the girl, clinging for a moment to her brother's shoulder, but as if consciousof the dubiousness of his protection, she loosed him and fled upstairsto her room. 

"What damned nonsense this is! The trouble young girls are in ahouse!--Nothing but pleasure; from one year's end to another, it isnothing but pleasure. I am sick of it. "

Having by such unusual emphasis of manner reduced his sisters tosilence, Willy sat down, and chewed with gravity and deliberation. Grace and Sally watched him. After a long and elaborate silence he putsome brief questions, and appeared to devote to them the small part ofhis attention not already engaged in the judicious breaking of hisbread. He did not answer nor did he comment; and when he had finishedeating he commenced packing up his diary and letters in a brown paperparcel, and for three-quarters of an hour he walked up and down stairscollecting and forgetting; finally he left the house with manyparcels. 

As some days are sweet and fugitive, others are obtuse, complex, andtortuous as nightmares--difficult to understand and well-nighimpossible to relate. And the day after the tennis party was such aday in the Brookes household, nor did its tumult cease when the lightswere turned out in the billiard-room. It was revived with fierce gustsof passion and despair during several succeeding days. 

In the afternoon both Sally and Maggie wanted to go out in the cart. The wrangle was a long one, but the argument of the fist eventuallybrought it to a close, and Maggie was obliged again to shut herselfinto her room. Thence Grace's solicitations could not move her, andshe remained there until she saw her father coming up the drive; thenshe ran down to meet him, and made a frank accusation of Sally'streatment of her. But he was enthralled by his own woes, and withouteven promising her protection and immunity, at least from her sister'sright arm, the old gentleman launched forth into more than usuallamentations. 

He had had a stormy interview with Berkins going up in the train, andBerkins had so upset him that he had not been able to get through anybusiness in the City. Berkins admitted of no equivocation. He had toldhim that he would not allow the young lady that was going to be hiswife to spend her days feasting and skylarking with a lot of vulgarand penniless young men from the Southdown Road. He had declared thatit was time to settle definitely the terms and the day of themarriage. He had been engaged now more than two months, and wasprepared to do his share; Mr. Brookes must be prepared to do his, viz. , to settle four hundred a year on his daughter. 

The idea of parting for ever with so much of his money convulsed Mr. Brookes. He burst into tears, and their bitterness was neitherassuaged nor softened by Grace's rather haughty statement that shedidn't care at all for Mr. Berkins, and was not at all sure whethershe would have him or not. 

"So, father, you may be able to keep your money. "

"But did any one ever know me to think of myself?" and he drew hissilk handkerchief forth. In the new trouble, suddenly created, allother considerations were lost, and Grace became the centre of manyconflicting interests; everybody asked if this marriage so long lookedforward to was going to tumble into ruin among so many ruins? Atdinner Willy seemed to consider himself called from the problem ofperfect mastication, and he said a few words intended to allay thisnew family excitement; but his efforts were vain, for it had occurredto Mr. Brookes that he might find calm in a bottle of '34 port. Therewere a few bottles left which he appreciated at their right value. Herang for the wine, and old Joseph announced, with all the intolerableindifference of a well-trained servant, that the young gentleman haddrunk it all up yesterday. Mr. Brookes kept his temper better than thegirls anticipated, and it was not until he had drunk a bottle of alatter-day wine that he seemed to realise the wrong that had been doneto him. He begged of Willy to listen to him, and he talked sovehemently, and cried so bitterly, and laughed so joyously, anddeclared so often that it would be all the same a hundred years hence, that letters and diary had to be packed away in the brown paperparcel, and all work abandoned for that evening. The next day and thenext passed in continual quarrel and argument, and at the end of theweek the aunts were summoned. 

Aunt Mary's features were sharp, her eyes were bright and she sat boltupright on the sofa, her hands crossed over a shawl drawn tightlyabout her. 

"Now, my dear James, " she said, "I am very sorry for you; of course Iam. I know it is very trying, but there is no use in sitting therelamenting. Put up your silk handkerchief and come to the point. We allknow it will be the same a hundred years hence, but in the meantimeyou don't want your dinner put back, so that Sally may continue herflirtations in the slonk, " and Aunt Mary burst into a merry peal oflaughter. 

"You are most unsympathetic, I never knew one so unsympathetic; youwere always so, you'll never change. "

"Unsympathetic, " said Aunt Mary, shaking with laughter; "how can yousay so? I have never done anything all my life but listen to you andsympathise with you. When you were a boy and sold my books to the boysat your school, and when you were a young man and took my poor husbandto oyster shops--you remember the stories you used to tell me?"

Mr. Brookes waved his handkerchief, and Aunt Hester, who was aspinster, cast down her eyes and fidgeted with some papers which shehad taken from her hand-basket. 

"Of course, if my afflictions are only a subject for laughter--"

"I am not laughing at your afflictions, my dear James. I laughedbecause you said I was not a sympathetic listener. You used to thinkme so once. " Then becoming instantly serious, Aunt Mary said: "Ofcourse I think this is a matter of great importance--the health, thewelfare of my dear nieces, and your happiness. "

"And their salvation, " murmured Aunt Hester. 

"If I did not think it important, do you think I would have left home, and at such a time, when I am most wanted? I always said that that bigplace would kill me, I never wanted to leave the Poplars; a littleplace like that is no trouble--my greenhouse, a few servants, and justas I had got everything to look nice--I could do it all in a fewhours; but now I am never still, there is always something to be done. No one can take up my work. I am behindhand; oh, I assure you when Igo back I shall be afraid to go into the greenhouse. I am worn out, Ireally am; it never ends. In a big house like Woborn one is alwaysbehindhand. The days aren't long enough, that's the fact of it; whenone thinks one is getting through one thing one is called away toanother. 'Please, mum, the cook would like to speak with you for amoment. ' 'There is no tea in the house, mum. ' 'What! is all the tea Igave out last week gone?' 'Yes, mum. There was, you remember, thedressmaker here three days, and we had Mrs. Jones in to help. And weshall want another piece of cheese for the servants' hall. ' I don'tknow how it is with you, but at Woborn the cloth is never off thetable in the servants' hall. They have five meals a day--breakfast ateight, and they won't eat cold bacon, they must have it hot; of coursethe waste is something fearful; at eleven they have beer and cheese; atone there is dinner; at five they have tea; and at nine supper. Five meals a day--it really is terrible, it is wicked, it really is!You have had none of these troubles, Hester, and you may thinkyourself very lucky. 

"We have just got rid of our cook; the trouble she gave us, it reallyis beyond words. She said she was troubled with fits, hysteria, orsomething of that sort--at least that is the reason she gave for herconduct. I knew there was something wrong, I could see it in her eyes. I said: 'This is not right; it can't be right. ' One night she left thedinner half cooked and went roaming all over the country; she cameback the next afternoon, and I found her baking. Then there wasRobinson. Do you remember the pretty housemaid? You saw her when youwere at Woborn. I am sure she must have had gentle blood in her veins;she wasn't a bit like a servant, so elegant and graceful. Those softblue eyes of hers. I often used to look at them and think howbeautiful they were. Well, she fell madly in love with West. Notwithstanding his bandy legs, there was something fascinating abouthim. He had a way about him that the maid-servants used to like;Robinson wasn't the first. Well, she completely lost her head, perfectly frantic--frantic; her eyes on fire. I saw it at once; youknow I am pretty sharp. I just look round, one look round; I see itall, I take it all in. I said: 'This is not right; this cannot beright. Robinson is a respectable girl. ' Her people I knew to be mostrespectable people in Chichester; I had heard all about them throughthe Eastwicks. I said, 'Robinson, you must go, I will give you amonth's wages, but you must go back to your people. You know why I amsending you away; it is for your own good, otherwise I am sorry topart with you; but you must go. '

"Robinson didn't say much, she was always rather haughty, a reservedsort of girl; but soon after--I always hear everything--I heard thatshe had not gone back to her people, but was living in lodgings inBrighton, and that West used to go and see her. I didn't say anythingabout it to West, but he saw there was something wrong. When I toldhim to put the carriage to, he said, 'Yes, mum, where to, mum?''Brighton. ' I could see he saw there was something wrong, and when Itold him not to put the carriage up, but to drive up and down theKing's Road, and that I would meet him in about an hour at the bottomof West Street, he looked so frightened that I could hardly helplaughing; he did look so comical, for he knew now that I was going tosee Robinson. (Here the remembrance of West proved too much for AuntMary, and she shook with laughter. ) Of course if I had let him put upthe horses he would have run round to Robinson's and warned her that Iwas coming. Oh, I shall never forget that day! It was broiling, thesun came down on the flagstones in those narrow little back streets, and there was I toiling, toiling up that dreadful hill, inquiring outthe way. I found the street, it was on the very top of the hill: sucha poor, miserable place you never saw. Such a dreadful old womanopened the door to me, and I said, 'Is Miss Robinson in?' She said, 'Yes. ' I could hear Robinson whispering over the banisters, saying, 'No, no, no, say I am out. ' And then I said, 'It is no use, Robinson, I must see you, and I will not leave this place until I have seenyou. ' I went upstairs to her room. At first she was rather haughty, rather inclined to impertinence. She said, 'Mum, you have no right tocome after me--you sent me away; I am looking out for a place inBrighton--I don't want to go back to my people. ' I said, 'Robinson, itis no use trying to deceive me, I know very well why you are inBrighton; no good can come of this, it is nothing but wickedness. Youmust try to be good, Robinson. West has, as you know, a wife andchildren, and you must not think of him any more. You have taken thislodging so that you may see him. You must think of your future; thiscan't last. '"

"No, indeed, this life is but a moment, " sighed Aunt Hester. "I wishyou had had one of these books to give her. "

"I did better, Hester. I told her some plain truths, and she put offher high and mighty airs and began to cry. I shall never forget it. Oh, how hot it was in that little room just under the slates, with onegarret window and the sun pouring in. There was scarcely anyfurniture, and I was sitting on her bed. I said, 'Now, Robinson, youmust give me back the presents West made you, and you must promise meto go back to Chichester. ' And I didn't leave her until she promisedme to go home next day. 

"When I stepped into the carriage you should have seen West's face. Hedidn't know what had happened; I didn't speak to him till next day. AsI was going into the garden I called him. I said, 'West, I want tospeak to you. ' 'Yes, mum. ' We went into the back garden; I wasplanting there. Edward was out riding, so I knew we shouldn't bedisturbed. I said, 'West, I saw Robinson yesterday, and I have aparcel for you; she has promised me not to see you, and you mustpromise me not to see her. ' 'Very well, mum, since you say it. ' 'Thisis a very sad affair, West. ' 'A bad business, mum--a bad business, mum. ' There was always something in West's stolid face that used toamuse me. You should have heard him. 'I don't think she could help it, mum; she never loved another man--I really don't. But I was going totell you, mum, I once knew a servant, a married man, he was in lovewith a young woman, and they waited long years, and when the wife diedthey married, mum. ' 'That was all very well long ago, West, but wivesdon't die nowadays. '"

So Aunt Mary talked, realising and giving expression to both thepathos and the comedy of her story. Then, feeling that shewasdigressing at too great length, she strove to generalise from theparticular incident which she had related, and get back to the themeof the conversation. 

"I don't know what we shall do, I don't know what we are coming to;servants are getting too strong for us. My last cook gave us no end oftrouble; the butler used to have to lock himself up in the pantry; andyet I had to give her a character. Of course it was very wrong of meto enable her to thrust herself upon another family, but what was I todo? I couldn't deprive her of the means of earning her living. She'llgive trouble wherever she goes. There is no remedy, there reallyisn't; I don't know what's to be done unless we ladies combine andrefuse to give them characters. "

Here Aunt Mary's thoughts and words began to fail her, for she feltshe was not getting back to the point where she had entered on hervarious digressions, and without further ado, and quiteundisconcerted, she said, "But I forget where I was; what were wetalking about?"

"We were talking about dear Sally and Maggie, and the need they standof counsel and help. Their conduct is to be deeply regretted; buttheirs is only youthful folly. They have not done anything, I am sure, that--"

"Quite so, Hester; of course. But at the same time a stop must be putto all this nonsense; it cannot be allowed. I have only to look roundto take it all in. They are worrying their father into his grave. Hisposition is a very trying one. He has no one whom he can depend on--noone. "

"I am alone since poor Julia--"

Aunt Mary and Aunt Hester looked at each other, and they wondered ifthe terrors of the carving knife were completely forgotten. 

"Poor James, " said Aunt Mary, recrossing her hands, "is obliged to goto London every morning, from ten till, I may say, half-past six. "

"I am never home before seven. "

"These girls are their own mistresses; they go out when they like, they order the carriage whenever they like, and they invite here everyone it pleases their fancy to invite without consulting their father. I believe he doesn't even--"

"I know none of the young men who come to my house. All I know of themis that they come from the Southdown Road. "

"Don't be so silly, James, put up that handkerchief. Of course, theSouthdown Road is one of the great disadvantages of the place. Thosevilla residences have brought into Southwick a host of people that aman living in a big place like the Manor House cannot know--littlepeople who have--"

"Not two hundred pounds invested--no, nor yet a hundred. "

"Well, I don't wish to offend them, I'll say small incomes. They areall devoured with envy, and all they think of is what goes on at theManor House. "

"A lot of penniless young jackanapeses. Every morning I see them atthe station watching me over the tops of their newspapers. "

"You must understand, Hester, poor James up in London, toiling, notknowing what is going on in his own home; feasting and pleasure goingon morning, noon, and, I may say, night, for when James returned homeunexpectedly about ten o'clock at night, he found them--how many werethere?"

"About a dozen, the others had gone. "

"Feasting, drinking his champagne--his very best. "

"The last few bottles of '34 port were drunk; the peaches, that thegardener has been forcing so carefully for months past, were alleaten. I returned home unexpectedly; I had intended to spend the nightin London--you know I went there to see about starting Willy on theStock Exchange; he has drawn three thousand more out of thedistillery; I hope he won't lose it. Well, I met Berkins in Pall Mall, and he said if I would return by the late train that he would spendthe night here, and we would go up to town together in the morning. Isuspected nothing; I went into my dining-room, and there I found themall at supper. Had it not been for Berkins it wouldn't have mattered. He was indignant when he saw one of those jackanapeses with his armround the back of Grace's chair; he says that such company is not fitfor the lady that is going to be his wife; and he now insists onfixing the day, the settlements, and everything, or of breaking offthe match. "

"Then why don't you fix the day and the settlements?"

"Grace is not willing; she is quite undecided. She says she doesn'tknow whether she will have him or not. Sally tries to set her againsthim; she laughs at him, says he is pompous, and imitates him. Ofcourse, it is quite true that he thinks everything he has is betterthananybody else's. She says he is old, and says that kissing himwould be like rubbing your face in a mattress. "

"The fact is, " said Aunt Mary, "Sally ought to have been a man; hadshe been a man, it would have been all right. "

Aunt Hester, who had spent her life in a vicarage, glanced uneasily ather sister, and fidgeted with the papers in her satchel. 

"I suppose it will be all the same a hundred years hence. "

"No, James, it will not, " replied Aunt Hester, with unusualdetermination. 

The conversation dropped, and the speakers stared at each other at aloss how to proceed. 

"She is a very difficult girl to manage. If it were not for her wecould get on very well; it is she who upsets everything. She can'tagree with Maggie; they are always quarrelling. The day after theparty she threatened to knock her down if she interfered with heryoung man. "

"Is it possible! Did she say that? Well, when it comes to young ladiesknocking each other down! Young ladies were very different in my youngdays. It only proves what I said about Sally--she ought to have been aman, she really ought to have been a man. I see it all; I have only togive one look round to take it all in one glance. When she came tomeet me in Brighton I understood it all at once; I saw she could notrestrain herself, no powers of self-restraint. Her eyes fixed on everyman as if she couldn't see enough of him; her black eyes flashing. Iwanted no telling--I saw it all; the moment a young man went by hereyes flashed. Here she was--'Aunt Mary, Aunt Mary, there's Meason, there's Meason, Aunt Mary, Meason, Meason, Aunt Mary. ' It is notright, it can't be right; and to my thinking Maggie is just as bad--alittle more sly perhaps. "

"No, not dear Maggie. "

"I say it is not right; girls in good health could not go on likethat. If I were you, James, I would take them up to a first-rateLondon physician, the very best that can be had for money. Those girlsare highly organised, highly sensitive; their nerves are highlystrung. They want something to bring them down, " said Aunt Mary; butcatching at that moment sight of her sister's face, she laughedconsumedly, and, speaking through her laughter, said, "So-and-so, afirst-rate man, I can't think of his name--he will give you the verybest advice. "

"I think if our dear nieces could be brought to understand thesinfulness of their disobedience. I have here one or two little bookswhich I think it would be advisable for them to read. "

"Later on, my dear Hester; the best thing that James can do is to seeto their health. No girls in good health could act as they do; it isradically impossible. "

"I suppose that is what I must do; I don't know if I shall succeed, but I will try to get them to come up to London and have medicaladvice. Since the death of poor Julia I have been all alone; myposition is a very hard one. I have no one to talk to, to assist me, to take my place in any way. I am obliged to go to London every day, and I assure you my heart is all of a flutter in the morning when Itake the train, for I don't know what may happen before I return. Thegirls can do what they like; they are mistresses of this big house, they take the carriage into Brighton when they like, Sally takes thecart. I have thought of getting rid of that cart. "

Although passionately fond of talking, Aunt Mary would with patience, and even with pleasure, cross her hands and settle herself down tolisten to one of Uncle James's interminable lamentations, but AuntHester, a nervous and timid creature who talked but little, not onlydeclared that she could not bear to hear the same stories over andover again, but interrupted her brother with firmness anddetermination. Indeed, it was only on occasion of Uncle James'ssoliloquies that she had ever shown any strength of will. 

"We know very well, James, that your position is a trying one--thatsince the death of poor Julia you have no one whom you can look to. There is no use in telling us this over again; it is mere waste oftime. What we have to do now is by all means in our power to convincedear Sally of the sinfulness of her conduct, and so strive to bringher back to a state of grace. "

"Her spirit must be broken, she must be subdued, " interjected AuntMary. 

"Christ is the real healer, prayer is the true medicine, and by italone is the troubled spirit soothed. "

It being impossible to contravene these opinions, the conversationcame to a pause, which was at length interrupted by Mr. Brookes, whothrough the folds of his handkerchief declared again that it would beall the same a hundred years hence. Even Aunt Mary's realism did notoffend Aunt Hester as did this un-Christian philosophy; she gatheredher strength for a grave reproof, but was cut short by her sister'slaughter. All the teeth were glittering now, and peal after peal oflaughter came. Aunt Hester's courage died, and her long, freckled facedrooped like a sad flower. 

"Now let us hear something about Grace. What about this marriage? IsBerkins as amorous as ever? That man does amuse me--his waistcoatbuttons are better than any other man's. "

"Mary, Mary, I beg of you to remember Mr. Berkins is a man of eightthousand a-year. "

"He may make eight thousand a-year, but he has very little moneyinvested, " said Aunt Mary. 

"That is true, " Mr. Brookes replied reflectively, and he was about torush off into a long financial statement when his sister, who alreadyregretted her joke, checked him with an abrupt question. 

"My dear James, is this marriage to be or not to be? That is what Iwant to know. "

"I really can't say, Mary; Sally has contrived to upset her sister;she would have been, I feel sure, glad to marry Mr. Berkins if she hadnot been upset by Sally. "

"Upset by Sally, what do you mean?"

"I told you that Sally tries to turn Berkins into ridicule, laughs athis beard among other things. "

"I must see Grace about this, " said Aunt Mary; "you must excuse mylaughing, but Sally is often very droll. "

Choosing the first occasion when Maggie and Sally were absent from theroom, Aunt Mary said, "Come, Gracie, dear, tell me about thismarriage. I hear that your mind is not made up--that you are not atall decided. This is not acting fairly towards your father. You areplacing him in a very false position. "

"I don't think so, aunty. No one, so far as I can make out, is eitherdecided or satisfied. Mr. Berkins is not satisfied with the society wesee. "

"The Southdown Road you mean, " interrupted Mr. Brookes, "and veryproperly, too. "

"And father and he cannot agree upon money matters, and I don't like abeard--"

"You never objected to a beard until Sally put you against it. "

"Yes, I did, father; I always told you--"

"Never mind the beard, tell me about the money matters that yourfather and Mr. Berkins can't agree upon. "

"Mr. Berkins has offered to settle twelve thousand pounds upon me iffather will settle the same amount. But father won't agree to this; hewants Mr. Berkins to settle twelve, but does not want to settle morethan seven himself upon me. "

"Is this so, James?" asked Aunt Mary. 

Mr. Brookes avoided answering the question, and entered into a longand garrulous statement concerning himself and his money: he had madeit all himself! he spoke of his investments with pride, andpathetically declared that he would not marry again because he wouldnot deprive his dear children of anything. Aunt Mary crossed her handsover her shawl, and set herself to listen to the old gentleman'srigmarole. Aunt Hester tried several times to cut him short, but thistime he would not be silenced. 

Then Aunt Mary started the story of a girl whom she had knownintimately in early life, which she no doubt thought would help Graceto a better comprehension of her difficulties; but the dear lady lostherself in the domestic entanglement of many families, on the subjectof which she contributed much curious information, without, however, elucidating the matter in hand. She wandered so far that at length allhope of return became impossible, and she was obliged to pull upsuddenly and ask what she had been talking about. 

"What was I talking about, James; you have been listening to me--whatwas I talking about?"

Mr. Brookes made no attempt to give the information necessary for theblending of her many narratives, and she was forced to seek unaidedfor the lost thread. Soon after the girls came in with their gin andwater. They drank their grog, kissed their relations, and retired tobed. 

And the next evening, and the next, and the next, so long as Aunt Maryand Aunt Hester remained at the Manor House, the evenings passed in asimilar fashion; and, notwithstanding the doleful faces theyoccasionally assumed, they found pleasure in lamenting the follies ofthe young people. The same stories were told, almost the same wordswere uttered. The only malcontent was Willy. He had no interest in hissisters, and the hours after dinner in the billiard-room when hissisters were in the drawing-room were those he devoted to lookingthrough his letters and filling up his diary; so when Sally's name wasmentioned he caught at his short crisp hair and gnashed his teeth. 

VI

"My dear fellow, just as I'm settling down to do some work, Aunt Marycomes along the passage; I know her step so well. And then it begins, the old story that I have heard twenty times before, all over again. You have no idea how worrying it is. "

Frank laughed, and talked of something else. These discussions ofSally's character and general behaviour did not appeal to him ineither a comic or serious light, and the havoc they made of Willy'sbusiness hours did not perceptibly move him; he was full of his goodlooks, his clothes, his affections, his bull-dog, and the fact thathis youth was going by, as it should go by, among girls, in an oldEnglish village, in a garden by the sea. 

Aunt Mary was a woman that a rarer young man would have been attractedby; indeed the delicacy of a young man may be tested by the sympathyhe may feel for women when age has drawn a veil over, and put sexualpromptings aside. Her bright teeth and eyes, the winsome little face, so glad, would have at once charmed and led any young man not sobrutally young as Frank Escott. It would have pleased another to watchher, to wait on her, to listen to her rambling stories all so full oflaughter and the sunshine of kindness and homely wit; it would havepleased him to note that she was gratified by the admiration of ayoung man; it would please him to hear himself called by his Christianname, while he must address her as Mrs. So-and-so, and in maintainingthis difference they would both become conscious of pleasingrestraint. 

His comprehension of life was invariably a sentimental one, so theaunts were to him merely middle-aged women--uninteresting, and usefulonly so far as their efforts contributed to render the lives of youngpeople easy and pleasurable. In abrupt and passing impressions heconcluded that Aunt Mary was bright and pleasant, but tediouslyvoluble, given to wasting that time which he would have liked to spendtalking to the young ladies of poetry and Italy. 

He scorned poor Aunt Hester. She shrank from him, frightened by hisharsh, blunt manners; she was afraid he led a sinful life in London. Aunt Mary had few doubts on the subject, and her comments made hersister tremble. She spoke of him as a most desirable husband forMaggie. "He will be a peer, my dear James. Lord Mount Rorke will nevermarry again. He is the acknowledged heir to the title and estates. "

And the young man went as he came--full of himself, his clothes, hisgood looks; bumptious and arrogant, effusive in his love of hisfriends, and yet sincere. He looked out of the railway carriage windowto seize a last look of the green, with its horse pond and its downs, and the cricketers all in white, running to and fro (young Meason hadjust made a three, and Sally was applauding). The porches ofthe Southdown Road he could just see over the fields, and Mr. Brooke'sglass glittered amid the summer foliage. At that moment he loved theugly little village, with its barren downs and all its anomalousaspects of town and country. He thought of his friends there, and hislife appeared to be theirs, and theirs his, and he wished it mightflow on for ever in this quiet place. He seemed to understand it allso well, and to love it all so dearly. He accepted it all, even itsvulgarest aspects. Even pompous Berkins appeared to him under atenderer light--the light of orange-flowers and married love. For AuntMary had smoothed away all difficulties, hirsute and monetary, and thewedding had been fixed for the autumn. The gaiety of the day he hadspent with the girls, its feasting and its flirtation, arose, memorised in a soft halo of imagination--a day of fruit, wine, andlight words, and the dear General, with his St James's politics andhis only desire--"a little something to do--something to bring me out, you know. " The pugs, the mangy mastiff, the hospitable house alwaysopen, its ready welcome, and, above all, the air which it held of thelives of its occupants; its pictures of white arab horses, andelephants richly caparisoned; the wonderful goats in the field, andthe tropical birds and animals in the back garden! Above all, thewalks on the green with the chemist's wife, and the annoyance suchfamiliarity caused Mr. Brookes--how funny, how charming, how amusing!He was smiling through the tears that rose to his eyes when the trainrolled into Brighton. 

On arriving in London he drove straight to the Temple. The creaking, disjointed staircases, with the lanterns of old time in the windows, jarred his thoughts, which were still of Southwick; and when heentered his rooms their loneliness struck him with a chill. Hepictured Maggie sitting in the arm-chair waiting for him, and heimagined how she would lay her book aside and say, "Oh, here you are!"He sat down to read his letters. One was from Lord Mount Rorke, enclosing a cheque, another a daintily cut envelope, smellingdaintily, came from Lady Seveley. 

"DEAR MR ESCOTT, --I have not seen anything of you for a very longtime; you promised to lunch with me before you left town, but Isuppose amid the general gaieties and friends of the season you werecarried far away quite out of my reckoning. However, I hope when youreturn you will come and see me. I got your address from Mr. ---, butyou need not tell him that I wrote to you; he is, as you know, adreadful chatterbox, and somehow or other, without meaning it, contrives to make gossip and mischief out of everything. 

"The weather here is delicious--perhaps a trifle too hot; andsometimes I envy you your cool sea-side resort. I wonder what theattraction is? It must be a very special one to keep you out of Londonin June. 

"Should you be in town next Thursday, come and dine; I have a box forthe theatre. And as an extra inducement I will tell you that I havetwo very nice girls staying with me, who will interest you. --Yoursvery truly, HELEN SEVELEY. "

Some men of thirty would have instantly understood Lady Seveley'sletter. But age gives us nothing we do not already possess, the yearsdevelop what is latent in us in youth, and it is certain that Frank atthirty would have understood the letter as vaguely and incompletely ashe did to-day. We read our sympathies and antipathies in all we lookupon, and Frank read in this letter an old woman with diamonds anddyed hair. He had met her twice. The first time was at a ball where heknew nobody; the second was at a dinner party. She had fixed her eyesupon him; she had prevented him from talking after dinner to a younggirl whom he had admired across the table during dinner. He did notlike her, and he thought now of the young girls he would meet if heaccepted her invitation. Lady Seveley was a shadow; and when theshadow defined itself he saw the slight wrinkling of the skin aboutthe eyes, the almost imperceptible looseness of the flesh about thechin; but, worse to him than these physical changes, were the hardmeasured phrases in which there is knowledge of the savour and worthof life. He unpacked his portmanteau, and, dallying with hisresolutions, he wondered if he should go to Lady Seveley's:conclusions and determinations were constitutionally abhorrent, self-deception natural to him. Were he asked if he intended to turn to theright or the left, although he were going nowhere and an answer wouldcompromise him in nothing, he would certainly say he did not know; andif he were expostulated with, he would reply rudely, arrogantly. Thisis worthy of notice, for what was special in his character was thecombination it afforded of degenerate weakness and pride, complicatedwith a towering sense of self-sufficiency. Youth's illusions would notpass from him easily; in his eyes and heart the hawthorn would alwaysbe in bloom, young girls would always be beautiful, innocent, true tothe lovers they had selected; nor was there of necessity degradationnor forced continuance in any state of vice. Love could raise andpurify, love could restore, love could make whole; if one woman werefaithless, another would be constant; if to-day were dark, to-morrowwould be bright. Life had no deep truth for him, no underlyingmysteries; it was not a problem capable of demonstration, capable ofdefinition; it was not a thing of limitations and goals and ends; hecould feel nothing of this--the philosophic temperament was absent inhim. Life had no deep truth for him, no underlying mysteries; he didnot dream of past times, and he placed few hopes in the future; lifewas a thing to be enjoyed in the moment of living, and the presentmoment was a very pleasant one. He leaned over the doors of the hansomresting his gloved hand upon his crutched stick. He was struck withthe pride we feel when we are dressed for amusement and contemplatethose in workaday garb; and in these sensations of pride he leanedforward, proud of his good looks, his shirt front, his shirt cuffs, his glazed shoes; he pleasured in the knowledge that many saw he wasgoing to elegant company, to amusement. He was full of scorn for thewomen loitering, for the clerks hurrying, and especially for thecrowds pressing about the entrances of the theatres. 

London opened up upon a little black space of asphalt; crimson cloudsmoved over the many windowed walls of the great hotels, the blackmonumented square foamed with white water, children played, and thegold of the inscriptions over the shops caught the eye. London wastall on the heavens. Regent Street was full of young men as elegant ashimself driving to various pleasures, and Frank wondered what sort ofdinners they would eat, what kind of women they would sit by. Then ashe drove through Mayfair he thought of his own party. He wondered whatthe girls would think of him. 

Lady Seveley lived in Green Street. When he had rung the bell helistened impatiently for approaching steps, for he tingled withpresentiment that he would somehow be disappointed, and he dreadeddinner by himself and his lonely lodgings. Nor was he wholly wrong. The butler who opened the door seemed surprised at seeing him, and inreply to his question if Lady Seveley was at home, repliedhesitatingly:

"Her ladyship is at home, but she is not at all well, sir. She is, Ithink, in her room lying down, sir. "

"Oh, but did she not expect me? I was to have dined here to-night. "

"I heard nothing about it, sir; but I'd better ask. Will you come in, sir?"

Lady Seveley's house was a house of scent and soft carpets. Thestaircase was covered with pink silk, and in the recess on the firstlanding, or rather where the stairs paused, there was an aviary inwhich either hawks screeched or owls blinked; generally there was amagpie there, and the quaint bird now hopped to Frank's finger, casting a thievish look on his rings. The drawing-room was full offlowers. There was a grand piano, dark and bright; the skins of tigersLord Seveley had shot carpeted the floor, and on their heads, Helenrested her feet, showing her plump legs to her visitors. On the wallsthere were indifferent water-colours, there were gold screens, thecabinets were full of china, there were three-volume novels on thetea-table--it was the typical rich widow's house, a house where youngmen lingered. Frank stood examining a portrait on china of LadySeveley, it was happily hung with blue ribbon from the top of themirror. It represented a woman inclined to stoutness, about three andthirty. The chestnut hair was piled and curled with strange art aboutthe head. Above the face there was a mask, roses wreathed, and aswallow carrying a love missive, butterflies and arrows everywhere, and below the face there was a skull profusely wreathed and almosthidden in roses. This portrait would have stirred the imagination ofmany young men, but Frank thought nothing of it--the theatricaldisplay displeased him, it seemed to him even a little foolish. Hecrossed over to the flowers. 

"Lady Seveley will be down in a moment, sir, " said the maid. A fewminutes after the door opened. 

"How do you do? I am so glad to see you. Won't you sit down? I havebeen suffering terribly to-day--neuralgia; nothing for it but to liedown in a dark room. "

"I hope you are better now. "

"Oh, when I have had some champagne I shall be quite well. Now tell mesomething; talk to me. "

Helen was sitting thrown back on the little black satin sofa; she hadcrossed her legs, and her foot was set on a tiger's head. The anklewas too thick, the foot slightly fat, but stocking and shoe wereperfect, and these drew Frank's eyes too attentively. Helen noticedthis and was glad. 

"So you like Maggie the best?"

"Oh, yes, I like her the best, Sally is too rough. How those girls doworry their father. He has to go up to town every day; he is in theCity, and the girls give tennis parties, and drink his best wine. There was an awful row there the other day about the peaches; he hadbeen going in for forcing, and was counting the days when they wouldbe ripe. The young men ate them all. "

Helen laughed. "A sort of comic King Lear. "

"Just so, the girls will have large fortunes at their father's death. I have known them all my life. I used to spend my holidays with themwhen I was a small boy. "

"And you haven't seen them for a long time?"

"No, I was in Ireland two years, and then I went to Italy. This wasthe first time I saw them since they were really grown up. "

"And you say they are beautiful girls and will have large fortunes. "

"Yes, I suppose Maggie is a good-looking girl; she is more afascinating girl than a beautiful girl. " A sudden remembrance ofLizzie Baker dictated this opinion of Maggie Brookes. 

"Dinner is on the table, my lady. "

"I think you said in your letter that you were going to have two younggirls staying with you. "

"Yes, but they could not come; they were to have been here on Monday. Iam very sorry; had I known for certain that you were coming, I wouldhave arranged to have some one to meet you. "

"I am very glad you didn't. " The conversation dropped. "You said youwere going to the theatre. What theatre are you thinking of going to?"

"My neuralgia put all thoughts of the theatre out of my head. I have abox for the Gaiety. We will go if you like. "

The name of the theatre reminded him of Lizzie Baker, and he comparedthe pale, refined face of the bar girl with the over-coloured woman--his hostess. He had not seen Lizzie for a long time. Why had he notgone to the bar room the last time he was in London?

"You have not answered me--would you like to go to the Gaiety?"

"I am sure I beg your pardon, " and then, in a sudden confusion ofmemories and desires, he said: "I don't know that I care much aboutgoing to the theatre. You are not feeling well. "

"My neuralgia is almost all gone. There's nothing like champagne forit. Hardwick, Mr. Escott will take some more champagne. "

There were engravings after Burne Jones and Rossetti on the walls, andFrank stopped to look at them as he followed Lady Seveley upstairs. She went straight to the piano. 

"Are you fond of music?" she said. 

"Yes; there is nothing I like more than fiddling at the piano. "

"Then do play something. "

"Oh, no, not for worlds. I only strum, I don't know my notes. I strumon the piano as I strum on the violin. "

"Do you play the violin?"

"I can't call it playing, I was never taught. "

"How did you learn, then? It is a most difficult instrument; Icouldn't get on with it at all; I will get mine out if you will playsomething. "

"If you promise not to laugh, I will try, but I assure you I knownothing about it. I borrowed a violin once, and I taught myself toplay a tune; then I bought a violin, and I amuse myself when I amalone. "

"How very clever of you. There, you will find it under the pianobehind that music; do play something, it will be so good of you. "

"What shall I play?"

"Anything you like. "

Frank had no knowledge of the instrument, but his ear was exquisitelyjust and appreciative; his artistic desire was febrile and foolish, but you thought less of this in his music than in his painting andpoetry. His soul went out in the strain of melody sentimentally; andit leaned him in varying and beautiful attitudes. The sweeping, music-evoking arm was beautiful to behold, and the music seemed to cry forlove; all about him was shadow; only the light fell on the longthroat, so like a fruit to the eye; the charm was enervating andnervous. Helen looked at him again, and shuddering, she rose from thepiano. 

"What did you break off like that for? Was I playing so badly?"

"No, no--come and sit down here, come and sit by me. I want you totalk to me. " She stretched herself in a low wicker chair by the openwindow. There was a church opposite, the painted panes were now fullof mitre and alb, and the vague tumult of the service came in contrastwith the summer murmur of London and the light of the evening skies. The woman's body moved beneath the silk, and the faint odour of herperson dilated the nostrils of the young man. "Talk to me. "

"I don't know what to talk to you about. You would not care for myconversation any more than you do for my music--one is as bad as theother. "

"No, pray--I assure you--I would not have you think that, no. " Helenmade a movement as if she were going to lay her hand on his arm;checking herself, she said: "I do not think your playing bad; on thecontrary, perhaps I think it too good. How shall I explain? There aretimes when I cannot bear music; the pleasure it brings is too near, too intense, too near to pain; and that 'Chanson d'Eglise' seems tobear away your very brain; you play it with such fervour, on theviolin each phrase tears the soul. "

"But it is so religious. "

"Yes, that is just it; no sen--no; well, there is no other word; nosensuality is so terrible as religious sensuality. "

"I don't know what you mean. I can understand any one saying thatOffenbach is sensual, but I don't see how the term can be applied to ahymn. "

"Perhaps not to a hymn, although--but 'La Chanson d'Eglise' is not ahymn. "

Her arm hung along the chair, the flesh showing through the silk assoft as a flower. He might take it in his hands and bear it to hislips and kiss it; he might lean and loll and kiss her. He wondered ifhe might dare it; but her air of ladyhood was so marked that it seemedimpossible that she would not resent. He could not quite realise whather looks and words would be afterwards. 

"I do not wish to flatter you, but I think you play beautifully. I donot mean to say that I have never heard any one play the violinbetter--that would be ridiculous. Your playing is full of emotion. That lovely passage thrilled me; I do not know why, nor can I exactlyexplain my feeling--nerves perhaps. Now I come to think of it I amashamed. It was the summer evening, the perfume of those flowers; itwas--" Helen fixed her eyes on Frank, as if she would like to say, "Itwas you. " With a sigh she said: "It was the music. " Then as if shefeared she was showing too plainly what was passing in her mind, shesaid: "But it is nearly nine o'clock. Perhaps you would like to go tothe theatre, the ticket for the box is on the table. I should not bemore than a few minutes changing my dress. Would you like to go?"

"I don't much mind, just as you like. I heard that the new burlesquewas very amusing. "

"Then let us go. "

Both regretted their words; and, embarrassed, each waited for theother to say No, let us stay here, it is far sweeter here. But it wasdifficult to draw back now without avowal. Helen had rung for hermaid. She put on a white satin. Her opera cloak was edged with deepsoft fur, and she came into the room putting on her long tan gloves. 

"Were you ever in love?" Helen asked, and she leaned back behind thecurtain of the box out of sight of the audience. 

"I suppose I have been in love; but why do you ask?"

"It just occurred to me. "

"I have never been in love with a ballet girl, if you mean that. "

In blue tights and symmetrical rows the legs of the chorus ladies werearranged about the stage; the low comedians cracked jokes close to thefootlights; the stalls laughed, the pit applauded. 

"Haven't you? Is that really so? I shouldn't think it would be nice. And yet, if all we hear is true, young men do make love to low women;I'm not speaking now of ballet girls, but of cooks and housemaids. Alady, a friend of mine, cannot keep a housemaid under fifty in herhouse on account of her son, and she sent him to Eton. "

"Yes, I know; I have heard of such things, but I never couldunderstand. "

"I am glad. But you say you have been in love. Tell me all about it. Iwant to know. What was she like? Was she fair or dark?"

"Fair. She used to wear a Gainsborough hat. "

"Did you like those great hats?"

"I did on her. "

"I suppose she was tall, then. "

"No, she was short. "

"Then I don't see how she would wear a Gainsborough hat. "

"She did, and looked exquisite in it too. "

"I suppose you were very much in love with her?"

"Yes; we were engaged, and going to be married. "

"Why was it broken off?"

"Her father was a brute. "

"Fathers generally are brutes on such occasions, and there aregenerally excellent reasons for their brutality. "

"Husbands, too, are brutes, and if all I have heard is correct, thereare excellent reasons for their brutality. "

Lady Seveley turned pale. "I did not come to the theatre to beinsulted, " she said, hesitating whether she should rise from her seat. Frank Escott was constantly guilty of such indelicate and stupidspeeches, and it would be easy to cite instances in which his conductwas equally unpractical. Were friends to speak ill of any one he wasespecially intimate with, he would answer them in the grossest manner, forgetful that he was making formidable enemies for himself without inthe least advancing the welfare of him or her whose defence he hadundertaken. With some words and looks the storm was allayed, and theyfelt that the wind that might have capsized had carried their craftnearer the port where they were steering. Their eyes met, and for amoment they looked into each other's souls. Her arm hung by her side, white and pure, could he take it and press it to his lips the worstwould be over--he would have admitted his desire. But the box curtaindid not hide him, and the faces opposite seemed to watch; and then shespoke, and with her words brought a sense of distance, ofconventionality. 

"Tell me, did you fall in love with her the first time you saw her?"

"I think so. "

"Tell me all about it. When did you see her for the first time?"

"It was on the Metropolitan Railway. We were in the same carriage, shesat opposite to me; for some time we were alone, and I thought ofspeaking to her, but was afraid of offending her. "

"Are you always afraid of offending people?"

"I don't know--I don't think I am. " Then it struck him that she wasalluding to his rudeness, which she declared she had forgiven, and hesaid: "I am sure I can't do more, I told you I was sorry--that I didnot mean--"

"Oh, never mind, that is forgiven; tell me about her. "

A little perplexed, he continued: "She was dressed in white, and herface was like a flower under the great hat. "

"It is clear that you can admire no one who doesn't wear aGainsborough hat. What will you do now that they have gone out offashion? I am sure I can't gratify you. "

"I wondered where she was going. I wished I was going to the samehouse, I imagined what it would be like, and so the time went till wegot to Kensington. She turned to the right, so did I; I hoped she didnot think I was following her--"

"You were both going to the same house?"

"Yes. There were some carnations behind her in a vase, and you knowhow I love the perfume of a carnation--so did she. She told me of theflowers they had in their cottage at Maidenhead. I love the river, sodid she, and we spoke of the river all the afternoon. And when theseason was over I went up to Maidenhead too. I had my boat there (Imust show you my boat one of these days, one of the prettiest boats onthe river). We used to go out together, and, tying the boat under analder, I used to read her Browning. Oh, it was a jolly time. " Theconversation came to a pause, then Frank said "Were you ever in love?"

"I suppose I was. "

"With your husband?"

"No, I was not in love with my husband, he was twenty years older thanI. When I was eighteen I was very much in love with a young fellow whoused to come to play croquet at our place. But my parents wouldn'thear of it. I was not at all strong when I was a girl; they said Iwouldn't live, so I didn't care what became of me. Lord Seveleyadmired me; it was a very good match, I was anxious to get away fromhome, so I married him. You are quite wrong in supposing I treated himbadly. "

"Forgive me, don't say any more about that. "

"We had rows, it is true; he said horrible things about my mother, andI wouldn't stand that, of course. "

"What things?"

"Oh, I can't tell you--no matter. Once I said that I wouldn't havemarried him only I thought I was going to die. He never forgave methat. It was, I admit, a foolish thing to say. "

At that moment the curtain came down, and the young men moved out ofthe stalls. "There are two men I know, " she said, fixing her glass. "Do you see them? The elder of the two is Harding, the novelist, theother is Mr. Fletcher, an Irishman. "

"I know Fletcher--or, rather, I know of him. His father was ashopkeeper in Gort, the nearest town to Mount Rorke Castle. "

"He is a journalist, isn't he? I hear he is doing pretty well. "

"In London, I know, you associate with that class, but in Ireland wewouldn't think of knowing them. "

"I thought you were more liberal-minded than that. If they come uphere, what shall I do? I mustn't introduce you?"

"I don't mind being introduced. I should like to know Harding. "

"I can't introduce you to Harding and not to his friend. "

"I don't mind being introduced to Fletcher; I'll bow and slink off tosmoke a cigarette. Is it true what they say about him, that he isirresistible, that no woman can resist him? I don't think he is good-looking--a good figure, that's all. "

"He has the most lovely hands and teeth. "

"I see; perhaps you are in love with him?"

A knock came at the door; the young men entered. Lady Seveleyintroduced them to Frank; he bowed coldly, and addressed Harding. ButLady Seveley said: "O Mr. Harding, I want to speak to you about yourlast novel; I have just finished reading it. "

"What do you think of this piece?" Fletcher asked Escott, in ahesitating and conciliatory manner. 

"I am afraid he will not be able to tell you; he hasn't ceased talkingsince we came into the theatre. "

"I should have done the same had I been in his place. "

Lady Seveley smiled, Frank thought the words presumptuous. "Who thedevil would care to hear you talk--and that filthy accent. " And atthat moment he remembered Lizzie Baker. Fletcher and Harding were nowspeaking to Lady Seveley, and taking advantage of the circumstance heslipped out, and, lighting a cigarette, entered the bar room. Behindthe counter the young ladies stood in single file, and through odoursof cigarettes and whisky their voices called "One coffee in order, "and the cry was passed on till it reached the still-room. Frankremembered having read a description of the place somewhere, hethought for a moment, and then he remembered that it was in one ofHarding's novels. He could detect no difference in the loafers thatleaned over the counter talking to the barmaids; they were dingy anddull, whereas the young men from the stalls of the theatre were blackand white and clean; but the keenest eye could note nothing further, and a closer inspection showed that even a first division rested on nodeeper basis than the chance of evening dress. Civilisation has givenus all one face and mind. He walked to where Lizzie was serving;soldiers were ordering drinks of her, so he was obliged to apply tothe next girl to her for his brandy and soda. He drank slowly, hopingher admirers would leave her, but one soldier was stationery, and thisspot of red grew singularly offensive in Frank's eyes, from theclumsy, characterless boots, to the close-clipped hair set off withthe monotonously jaunty cap. The man sprawled over the counterdrinking a glass of porter. Frank tried to listen to what he wassaying. Lizzie smiled, showing many beautifully shaped teeth, sobeautifully shaped that they looked like sculpture. Behind her therewere shelves charged with glasses and bottles, gilt elephants, andobelisks, a hideous decoration; she passed up and down with cups ofcoffee, she filled glasses from various taps, she saluted Frank. 

"How are you this evening? Come to see the piece again?"

"Come to see you. "

"Get along; I don't believe you, " she said, and she passed back to herplace, and continued talking to the soldier as steadily as her manyoccupations would allow her. 

A few moments after the bell rang, and Frank went upstairs annoyed. 

"Oh, so it is you; you have come back, " said Helen, turning; "sit downhere. Nellie Farren has just sung such an exquisitely funny song; theyhave encored it; just listen to it, do, " and Helen fixed her operaglass on the actress. The light and shadow played about her neck andarmin beautiful variations, but noticing nothing, Frank leanedforward. 

"Isn't it funny; isn't it delightfully funny?"

"Yes, it is funny. "

Having heard one song they listened to the rest of the act. "Now giveme my cloak. Thank you, and now give me your arm. " Frank complied. "You will come home to Green Street with me, and have some supper?"

"I am afraid, I am sorry I can't; I must get home early to-night. "

"You have a key, you surely can get in at any hour. "

"Yes, but I am afraid--the fact is I am dreadfully tired. "

"Oh, just as you like. "

Then at the end of an irritating silence, "I am afraid you will haveto wait, I do not think I shall be able to get your carriage yetawhile; in a few minutes this crowd will disperse. No use gettingcrushed to death! What became of Harding and Fletcher? Did they remainlong with you?"

"No, not very, they went away just before you came. There is Mr. Harding. How did you like the piece, Mr. Harding?"

"I always enjoy these pieces, they are so conscientiously illiterate;what I can't bear is unconscientious illiterateness. Nellie Farren hascaught something of the jangle of modern life; she has something ofthe freshness of the music-hall about her that appeals to me verysharply. "

"Do you like music-halls? I have always heard they were so vulgar. "

"Vulgarity is surely preferable to popularity. The theatre is merelypopular. "

While Harding was thus exerting himself with epigram, Fletcher stoodtall and slender, with a grey overcoat hanging over his arm, and hisintense eyes fixed on Lady Seveley. His gaze troubled her, and when hewithdrew his eyes she looked at him, anticipant and fearing. He spoketo her until Frank, feeling that he was receding out of all interestand attention, said abruptly, "If you will come now, Lady Seveley, Ithink I shall be able to get you your carriage. May I see you home?"he said, holding the door. 

"No thank you, I will not take you out of your way. Go home at onceand get rested, and come and see me one of these days; don't forget. "Lady Seveley smiled, but Frank felt that she was annoyed. 

"I wonder if she wanted me to go home with her. That impertinent bruteFletcher daring to come up to speak to us! I was very nearly tellinghim to go and fetch the carriage. "

He pushed open the swinging doors with violence, nearly upsetting thefat porter. The bar was nearly empty, and he found Lizzie disengaged. 

"You look very vexed. Has any one been pinching you?"

"I am not vexed. "

"What will you have to put you straight?"

"Well, that is a question. Let me see. I don't care about anotherbrandy and soda, and if I have coffee it may keep me awake. "

"Have half milk. "

"Very well. " He hesitated, but the inclination to speak soonoverpowered him. "I call it bad form, when you are with a lady foranother fellow to come up and speak to her. "

"Three of Irish, miss. "

"Why, didn't he know her?"

"Of course he knew her, but that doesn't give him a right to come upand enter into a long conversation when I am with her. I wish I hadknocked him down. "

"He might have knocked you down. "

"A glass of bitter, miss. "

"I should have had to take my chance of that. In London people don'tseem to me to mind whom they speak to--a low-bred Irishman, who neverspoke to a lady until he left his own country. "

"Oh! what a rage we are in. "

"No, I am not in a rage, " said Frank, who at that moment felt thefolly of these confidences. "I don't care a hang. It isn't as if itwere a woman I cared about. Had it been you--"

"Get along, don't you tell me. "

"I assure you I speak only in a general way, and you must admit thatif you go out with a fellow it would not be nice of you to begintalking to some one else. "

"Oh! I never do that. "

"There, then you admit I was right, I was sure you would; I don't carea hang for the lady I was with, but I don't intend to allow any one toinsult me. But I wonder how you can speak to soldiers. "

"They are no worse than the others. Besides, in our business we haveto be polite to every one. "

"Polite, yes--but I wanted to speak to you, I came down from my box onpurpose to speak to you, and I couldn't, you were so engaged with thatsoldier. "

"He was here before you; you would not like it if you were talking tome, and I were to rush off to speak to some one else. "

"One Scotch and three Irish, miss, and out of the bottle please, ourfriend here's most particular, he would like it in a thin glass, too--wouldn't you, Ted? and if he could have a go at that pretty mouth hewould like it better still. A rare one after the ladies is Teddy. Aren't you, old chap?"

Full of scorn Frank watched this noisy group. Lizzie remained talkingwith them for some little time, and she did not return until he calledto her twice for a cigar. 

"How very impatient you are, " she said, handing him the box. 

"You were talking to me, and you go away to talk to those cads. "

"I must serve the customers, you naughty man. You can't have me all toyourself. I believe you would like to. "

"That I should. I wish you would come out with me. I wish you wouldcome to dinner. "

"And what would the lady say who you went to the theatre with to-night, and were so mad because some one spoke to her?"

"I assure you she is nothing to me, a mere acquaintance. I was angrybecause I thought it a piece of impertinence of the fellow to comeintruding his conversation when it wasn't wanted; but as for the womanI don't care a snap for her; never did, I assure you: she is nothingto me. I suppose you don't get out much here. "

"We are off duty for so many hours every day; but we must be in at acertain time. "

"But you have got Sundays. "

"We get Sunday in our turn. "

"When will your turn come?"

"I am going out next Sunday. "

"I wish you would come with me; I would take you up the river. Youknow the river?"

"No, I don't know even what you mean. "

"You mean to say you have never been up the river, not even so far asTwickenham?" "No. "

"Well, then, you have a treat. The most beautiful thing in England isthe Thames--perhaps in the world. Last year I spent nearly threemonths at Marlow and Maidenhead--we positively lived in a boat. I havea beautiful boat. I should like to take you out--you would enjoy it. Are you fond of boating?"

"I love it. I haven't been in a boat since I left Wales. "

"So you are a Welsh girl. My boat is now at Reading. If you could getaway early in the morning we might manage to catch the nine o'clockexpress that takes us down in a little over the hour. I'd have thehamper packed, and we would have our lunch up in Pangbourne Woods. Itwould be so jolly. I wish you would come. "

"I should like it immensely; I don't know if I could manage it. "

"Do you say you will come, do. "

Lizzie stood hesitating, her finger on her lip. A girl entered the barand whispered something to her as she passed. 

"I must go away now, I'm off duty. "

"Say you will come. "

"I can't say yet; I shall see you again. "

As Frank turned to go he caught sight of Harding and Fletcher. He didnot see that they had been watching him, and when they called him hewent over to their table. 

"What will you have?" said Harding. 

"Nothing, thanks, I could not drink anything more. "

"Have a cigarette. "

"Thanks, I will; I cannot smoke this beastly cigar. I do not know whyI asked for it. "

"Sit down. "

The conversation turned on the play, but at the first pause in theconversation, Harding said: "Pretty girl, that girl you were talkingto at the bar. "

"Yes; is she not? I think she is one of the prettiest girls I ever sawin my life. "

"Far better looking than Lady Seveley. "

"I should rather think so; Lady Seveley is over thirty. "

"The choice would be a nice test of a young man's moral character. "

"Did you write that this morning, or are you going to write it to-morrow morning?"

"You have not told me which, when you do--"

"I see you are not in a hurry to bring your book out. "

Harding laughed, and Frank was pleased at the idea of getting thebetter of Harding; Fletcher sat with his eyes glittering and his lipsslightly parted. Who would hesitate between a lady of rank and abarmaid? She might be a pretty girl, but what of that? There arehundreds as pretty. He had never been the lover of a lady, and hisheart was aflame. Soon after the men parted in the street, and Frankwent from them, fearful of his lonely rooms, and longing for hisfriends at Southwick. 

He lunched every day at the Gaiety, and he at length succeeded inpersuading Lizzie to come to Reading with him. 

Town was miserably Sunday when he drove up to Paddington at a quarterpast eight. "If it should rain, if it should turn out a pouring wetday, what should I do? That would be too terrible!" He felt the boatalive beneath his oars, the river placid and gentle, and all the charmof the rushes, the cedars, the locks, and the blonde beautiful girl inthe stern with the parasol he had bought her aslant. Let him have thisday, and he didn't care what happened! He wanted to show her theriver, he wanted to joy for a day in her presence. 

He was more than a half an hour in advance. Would she come? She hadpromised, but she might disappoint. That would be worse than the rain. He would wait till ten o'clock. There was another train at ten, but ifthey missed the ten to nine the day would be spoilt, lost. Supposingshe did not come, what would he do?--drive back through dingy Londonand eat a lonely breakfast in that horrible brick Pump Court? He couldscarcely do that. Would he go to Reading by himself? The light of theflowing stream, the secrets of the rushes and murmuring woods died;nature became voiceless. 

"It will be a pity if she doesn't come. We shall have a fine day, I amsure it is going to be a fine day, but we shall miss that train. Iwonder if I can see anything of her. I don't know what side she willcome from. I suppose she'll take a cab. Perhaps she won't come at all;will she come?--she promised me. By Jove, twenty minutes to nine. Ifshe isn't here in five minutes we shall miss the train. " His passiongrew in intensity, and hope was dead, when he heard sounds of runningfootsteps, and saw the great girl holding her hat with one hand andher dress with the other. The torture of expectation was worth therapture of relief, and he said, delighted: "So you have come, haveyou? One minute more and you would have been late. "

"Why, were you going?"

"No, but the train is. We have three minutes. I'll run and get thetickets. How is it that you are so late?"

"I just missed the train. "

"What train?"

"The Metropolitan. "

"The Metropolitan? What nonsense! Why didn't you take a cab?"

She had been afraid of spending the money, fearing she might not seehim after all; and out of breath she followed him along the platform. "No, not in there; I don't like travelling alone with gentlemen. "Frank looked at her in amazement, and they got into a carriage wherean old gentleman was sitting. 

"So you thought I wouldn't come, you naughty boy?"

"Oh, I should have been so disappointed. I don't know what I shouldhave done. "

Lizzie watched the young aristocratic face; his earnestness drew hertowards him, and she wondered she did not like him better. "Now tellme what we are going to do. I had such difficulty in getting away. Itis against the rules; and the manageress (the fat woman who stands atthe end of the bar and goes round and collects the money) hates me. She would have stopped me if she could, but I went to the manager; heis a friend of mine. "

"That fellow with the long fair moustache that walks about at the rateof seven miles an hour, with his frock-coat all unbuttoned. Hardingthe novelist--the fellow I was sitting with the other night, said sucha good thing--he said he was a sort of apotheosis of sherry andbitters. I don't know why it is good, but it is; whether it is thecolour of his face and moustache--"

"He is very proud of his moustache, and your friend is quite right; heis very fond of sherry and bitters--too fond. I have served him withas many as three in an afternoon, and I am sure he wouldn't haverefused another if he could have found any one to stand it. Oh, lookat the country! How pretty it is!--the cows, the corn growing, thebirds and all the light clouds; we are going to have a lovely day. Shall we see much of the country at Reading? Tell me, where are yougoing to take me? Shall we go for a walk in the woods? Are there anywoods? I hope there are. "

"The most beautiful woods in England--Pangbourne Woods. We shallarrive in Reading about a quarter to ten. We'll walk down to theriver, or drive if you like; it is only a few minutes to walk to theboat-house. My boat is there--such a beauty! We'll row up to the--andthat reminds me, I ordered the luncheon basket at the best place inLondon, you know; it was to have been at my place last night at eighto'clock, and they never sent it. We shall have to lunch at the hotel. Such a beautiful hotel, high up, overlooking the river; I hope you arenot disappointed, it really wasn't my fault. We shall have anexcellent lunch, I assure you, at the hotel. "

The miles fled away, and in the comfort and speed of the broadgaugeline, an hour and a half seemed to them like a minute. 

"What kind of town is Reading?" said Lizzie, springing from thecarriage. 

"Not much more than a biscuit manufactory. A lot of red brick pill-boxlooking buildings scattered over a flat piece of ground. We shan't seethe town. It is a mile from here. Huntley and Palmer, you know--"

"Oh, yes, we deal with them. "

"Catch hold of this rug while I get the tickets out. Shall we walk ordrive?"

"Let's walk. "

They stepped along gaily, and they were soon standing on the wharf, Frank criticising the boats and the rowing, Lizzie all white in thesunlight, a little dumbfounded and astonished. Then he turned into theboat-house, and reappeared soon after, his arms bare, the sun on hisneck. 

"You got my telegram? My boat is ready?"

"Yes, sir, we got her out this morning. "

"I suppose a lot of people wanted to have her, they all went for her, I'll bet. "

"Yes, sir, a good many gentlemen asked if they could have her. "

It seemed to please Frank that he had caused so many to bedisappointed. "Well, get her out, we have no time to lose. "

The man stepped from one fleet of skiffs to another, he caught atseveral boats with his boat-hook, but Frank's boat could not be found. He shouted to his man who was sculling towards an island opposite:"What has become of Mr. Escott's boat? I took her out myself thismorning. "

"I should like to know what is the use of my sending you telegrams ifI am delayed in this way?"

"My man will be here in a second, sir. "

"Now, then, do be quick, stir yourself, I don't want to stand abouthere all day. "

The assistant scratched his head. Finally it transpired that thatparty down the river--that party just gone away--must have had theboat. He didn't know anything about it, it wasn't his fault. They saidthey had engaged that boat over-night. 

"My boat let out for hire! How dare you do this? I never heard of sucha thing; I shall write to the papers. "

"I will give you just as good a boat, sir--"

"As good a boat! You haven't a boat like it. How do I know you don'tlet my boat out for hire every day?"

"No danger of that, sir; I will give you another boat, one that youwill be pleased with. "

"My boat knocked about by some cad! He won't be back till nine o'clockto-night, perhaps. I never heard of such a thing. Which is it?"

"That one with the lady in the stern--the red parasol. "

"He must be caught up, he must. Have you got an outrigger?" AssuringLizzie that he would be back in less than half an hour, Frank bent tohis work. 

"If he rows like that he will run down some one, " muttered theboatman. "Confound him and his boat!"

The outrigger shot through the water; the various craft paused, surprised at such furious rowing. Lizzie watched the race, asking theboatman if there was danger. 

"Danger? No; but he'd better not say too much to that gent when hedoes catch him up, or there'll be a row, I expect. He's going roundthe bend; if he doesn't run into something, he'll catch them, " saidthe boatman. "Would you like to look through my glass, miss? They'llbe coming back presently. "

Angry language was indulged in, but the apologies of the boatmen savedthe young men the unpleasantness of blows, and, elated at his success, Frank handed Lizzie into the truant boat and paddled out into thestream. When he had got out of earshot and out of the notice of theboat-house he rested on his oars. "Did you see me overhaul them?"

"No, you passed out of sight round the bend. "

"Yes, by George! I had a good pull for it. There are a lot of redparasols up higher, and I had to look out for my boat. What did theysay about my rowing?"

"They said you'd catch them if you didn't run into something. "

"Did they? I was wild; and--would you believe it?--when I did catchthem up the fellow began to object; he didn't want to come back, ifyou please. He said he had hired the boat, that he did not know theboat was mine--no proof. I said, 'I will give you proof, ' and so Iwould have. "

"I was afraid. I began to regret that I had come out with you. "

"What nonsense! Done the fellow good if I had punched his head. Well, it has taken it out of me a bit. I had to put on a bit of a spurt tocatch them; they had such a start, and they were going along a prettyfair pace, too. It has made me feel a bit peckish, a pull like that onan empty stomach; it must be close on twelve o'clock. What do you say, are you beginning to feel that it is lunch time?"

"I am not very hungry, and you forgot the luncheon basket. I ought tohave reminded you to get some sandwiches at the railway station. "

"Sandwiches! I don't want sandwiches; I want something moresubstantial than sandwiches. I'll paddle on; we aren't more than atenminutes' paddle from the 'Roebuck, ' a ripping nice hotel, I can tellyou. "

"Couldn't we have something to eat without going to an hotel?"

"I don't think so. I want a bottle of fizz, and the fizz there isexcellent; one of the best hotels on the river; splendid gardens andtennis grounds, a great room overlooking the river; the best people gothere; sometimes one can't get a table. "

"I don't think I am well dressed enough. "

"You look charming, a cotton dress and a parasol is all one wants forthe river. "

"You are not ashamed of me, then; you'll take me as I am?"

"Ashamed of you! Steer straight for that post--that's it, bravo!"Frank shipped the oars, and when he felt the girl's arm laid on his ashe helped her to land, it seemed to him that all the world washappiness. The spirit of the river, the fields and sky, leaped to hiseyes. He assisted her to ascend the steps cut in the hillside. Shelaughed and laughed again, and stopped to rest. At last they stood onthe railway line. It swept round another hill all overshadowed anddark with cedars. 

"Here comes a train, let's wait. I must see it go round the curve. "

"You should see the Bath express come along the broad gauge at therate of sixty miles an hour. "

"This is not an express?"

"No. "

The luggage train came with an interminable rumble and jingle, andLizzie waited till the last truck passed under the branches. Then theywent to an hotel full of daylight and stained wood, with glimpses ofbarmaids far away, and waiters running about; the rooms glistened withtable linen; the waiters carved at a sideboard covered with pies, sirloins, hams, tongues. Only one table was occupied, and the waiterswere lavishing all attention upon it. Lady Seveley leaned back smokinga cigarette. Fletcher sat next to her, alternately affectingindifference and fixing her with his eyes. Harding was voluble andobservant. There was about them an air of thirty and the dissipationsof thirty. And, not in the least ashamed of Lizzie, Frank bowed toLady Seveley; she returned his bow by a slight nod; and Lizzie, verymuch embarrassed, nodded to the men; they smiled in return. 

"Who is that lady you saluted?"

"Lady Seveley; the lady I told you about, who I went to the theatrewith the other night. "

"Fancy a lady like that smoking a cigarette!"

A waiter approached with the bill of fare. "We had better not haveanything hot, we shall lose the whole day. What do you say?"

"Cold sirloin of beef is excellent, sir; pigeon pie is also very good--young birds. "

"Shall we try the pigeon pie? Get me the wine list. Take off your hat, Lizzie, do. "

"I am afraid my hair will come down. "

"Never mind, so much the better. "

With some difficulty she extracted her hat from the hairpins, and thebright hair hung loose about her white plump face. Frank drank a glassof champagne; he was proud of her beauty. 

"By Jove, how this does pick one up! not half bad tipple, is it?"

They hastened through their lunch, unconsciously avoiding the toocritical looks of those at the far corner table; nor did they suspect, as they descended the hill and got into their boat and rowed away, that they were still the subject of conversation. 

"She is no doubt a very pretty girl. He seems very fond of her. I hopehe won't make a fool of himself. "

"I think he is 'mashed. ' We saw him the other night in the bar. He waspaying her a great deal of attention--the night we saw you at thetheatre. "

Lady Seveley's face slightly altered. Harding noticed the change ofexpression, and he said: "She is called the belle of the bar. Hers isthe kind of prettiness that appeals to a young man, for somehow, Icannot explain, it is a thing you must feel; she epitomises as it werethe beauty of the English girl; she is the typical pretty Englishgirl; all that English girls have of charm, she has; and the co-ordination is an irresistible force against some young men; theirnatures demand the freshness the spontaneity, the innocence of--"

"Of the Gaiety bar! I have never been there, but from what you tell meof it, it is the last place to find innocence and freshness. "

"That may be or not be. We find a rose blooming in very out-of-the-wayplaces; but, as a matter of fact, I made no accusation of virtue; vicedoes not rob a youth of its spontaneity. You may rouge the cheeks ofMay and blacken her eyes, but she is May nevertheless. I say that thelover of the young girl cannot love the woman of thirty. Her charmstouch him not at all; but there are others who may love only the womanof thirty, and, strange to say, they are only loved by the woman ofthirty. The universal Don Juan is a myth, and does not exist out ofliterature. There is the Don Juan who plays havoc among the women ofthirty, there is the Don Juan who plays havoc among young girls, but--"

"And you think our friend Frank Escott belongs to the latter class?"

"No, I don't. He is good-looking; he is to all appearance a young manthat any woman would like, but I don't think you'd find this to be soif it were given to you to see into his life. Every man of the worldmust have noticed that there are times when, speaking generally, everysecond woman will run after him--ladies of rank, prostitutes, maid-servants--when he may pick and choose his mistresses, and change hismind as often as he pleases; there are other times when he findshimself womanless, when none will look at him, when in fact without anallusion to rings, and sometimes a very direct allusion is required, he will not be able to persuade a chorus girl to come out to supperwith him. He thinks he is getting old, he looks in the glass withfear. "

"You mean to say there are men who look in the glass with fear?"

"Of course, after five-and-thirty the glass whispers as awful truthsto the man as to the woman--worse, for woman's youth is longer thanman's. The contrary is the received opinion, but, like all popularopinions, it is wrong; a woman is frequently loved after forty, a mannever. I was saying that a man often thinks he is getting old becausethe chorus girl took an early opportunity of speaking of rings, because the lady of fashion begged of the old gentleman who had takenup his hat to go to stay a little while longer, because the chamber-maid did not look lusciously round the corner when he passed her inthe passage. He looks in the glass and imagines all kinds of monstrouschanges in his person. His fears have no foundation in fact--or shouldI say in the flesh? A year after the duchess makes overtures, thechorus girl threatens to throw up her engagement for him, and thechambermaid pesters him with unnecessary questions concerning bathsand towels. These facts tend to show, indeed I think they prove, thatlove is a magnetism, which sometimes we possess in almost irresistiblestrength, and which sometimes fades away into powerless and apparentextinction. "

"Then you think that good looks have nothing to do with the faculty ofmaking oneself beloved?" said Fletcher. 

"The phenomenon of love has hitherto eluded our most eagerinvestigation; when we have traced each desire to its source, andclassified--"

"We women will have ceased to take any interest in the matter. What ahumbug you are, Mr. Harding; one never knows when you are serious. Butwhat has all this to do with that poor boy who has gone off with hisbarmaid?"

"This: he is unquestionably good-looking, but I don't think hepossesses at all the magnetism, the power--call it what you will--thatI have been speaking of. He will never influence either men or women, he will never make friends; that is to say, he will never make use ofhis friends. He will, I should think, always remain a little outsideof success. It will never quite come to him; he will be one of thosemuddled, dissatisfied creatures who rail against luck and badtreatment. I cannot see him really successful in anything; yes I can, though, I believe he would make an excellent husband. I have spoken agreat deal to him. He has told me a lot about himself, and I can seethat he asks and desires nothing but leave to devote himself to awoman, to pander to her caprices. All that violent exterior will wearoff, and he will yield to and love to be led by a woman. He writes alittle, and he paints. I don't know if he has any talent; but he neverwill be able to work until he is obliged to work for a woman. "

"Then you think he will marry that barmaid?"

"Most probably. He will struggle against it; but unless chanceintervenes--she may die, she may run away with some one to-morrow, forshe does not care for him--he will be sucked into the gulf. "

"He is Lord Mount Rorke's heir; he will have twenty thousand a yearone of these days. "

"Mount Rorke will never forgive him a bad match. I know Mount Rorke, "said Lady Seveley, "and you do, too, Mr. Fletcher. "

"Yes, a little. "

Unfearing prophecy and oracle launched from the windows of the hotel, the young people rowed, lost to all but each other, amazed at theloveliness of the river. They floated amid the bulrushes. Cries andregret when Frank's oar crushed the desired blossom. Never before werelilies as desirable as those that were gathered that day--that bud, itmust be possessed, that blown flower must not be left behind. Lizziedipped her arm to the elbow, and rejoiced in the soft flowing water. The river rose up into what beautiful views and prospects. The locks, the sensation of the boat sinking among the slimy piles with Frankerect holding her off with the boat-hook, or the slow rising till thebanks were overflowed, and the wonderful wooden gates opened, disclosing a placid stream with overhanging boughs and a barge. Andthe charming discoveries they made in this water world, the moorhen'sindolence, and the watchful rat swimming for its hole; each bend was anew picture. How beautifully expressive of the work of the field werethe comfortable barns. If life is never very fair, a vision of lifemay be fair indeed, and once the tears came to the bar girl's eyes, for she, too, suddenly remembered her life of tobacco and whisky; longweary hours of standing, politeness, washing glasses, and listening tofilthy jokes. Would there be no change? If she might live her lifehere! She thought of the morning light, and the home occupations ofthe morning, and then the languid and lazy afternoons in this boat, amid the enchantment of these river lands. 

Frank laid by his oars, and as regardless as a shopboy of observers, he took her hand and begged of her to confide in him. He thought, too, of seeing her daily, hourly, of her presence in his daily life; he sawher amid his painting and poetry, and this pleasant scenery. Then thevision vanished like the shine upon the stream, she withdrew herhands, a shadow had fallen. 

They passed a summer-house where three girls were sitting; one sat onthe edge of a table and sang the ballad of "Biddy Malone. " There was ahouse so red, and so full of gables and narrow windows, that Franksaid it was a perfect specimen of Elizabethan architecture; and hetreated Lizzie to all he could pretend to know on the subject, and hecondemned the owner for the glaringly modern garden benches with whichthe swards were interspersed. The sun was setting, there was lassitudein every passing boat, the girls leaned upon the arms of the youngmen, and the woods stood up tall and contemplative, as beautiful inthe deep blue river as upon the pale sky. 

They landed at Pangbourne Woods by the wide grassy path between thereedy river and the spreading beeches. There a man was boiling akettle. He spoke to them; he instructed them in the life of campingout, and he invited them to tea. Lizzie went into the tent and got outthe tea-things. Two men came up, jolly fellows enough; and such littleadventures endeared and memorised the day. 

They climbed, oh! what a climb it was, Lizzie's ankles and couragegiving way alternately; but at last they reached a pathway, and theywalked at ease into the green solitudes of the wood. It seemedendless, so soft and so still. He spoke to Lizzie, whom he now calledLiz, of her past, of the reasons that had led her to leave home and"go to business. " Her brother, she said, was a painter, a celebratedbird-painter. 

"Then we should know each other, I am a painter. " He told her of hisideas and projects, of how he had been to France; he might go thereagain, unless something happened to keep him in England. He wrote alittle too, in the papers, and he might do something to help herbrother--a paragraph in _Fashion_, he could get one in. For fear ofwounding her he did not ask if her brother was a decorative painter, employed by a firm, or an artist who exhibited pictures. Her father hadmarried again. She did not like her stepmother, and that had determinedher to go into business. 

Had she ever been in love? Yes, she supposed she had; but it was allover now. The last words sounded, and died away in a great abyss ofsoul. 

Parts of the path were marked "Dangerous. " The earth had given way, creating fearful chasms, over which trees leaned dangerously or hungout fantastically by a few roots. In the dell below there stood asmall green painted table, and the young people leaning on theprotecting railing wondered at this mysterious piece of furniture. There was in them and about them an illusive sense of death and thebeauty of life. One slight push would hurl them headlong hundreds offeet down to the painted table. 

The silver of the river sparkled through silence and the foliage ofJune, and the songs of the boatmen came and went like voices in adream. 

The days of youth are long, and in tender idleness the hours lingered, their charm unbroken in the rattle of London; and happy with love andtired with the great air of the river and its leafy scenery, Frankfell asleep that night. 

VII

One of the French artists he had met in Rome wrote to him from Paris. Why should he not go there? There was nothing for him to do in London;Lizzie Baker had disappeared, and in the year and a half that he spentin Paris learning to draw he forgot her and his friends in Southwick. Nor did he remember them when he returned to London; not until oneevening, strolling down Regent Street, he came upon Willy Brookessuddenly. 

"How do you do, my dear Willy? I haven't seen you for--for--how long?"

"I should think it must be now, let me see, I have got it downsomewhere; when I get home I'll look it up. "

"Hang the looking up; better come and look me up. "

The young men laughed. 

"It must be nearly a year and a half. "

"I should think it must. Where are you staying? I am staying atMorley's Hotel, Trafalgar Square. Come and dine with me to-night. "

Willy reflected. He stroked his moustache reflectively. 

"No, " he said, "I am afraid I can't. I have something to do. "

"Nonsense! I don't believe you. What have you to do?"

"I have some cheques to write. "

"That won't take you a moment. You can do that at my place. "

"I couldn't, I assure you. I must have my books and my own pen. Iwouldn't write a cheque in that way for worlds. "

"Why not? We'll go to a music-hall afterwards. "

"I am very sorry, but I really couldn't--not to-night. "

"You never go in for amusing yourself. "

"Yes, I do; but what amuses you doesn't amuse me. I assure you I wouldsooner stay at home, write my cheques, and enter them carefully, thango to a music-hall. "

Frank looked at Willy for a moment in mute amazement. Then he said:"But what's that you have under your arm in that brown paper parcel?"

Willy laughed. "A leg of mutton; I have just been to the stores. "

"You mean to say you buy legs of mutton at the stores, and carry themhome? Supposing you met some one, if we were to--"

"Not very likely, a foggy night like this. I have a small house inNotting Hill. I take the 'bus at the Circus. I shall be very glad ifyou will come with me; so will the missus. "

"I forgot to ask about her, how is she?"

"Very well. Come and see for yourself. Come and dine with us to-morrow. I can't give you one of your restaurant dinners, but if leg ofmutton will suit, all I can say is that I shall be very happy. "

"I'll come whenever you like. "

"Can you come to-morrow?"

"Yes. We might go to the theatre afterwards. "

"We might. Be at my place at half-past six, that will give us plentyof time. "

"What a queer fish he is, " thought Frank, as he walked down RegentStreet, looking at the women. "Can't come and dine with me because hehas two or three cheques to write, must have all his books out to makeentries--what a clerk for the Government--an ideal clerk! What agenius for red tape!"

Willy was standing on the steps of the little house, and he commentedon his friend's extravagances as he welcomed him. 

"You might have come here for ninepence, third class. You paid thatcabman three shillings, and you took, I don't mind betting, half anhour longer. Now, don't make a mess, do wipe your feet; we don't keepa servant, and it gives the missus a lot of trouble cleaning up. "

Not a book nor a picture nor a single flower, and every worn carpetsuggested the bare necessaries of life. There was the drawing-room, kept for show, never entered, barren and blank; there was the room--alittle more alive--where Willy smoked his pipe and kept his accounts, but there the crumbs, three or four, seemed to speak of the dry, bread-like days that wore themselves away; life there was tooobviously dry and bare, joyless and mean. 

Had Frank's mind been philosophic and deep-seeing, he would have musedon the admirable patience of the woman who lived here, seeing no one, making entire sacrifice of her life; he would have contrasted thehumbleness, nay, the meanness, of this unknown house with thereception rooms of the Manor House; one life wasting in darkness andpoverty, another burning out in light and riches; timeworn truthsfloat on the surface of this little pool of life, and so modernisedare they that they appear for a moment "new and original. " But furtherthan a regret that there were no flowers in the window, and a sense ofthe horrible when his eyes fell on a piece of Swiss scenery, histhoughts did not wander; they soon were fixed and absorbed in theconsideration of the happiness that Willy had attained by "doing theright thing by the woman. " He was hers, she was his. Dreams of thingsmarital, the endearments of husband and wife, are the essence of thebeing of some men and women, and are to them a perennial delight. Frank was such a one. 

He had brought Cissy a doll, and the child came and sat on his knees, and put her arms round his neck. He kissed the long face, hollow-eyed, and stroked the beautiful gold ringlets that cloaked the shoulders. 

They went to the theatre in a 'bus. Frank carried Cissy, and he calledindignantly to the crowd not to press him. "Did they not see that hewas carrying a child?" He did not think that his friends mightrecognise him, nor would he have felt any shame had he caught sight ofsome face in the stalls he knew. He would not have put Cissy aside;nor would he have pretended that he was not with the pale, worn, shabbily-dressed woman by his side. He was wholly filled with hisfriends, their interests and concerns; so complete was the investmentof himself that Lizzie Baker did not snatch a fugitive thought fromthem; and it was not until he sat smoking with Willy in the backparlour that he said:

"I wonder what has become of her? She was a nice girl. "

"You mean Lizzie Baker? You lost sight of her all of a sudden, didn'tyou? Do you think she went off to live with some one?"

"No, I don't think she was a girl who would do that. By Jove, she wasa pretty girl! Once I took her up the river, up to Reading. We hadsuch a jolly day in the woods and on the water--amid the water-liliesand bulrushes, or the shade of the cedars. I wonder you never go upthe river. "

"I have no time. Besides, I hate the water. I never go on the water ifI can help it--I am too nervous. "

"How odd! Oh, we had a jolly day!"

"But I never understood how it was you lost sight of her. You said inyour letter that she had left the bar; but she must have gonesomewhere. I am sure you didn't make sufficient enquiries. You are tooimpatient. "

"I did all I could. One girl told me that a lot of them--Lizzie amongthe number--had suddenly been transferred to Liverpool Street. Thatwas true, for I saw at Liverpool Street several girls I had knownpreviously at the 'Gaiety. ' Those poor bar girls, how pitiful theylook! all over London they stand behind their bars! Breathing forhours tobacco smoke, fumes of whisky and beer, listening to abominablejokes, the subjects of hideous flirtations; and then the littlecomedy, the effort to appear as virtuous young ladies--'young ladiesof the bar. ' It is very pitiful. In such circumstances how do youexpect a girl to keep straight? I do not think it is the men who dothe harm. There are, of course, a few blackguards who crack filthyjokes over the counter, but if a girl likes she needn't listen--a girlcan always keep a man in his place. Then if a man flirts with a girlhe always loves her, likes her, if you think 'like' a better word; butyou must admit that in the most beery flirtation there must be acertain amount of liking. There is, therefore, something to save agirl. I feel sure that it is girls, not men, who lead innocent girlsastray. Those poor bar girls are quite unprotected; they have asitting-room into which they may not bring a friend--a man, I mean. Inthe bedrooms there is always a lot of illicit talking and drinkinggoing an. A girl who has gone wrong herself is never content until shehas persuaded another girl to go wrong; a girl is so mean! I feel verymuch on this subject. I am thinking of writing a book on the subject. Did I ever tell you about the novel I intended to write?"

"You told me once in Brighton about a novel you intended to write. Iforget what it was about, but you said you were going to call it 'HerSaviour. '"

"Oh, that is another book. I was thinking of writing the story of awoman who is led into vice. They get her to throw over the man wholoves her; he follows her, never loses sight of her until at last, determined to save her, and although he knows that he is wrecking hisown life, he marries her. What do you think?"

Being pressed for an answer, Willy stroked his moustache with greatgravity. "I really can't say, my dear fellow; you know I never likegiving opinions on questions I do not understand. "

The conversation came to a pause, and Willy began to whistle. 

"Just a little flat--quarter of a note wrong there and there!"

"Do you whistle it? Oh, yes, that's it! I can hear the difference! Iwish you had your violin. I should like to hear you play it. "

"What, with the missus overhead?"

"She doesn't know anything about it. How prettily _she_ used to singit; a pretty tune, isn't it? Good old days they were! Do you rememberwhen you used to come to the Princess's with me? Didn't she lookpretty?"

"You never told me why you didn't marry her; I never heard the end ofthat story. "

"There is nothing to tell. It's all over now. Do you remember how Iused to dress myself up to go to the theatre? We used to go to supperat Scott's afterwards. I did not mind what I ate in those days. "

"You hardly ever go to the theatre now, do you?"

"Hardly ever. I shouldn't have gone to-night if it had not been foryou. I don't know how it is, but I don't seem to enjoy myself as Iused to. "

The men ceased talking. Presently Frank broke the silence. 

"I hope you are getting on all right on the Stock Exchange. Youhaven't mentioned the subject. "

"I don't know that there is much to say. Times are very bad just now. I don't think any one is doing much good. "

"But you are with a very good firm. Nothing is going wrong, I hope. "

"I don't think any one is making money. We have all been hard hitlately--war scares. But I daresay it will all come right. "

"I never understood what you ever wanted to go into the business for. What do you, with your handsome place at Southwick, and your fatherwith his thousands and thousands, want to turn yourself into a cityclerk for?"

"You see, you don't care about making money; I do--it was bred in me. Besides, I am an unselfish fellow. I never think of myself; I like tothink of others. If I were to make a good thing out of this, I shouldbe able to leave the missus independent. " Then, after a slight pause, Willy said: "But, by the way, I was forgetting. I got a letter thismorning saying that if I met you in London I was to tell you that youwere to come to Southwick for a ball. "

"What ball?"

"A subscription ball at Henfield--a county ball. Will you come?"

"Yes, I don't mind. It should be rather fun. Are you going?"

"Yes, I must go, worse luck, to chaperon my sisters. "

"How do you go? Will the governor let you have the horses?"

"Not he! We generally have a large 'bus. I am going down to-morrow bythe twelve o'clock train. Will that be too early for you?"

"Not if I go home now and pack up. "

"You won't like that. You had better sleep here and get up early inthe morning; your room is all ready. "

"I couldn't manage it. I never could get back to the Temple, pack up, and meet you at twelve at London Bridge. "

"It will be rather a cold walk for you; you are too late for thetrain, and the last 'bus, I am afraid, has gone. "

"I shall have a hansom. The only thing that worries me is not beingable to say good-bye to the missus. "

"She's fast asleep. She won't mind--I'll make that all right. "

"Then, at twelve o'clock at London Bridge!"

VIII

Sally rushed down to meet him, and she took him off for a walk in thegarden. 

"What a time it is since we have seen you. What have you been doing--amusing yourself a great deal, I suppose?"

"I have been the whole time in Paris. I have been studying very hard. I only returned home about two months ago. "

"I don't believe about the studying. "

"I have been working at my painting. I worked morning and afternoon inthe studio from the nude. Last summer I had a delightful time. I tooka little place on the Seine--a little house near Bas Meudon. I had agarden; I used to breakfast every morning in the garden--fresh eggs, new bread, an omelette, such as only a Frenchwoman can make, a cutlet, or a piece of chicken. The wine, too, so fresh and generous. I don'tknow how it is, but Burgundy here is not the same as Burgundy on thebanks of the Seine. I worked all day in my garden, or down by theriver. I was painting a large picture. I haven't finished it yet. Imust go back there in the summer to finish it. "

"Why can't you finish it here? Haven't you got it here?"

"Yes, but the Seine is not here. "

"Wouldn't the Adour do? The river at Shoreham?"

"No; but the Thames might. My picture is really more English thanFrench. There were a lot of willow trees there, and my picturerepresents a girl lying in a hammock, foot hanging over, showing sucha pretty piece of black stocking. There are two men there, they areboth swinging the hammock, but while one is looking at her ankle theother only sees her face. "

Sally laughed coarsely and evasively. 

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, feeling a little nettled. 

"Don't you think people will think it rather improper?"

"Not at all. Why should they? The idea I wish to convey is that oneman loves her truly for herself alone, the other only loves herbecause she is a pretty girl. I have composed some triolets for thepicture, which will be printed in the catalogue--

 "In a hammock I swing, My feet hanging over; 'Neath Love's bright wing, In a hammock I swing, Loves come and they bring A truth to discover, In a hammock I swing, My feet hanging over. 

"That is the first stanza. There are six, and they tell the story ofthe picture. I will copy them into your album, if you like. "

"Will you? That will be so nice, if you will. The only thing is, Ihaven't an album. "

"Haven't you? I'll get you one. I'll send you one from London. "

Sally asked him to explain the triolets, and very loyally she stroveto understand. 

"Ah, I see a thing when I am told, but I never can understand poetryor pictures until they are explained to me. "

Mollified, Frank thought of going upstairs to fetch the copy book inwhich he wrote such things, but speaking out of an unperceivedassociation of ideas, he said: "What a clever girl your sister is. Ihad once a long talk with her about pictures and poetry, and I wassurprised to find how well she talked. She understands everything. "

"Maggie is a clever girl; I know she is far cleverer than I am; but ifyou knew her as well as I do, you would find she did not understandall you think she understands. "

"How do you mean?"

"Maggie's cleverness lies in being able to pretend she understandswhat she knows nothing about; I have often caught her out. "

"Really; but how do you get on together now?"

"Pretty well! I don't think there is much love lost on either side. Idon't know why--I never could understand Maggie. You have no idea ofthe reports she spreads about me all over the place--the stories shetells the Grahams, the Prestons, the Wells. She told Mrs. Wells that Ifell in love with every young man that came to Southwick. She saidawful things about me. As for that story about telling cook to putfather's dinner back, I don't think I ever shall hear the last of it. What made father so angry was because he thought it was to talk toJimmy in the slonk. "

"You told me the last time I was here that you wanted to finish aconversation with him in the slonk. "

"I may have told you that it was to speak to him about his sisterFanny, " Sally replied evasively. "I would not care if I never saw himagain; but I couldn't get on if I weren't allowed to see Fanny. Fatherwanted me to promise never to enter the house again!"

"But you have flirted with him?"

"I don't know that I have; certainly not more than Maggie. Last summershe was hanging round his neck every evening under the sycamores. Icaught them twice. "

"I don't see any harm in going under the sycamores. I daresay Maggiehas allowed him to kiss her; so have you!"

"That I assure you I haven't. "

"You mean to say a man never kissed you?"

"I didn't say that. I haven't kissed any one for years. "

"Who did kiss you?"

"You don't know him. I was only eighteen. He was a married man; it wasvery wrong of me. "

"I wish I had been he. "

"Do you? I hate him; he was a beast for doing it. "

Sally often indulged in these half confessions; one of her aunts usedto call them her "side lights. " By their aid she succeeded ininteresting Frank. "How candid she is to tell me--to confide in me!"Sally was handsome now; the evening suited her dark skin and coalblack eyes, and her strong figure was rich and not ungraceful in adress of ruby velvet. Should he kiss her? What would she say? Hethrewhis arm about her. 

"I am surprised. Certainly not!"

"I don't see any harm. " Then, with a sensation of saying somethingfoolish, he said: "You told me you kissed a married man. "

"That was ages ago--I was very silly. I shouldn't think of doingsonow. "

In the silence which followed Frank wondered why he had tried to kissher. Decidedly he liked the other better. 

Now every evening Maggie went to the writing-table, and all knew whatit meant. Mr. Brookes occasionally lamented in a minor key, butwithout having recourse to his handkerchief. Willy said nothing; hislosses on the Stock Exchange had been heavy; and owing to aconversation Frank had drawn him into during dinner the other day, hisdigestion, he feared, was not quite up to the mark. So on the night ofthe ball he only answered with an occasional monosyllable the splendidyoung man of the embroidered waistcoats who related his pleasures in adeep bass; nor did he pretend to take any interest in the crudemilitia officer who sometimes broke the silence by a declaration thathe did not care for politics or poetry, that he liked history better. The young ladies listened devoutly to all that the young men said; Mr. Brookes carved valiantly at the head of the table and appearedresigned. Bouquets were fixed in button-holes in the billiard-room andthe 'bus was announced. A greasy oil-lamp hung from the roof. Sometimes Sally rubbed the windows and said she could tell by thebushes where they were, and the embroidered waistcoat continued todrone out the measure of his amusements. He would have to run up toLondon, then he must have a shy at _trente et quarante_ at Monte Carlo, then he must get back for the spring meeting at Newmarket. Frank askedhim if he didn't think he could manage to amuse himself without talkingit all out beforehand. But undaunted and unchecked he wandered fromHomburg to Paris, and from Paris to Ross-shire, until the 'bus drew upamong a small crowd of people. 

The ball was a failure. When they entered the rooms there werescarcely twenty people present. It was very cold, and the men said;"How can the women bear it with their naked shoulders?"

"We shall never get near this fire, " said Sally, looking in dismay onthe circle of damsels who stood warming themselves, their dressesrelieved upon the masses of laurel with which the room was decorated;"there is a beautiful fire in one of those little rooms at the end. "

"Very well, let us come and sit there; or shall we dance this waltzfirst?"

"Let's dance it. "

They danced, and Frank shuddered in his evening clothes as he danced. 

"Did you notice, " said Sally, as they hurried to the retiring room, "how upset father seemed at dinner? I thought he was going to cry, buthe bore up to the end better than I expected. "

"So he did, but I don't see what there was particularly to upset himthis time. Meason is away at sea, and you have promised not to see himany more. "

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about the Measons--but haven't you heard? Ionly heard it through a friend, but I know for a fact that Willy haslost nearly all his money on the Stock Exchange. "

"You don't say so; I am so sorry. "

"Father hasn't heard it all yet; if he had he wouldn't have come downto dinner. I don't fancy he knows more than that things have not beengoing well, and that Willy has been a loser. "

"But how can he have lost? I thought he was junior partner in an oldestablished business. "

"So he is. I can't tell you how the mischief was done, but I know hehas lost all his money. "

"What do you mean by all his money?"

"All the money--three thousand--that father let him draw out of thedistillery. "

"This is very sad. "

"Yes, isn't it? And particularly for a fellow who has so fewamusements, and only cares about making money. Just look at him now;he wanders about speaking to no one. Come, let's dance this dance--areyou engaged?"

"No!"

This news about Willy fixed the Harfield ball in Frank's thoughts, andhe remembered the pretty girl in white of whom he could make nothing, of the raw just-brought-out girl who had bored him, of thecommunicative girl who had amused him by her accounts of her dogs andhorses; he remembered, too, how he had seen Maggie disappearing downthe ends of certain passages with a young man whose name he did notcatch, and whose face he had not noticed. He had danced twice withher, only twice; she was distracted, she did not look at him, her eyeswandered all over the room, she answered his questions indifferently. Sally, on the contrary, had devoted herself to him, and on severaloccasions he thought that her blunt straightforward manner was betterthan the other's slyness. The 'bus came with its draughts, its sicklylamp and its doleful jolting. Sally was too tired to rub the windowsand declare how far they were from home, and the dancers endured theirdiscomforts almost in silence; even the embroidered waistcoatoccasionally ceased to talk about Homburg; and in all the extremebitterness and greyness of a March morning they pulled up before thedoor of the Manor House. 

"I beg of you not to make a noise. If you wake up father he will neverlet us go to a ball again. Is there a fire in the billiard-room, Gardner?"

"Yes, miss, there's a lovely fire; the decanters are on the table andthe kettle is on the hob. "

"I think you would all like a glass of something hot, " said Maggie. 

"Rather!"

"But don't make a noise, please. "

They stole along the passages to the billiard-room shivering, theirfeet aching, feeling very uncomfortable indeed. The waistcoat was nowconsidering if it would be good form to come forward in theConservative interest at the next election; but every one was tootired, they could not laugh, and amid a few general remarks the youngladies drank their gin and water, casting sheep's eyes at the youngmen, and then, glad and yet loth to part, all retired limping to theirrooms. 

Breakfast was a pleasant meal--full of laughter and anecdotes of theball, and, laden with Gladstone bags, the young men departed in onesand twos. Frank was going with Willy to London, and when theydisappeared among the laurels Sally and Maggie turned indoors, conscious of reaction, and wondering what they should do with the longday that stretched before them. Maggie walked upstairs; she lingered, undecided, and then went down the passage to Frank's room. He hadforgotten a shirt stud; on the chest of drawers there was a crumpledwhite tie and a soiled pair of white gloves. "How careless he is!" shethought, "I must send him this, " and she put the stud in her pocket. She straightened out the gloves and determined to send the necktie tothe wash. Next time he came down she would have it to give him, nice, clean, and white--she must see that it was beautifully made up. Thenshe found his ball programme. He had danced four times with Sally--only twice with her--what a fool she had been; she had wasted herwhole evening with that other fellow. It did make her feel so angry. Then the housemaid entered and turned the bed down. 

"What a lot of washing there will be this week, Gardner. "

"There will indeed, miss. Three pairs of sheets, and only slept inonce. "

"Yes, isn't it a pity? It seems absurd to send these sheets to thewash, doesn't it?"

"It do, indeed, miss. "

"Absurd!" said Sally, who had just come in. "I want a pair of freshsheets for my bed. I'll have these. "

"No you won't--I was going to take them. "

"I should like to know what right you have to them more than I. "

"You promised not to interfere with me, and you have done nothingelse. You did nothing at the ball but ask him for dances. "

"That's a lie! I didn't ask him for a dance. You went off to hide; noone saw anything of you all the evening. "

"You mean to say you didn't promise?"

"I never promised anything; if I did I should keep my promise. I amnot like you. I want a pair of sheets, and I mean to have these. "

"They are too big for your bed. "

Sally seized the sheet and strove to drag it from Maggie, who, although the weaker, held her own bravely for some time. Finding herstrength failing her, she loosed her hold, letting her sister fallagainst the wall, and taking up the pillow she launched it with herfull force. "If you want what he slept in, you can have it all. "

"I'll give it to you, my lady, " cried the bully, making a rush roundthe bed, but Maggie fled through the dressing-room, shutting the doorbehind her, and locked herself into her room. 

IX

As Willy would not pay the extra fare, Frank had to travel secondclass. He was telling his friend of the Stock Exchange, and hislosses--nearly four thousand pounds. He had suspected that the firm ofwhich he was junior partner had not played fair with him. Anyhow, hewas going to get out of the business, having something better in view--a shop in Brighton. Yes, a shop in Brighton, a greengrocer's shop. Noone had any idea, until they went into the calculation, of the amountof profit that was made on vegetables. Lord This and Lord That, everyone who had a handsome place with large gardens, counted on being ableto pay his gardener's wages by the sale of the surplus carrots, artichokes, potatoes, parsley, onions, tomatoes, especially tomatoes--every one nowadays ate tomatoes. He had it all down in figures, andwas perfectly astonished at the sums of money that could be made. Grapes had been overdone, that was true; but a profit could be madeout of everything else. Flowers, especially gardenias, were sold inthe London market at two shillings apiece. Now, there was he withinfive miles of a large town like Brighton; the rent of a shop in theWestern Road would not come to more than seventy or eighty pounds ayear; the missus he would put in as shopwoman, and, there was no doubtof it, she would make as good a shopwoman as you could find, after alittle practice; the child could run on errands, so it should be allprofit. "I shall have none of the expenses that other people have tocontend with. In the garden at the Manor House about three times asmuch stuff is grown as required. I shall buy all the fruit, vegetables, and flowers from my father at cost price, or a littleover, and shall sell in my shop at retail price, that is, twenty orthirty per cent more. There is, therefore, no reason why the shopshould not bring in from three to four hundred a year. And--would youbelieve it?--my father, who will be benefited by my scheme, if notmore, quite as much as I shall be, is opposed to it; he will get afair price for a lot of things for which he now gets nothing. But no. He cannot, or will not, see it. I never saw any one like my father. Hewill not help himself and you can do nothing to help him. Thedistillery business is going very badly. He had a bad year last year. I know for a fact that he did not make five per cent on his capital. Putting these things together, I should have thought that he wouldhave been glad to make a little money to retrench; but no! he prefersto go on in the old way. He made money in the old way, and he doesn'tsee why he shouldn't make money again in the old way. Odd man myfather is, isn't he?"

It appeared to Frank that Mr. Brookes had managed to help himself veryliberally indeed to all the good things in life; but with his false, facile, Celtic nature, he had no difficulty in re-adjusting his ideasand adopting a view of Mr. Brookes more in harmony with Willy's. Hewas, as usual, enthusiastic about his friends, and was effervescingwith love and goodwill. He saw nothing of their faults--they were thebest and truest people he had ever known, and he could not love themtoo much. Indeed he was angry, and regretted the limitations thatnature has set on the human heart, and would if he could have losthimself in one immense and eternal love of the Brookeses. 

When he bade Willy good-bye at London Bridge, and wished him well withhis shop, these sentiments ceased to be active forces in him, and theylay latent in his life of restaurants and bar rooms until the summerreturned, and he received an invitation from the Manor House to comedown for a garden party at Mrs. Berkins's. When he opened the letterhe basked in thoughts of them--of Maggie and her fascinatingsubtleties, of Sally's blunt speech and sturdy good looks, of Willy, and all the quiet talks they would have together. He counted thetunnels, and, striving to recall the landscape, guessed extravagantlythe number of miles that separated him from them. He walked up thedrive with a beating heart, looking for the girls between the laurelbushes. He found them, and their habits which endeared them to him, unchanged; and to slip back into the old ways without experiencing theslightest difficulty or jar was like waking from a dream and enteringagain on a pleasant reality. There was the excellent dinner and theusual complaints about the Southdown Road, the cigars in the billiard-room, conversation about pictures and investments, gin and water, andthen a long yarn with Willy in his bedroom. Life moved at the ManorHouse without any spring creaking, without jolt or jar, and it wasthis beautiful regularity that made Frank feel so healthily and sounexpectedly happy. He loved the desolation of Ireland. This was thestronger sense, but there was another sense, a half stifled sense, that found an echo in these southern downs interwoven with suburbanlife--in other words, a faint resurrection of the original Englishmind in him. He enjoyed and he grew akin to this Saxon prosperity; helearned to recognise it as manifested in the various prospects of theweald and the wold, and he loved this medley of contradictory aspects--the spires of the village churches, the porches of the villas, therich farmhouses and their elm trees, the orchards jammed betweenmasses of chalk, the shepherds seen against the sky of the Downs. Itis true that he felt that this country was alien to him, but he wasnot individually conscious that his love of suburban Sussex was amorbid affection, opposed to the normal and indissoluble bonds ofinherited aspirations and prejudices, and the forms and colours thathad filled his eyes in childhood. Consciousness in Frank Escott wasalways slow, and always so governed and coloured by the sentiment ofthe moment that his comprehension of things were always deformed orincomplete. In his mind the phenomenon of life was ever in nebulae, and though very often one thought would define itself, no group ofthoughts, or part of a group, ever became clear, so there was noabiding principle, nothing that he might know and steer by. He was, ofcourse, aware that the Brookes were not equal to him in rank, but hedid not know, or, rather, he would not know, that they were vulgar;nor did he think that Mount Rorke might marry again, if he were tomarry Maggie or Sally. All that was really alive and distinct in himwas love of them; and this love thrived in a sensation of class whichhe would not acknowledge, even to himself, had any existence. Theglass-houses, and swards, and laurels had a meaning and fascinationfor him that he could not account for or describe, and he found thesefeelings, which were mainly class feelings of an unusual kind, notonly in the aspect of the country but in the accent and speech of hisfriends, in the expression of their eyes and very hands. The Englishservants pleased him, and he strove to detect qualities in thecarriage and horses, and he compared them to their advantage withMount Rorke's. He loved to wrap the rug about the young ladies' knees, and they seemed to him quite perfect and delightful as they lay backin their carriage, driving beneath a sky full of blue, and through thechanging views of the Downs, all distinct with light and shade. Sallyand Maggie made much of him, covered him up, and addressed to himpleasant speeches. His eyes and ears were open and eager for newimpressions, and his heart panted with readiness to admire and praiseall he saw. He was ready to think that he had never seen anything solovely as the laurels and the numerous glass-houses; and he wonderedwhy he had ever thought so little of Berkins, and he listened withinterest to that gentleman's explanation of the superiority of hispossessions over everybody else's possessions. He even allowed himselfto be persuaded that there was no pheasant shooting in the kingdom--for its size--equal to that in the little wood. Sally, who did notattempt to conceal her dislike of her brother-in-law, whispered:"That's the way to bring them down, " and Frank was obliged to laugh. Then she and Maggie disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them forseveral hours. The Grenadier Guards played on the lawn, and Frank wasintroduced to ladies of all ages and sizes; and as these bored him, hebegan to see that the place was vulgar and the people shoddy, and hewondered what Mount Rorke would say if he were to come suddenly acrosshim. Grace was the subject of much concern, and obviously _enceinte, _she passed through the different groups. She had introduced Frank asLord Mount Rorke's son, then as his nephew, then as his heir, and, fearing she might succumb to the temptation of introducing him as MountRorke himself, Frank escaped from her, and joined a party that Berkinswas personally conducting through the grounds. 

The stables had been built by So-and-so on the most approvedprinciples. There were no stables like them in Sussex--the fittings ofthe harness-room alone had cost him three hundred. The horses he hadbought at the Duke's sale, the Duke would not have thought of partingwith them had he known how they would turn out. He had driven themalong the Brighton road at the rate of fifteen miles an hour; he wouldback them to do fifteen miles in the hour. There was not a pair ofhorses in England equal to them. That was Mrs. Berkins's riding horse--was it possible to imagine a more perfect cob? He could get a hundredfor him any day, he did not know of anything like him. "Did any of yougentleman ever see anything like him?" They went to the kennels. Abrace of Irish setters were declared to be the finest dogs thatIreland had ever produced, they had taken two prizes, one in Dublinand another in Brighton--and the little fox terrier was the gamest dogin Sussex. She would go into any hole after a fox, and never leave himtill she brought him out. You couldn't find her equal. Then the glass-houses were perfect. They contained all the latest improvements, andall these were fully explained. "Berkins is excelling himself to-day, "thought Frank. 

Presently they came upon a basket of peaches. 

"These peaches were, of course, grown under glass, but I think I amright in saying, Jackson, that they were produced without artificialheat. "

"Yes, sir, quite right, sir. It couldn't be done nowhere else, sir, but all the sun in Sussex seems to come down here--a regular littlesun trap, I think that's what you called it the other day, sir, whenyou were speaking to me about them there peaches. "

"Yes, I did. If you move nearer the sea you get fogs and cold winds, further inland you lose the sun, but just here the climate is equal tothe south of Europe! I ask you to look at these peaches, it seemsimpossible--does it not?--to have peaches like these at the end ofMay, and without any heat, merely glass. "

"It seems to me quite impossible, " declared a little fat man withflaxen hair. "I am devoted to peach-growing, and I confess I am quiteat a loss. Gardener, did you say that those peaches were grownentirely without artificial heat?"

The gardener pretended not to hear, and tried to slip away, but thelittle man, who had been taken on his hobby, was not to be baulked, and he pursued the wretched horticulturist. 

"You mean to say that these peaches ripened without any artificialheat, any?"

"You have no idea what a sun we get here, sir. I have never seenanything like it. In my last situation, when I was living withLord ---, we couldn't get our fruit forward, use whatever heat hemight, and Houghton is not more than fifty miles from here--thedifference of climate is positively wonderful. "

Jackson had reckoned that Mr. Berkins would move on, and that theinquisitive little man would find himself obliged to follow, butchance was against him, for Berkins, with his guests around him, stoodlistening to the discussion. 

"You mean to say that these peaches were grown without heat. Iwouldn't mind giving you five-and-twenty pounds for the recipe fordoing it. "

"You must take a small place down here, sir, and then you will be ableto do it. "

This raised a laugh, but the little man was not to be beaten, and hesaid: "I should like to see some of those peaches of yours on thetrees. You haven't plucked them all; let me see them. "

"Yes, Jackson, show us the trees. Some will not believe withoutseeing; let us see the peaches on the trees. "

Jackson appeared to be a little disconcerted; he murmured excuses, andstrove to escape. Driven to bay he brought them into a glass-housewhere there were hot water-pipes, and when his tormentor pointedtriumphantly to the pipes he attempted a faint explanation--he hadmeant to say that heat had only been used within the last three weeks. 

"So you see, Berkins, " exclaimed little flaxen-haired fatty, "yoursouth of Europe is no better than my south of Europe, or anybodyelse's south of Europe. "

"Jackson, you have told me many deliberate falsehoods about thesepeaches. I keep no one in my employment whose word cannot be dependedupon. You take your warning. "

"Falsehoods! What do you want a man to do, if you will have everythingbetter than anybody else's?"

Berkins turned suddenly on his heel, he drew himself up to his fullheight, and stood speechless with indignation. Never, not even on themost important Board meetings, did his friends wait to hear him speakwith more anxiety; but at that moment a crash of flower pots washeard, and Sally and a young man were discovered hiding in the pottingshed; and to make matters worse, in the very next house they visited, they suddenly came upon Maggie sitting with another young man instrangely compromising circumstances. Explanations were attempted, andsome stupid remarks were made. Berkins was seriously annoyed, and hetook the first opportunity of taking Mr. Brookes's arm and leading himaway to a quiet path. Frank saw the men pass through the laurels, andten minutes after he saw them return. Evidently Berkins had read Mr. Brookes an exhaustive lecture on the conduct of his daughters. 

"Now, Mr. Brookes, now Mr. Brookes, I must beg of you--calm yourself. What would my guests think if they found you in tears? What would theythink I had been saying to reduce you to such a condition? It isveryunfortunate that Sally and Maggie should act as they do, particularly at my place; but really you must not give way. "

"Since the death of their poor mother I am all alone. My position is avery trying one. " Then, with a sudden burst of laughter, "However, Isuppose it will be all the same a hundred years hence!"

X

The girls walked to the station with Escott. A fleecy evening, withthe clouds growing pale towards the sea, the sun like fire in theelms, and the woods showing upon a purple tinge. 

"How delightful!" exclaimed Frank. "How charming this is--this oldEnglish green, the horse pond at one end, the various houses, the inn, the grocery business, the linen drying in that yard, the smith, andthe wheelwright. I don't like that modern Queen Anne school-house, andI wish I could remove the dead level of the embankment and see thesea. The green is better from this side with the view of the Downs--those lines waving against the sky, where the gorse grows and thesheep feed, and inclining to the road all the fields pale green anddeep green. But what game are those men playing--what game do you callthat?"

"Bat and trap. "

"I have passed the green twenty times before, and I never really sawit till now. It is charming--so thoroughly English. I should like tolive here for a month--for two months. How nice it would be tobreakfast in the morning looking out on the green, to see the cocksand hens and all the children and all this English life! How differentfrom Pump Court! I am sick of Pump Court--dirt and smoke, a horridservant, stale eggs. I suppose you can always get fresh eggs and newbread here? I would give anything to spend a month on the green. "

"Well, you can!" cried Sally. "I wish you would, and you could comeand play tennis with us every afternoon. Mrs. Heald has some rooms tolet; why it was only last week I heard that she hadn't let her roomsthis season, and was most anxious to do so. "

"There's no use my coming here until I begin to write my novel. I ampainting now, and I must see if I can get my picture finished for oneof the autumn exhibitions. "

"I knew you would find some excuse. "

"No, I assure you, but I can't do anything without a studio, and I'mnot likely to find a studio on Southwick Green. "

"I don't suppose Mrs. Heald has a room large enough for a studio, "said Maggie; "but I don't see why you shouldn't find a place where youcan paint. "

"Where? Not in that eighteenth-century house where the two old ladiesare standing! Supposing I were to go and ask them if they would let mehave their drawing-room to paint in! That is the only house on thegreen, all the rest are cottages. "

"I suppose you are not very particular where you paint, " said Maggiereflectively. "You don't mind appearances, I suppose? I wonder if youcould manage to fit up a farm building. "

"There is the famous barn where Charles the First hid himself, I don'tsuppose the authorities would allow me to turn that into a studio. "

"No, probably not; but I think you might find a house that would do. "

"What nonsense, Maggie, " said Sally, who began to grow jealous of hersister. 

"Why is it nonsense? I see no reason why Frank shouldn't come to somearrangement with the smith, and turn his house into a studio. "

"Which is the smith's house? I'll tell you in a moment if it could beturned into a studio. "

"That house standing quite by itself in the corner of the green. "

"That tall narrow house with the bit of broken wall and the elderbushes?"

"Yes. "

"I daresay I could rig up a very nice studio out of that place, indeedit looks quite picturesque amid its elder bushes. There is the stile, and there is the cornfield. But I couldn't live there. "

"No, you would live at Mrs. Heald's, and you could walk over everymorning to the studio. "

"Yes, I could do that. I prefer to live with my work. There is nothinglike walking from the breakfast table across the room to the easel. "

"Of course you can find fault with everything; nothing is perfect. "

"There goes the train!" cried Sally. "No use in running now, you'vemissed it. "

"How very provoking; the next isn't till half-past seven--just an hourto wait. "

"Well, " said Maggie, "if you have missed the train we may as well goat once and ask Mrs. Heald if she has let her rooms. "

They walked towards a block of cottages--at one end the "Cricketer'sArms, " at the other the grocery business; and the cottage that joinedthe grocery business was remarkable for a bit of green paling andwooden balcony, now covered with Virginia creeper. Frank thought atonce of new-laid eggs, and the sunlight glancing through a great massof greenery, and he resolved if a sacrifice were necessary to live atSouthwick, he would put his picture aside and begin his novel. Thepeople in the house pleased him, and he ran on in his way thinking howEnglish and trustworthy they seemed, liking the green parrot thatrubbed its head affectionately against the grey ringlets of a veryladylike old person; and Mrs. Heald, brisk as a bee, notwithstandingher lame leg, who led the way up the ladder-like cottage staircase. 

"How nice and clean everything is; books and engravings along thepassages. How unlike Ireland!"

But the sitting-room was full of horsehair sofas and chairs. Thesedispleased Frank, but some handsome china--an entire tea service inCrown Derby--reconciled him to the room. In the bedroom they found ahuge four-poster of old time, with a lengthy bolster and imposingpillows, and they were shown into another and a similar room. Onelooked out on the green, the other on the fields that lay between thegreen and the Manor House. 

"If that elm were cut down you could see my window, " said Sally. 

"Which room do you like the best?" said Maggie. 

"It is hard to say. The other room looks on the green, but here thereis a nice large wardrobe, and I don't see how I can get on without awardrobe. "

"If you like the other room best, sir, I can turn out the chest ofdrawers. "

"Oh, that would be very nice if you can manage it, the room will dovery well. I can have a bath every morning?"

"Yes, sir; there will be no difficulty about that. "

Maggie had taken off her hat and was settling her hair before theglass. Sally opened the wardrobe, revealing various petticoats andskirts, but she thought of it as full of Frank's light overcoats, thescarves he wore round his throat when he went out in evening clothes, the patent leather shoes in the corner. Suddenly the conversationdropped, and after a pause Frank said: "I think these rooms suit mevery well, but I can do nothing; it is impossible for me to say if Ican take them until I find out if there is any place in the immediateneighbourhood that I could convert into a studio. Do you know of anysuch place?"

"No, I do not, sir. "

"Mr. Escott was thinking of seeing the smith about his house. I wonderif Town would let it to Mr. Escott for a consideration, " said Maggie. 

"Of course, I should have to get leave to make what alterations Ipleased. "

"I don't suppose the house belongs to Town, sir; I don't think he ismore than a weekly tenant. "

"If that's the case, we must see the landlord. Do you know who is thelandlord?"

"I can't say I do, sir. "

"Well, Mrs. Heald, I will let you know in a day or two if I can takeyour rooms--you can give me a day or two?"

"Yes, sir, but I should like to know as soon as possible; severalpeople have been asking after my rooms. "

"I'll let you know in a day or two. "

"If Town is only a weekly tenant, you'll be able to get his house bypaying a little more for it, " said Maggie, as they walked down thegreen towards the smith's forge. 

"That would be hardly fair; I should like to act squarely by thesmith. What is his name?"

"Town. "

Town was cutting out the hoof of a shaggy grey cart horse when hisvisitors entered the cindery blackness. 

"Town, this gentleman would like to speak to you, " said Maggie, raising her voice above the wheezy bellows. He threw the hoof out ofhis apron, and, drawing his blackened arm across his forehead, he cameforward. 

"Town, I am anxious to find a place on the green that I could convertinto a studio; I think your house would suit my purpose very well. Doyou think we could come to some arrangement? Of course I would giveyou a reasonable compensation. "

"Well, I really hardly know, sir; I dunno that I hardly understand. You want my house to turn into a--"

"A studio--a place where I can paint pictures. "

"I don't see how I can do without my 'ouse. "

"But I will compensate you--make it worth your while. "

"You see it is so near my work. Was I to go and live at Ada Terrace, Ishould, you see, be out of the way. If people want a job done theyalways knows where to find me. "

"Yes, but if I compensate you?"

Seeing that Frank was exciting the smith with too wild hopes ofwealth, Sally thought fit to interpose. "Mr. Escott would requirepermission to make any alterations in the building he thought proper--you couldn't give him permission; he would in any case have to seeyour landlord. Who is your landlord?"

"I don't see how I can give up my 'ouse to be turned into a paintingplace; it wouldn't suit me at all. "

"If I make you sufficient compensation--"

Again the smith was reduced to silence. He scratched his head, andFrank watched the sparks fly, and heard the rhythmical sledge. "I wishhe wouldn't talk so much about compensation, " thought Sally. "I don'tknow what the man won't be asking if Frank doesn't shut up. "

"Do you think we shall be able to come to an understanding? I want toknow. "

"Well, you see, sir, my wife is delicate, and I'm that afraid shewouldn't like to give up her 'ome. But I'll speak to 'er if you liketo-night, sir. "

"Mr. Escott will have to see your landlord; he will have to arrangewith him about the alterations. "

"There will be no difficulty about the alterations. "

"Very probably; but you are only a weekly tenant. It is a questionyour landlord must decide. If he agrees to allow Mr. Escott to makethe alterations, Mr. Escott will no doubt compensate you fordisturbance. "

"It is all very well to talk about compensation. How do I know whatyour compensation will be? How do I know you will make it worth mywhile? I don't want no compensation. I want my 'ouse. Cheek I callsit, to come down here wanting to muck me out of my house. "

"Now, sir, we want no impertinence. I shall do exactly as I please inthe matter. Your landlord is the person I should have spoken to. "

"Spoken to! Who are you, I should like to know, coming round hereinterfering in my business?"

All Frank's discussions ended in angry words, and he never came toterms with any one without threatening blows. Town returned to theforge; Frank and the young ladies made their way across the green. Atthe corner of Southdown Road they found the General, the schoolmaster, and a retired farmer ardently gossiping; Mrs. Horlock, prim in herblack gown and poke bonnet, waited with admirable patience, and Angel, the blind pug, in horrible corpulence, waddled and sniffed the grass. The story of Town's impertinence was told. The General was shocked--itwas surprising. What are we coming to? The retired farmer said thatTown was a hot-tempered man, but not a bad sort when you knew how totake him, and all, except Mrs. Horlock, agreed that the landlord wasthe person who should be consulted. 

"I really don't see why you should turn the poor man out of his houseif he doesn't want to go. How would you like some one to come and turnyou out of your house?" she said, turning to her husband. 

The General laughed. "My dear Lucy, whatever you say must be right. Soyou are coming to live at Southwick. Very glad to hear it. You knowwhere to find us, the gate's always open; lunch at half-past one, dinner at eight--old Indians, you know; come in when you like. Prettyplace I have here, everything I want--stables and horses, and (theGeneral looked to see if Lucy was out of hearing) plenty of dogs, youknow--a few too many; but my wife, you know--" The rest was lost in aburst of good-natured laughter. 

They bade the Horlocks good-night and walked up the Southdown Road, looking with its line of trees along the pavement like a little mockboulevard. Frank was particularly severe in his remarks on the trimprivet hedges and the little bronze sphinxes standing before theportico of yellow glass; he declared that a man must be born to put upsuch things, and he clearly thought this sneer a very happy one, forhe repeated it, fearing that Sally had not understood. The grocer whohad placed a bas-relief of himself over his door was greatly wonderedat, and Sally told an amusing anecdote regarding the invitations hesent out for the first dinner party. The conversation turned on theMeasons. Jack's ship had gone to China, and he was not expected backmuch before Christmas. 

"That's very sad, Sally. How will you be able to live through so manymonths?"

"I don't care for him. I don't care if I never saw him again--it wasFanny who was my friend. Some nice people have come to live in thatcorner house--a young man, who is learning farming. Mr. Berkinsinsists on father not allowing us to visit any one in the SouthdownRoad, and Mr. Berkins can turn father round his finger, he is so muchricher. I'm not allowed to see Fanny at the Manor House. As for Jack, I daresay you won't believe me, but I shouldn't care if I never sawhim again. "

Maggie shrugged her shoulders. The gesture exasperated Sally, and sheturned on her sister. 

"You needn't shrug your shoulders at me, miss; I never flirted withhim; you did, and then you set father against me. "

"Well, for goodness' sake don't quarrel; what does it matter? The ideaof Berkins telling your father whom he should visit; and the idea ofyour father permitting it merely because he makes two or threethousand a year more! He surely doesn't object to your visiting Mrs. Horlock?"

"No, he couldn't do that. "

Still engaged in discussion, they entered the gates of the ManorHouse, and Mr. Brookes was told that Frank would stay at Southwick afew days longer, so that he might arrange about a studio. The news wasnot at first wholly pleasing to the old gentleman, but he rememberedthe anecdotes he should hear concerning his favourite painters, andwas consoled. The evening passed away in the security and calm ofhabit, sweetened by the intimacy of familiar thoughts and customs. There was the usual expensive dinner; Mr. Brookes lit a cigar, handedthe box to Frank, and said, puffing lustily, "That's a good picture, paid a lot of money for it, too much money, mustn't do it again. Youwere a pupil of Bouguereau; great painter; you have seen him paint;you would know his touch amid a thousand, I suppose?"

About ten o'clock steps in the passage, then the squeak-squeak of thecork; then the goggle-guggle of the water, and the young ladies camein with their grog. They kissed their father and brother, shook handswith Frank, and went to bed. Further anecdotes concerning the painterswere told; further condemnations of the Southdown Road werepronounced; the house was locked up; Mr. Brookes retired, and theyoung men continued the conversation in their rooms. Willy told Frankall about his shop, Frank told Willy all about his studio, and theywent to sleep delighted with each other and at peace with the world. 

Mr. Brookes had gone when the young men came down next morning. Willywas down first, and when Frank finished breakfast he found him busy inthe garden making purchases for his shop. 

"How much am I to charge for these peaches, sir?" said the gardener. 

"I intend to pay the market price for everything. I don't know whatpeaches are selling at in Covent Garden. I will look it up and let youknow. I am taking two dozen. "

"Yes, sir, there are only very few more ripe. "

"It is a pity I can't have them all, " Willy whispered to Frank. "Thereis a tremendous profit to be made on peaches. Now, I want some newpotatoes. How many can you let me have?"

"Really, sir, we are very short; you see it is so early in the year. We have only a few, none too many for the house. "

"I must have some, if it is only a sample. How much are potatoesselling at now?"

"Well, sir, I hardly know. Last year we bought some off Hooper at--"

"These are the things I have to contend with. How am I to keep mybooks right if I don't know exactly the price things are selling for?I may be paying more for his potatoes than they are selling inBrighton for. My father gets more out of the shop than any one, and heisn't satisfied. "

The woes of this suburban Lear amused Frank. No sooner was the archenemy Meason on the high seas, and the Southdown Road had quieteddown, than another demon had risen up against him; his garden wasravished of its fairest fruits and vegetables, his carriages wereturned into market carts, and all, as he said, for the sake ofpractising an elaborate system of book-keeping. Maggie, who hadfinished her house-keeping, came into the garden, and she went withFrank down the town in search of the landlord of the tall house amidthe elder bushes. For a small increase in the rent, and a promise toundo all alterations before leaving, putting the house back in thesame arrangement of rooms as it at present stood, the landlord agreedto allow Frank to do his will with the place. For twenty pounds thesmith was silenced, and Frank explained to the local builder that thehouse was to be thrown into one room, and the ceilings of the upperrooms were to be removed. He had thought of having the rafterspainted, but at the builder's suggestion he decided to have them linedwith fresh timber and stained. This would look very handsome. A largewindow, some six feet by eight, would have to be put in the northwall. Of course, all the doors, windows, etc. , would have to be takenaway and replaced by new. He would have a book-case in stained wood. An estimate was drawn up. It came to a good deal more than he hadintended to lay out, and Frank dreaded the expense. But he must livesomewhere, he was sick of Pump Court, and his friends and this littlesouth-coast village were now ardent in his mind; why not live here?True that the country was in no way beautiful and offered notemptations to a landscape painter, but he seldom painted landscapes, and if he wanted a bit of woodland he would find it over the Downs. Then there was the sea, and that was always interesting. Perhaps MountRorke would let him have the money. The old fellow had never refusedhim an extra hundred when he asked for it. Yes, he would risk it. Sothe order was given, and all the delays and broken promises of abuilder began to be experienced and endured. Frank, who now lodged atMrs. Heald's, hung around the workmen, counting each brick, andcommenting on every piece of woodwork. He at once took to grumbling attheir slowness, and he soon declared that all hopes of his being ableto finish his picture for the Academy were at an end, and he paradedhis misfortunes at the Manor House, at Mrs. Horlock's, and, indeed, atall the houses he went to for tea or tennis parties. The paintersespecially annoyed him, and he even went so far as to threaten themwith an action. 

Long before they had finished his pictures had arrived from London, and several pieces of furniture from Brighton. The ideas of this youngman were now in full revolt against oriental draperies and things fromJapan. The furniture was, therefore, to consist of large cane sofaswith pillows covered with a yellow chintz pattern which pleased himmuch. The selection of a carpet was a matter of great moment. Hereceived with scornful smiles his upholsterer's suggestions of Persianrugs. Turkey, Smyrna, and Axminster were proposed and rejected, heeven thought of an Aubusson--no one knew anything about Aubusson atSouthwick, and the vivid blues and yellows and symmetrical designwould have at least the merit of disturbing if not of wrecking theartistic opinions of his friends. He discovered one of these carpetsin a back street in Brighton, and with some cleaning and mending hefelt sure it could be made to look quite well. But no, if you have anAubusson carpet you must have Louis XIV. Furniture in the room, andLouis XIV. In Southwick would be too absurd. Clearly the Aubussonscheme must be abandoned--he would have a rich grey carpet, soft andwoolly, and there should be a round table covered with a dark bluecloth, set off with a yellow margin, and the chairs drawn about thetable should be covered with dark blue and painted yellow. A grandpiano was indispensable in Frank's surroundings, both for itsappearance in the studio and the relaxation it afforded in the variousinterludes. Several journeys to London were made before the lamps tobe used were determined on (a modern design was essential), and thebrass fittings to hang candles from the rafters required still moredelicate and cautious consideration; at last it was decided to havenone. 

All this while Willy was busy with his shop. He had taken a wholehouse, and at first he had thought of letting a room, but for manyreasons this scheme had to be abandoned. He did not know who mighttake the room. "Who knows--perhaps one of my own friends, a member ofmy club, for instance?" Then it would give the missus a lot of botherand worry, and she had all she could do in looking after the shop. Tomake a thing a success you must think of nothing else. It was a pity, but it wasn't to be thought of. Otherwise he seemed fairly wellsatisfied. There was a back door leading on to a back lane, in turnleading on to a back street, so with his latch-key he could pop in andout unobserved. All his books and papers in the drawing-room, theledger, the day-book, the cash-book all ready, all to hand, so thatafter dinner, when he had smoked his pipe, he could go to work. Frankalone was in the secret. And how the young men enjoyed going toBrighton together. Frank worried Willy, who ran up and down stairscollecting his brown paper parcels, calling upon him to make haste. They set forth, Willy firm and methodical, his shoulders set wellback: Frank loose and swaggering, over-dressed. How to get to the shopwas a matter of anxious consideration. Willy was fearful of detection, and all sorts of stratagems were resorted to. Sometimes they wouldwalk down to the Old Steyne, and suddenly double and get back througha medley of obscure streets, or else they would publicly walk up anddown the King's Road, and when they thought no one was looking, hurryup one of the by-streets, and so gain their haven, the lane. Once theywere in the lane they slackened speed, all danger was then over, andthey laughed consumedly at their escapes, and delighted in tellingeach other how So-and-so and his daughter had been successfullyavoided. Willy always had his latch-key ready; in a moment they wereinside, and Frank would rush upstairs and throw himself into thearmchair, crying: "Here we are!" One day they were at the window, when, to their amazement, the Manor House carriage pulled up beforethe shop, and they had only just time to dodge behind the curtain andescape Sally's eyes. Never before had the carriage arrived later thanfive o'clock, and now it was nearly six. What could be the meaning ofthis? Begging of Frank not to move, Willy went out on the landing andlistened to his sisters talking to his wife. The girls--who were, ofcourse, ignorant of their relationship to the shop-woman--liked Mrs. Brookes very much, and were fond of a chat with her; and, lookingthrough the blinds, Frank saw the footman in all the splendour of sixfeet and grey livery carrying a small pot of flowers worth sixpencefrom the carriage to the shop. 

On ordinary days the shop was shut at eight, but when Willy and Frankdined there it was closed an hour earlier. Frank enjoyed his eveningsthere; he enjoyed it all--the homeliness and the quiet. He enjoyedseeing Willy nurse the missus after dinner, and he found no difficultyin pretending a certain interest in the book-keeping, and anadmiration for the lines of figures all carefully formed, and thebeautifully ruled lines. Cissy adored him. He took her on his knee, and she leaned her hollow cheek against his handsome face. She wouldhave probably rushed to death to serve him. His height, hisbrightness, his rings, his spotted neckties--all seemed so perfect, sobeautiful, to her; and when he brought his fiddle she would sit andlook at him, her little hands clasped with an intensity of love thatwas strange and pitiful. Swaying from side to side, he ran on fromtune to tune--waltzes, reminiscences from operas, fragments ofovertures, delightful snatches from Schubert; and when he introducedWilly to one tune--a tune in which all his _might-have-been_ was bound--the dry man seemed to grow drier: perhaps it brought a glow ofpleasure to his heart: but be this as it may, he only sat and puffedmore emphatically at his pipe. 

XI

For Frank this pleasant English village was now a happy _fete_ ofsummer joys and occupations. Oh! the hill prospects and the shadygardens around the coasts. And when he went inland he would return bychoice across the Downs, and in the patriarchal valleys where nothingis heard but the bell-wether he would stand in the great, lonelydarkness, and see the lights of Brighton brighten the sky above theridges, and climbing up the ridges, he gazed on the vague sea, and thelong string of coast towns were like a golden necklace. 

His days went like dreams. The morning hours--bachelor hours--werefull of intimacy and joy. The joy of waking alone with a strange andsecret self that, like a shy bird, is all the day chased out of sightand hearing, but is with you when you awake in sweet health in themorning; that of waking alone with the sunlight in the curtains, thatof being alone with your body as well as your mind, and no presence tojar the communion. There is a dear privacy in morning hours of singlelife. 

But although the desire to exchange these for the joys of wedlock wasgerminating in Frank, although it was inherent in him to understandthe husband's happiness when he puts his arm round a dear wife's neckand draws her to him with marital kisses and affectionate words, hewas certainly conscious that each hour seemed to bring its specialpleasure. His room was airy and pleasant, the window full of thecolour of the green and its aspects; the little water-course with itsbrick bridge, the trees along the embankment, the rigging of the shipsin the harbour, the linen drying in the yard. Of these views Frankseemed never to grow tired; he noted them as he brushed his browncurls over his forehead, and when he sat at breakfast eating fresheggs and marmalade. After breakfast he lay on the sofa, and readsociety papers and smoked cigarettes. He could not drag himself to thestudio. "A man should live at his studio, impossible to settle down towork, if he doesn't, " he thought, and he watched Mrs. Horlock comingup the green accompanied by the chemist's wife and the pugs. 

"Dear old lady, how nice she looks in her black dress and poke bonnet!And there goes the General--he is giving all his coppers to thechildren. "

Frank took up a volume of Browning, turned over the leaves, and laidthe book down to watch a drove of horses that had suddenly been turnedout on the green to feed, and he laughed to see the children throwingstones, making them gallop frantically. Very often the thunder of thehoofs alarmed Triss, and he stood on his hind legs and barked. "Whatis it, old dog? What is it? Like to have a go at the horses? Shall wego out and play with the pugs?" At the mention of going out Trisscocked his ears and barked. "I suppose I must make a move. I wonderwhat the time is--half-past eleven. Good Heavens! The post will behere at twelve. I had better wait for it. " On waking his firstthoughts were for his letters, and almost before he had finishedreading them he had begun to think of what the mid-day delivery wouldbring him. To see the boy pass and so have ocular proof that there wasnothing for him seemed to lighten his disappointment. He saw him wastehis time with the doctor's horse and then with the maid-servant, andif the old ladies were not about he would stand talking many minuteswith their servants. Then he visited the short line of cottages, passed sometimes round the yard or open space at the back of thewheelwright's, where the linen hung on poles between the elms, andonce Frank saw the provoking boy hide behind the cricketers' tent andremain watching the match. For half an hour the question--letters orno letters--hung in suspense, and when the loiterer came, stoppingevery minute to see where the ball was hit to, the joy, heightened byanticipation, was great in receiving a packet of newspapers andvarious correspondence. Frank often went to meet him. True, he mighthave nothing for him, he might be going to deliver at the grocer'sshop, or at the "Cricketer's Arms. "

"Any letters for me, to-day?"

"Yes, sir, two postcards and a newspaper. "

It was disappointing not to get a letter--postcards meant nothing. Heonly exchanged a few words with Mrs. Horlock, and passed on to theGeneral, who, at the corner of the Southdown Road where the gossipersmet, was discussing a local candidature. 

"So you are off to paint. You must come and see the model my wife hasdone of a horse I once had. I mustn't say much about him, though--itis a sore subject. After winning over a thousand with him I lost itall, and five hundred with it. She never would paint his picture forme; but yesterday was my birthday--I suppose she thought she wouldgive me a treat, she began to model him from memory--wonderfullikeness--she knows every bone and sinew in a horse--clever woman, never seen any one like her. Come in to-night, dinner always at eight--old Indians. She'll show it to you. "

"Thanks, not to-night, General; to-morrow night, if you like. "

"Very well, to-morrow night at eight. What a terrible dog that is ofyours! You need fear nobody while you have him with you. You must askmy wife to paint him for you, but I forgot, I beg your pardon--you area painter; you should paint him yourself. "

"I don't paint animals. I shall be very glad if Mrs. Horlock willpaint him; there is some beautiful drawing about him--those fore-legs. "

Probably attracted by the dog, Mrs. Horlock came walking towards them. Triss went sidling after Rose, and when Mrs. Horlock called him, hegrowled. 

"I beg of you, Mrs. Horlock, do not touch him; he isn't safe, I assureyou. He once bit a man's nose off who was trying to train him to dosomething or other. I will not be answerable. "

"All nonsense! No dog ever bit me, they know I love them. 'Come to me, sir. ' No dog ever bit me but once, and he was a poor mongrel that hadbeen hunted by a lot of horrid men. I was dressing to go to a ball atthe Government House, and I heard him under my bed. He had takenrefuge under my bed, poor thing. He was frightened to death; hecouldn't see me, and he bit me through the wrist. I went to the ballall the same. A dog died of hydrophobia in my arms. He died like achild, licking my hands and face. 'Come here, sir. Come to me. '"

"I wish you wouldn't do it, Mrs. Horlock. I am afraid to call him, forfear he should think I intended to set him at you. "

Triss showed a terrible set of teeth, and his nose seemed to curl backalmost into his eyes; but stooping down Mrs. Horlock extended herhands to him. She looked so like herself in the poke bonnet and theblack dress, and the kind, intelligent eyes softened the dog's humour, and he came to her. 

"You see--what did I tell you? Dogs know so well those that love them. No animal ever did bite me except that poor frightened creature, andhe didn't mean it. We kept him for ten years after that, and how hedid love me!"

"Wonderful woman, my wife; she can do what she likes with animals. Iwas telling Mr. Escott that he must come in and see the model you aremaking of Snap-dragon. "

"Only an amateur, I never had a lesson in my life. Mr. Escott wouldthink nothing of it, I am sure. But I wish he'd come in and dine withus. "

"He promised to come to-morrow, Lucy; but stay, isn't that the day weare going to have the Bath people in to dine?"

"Never mind--Mr. Escott won't mind, I'm sure. They are very nice, goodpeople, indeed. I'm sure you'll think so. They are all snobs aboutthis place. I never heard of such snobbery in my life. Mrs. So-and-so--over there--once said to me, 'I believe you know all the people wholive in those little houses. ' She said she wouldn't allow her childreneven to walk across the green. Did you ever hear of such snobbery?"

"Well, Mrs. Horlock, as I have always said, your position is made; youhave your friends who will like you and value you just the same nomatter whom you may walk about the green with. Every Viceroy that everwent to India called on you; your position is made. "

"There are a lot of snobs about here; but I mustn't keep Angelwaiting, he is never well unless he gets a little exercise. We shallsee you then at eight. "

"The cleverest woman I ever knew. I don't say the cleverest that youever knew. But we have got too many animals; I often wish I could getrid of the brutes, " and the General laughed as he stumped along. "Fivehorses when two would be sufficient--five horses eating their headsoff; then the Circassian goats that the neighbours complain of, andthe parrots and the squirrels. There are a few too many, there's nodoubt. But once an animal comes into the place she will cherish it forever. I try to keep Prince out of the drawing-room as much aspossible, she says she can't smell him. If that little beast Angelwould only die!"

"Why don't you poison him?"

"I would if I dared; but just think, if my wife heard of it she wouldgo out of her mind. I don't think she'd have me in the house. " TheGeneral laughed. 

"We all have our troubles, General. Good-bye, I'm off to work. "

"Lucky man to have something to do. If I had a little something--justa little something to bring me out, I should be perfectly happy. Thenat eight. Good-bye. "

"Half-past twelve! Half the day gone, I really must make an effort toget to the studio earlier. It is, as I said, useless to hope to getthrough work unless you wake up where your work is. A man doesn't geta chance. I wonder if I could build a bedroom out at the back? I havelet Mount Rorke in for three hundred extra this year; he would turnrusty if I spent any more. I must give him a rest; besides, I don'twant to have the workmen in again. I wish I could get ivy to grow overthose walls, they do look precious shabby. "

He looked at the tall dilapidated walls showing above the dark greenof the elder bushes, and lingered, for it was a soft blue summer's daywith just a breeze stirring, and the corn waved yellow, and the dimexpanses of the Downs extended in faint lines and dim tints. 

When he entered his studio his colour scheme pleased him, and lookingat the rafters he thought that the stained wood was handsome andappropriate. The grey carpet was soft under foot, and the lustre andform of a grand piano suggested Chopin and Schubert. His studio seemedto him a symbol of his own refinement, and being moved, perhaps, bythe silence and the quiet of the north light, he took his violin, andturning from time to time to look on himself on the glass or hispicture on the easel, he played Stradella's "Chanson d'Eglise. "

Then seeing, or rather thinking he saw, how he could improve hislandscape, he took up his palette, and in a desultory and uncertainfashion he painted till five o'clock. "It is no use, " he thought, "Ican do nothing with it until I get a model, but the devil of it is, there are no models in Brighton--at least, I don't know where to goand look for one, and it is no use asking Sally or Maggie to sit. They'll sit for five minutes, and then say they have some work to doat home, and must be off. You must have a professional model, a girlyou pay a shilling an hour--I might sling the hammock from there tohere--I wonder where I could get a girl who would do. I can't have agirl off the street; she must be more or less respectable--I wonderwhom I can get. That girl in the bar-room at the station would do. "Putting his palette away with a lazy gesture, he thought for a fewminutes of Lizzie Baker. What had become of her? And why had shedisappeared?

It was nearly a year and a half ago now. What a jolly day up theriver! All the beauty of the flowing water, the crowning woods andwhispering rushes filled his mind, and yielding to the moment'semotion he took some verses out of an escritoire and altered severallines. Another abandoning the search for a suitable rhyme he turned toa portrait of Maggie which he had begun a few days before. She stoodin a pose that was habitual to her--her hands linked behind her, thehead leaned on one side, the little black eyes--but not ugly eyes--fixed in a sweet subtle and enquiring look. The thinness, and, indeed, the angularity of her figure was almost powerfully indicated withbroad lines of paint and charcoal. It was Frank's most successfuleffort. He knew this, and he said to himself, "Not half bad, very likeher, quite the character; the drawing is right, if I could only go onwith it; if I could only model the face. I see very well where I shallget into trouble--that shadow about the neck, the jawbone, thecheekbone, and then all that rich colour about the eyes. " Then hethought he would walk over to the Manor House, and he must hasten, forit was half-past five, and tea was always ready in the verandah. 

He stayed for dinner; he talked to Mr. Brookes about painters in thebilliard-room; he strayed through the shadows and the perfumes ofleaves and flowers through the gentle moonlight with his arms aboutthe girls. And as they walked it seemed to Frank that his life was somingled with theirs that he could not think of one sister apart fromthe other. The dusk gathered; the sky became a decoration in blue andgold; the scent of the sea came over the embankment, filling thegarden. Day followed day, without anything happening to stay or checkthe gentle tide of their mutual affections; neither was jealous of hersister, for their desires were set upon others. Frank was but anideal, a repose, a pious aspiration which joined their hands andhearts leaving them free of any stress of passion, Maggie claiming hima little more than Sally, and Sally yielding her claim to her withoutknowing that she was yielding it. 

It is only natures that are never gross--calm and tepid livers--thatare really incapable of ideality, of real and adequate aspiration;nature works by flux and reflux; and if we waive the rough temper andthe coarse edge of passion due to youth, it will not be impossible toconceive another picture of these girls. Sally, good-hearted and true, full of sturdy, homely sense, willing to take care of a man's money, and make him a straightforward wife; Maggie, gentle and sinuating--always a little false, but always attractive, the enchantment of aman's home. Frank, notwithstanding his genuine admiration of all thatwas young and sweet and pure, was of poor and separating fibre, and itis clear that it will take all the strength of society to support himand save him from sinking of his own weight. 

One day, as he was coming through the station from the post-office, hemet Maggie with a young man. He was introduced, and they returned tothe Manor House to play tennis. Instead of playing they talked, andthe set fell through, and after tea they disappeared, and Sallyproposed not to disturb them, for they had gone, she said, to sit inthe shade at the end of the garden. The marked mystery of the newflirtation piqued Frank's curiosity, and, striving to veil hisquestion, he asked Sally who the young man was, and if her father knewhe was coming to the Manor House. 

"He! Don't you know? That's the fellow we often speak of--the onlyfellow Maggie ever really cared for. He has just come back fromAmerica. He is going to begin business in London. "

A sickening pain rose from his heart to his eyes, and he longed toplace his hand on his heart. 

"So that is the man she is engaged to, " he said, after a pause. "Iremember, now, you have spoken to me of him. "

"She is not exactly engaged to him. Father would never hear of it; hehasn't a cent, and I believe he lost the little he had in America--nowmind you must take care not to let out to father that he has beenhere; there would be the deuce of a row, and I promised Maggie not totell any one; she has been nice to me lately, and I want to play fairwith her if she will play fair with me. "

"Oh, I won't tell any one; I won't even let Maggie know that I know itwas he. "

"It doesn't matter about Maggie, she will tell you herself, no doubt;she doesn't mind your knowing. What do you think of him? Isn't henice-looking?"

"I confess I should never have thought of calling him handsome--wouldyou? And do you think he is quite a gentleman?"

"He seems to me to be all right. "

"All right, yes, but isn't there a something? You can see he is intrade--all the trading people look alike, at least so I think. "

"But we are in trade, and I think he is quite as good as we are. Butyou seem quite put out. Would you like to take his place? I didn'tknow you were in love with Maggie. "

"I don't know that I am in love with her. I like her very much; but, love or no love, I don't think it is right for her to walk round thegarden alone with that fellow the whole afternoon. I don't think it isvery polite to me, and she knows her father does not like--"

"But you mustn't say anything to father; mind you have promised me. "

"Oh, I shan't say anything about it. "

Frank longed to get up from the tea-table and rush after Maggie. Hisheart ached to see her. He trembled lest she loved the man she waswith, and rejoiced and took courage from the knowledge that she hadnot formally pledged herself to him. Frank was the romantic husband, not the lover; he found neither charm nor excitement in change; hisheart demanded one single, avowed, and binding faith. He could take awoman who had sinned to his heart, and admit her to all his trust, forstolen kisses and illicit love were unfelt and imperfectly understoodby him, and were considered as shadows and thin fancies, and not asfacts full of mental consequences. He answered Sally in monosyllables, and on the first opportunity he pleaded letters to write, andwithdrew. The gladness he felt that Maggie was truly not engaged tothis fellow quickened and dominated his regret that the girls wereinclined to behave so indiscreetly. The moment Mr. Brookes turned hisback it began--that perpetual going and coming of men--it reallywasn't right. Sally was a coarser nature, but Maggie! He might speakto Mr. Brookes; no, that wouldn't do. He might speak to Willy; butWilly didn't care--he was absorbed in his wife and his speculations. 

His little dinner at Mrs. Heald's passed in irritation and discomfort, and after dinner he stood at the window, his brain full of Maggie--hergraces, her fascinating cunning, and all her picturesqueness. He knewnothing yet of his passion, nor did he think he could not bear to loseher until he went from the stuffy cottage towards his studio thinkingof his portrait of her. He wanted to muse on the little eyes as he hadrendered them. He saw the faults in the drawing hardly at all, and hispain softened and almost ceased when he took up the violin, but whenhe put it down the flow of subjective emotion ceased, and he stared onthe concrete and realistic image of his thought--Maggie passingthrough the shade with the young stranger. 

Who was he? By whose authority was he there? Was he one of those menwhose only pleasure is to tempt girls, to corrupt them? Had he thoughtof this before his duty would have been to interpose; and he sawhimself striding down the garden and telling Maggie that he insistedon her coming back to the verandah to her sister. It did not matter ifhe had no right, he was prepared to answer for his conduct to herfather and brother. Did that man look like one of those men who arealways sitting with girls in far corners out of sight? Ah, if he weresure that he was one of those dastardly ruffians he would seek himout, force him to speak his intentions. If a girl's father and brotherwill not look after her, a friend must say "I will. " Yes, he wouldhave to thrash him, kill him, if it were necessary. She might hate himfor it at first, but in the end she would recognise him as hersaviour. 

It was too late now, the man was in Brighton. To-morrow? Elated withwhat he deemed "duty, " with what he deemed "for the sake of the girl, "he strode about, thinking of "the ruffian"; no thought came to him ofhow much of the sin, if sin there was, had originated in Maggie; hesaw her merely as a poor little thing, led like a lamb. Following theidea of saving came the idea of possession. When she clung to thehusband she would tremble at the danger she had escaped. Their home, their table, their fireside; protection from evil, now all wild windsmight rage--they would be safe. The vision was constitutional andcharacteristic of his soul. He was out of thought of all but himself, his dream evolved in pure idea, removed from and independent of alllimitations--out of concern of the world's favour--Mount Rorke, Mr. Brookes, or even the girl's grace. As this temper passed, as realityagain interposed, and as he saw the garden with Maggie leaving him foranother, he viewed her conduct suddenly in relation to himself. Whatdid she mean by treating him so, and for whom? One day he would beLord Mount Rorke! The Brookes knew nobody. He had only met a lot ofcads at their house; they did not know any one but cads. The Brookeswere cads! The father was a vulgar old City man, who talked aboutmoney and bought ridiculous pictures. The girls, too, were vulgar andcoarse. God only knew how many lovers they had not had. Willy was thebest of the bunch, but he was a fool. His miserliness and hisvegetable shop--hateful! The whole place was hateful; he wished he hadnever come there; since he had been there he had never been treatedeven as a gentleman. The Brookes had treated him shamefully. 

The skeleton of Frank's soul is easy to trace in this mental crisis--his quixotism, his wish to sally forth and save women, his yearningfor a pretty little wife, who would sit on his knee and kiss him, saying, "Poor old boy, you are tired now;" therefore an emotional anddistorted apprehension of things, a tendency to think himself awronged and persecuted person, and under much bravado and swagger thecringe that is so inveterate in the Celt. 

Next morning he thought of her lightly, without bitterness and almostwithout desire; but after breakfast his heart began to ache again. Hestrove to read, he went to his studio, he went to Brighton; but he sawMaggie in all things. She was with him--a sort of vague pain that kepthim strangely conscious of life. 

Once convinced he was a lover he became the man with a mission; hisheart swelled with mysterious promptings, and felt the spur of duty. No longer was delay admissible. A day, an hour might involve the lossof all. Should he go round to the Manor House and tell Maggie of themessage he had received to love her and save her? She would now bewatering her flowers in the green-houses. But that other fellow mightbe there--he had heard something about an appointment. No, he hadbetter write. If he wrote at once, absolutely at once, he would be intime for the six o'clock delivery. Snatching a sheet of paper hewrote:--

"DEAREST MAGGIE, --I have loved you a long while, I remember manythings that make me think that I have always loved you; but to-day Ihave learnt that you are the one great and absorbing influence--thatwithout you my life would be stupid and meaningless, whereas with youit shall be a joy, an achievement. 

"I have frittered away much time; my efforts in painting and poetryhave been lacking in strength and persistency. I have vacillated andwandered, and I did not know why; but now I know why--because you werenot by me to encourage me, to help me by your presence and beauty. Iwill not speak of the position I offer you--I know it is unworthy ofyou. I would like to give you a throne; but, alas, I can but promiseyou a coronet. "

His hand stopped and he raised his eyes from the paper. He recollectedthe day he saw her a child, the day they went blackberrying over thehills. He saw her again, she was older and prettier, and she wore atailor-cut cloth dress. How pretty she looked that day, and also whenshe wore that summer dress, those blue ribbons. All the colour, innocence, and mirth of his childhood came upon him sweetly, like anodour that passes and recalls. He sighed, and he murmured, "She ismine by right, all this could not have been if she were not for me. "Ah! how he longed to sit with her, even at her feet, and tell her howhis life would be but worship of her. He regretted that he was notpoor, for to unite himself more closely to her he would have liked towin her clothes and food by his labour; and hearing himself speakingof love and seeing her as a maiden with the May time about her, hisdreams drifted until the ticking of the clock forced him to rememberthat he could tell her nothing now of all his romance, so with painand despair at heart he wrote, "Never before did I so ardently feel the necessity of seeing you, ofsharing my soul with you, and yet now is the moment when I say, I mustend. But let this end be the beginning of our life of love, devotion, and trust. I will come to-night to see you; I will not go into thebilliard-room, but will walk straight to the drawing-room. Do bethere. Dearest Maggie, I am yours and yours only. "

He seized his hat and rushed to the post. He was in time, and now thatthe step had been taken, he walked back looking more than usuallyhandsome and tall, pleased to see the children run out of school androll on the grass, pleased to linger with the General. 

"Where are you going, sir?" said the old man. 

"I'm going to my studio to play the fiddle. Will you come? I'll giveyou a glass of sherry, and--"

"Never touch anything, except at meals. I used to when I was as youngas you, but not now. But I will go and hear a little music. "

Glad to have a companion, Frank took out the violin, and he played allthe melodies he knew; and his mind ran chiefly on Schubert and Gounod. The "Soir, " the "Printemps, " and "La Chanson du Printemps" carried hissoul away, nor could he forbear to sing when he came to the phrase, "La Neige des Pommiers. " When musical emotion ran dry he triedpainting, but with poor result. During dinner he grew fevered andeager to see Maggie, and mad to tell her that he loved her, and couldlove none but her. At half-past eight the torture of suspense was morethan he could endure, and he decided that he would go to the ManorHouse. He passed round the block of cottages, and got into the paththat between the palings led through the meadows. It was a soft summerevening--moonlight and sunset played in gentle antagonism, and in agarden hat he saw Maggie coming towards him. He noticed the pink shawlabout her shoulders, and the thought struck him, "had she come to askhim to elope. " She stopped, and she hesitated as if she were going toturn back again. 

"Oh, I am so sorry, " she said, speaking with difficulty, "but I wantedyou to get this before nine. "

"Never mind, darling, " he answered, smiling; "you can tell me allabout it--it will be sweeter to hear you talk. Which way shall we go?"

"I really don't think I can now; father doesn't know I am out. Thisletter will--"

"No, no; I cannot bear to part with you. How pretty you look in thathat! Come. "

"No, Frank, I cannot now, and you had better leave me. I cannot walkwith you to-night. Read this letter. "

"Then am I--is it really so?" said Frank, growing suddenly pale. "Youwill not have me?"

"You must read this letter, it will tell you all. I am truly sorry, but I did not know you cared for me--at least not like that. I don'tthink I could, I really don't. But I don't know what I am saying. Howunfortunate it was meeting you. I but thought to run round and leavethe letter, it would have explained all better than I could. We haveknown you so long. You will forgive me?"

She stood with the letter in her hand. He snatched it a littletheatrically and tore it open. She watched, striving to read theeffect of her words in his face. They dealt in regrets. There was anexasperating allusion to engaged affections. There was a long andneatly-worded conclusion suggesting friendship. She had taken a greatdeal of trouble with the composition, and was very fearful as to theresult. She felt she could not marry him--at least, not just atpresent, she didn't know why. Altogether Frank's proposal had puzzledand distressed her. She felt she must see her flirtation out withCharlie, but at the same time she did not want to utterly lose Frank, or worse still, perhaps, to hand him over to Sally. She was determinedthat Sally should not be Lady Mount Rorke, and she thrilled a littlewhen she saw he would not give her up easily, and her heart sank whenshe thought of the difficulty of continuing her intrigue withoutprejudicing her future. If Frank would only leave Southwick for alittle while. 

"Is this all? The meaning is clear enough; it means that you love theman I saw yesterday at the Manor House. But he shall not have you; Iwill save you from him. Listen to me--I swear he shall not have you; Iwill strive to outwit him by every means in my power. If I don't getyou, none shall. I will shoot the man rather than he should get you. "

"O Frank, you wouldn't commit murder!"

"I would, for you; but it will not be necessary. I can challenge himto fight a duel, and if he is cowardly enough to refuse, I willhorsewhip him before your face, and I don't suppose you will marry himafter that. "

Maggie struggled with feelings of laughter, fear, and delight; delightoverpowered laughter, for Frank was young and handsome, and full ofwhat he said. It was quite romantic to be talked to like that. Shewould like to see the men threaten each other. But then--the scandal--father might never get over it. And if he married again? Speakingslowly, and in an undertone so as not to betray herself, she said: "OFrank, I'm sure you would not do anything that would injure me. "

"My darling, I love you better than the whole world. My whole life, ifyou will, shall be spent in striving to make you happy. "

"You are very good. " She took his hand and squeezed it; he returnedthe pressure with rapturous look and motion. She drew from him alittle, for there were some people coming towards them, and she said:"Take care. " When the fisher folk had passed, she looked at himstealthily. She had always liked him in that necktie, and those clothshoes were perfect. Had she never known Charlie, or if she had notgone so far with him!--There was something in Frank that was verynice--she could like the two. What a pity the two were not one! "If hewere always as nice as he is now, and not lecture me!" Then sheremembered she must return home. "I must really go home; I can't goany farther--"

"No, no, I cannot leave you. I must see and hear you now. If you knewwhat I have endured waiting for you, you would not be so cruel. Comeand let us sit on the beach. "

"I couldn't. I must go back; father will miss me. Besides, what havewe to say? If I were only free and could tell you that I loved you, itwould be different. "

"Free! then you regret; if a woman wills it she can always freeherself. "

"No, it is harder than you think for a girl to get out of anengagement she has entered into, even if no absolute promise has beengiven. "

"What do you mean? If you have entered into no formal engagement youare surely free. "

"I don't know. Do you think so? I am afraid men think that a promisemay be broken after marriage as well as before. "

"You are wrong. Women who are jealous, who are old, tell girls thatmen are always unfaithful, but I'm sure that if I loved a girl I couldnever think of another. Do you really think I could think of any girlbut you?"

"I don't know. I wonder if all you say is true. "

"Do you think me different from other men?"

"Yes, but I cannot go on the beach; some other evening I will walkthere with you. "

"No, now, now--I want to tell you how and when I began to love. Do youremember when I used to spend part of my holidays at the Manor Housewhen I was only so high, and you were all in short frocks? Come, thereis much I want to say to you; I cannot part with you. Come, and let ussit on the shingle. Oh, the beautiful evening!"

She could love him a little when she looked at him, but when he talkedshe lost interest in him. She had allowed him to take her hand, he hadbent towards her, and she had let him kiss her; and then they talkedof love--she of its bitterness and disappointments; he of itsaspirations, and gradually their souls approached like shadows in thetwilight, paused for a few vague moments, seemed as if lost in dreams. 

"I shall never forget this night! O my love, tell me one day you willbe mine!"

"I cannot promise, you must not ask me. "

"We are meant for each other. It was not blind fate that cast ustogether. Does no voice tell you this? I hear it in my heart. "

The abandonment, the mystery of the gathering dusk, touched Maggie'sfancy. They were alone in the twilight, and it was full of the romanceof a rising tide. 

"Never did I know such happiness; I am supremely happy, alone with youbeneath this sky, listening to the vague, wild voice of the sea. Itwould be bitter sweet to die in such a triumphant hour. Supposingwewere to lie here and allow the sea to take us away. "

"No, I don't want to die. I want to live and enjoy my life. "

The answer fell a little chillingly on Frank's rapture. Then after apause, Maggie said: "I think I have read of that somewhere--in anovel--lovers caught by the tide. "

"Yes, I daresay you have. I was thinking of two lovers who were soovercome with happiness that they decided that they would not trustthemselves again to the waves and storms of life, but would let thecalm, slow tide of death take them away with all their happinessunassoiled. "

Maggie did not answer. The double fear had come upon her--first, thatthe tide might rise higher than usual and cut off their retreat. Secondly, that Frank--he was a poet--might insist on remaining thereand being drowned. Getting up, she said: "I do not know what fatherwill say when I get home, really it is quite dark. Come, Frank. "

"Death is better than a life of abomination--loss of innocence, and ofdelight in simple things. I ask you, " he said, stopping her suddenly. 

"Yes, no doubt it is so; but I want to get home. Do go on, Frank. "

"I will save you from a life of abomination--in other words I willsave you from him; he shall not get you. I have sworn it; you didnotknow that when you were lying down on the beach--you had ceasedspeaking, and in the silence my life seemed stirred to its veryessence; and I knew that I must struggle against him, and conquer. Iwant to know this: Have you ever thought of what your life would bewith him? Have you ever thought what he is?"

"But you don't know him, Frank. You have never spoken to him. I amsure you misjudge him. "

"Do you think I cannot see what he is? He is one of those men whoseone ambition is to make themselves friendly in a house where there arewomen to wheedle. If the wife is young he will strive to wheedle her, and though he may not succeed he must degrade her. Or, if she havedaughters, he will never cease to appeal to, to work upon, to excitelatent feelings which, had it not been for him, would never have beendeveloped into base and abnormal desire. I know what the foul-mindedbeast is. Such men as he ought to be killed; we don't want them in oursociety. I want to save you, I want to give you a noble, a pure life, full of the charms of a husband's influence, a home where there wouldbe love of natural things. You are capable of all this, Maggie, yournature is a pure one, but your life is unwholesome and devoid ofpurity. "

"Frank, how can you speak so? You have no right to say such thingsabout us. I am sure you have always been well treated--"

"You do not understand me, I will explain what I mean. Your life isrich and luxurious, but you are not happy, no one is happy inidleness; above all no woman is happy without love. A woman's missionin life is to love, she must have her home, her husband, and herchildren. These are the things that make a woman happy; and these arethe things I want to give you--that I will give you; for, listen tome, I swear you shall not have that adventurer. He would degrade youwith pleasure at first, and afterwards with neglect. You are too goodfor this, Maggie--it must not be, it shall not be. As I said before, death would be better. " They stood in front of the canal locks andMaggie looked with a beating heart on the deep water that a ray from acrescent moon faintly indicated. "A woman is helpless until she findsher lord, he who shall save, the saviour who shall bring her home safeto the fold. He exists! and all are in danger till they find him. Somemiss him--they wander into misery and ruin; those that find him areled to happiness and content. I am yours. I would tell you how Ibecame convinced that I am the one appointed by God to lead you toHim. "

"I thought you didn't believe in God. "

"Not as we have been taught to understand Him but I believe in apresiding power--call it luck, fate, or destiny that--that exists andwills; that is to say, watches over--rules out that this man is forthat woman, and ordains that he shall protect her from danger, shallsave her from those that seek her destruction. Much has happened toprove that I was intended for you. We have known each other since wewere children. Do you not remember when I kissed you in the verandahas I was going to school? I was the first man who kissed you; you werethe first woman who kissed me--have you never felt that we were foreach other? Nor can I forget that when I thought we had drifted forever apart, that I was brought back. Do you think it was accident--blind chance? I don't. Now I see this man striving to win you, andwhether it be for your money, whether it be for yourself, or for both, it is my duty to say: No, this must not be. "

"I think you are mistaken about Charlie. I admit that a man is often abetter judge than a girl; and as for you, Frank, I am sure I am veryfond of you. It is very good of you to take such interest in me--butwe must get home. I don't know what father will think. "

"No, before you go a step further you must promise me not to see thatman again. I cannot tell you how, but I know no good can come of it. He is one of those creatures who cannot love, and only care for womenfor the excitement they afford. I know what sort of brute he is. It ismore depraving to walk alone with him, than to be the mistress of aman who loved you. "

"He is leaving Brighton in a few days. "

"So much the better for all of us. But you must promise me. I wouldsooner see you lying drowned in that lock than his wife. "

Maggie trembled. It was ridiculous to think of such a thing. Surely hedid not mean to drown her if she refused to promise. Charlie was goingto London in a few days; he would be away for three or four months. Heaven only knows what would happen in that time. She didn't see whatright Frank had to bully her--to extort promises from her by night onthe edge of a dangerous lock. But a promise wasn't much, and a promisegiven in such circumstances was not a promise at all. 

"If you are really in earnest--if you think it is for my good, I'llpromise you not to see him again. "

"O Maggie, if you only knew what a load of trouble you have taken offmy mind! Thank you--give me your hand, and let me thank you. I know Iam right. And now, tell me, can you love me? Will you marry me?"

"I will promise nothing more to-night; we shall see how you behaveyourself, " the girl replied winningly. "And now go on, sir, we havebeen here quite long enough. "

He crossed the gate mechanically, she followed eagerly, and when shereached the other side her heart beat with pride at her prettytriumph. Now I'll twit him, she thought, as they ascended the shoreand entered the town. 

"I wonder why you think Charlie so wicked; I think if you knew him youwould change your opinion. "

"I am very thankful indeed that I do not know him. "

The conversation dropped, but a moment after he gave her the chanceshe wanted. 

"Mind you have promised me not to see him again. I trust you. "

"But suppose he calls and if I should be in the drawing-room, I cannotwalk out of the room without speaking to him. "

"I think you had better write and say you do not wish to see him. "

"I couldn't do that; we have known him a long time, and father hasalways said that we must be rude to no one. Besides, what reason couldI give?"

"You need not give a reason. But let that pass. I can't see why youshould meet; you can surely tell your servant to say 'Not at home, 'when he calls. "

"I might be in the garden--Sally would not allow it. If John said 'Notat home, ' she would run down and let him in. "

"I see you are raising difficulties--I see you do not intend to keepyour promise. "

"You have been quite rude enough for one evening. You have kept me outon the beach by force till nearly ten o'clock at night, and you saidthat my life at the Manor House was not a pure one--I don't know whatyou mean. No man ever spoke to me like that before. "

"You misunderstood me. If you knew how I loved you, you would not twitme with my own words. Heaven knows I would sooner go back and drownmyself in the lock than do anything or say anything that would offendyou. Remember also that I asked you to be my wife. "

"You are not the first. I daresay it may appear strange to you, butothers have asked me the same question before. "

"It does not seem strange to me, it only seems strange to me thatevery one doesn't love you, but I daresay they do. O Maggie, rememberthat you gave me hope, you said that you might--"

"Did I? Well, it's too late to talk any more. Goodnight. I supposeyou're not coming in?"

She left him in a cruel dispersal of hope. He avoided, and then hetenderly solicited a regret that he had not thrown her into the lock. To end on that hour by the sea would have been better than the trivialand wretched conclusion of a broken promise, and everything, evenmurder, were better than that a brute should have her woman'sinnocence to sully and destroy. His love of the woman disappeared inhis desire to save, the idea which she represented at that moment; andlost in sentiment he stood watching the white sickle of the moon overagainst the dim village. The leaves of some pollarded willows whitenedwhen the breeze shot them up to the light, and a moment after becamequite distinct in the glare and the steam of an approaching engine. Hemight go and tell Willy all about it; he would ask him to interfere-could he catch that train? If he ran for it, yes. He ran full tiltacross the green under the archway up the high stone steps. He justdid it. 

It was the last train; he would sleep in Brighton. His plan, so far ashe had a definite plan, was to ask Willy to come with him and tell"that brute" that his visits to the Manor House must end, and requesthim to pay his sister no further attentions. His other plans were--Willy must speak to Maggie and tell her all he knew of the man; Willymust speak to his father; Mr. Brookes must not be kept in ignorance. But of course the right thing to do would be for Willy and him to callat the brute's hotel, tell him what they thought, and give him alicking. The train jogged on, and Frank made plan after plan. It wasnow past eleven, and he would not be at East Street before twelveo'clock. As he hurried along the streets he doubted more than ever howWilly would receive him. He might just as well have waited tillmorning. However, it was too late now to think of going back, therewas no train, and he rapped at first timidly and then noisily at theshop door. He had to wait some time, and then he heard a voice askingfrom the top windows who was there. 

"'Tis I, Frank; awfully sorry, but must see you--particular business. "

There was no answer; he heard the voice grumbling, and more than everdoubtful of the cordiality of his reception, he listened. The dooropened. 

"Who is it?" he said. 

"'Tis I, Cissy; but I'm in my nightdress. "

"I won't look at you, Cissy, if that's what you mean. But won't yougiveme a kiss?"

"Stoop down, then. "

"I am sorry for waking you up, Cissy. "

"Never mind, I'd get up at any hour to see you. "

"There, run upstairs, and take care you don't catch cold, or I shallnever hear the end of it. "

"Father is in bed with mother. He says you are to go up, for if hewere to get out of bed it might give him cold. You know his room?"

"Yes, here it is, now run along. "

"Come in. "

Frank was a little shocked, and he waited stupidly on the threshold. He could see a fragment of Mrs. Brookes's profile, and beneath theclothes the outline of Willy's bony body. 

"Come in, come in, " he said, "don't stand there filling the room withcold air. Now, what is it? Why the deuce do you come here waking us upat this ungodly hour? What has happened?"

"I have proposed to your sister Maggie. "

"I am sure I am delighted to hear it, old chap; but I can't helpthinking that I could have congratulated you equally as well, if notbetter, in the morning. " Then, noticing the distressed look in Frank'sface, he said: "I hope she has not refused you. "

"No; she asked me to wait, she said it would depend--"

"Then you may depend it is all right; now go away and let me go tosleep, we'll talk about it in the morning. You can't get back to-night. You are sleeping in Brighton, I suppose? You'll come andbreakfast here?"

"Yes, with pleasure, but it wasn't exactly to tell that I had proposedto Maggie that I came here to-night; there is something more thanthat. You know that fellow she calls Charlie? I don't know his othername. "

"Stracey?"

"I dare say. I mean the man you said you hated more than any manalive; I hate him, too. "

"You don't mean to say she is still thinking of that fellow. Has hecome back?"

"He was at the Manor House all day yesterday. "

"If she marries that fellow I'll never speak to her again, it will bedead cuts. "

"It is only natural that I should love Maggie. You remember the firstday I came down to the Manor House? How young I was then--how young weall were; there are no days like the old days! There is a beautifulpoem by Wordsworth; I only remember one line now--

 "'When every day was long As twenty days are now'--

Do you remember the poem?" Willy did not answer, and noticing that hiseyes were blinking, Frank hastily returned to more recent events. " Iwrote to her this afternoon telling her how much I loved her, and Isaid that I would call about nine in the evening at the Manor House, and that I hoped to find her in the drawing-room where we could talkwithout being disturbed. However, I was too excited, and could nothold out till nine; I thought I had better hear my fate at once, andas I was walking across the field--you know, at the back of Mrs. Heald's--I met her half way. She had a letter in her hand, which shesaid she was going to leave at Mrs. Heald's for me--She admitted thatthe letter was in point of fact a refusal, and when I questioned hershe admitted that she was obliged to refuse me because she had halfpromised Charlie. We went for a walk on the beach; we sat on the beachand watched the sunset, and I told her all. I spoke to her about thepast, how we had grown up together--how we had been, as it were, fromthe first fated for each other; for you must admit, Willy, that it isvery curious--I don't know if you ever think of it, but I do--how wehave met again even when the chances of life seemed to have put us forever apart. "Here a slight sound warned Frank that the present momentwas one as equally unfitted for psychological analysis as for poetry, and he hurried to his story, hoping that the incident of the lockwould secure him attention. "Willy, I think I convinced her that Iliked her better than that other fellow. We were standing by the lock--Willy, I really do think you might listen. "

"My dear fellow, I am listening. You were both looking at the sunset. "

"It really is too bad. Of course, if you don't want to hear, and wouldprefer to go to sleep, you have only to say so. "

"My dear fellow, I assure you I wasn't asleep. I only closed my eyesbecause I can't bear the glare of that candle. I know where you were--you were looking at the sunset. "

"No, we weren't. "

"Weren't they, Jessie? Are you asleep?"

"No, I am not asleep. Do hold your tongue, Willy, I want to hear thestory. You were standing by the lock, Mr. Escott. "

"Ah, yes, so they were. "

"I felt it was my duty, so I told her that I felt it was my mission tosave--to save her from that man, and I made her promise me not to seehim again. "

"Then it is all right. Nobody can be more glad than I am. I hate thefellow. "

"She will not keep her promise. Of course she may only have done it totease me; but as we were going home she said she could not walk out ofthe room if she happened to be there when he called, nor could sheleave word with the servants to say that they were not at home. Shemade a lot of excuses. What are you laughing at, Mrs. Brookes?"

"I am really very sorry, Mr. Escott, but I couldn't help wondering ifshe would change her mind again if you were to go back to the lock. "

Frank took up the candle and turned to go. 

"Don't go, " Willy murmured faintly. 

"I am very sorry, Mr. Escott--if circumstances permitted, I would doall I could to help you. "

This was delicate ground, and Willy woke up. 

"What do you want me to do? Have you anything to suggest?"

"Yes, it struck me that we might both go round to the fellow's hotel--Stracey, you call him, I think--and you might tell him that his visitsmust cease at the Manor House, and that he must not speak to yoursister if he should happen to meet her. That should bring the matterto an end. He is in Brighton--he is staying at the 'Grand. ' We mightgo round there to-morrow morning. "

"He might kick us out. "

"I only hope he may try. I would give him such a hammering. But youneed not be afraid of that. It wouldn't do to have Maggie's namementioned in connection with a vulgar brawl--people are not toocharitable. My idea is that this business should be conducted in thequietest and most gentlemanly manner possible. "

"I think I had better speak to father first. "

"No necessity; he will be only too glad to get rid of the pennilessbrute. Don't you think so, Mrs. Brookes?"

"I do. "

They then spoke of other things--of the shop, the profit they had madeon tomatoes, and the losses that had resulted from over-stockingthemselves with flour. At last a loud snore brought the conversationto a full stop, and Frank hurriedly bade them good-night. 

"Cissy will let you out, " said Willy, with a sigh of relief. 

The little girl had pulled on her stockings and tied a petticoat roundher waist. "So you are going to be married. "

"O Cissy, you have been listening!"

"Is she very nice? She must be very nice for you to marry her. Ishould like to marry you. "

"Would you, Cissy, and why?"

"Oh, because you are so very handsome. But you will come and see usall the same, and let me sit on your knee?"

"Of course I will, Cissy, and now good-night. "

Next morning Willy declared himself ready to go and see Mr. CharlesStracey, and to tell him that he was not to call any more at the ManorHouse, or speak to Miss Brookes if he should happen to meet her. Frankwondered if this decision was owing to Mrs. Brookes's influence. 

"I slept last night at the 'Grand' It seemed odd sleeping in thesame house--perhaps within a few doors of him. If you only knew how Ilove her, if I could only tell you, you would pity me. You ought toknow what I feel--the anxiety, the heart-ache. I know you have gonethrough it all. "

"Yes, I think I know what it is, " Willy replied thoughtfully. 

"Mr. Stracey is staying here?"

"Will you enquire at the office, sir?"

While the books were being searched the young men consulted together. Frank said: "Send up your card, and say you will be glad to speak tohim on a matter of importance. Of course he will see you, but beforeyou speak about Maggie you must apologise for my presence; you mustsay that I am a very particular friend, and that you thought it betterthat the interview should take place in the presence of a witness. "

"I wish it were all over. I wouldn't do what I am doing for any oneelse, I can tell you, Frank. "

"Mr. Stracey is in the hotel, sir. "

"Will you give him my card, and say I should be glad to speak to himon a matter of importance?"

"Very good, sir. "

(In an undertone to Frank), "Was that right?"

"Quite right. "

"Oh, one thing I had forgotten to ask you--am I to shake hands withhim?"

"You mean if he offers you his hand?"

"Yes. "

"It is impossible to settle everything beforehand. One must actaccording as the occasion requires. " "That's all very well for you, but I am a slow man, and am lost if I don't arrange beforehand. "

"Pretend not to see his hand, and apologise for my presence; he willthen see that we mean business. "

"The waiting is the worst part. "

"Will you walk this way, sir?" said the page boy. "Mr. Stracey is notout of bed yet, but he said if you wouldn't mind, sir. "

They shrank from their enterprise instinctively, but the door wasthrown open, and they saw a bath, and a sponge, and a towel, and Mr. Stracey lying on his back reading _The Sporting Times_. He extended along brawny arm. The strength of the arm fixed itself on Willy's mind, and he doubted if he had not better take the proffered hand. 

"I brought my friend Mr. Escott with me, for I thought a witness--Imean, that this interview should be conducted in the presence of athird party. "

At this speech Charlie opened his eyes and dropped his paper. Willyleaned over the rail of the bed; Frank looked into the bath, butremembering himself suddenly, he examined the chest of drawers. 

"I have come to speak to you about my sister. "

Charlie changed countenance, and both men noticed the change. 

"I mean to say I have come to tell you that you must discontinue yourvisits to the Manor House, and I must beg of you not to address mysisters should you meet them. "

"May I ask if you are your father's representative, if you speak withhis authority?"

"I do not. I--"

"Then I should like to know on what authority you forbid me a housethat doesn't belong to you, and I should like to know, if your fatherdoesn't disapprove of my knowing your sisters, why you should? I shallspeak to Miss Brookes as long as she cares to speak to me. The veryidea of a man like you coming here to bully me! You have got myanswer. "

"If, after this warning, " said Frank, who, seeing that things weregoing against them, thought he had better interfere, "you speak toMiss Brookes, you will do so at your peril. "

"Peril! What do you mean?"

"I mean that you must be prepared to take the consequences. "

"Who are you? I should like to know what you have to do in thismatter?"

"I speak as Miss Brookes's future husband. "

"Future husband be damned! She'll never marry you, " said Charlie, springing out of bed. 

Frank threw himself on his guard, and they would have struck eachother if Willy had not cried out: "Frank, remember you promised methere must be no scandal. "

"I had almost forgotten. For Miss Brookes's sake, I refrain. Do youalso, for her sake, cease to provoke me. "

Charlie hesitated for a moment, then rushing to the door, he said: "I, too, for Miss Brookes's sake, refrain, and I give you three seconds toclear out. "

In attempting to carry out the injunction Willy nearly fell in thebath. Frank had to bite his lip to avoid a smile, and he stalked outof the room assuming his most arrogant air. 

"I think, on the whole, we got the best of it, " he said as they wentdown stairs. 

"Do you? He turned us out of his room!"

"That's the worst of tackling a man in his own room--if he tells youto go, and you don't go, he can ring for the servants. "

"I was as nearly as possible going into the bath. "

"Yes, a touch more and down you'd have gone. " Frank laughed, and Willylaughed, "and that fellow in his nightshirt fishing you out!"

"Oh, don't, don't--"

Frank asked Willy to lunch with him at Mutton's, and he ordered abottle of champagne in honour of the day. 

"I say, just fancy pulling you out of the bath, and wiping you with atowel. I can see you dripping!"

"Don't set me off again. Let me enjoy my cutlets. "

"By Jove! there's something I hadn't thought of. "

"What's that?"

"We must be off. We must tell Maggie what has happened before he hastime to communicate with her. What is the next train to Southwick?"

"There's one at half-past one. "

"It was after twelve when we saw him, he won't have time to catchthat. We must be off. Waiter, the bill, and be quick. Look sharp, Willy, finish the bottle, pity to waste it. "

"What a nuisance women are, to be sure. Just as I was enjoying mycutlet! I can't walk fast in this weather, I should make myself ill. "

"We must take a cab. "

"What a fellow you are, you never think of the expense. I don't knowwhere I should be if I were as reckless as you are. "

"Supposing he were at the station. It would be rather a sell if wewent down by the same train! What should we do? He would surely neverattempt to force his way in!"

"I don't think he would attempt that. If he did, we should have tosend for the police. "

The young men strove to decide how the news should be broken toMaggie. But they had arranged nothing before they arrived atSouthwick, and Frank stopped Willy time after time by the footpath, until at last in despair the latter said: "We must make haste; there'sanother train in twenty minutes. "

"By Jove! I had not thought of that; we must get on. Well, then, it isall arranged. You must tell her that you thought it your duty. Put itall down to duty, and it was your duty to do what you did--puttingentirely out of the question the service you did me. "

"I can tell you what, Frank, I am very sorry I ever meddled in thematter. Had I known the vexation and annoyance it would have caused--and mark my words, and see if they don't come true, we are onlycommencing the annoyances that the affair will cause us. Ah, had Ionly foreseen! What a fool I was; I ought to have known better; I havehad nothing but bad luck all my life. It is perfectly wonderful thebad luck I have had; no matter what I did, nothing seemed to go right. I dare say if you had gone to see that fellow without me it would haveturned out differently. But I don't see how I am to tell my sisterpoint blank that I have forbidden him the house. What will she say?She may fly at me. Women have queer tempers, particularly when youinterfere with their young men. My sisters have the very worst oftempers; you don't know them as I do. Fortunately it is not Sally. Iassure you I wouldn't face Sally with such news for all the money youcould give me. "

"I am very sorry, old chap, but we must now go through it. You mustforbid her to communicate with him. "

"She won't heed what I say. It will only excite her. She will fly atme, and call me names, and burst into tears. I should not be surprisedif she went off her head--she has been very strange once before. Idon't mean to say she was ever wrong in her head, but she is anervous, excitable girl--most excitable; my sisters are the mostexcitable girls I have ever known. "

It was surprisingly soon over. Willy had not spoken a dozen words, when he was interrupted. 

"You mean to say you have been to call on him?"

"Yes; and we told him he was never to speak to you again. "

Frank expected her eyes to flash fire, but he only noticed a slightchange in her face, a movement of the muscles of the lower jaw. 

"Then I will speak to neither of you again!" and she walked out of theroom, and in dismay they listened to her going upstairs. 

"She didn't fly at me, " said Willy; and, looking a little terrified, he stroked his moustache softly. "I told you she would give no heed towhat we said; nor do I see how we can prevent her seeing that fellowif she chooses. He cannot come into the house, it is true, but she cango out when she pleases. "

"We must follow her. "

Conscious of defeat, Willy desired compromise. He could not be inducedto take a share of watching and following which Frank declaredessential; and, dreading an encounter with Stracey, whose brawny armit was impossible to forget, he shut himself up in the shop, anddevoted himself to drawing up a most elaborate balance-sheet, showinghow he would stand if he were obliged to close the business to-morrow, whereas Frank loitered about the roads, till Mrs. Horlock came alongwith her dogs, and engaged him in conversation; and no matter at whatcorner he stationed himself, he found he was not free fromobservation. A few days after he could not bring himself to return tohis post, and contented himself with looking out of his window, andtaking an occasional stroll by the embankment, when he saw a trainsignalled. 

A great weight seemed lifted from his shoulder the day he heard thathis rival's holiday had come to an end, and that he had been forced toreturn to his counting-house in London. True it is that Mr. Brookeshad in a certain measure approved of Willy's action in forbiddingyoung Stracey the Manor House, and therefore of his, Frank Escott's, suit, but neither of these gains compensated him for the crowning lossof not being able to see his beloved, for although the Manor House wasstill theoretically open to him, practically it was closed. Thesisters, although at variance on all subjects, had united incondemning him and Willy, and during one dinner, the misery of whichhe declared he could never forget, they had sat whispering together, refusing to address him either by look or word. Willy took all thiscalmly. It is an ill wind that blows no good, and the silence enabledhim to thoroughly masticate his food. Mr. Brookes wept a little andlaughed a little, and reminded them of the oblivion that awaited alltheir little quarrels. 

All this, like much else in life, was ridiculous enough; but becausewe are ridiculous, it does not follow that we do not suffer, and Franksuffered. He was five-and-twenty, and light love had him fairly by thethroat; he winced, and he cried out, but very soon his dignity gaveway, and he craved forgiveness. But Maggie passed without heeding him. For more than a week she resisted all his appeals, and it was notuntil she saw that she was taking the neighbourhood into herconfidence, and to feel that if she did not relent a little he mightleave Southwick, and not return, she answered him with a monosyllable. With what bliss did he hear that first "no, " and how passionately hepleaded for a few words; it did not seem to matter what they were, solong as he heard her speak one whole sentence to him. Feeling herpower, she was shy of yielding, and with every concession she drew himfurther into the meshes of love. He dined now nearly every day at theManor House, and he spent an hour, sometimes two, with her in themorning or afternoon; he followed her from greenhouse to greenhouse, but all his efforts were in vain, and he failed not only to obtain herpromise to marry him, but even a renewal of the feeble and partialhopes which she had given him that night on the beach. He prayed, hewept, he implored pity, he openly spoke of suicide, and he hinted atmurder. But Maggie passed him, pushing him out of the way with thewatering-pot, threatening to water him too, until one day he drew arevolver. She screamed, and the revolver was put away, but on the nextoccasion a stiletto that he had brought from Italy was produced, andwith a great deal of earnestness life was declared to be a miserablething. It was absurd, no doubt, but at the same time it was not alittle pathetic; he was so good-looking, and so sincere. Maggie putdown the watering-pot, and she would probably have allowed him to takeher hand and kiss her, if he had not spoken roughly about Charlie, andcalled her conduct into question. So she told him she would not speakto him again, and she continued watering the flowers in silence. Amidvague remembrances of murders she had read of, Frank's words andbehaviour remained present in her mind, and that evening when Willy, who rarely took the trouble to speak, much less to advise his sisters, told her that she might never get such a chance again, she said: "I amnot going to marry a madman to please your vanity. "

"Marry a madman! What do you mean?"

"Well, I call a man that who comes regularly to see a girl with arevolver in one pocket and a stiletto in the other, and threatens toleave himself wallowing in a pool of blood at her feet--"

"You mean to say he does that? You are clearly determined to drive thepoor fellow out of his mind with your infernal coquetry. Well, womenare the most troublesome, and I believe in many cases, the wickedestcreatures on the face of God's earth. "

"You shut up. Men who don't get on with women always abuse them; youare soured since Miss ----, the actress, jilted you. "

"If you ever dare mention that subject, I will never speak to youagain. You know I don't break my word. "

"Why do you interfere in my affairs? You don't think of me when you godown to browbeat Charlie Stracey; you don't think of what would havebeen said of me had Frank hit him, and it had all come out in thepapers. " Maggie said no more; she saw she had gone too far. Willy satpuffing at his pipe; but when her father spoke of a certain investmentthat had not turned out as well as he had anticipated, he joined inthe conversation, and she hoped her cruelty was forgotten. 

XII

Frank uttered a cry of surprise when he opened the studio door to hisfriend. It was his favourite complaint that Willy never came to seehim. 

"At last, at last! This is the second time you have been in the placesince it was finished, faithless friend!"

"My dear fellow, you know it is not my fault. I have been very busylately trying to get on with my accounts. There's not a room in theManor House where I can work in; my sisters' things are everywhere, and they must not be interfered with--their ball-dresses, their birds, their work. My sisters think of nothing but pleasure. "

"Triss, go back, go to your chair, sir; I'll get the whip. "

Showing his fangs, the bull-dog retired; then with a hideous growlsprang upon his chair, and sat eyeing Willy's calves. 

"I cannot think what pleasure it can give you to keep such a brute. Even if I had my accounts finished, I don't think I should care tocome here much. It isn't safe. "

"You are quite mistaken. There's not a better-tempered dog alive thanTriss; he wouldn't bite any one unless he attacked me. Give me a slap, and you'll see--I won't let him come near you. "

"Thank you, I'd rather not. But he sometimes growls even at you, andshows his teeth, too. "

"That's only a way of his, and when he does it I kick him. Come here, Triss--come here, sir!" The dog approached slowly; he sat down andgave his paw to his master, but he did not cease to growl. "There! Wehave had enough of you, go back to your chair. What will you take--aglass of Chartreuse--a cigarette?"

"Thanks, both if you will let me. I see you like pretty things, " hesaid, admiring the tall legs of the table--early English--and thequaint glasses into which Frank poured the liqueur. "You've got theplace to look very nice. "

"Very different from what is was when the smith and his boisterousbrood were here, " and as if he intended an apt illustration of hiswords, he stretched his leg out on the white fur rug and surveyed hiscalf and red silk stocking. "Just look at that dog, isn't he a beauty?I always think he looks well in that attitude, leaning his head overthe rail. I began a picture of him the other day in a pose somewhatlike that. I'll show it you. " Frank propped his sketch against the legof the sofa, and returned to his place on the sofa. "What do you thinkof it? Your father said it was very like. "

"It is like him, but I can see no merit in it. I'm afraid of thebrute. I can't help hating him, for he always looks as if he weregoing for my legs. What else have you been painting? Any pretty womenabout? I should admire them more. "

"I haven't been painting lately, " he said, sighing a littlemelodramatically, as was his wont, "I think I have been playing thepiano more than anything else. I have composed something too, I don'tthink it bad, I'll play it to you: a dialogue between a gentleman anda lady. He speaks first, then she answers, then I blend the twomotives, and that is what they both say. "

Willy sat enwrapped in his own thoughts, not having heard a note. Though he knew that Willy was incapable of judging of music, itdisappointed him that his dialogue had passed unperceived. Thensmiling, he struck a few notes, and Willy awoke. "You haven't beenlistening, " he said, reproachfully. "You don't care for any music, except that little tune. "

"Yes, I do; I heard what you played, and I think it very pretty. "

"Willy, I am the most miserable man in the world. Every hour, everyminute of my life is a pain to me. I never knew before what you musthave suffered, but I know now; it is a sickening feeling, it takes youby the throat, it rises in the throat, and you are almost suffocated. Last night I lay awake hour after hour thinking. I could see Maggie asplainly as I can see you--she looked down upon me out of space withstrange, steadfast eyes, and my whole soul went out to her, and Icried to her that I loved her beyond all things; and we seemed to beso near each other; it seemed such an intimate and perfect communionof spirit and sense that I seemed, as it were, lifted out of actuallife; I seemed to myself holier, purer, better than I had ever beenbefore; I seemed to loose all that is gross and material in me, and togain in all that is best and worthiest in man. Did you feel like thatwhen you were in love?"

"I don't know that I felt exactly like that. But never mind how Ifelt; you are too fond of alluding to that subject, it is a verypainful one to me; you will make me regret that I ever told youanything about it. "

"I am sorry I mentioned it. It is strange, but when one suffers onelikes to speak of and to compare with one's own the suffering thatanother has endured. Your sister treats me most cruelly. She hasforgiven me that miserable business, but she refuses to hold out anyhope that she will ever be my wife. I don't understand--I am utterlyat sea. I don't believe for a moment that she cares for that horridbrute; he is gone away. She tells me she never cared for him. If so, Ishould like to learn your explanation of her conduct. "

Willy stroked his moustache, apparently declining the responsibilityof apologist; but his manner showed he had something on his mind, andFrank sought more eagerly than ever to enlist his sympathy andsupport. 

"I have done everything I could to win her. I don't know why sheshould be so difficult to please. I am not bad looking, I am at leastas good looking as that damned brute" (here he paused to glance athimself in the glass and smooth the curls above his forehead). "I amcertainly quite as clever" (here he thought of his painting, and hiseye sought one of his pictures), "and my position--I will not speak ofthat, it would be snobbish. Women have cared for me. I have toldMaggie hundreds of times that I never could care for any but her. Fateseems to have specially marked us for each other. You must admit thatthere is something very remarkable in the way we have been broughttogether over and over again. I have told her that my life isworthless without her. The day before yesterday, when I was speakingto her, I burst into tears. That a man should cry, no doubt, seems toyou very ridiculous but if you knew how I suffer you would pity me. Ioften think I shall commit suicide. " Frank took the stiletto from hispocket. "I don't mind telling you, when you knocked at the door I waslying on the sofa thinking it over. One stab just here and I should beat peace for ever. I told her so yesterday. "

"I'm not fond of giving advice, as you know--I have quite enough to doto think about my own affairs--but as you have often spoken to me onthis matter, and as you have asked me for my opinion and my help, Ihad better tell you that I differ entirely from you concerning thewisdom of the course you are pursuing. "

"How's that?" said Frank, at first surprised and then delighted atWilly's breaking from his reserve. 

"What I mean is, that I think you would be more successful if youwould lay aside daggers and revolvers, and try to win her affection bypatience and gentleness. Maggie was talking to me about it no laterthan last night, and I could see clearly that you frighten her withbluster. I am sure there are times when she dreads you; it must be apositive terror to her to sit with you alone--so it would be to anygirl. "

"What do you mean?"

"Maggie is a very delicate and nervous girl, and it wouldn't surpriseme if your threats to commit suicide seriously affected her health;you come with a revolver and a stiletto, and you ask her to marry you, and if she doesn't at once say yes, you abuse her, declaring all thetime that you'll stab yourself with the revolver and shoot yourselfwith the stiletto--I beg your pardon, I mean--"

"Of course, if you've come here only to turn me into ridicule--"

"I assure you I didn't mean it--a slip of the tongue, " and as theireyes met at that moment, neither could refrain from laughter. 

"Admit that there is something in what I say. If you will behave alittle more quietly--if you will talk to her nicely; leave offassuring her of your love, she knows all that already; have somepatience and forbearance; you will see if before long she doesn'tchange towards you. "

His interest in the matter was a desire that his sister should notmiss this chance of marrying the future Lord Mount Rorke. But Maggiefelt too sure of Frank to resist the temptation to tantalise him;besides her moods were naturally various, and the first relapse intoher former coldness was answered by a sudden reversion to threats ofmurder and suicide, and one summer evening about six o'clock, whenMrs. Horlock took her dogs out and stood at the corner waiting forAngel, a rumour was abroad that Mr. Escott had stabbed himself to theheart, and had fallen weltering in his blood at Miss Brookes's feet. 

Dr Dickinson walked across the green, watched with palpitating anxietyfrom the corner of the Southdown Road. The General spoke to thefarmer, and the farmer's pupil nudged the general dealer. Mrs. Horlockspoke to the grocers, and the owners of the baths declared they hadjust heard from their servant that the young man was not dead, butmortally wounded. 

There was, therefore, no doubt that Dr Dickinson was going to Mrs. Heald's, and would not turn to the right and walk to the station forthe quarter-to-seven train; and expectation on this point ceasing, thegroup expressed its sympathy for the young man. Poor young man--and sogood-looking too--what will she do if he should die?--and he must die--there was no doubt of it. Maria had met Mary--that was the housemaidat the Manor House--it was Mary who had mopped up the blood. She saidthere was a great pool right in the middle of the new carpet under thewindow--they were sitting there on the ottoman when he said suddenly, "I have come to ask you to marry me; if you won't I must die. "Notwithstanding this she continued to play with him--the cruel littleminx! He could stand it no longer, and he pulled out a dagger he hadbrought from the East, and stabbed himself twice close to the heart. What will she do?--she is his murderer--to all intents and purposesshe is his murderer--she will have to go into a convent--she won't gointo a convent--she'll brazen it out. No one thinks much of thosegirls--the way Sally carried on with young Meason--it was disgraceful--they say she used to steal her father's money and give it to him--DrDickinson could tell fine tales. 

Then gossip ceased, and they were in doubt if they might intercept thedoctor and obtain news of his patient when he left Mrs. Heald's. Somestrolled about the green, pretending to be taking the air. Mrs. Horlock, however, had no scruples, and picking up Angel and calling toRose and Flora, she walked straight to Mrs. Heald's, and was seen togo in. Some five minutes after she came out with the doctor. Frank wasnot dead, nor mortally wounded, nor even dangerously wounded, but hehad had a very narrow escape. 

"I said to him, 'You have had a very narrow escape. ' The fact is--(I, of course, examined the weapon)--a small part of the point had beenbroken away; it was this that saved him. The first blow scarcelypierced his clothes; the second was more effective, it entered theflesh just above the heart, and I have no doubt if the steel hadpenetrated a quarter of an inch deeper that he would have killedhimself. But so far as I can see at present, he will get over itwithout much difficulty. "

"When did it occur?"

"About an hour ago, at the Manor House. It appears that he has gonethere every day for the last three weeks to ask Miss Brookes to marryhim; she, however, would not give him any definite answer--"

"Horrid girl!"

"I never liked her; most deceitful; no doubt she flirted with himoutrageously. "

"I can't say. I hear that he often threatened to kill himself, and to-day, to conclude, he pulled out his stiletto. "

"I thought it was a dagger he had brought from the East?"

"No, the weapon they showed me was an Italian stiletto. "

The grocer's daughter shuddered, her mother murmured, "And for thatgirl. "

"We didn't know him. The Brookes never allow their friends to know anyone in Southwick, but I have heard that he is an exceedingly nice--"

"He will be Lord Mount Rorke, if his uncle doesn't marry again. "

"He must have been desperately in love; no one ever heard of such athing before. It sounds like the Middle Ages--a stiletto!"

"But what could he see in her? That's what I can't make out; can you?"

"Ah! there I can't assist you. I hope to be able to cure him of thestiletto wound, but Cupid's arrows are beyond me. They did not fly sothickly or strike so hard in my time. " And, laughing, the doctorwithdrew. 

"I suppose that after this she will marry him; she never intended tolet him slip through her fingers. I can see her face when she heardthat another quarter of an inch and her chance of being Lady MountRorke was gone for ever. "

"I daresay he won't marry her now. It would serve her right. I shouldbe so glad. "

And so pouring their gall out upon the unfortunate Maggie, thetradespeople returned to their homes. The stiletto was so utterlyunprecedented, and so complete a reversal of all conception of thechances of life at Southwick, that every one felt puzzled anddissatisfied, even when gossip had brought to light everycircumstantial detail of the romantic story. Had the deed been donewith a knife, with anything but a stiletto; had he hanged himself, orcut his throat with a razor, or shot himself with his revolver, thewonder of the Southwickians would not have been so excited. But astiletto! And for a week an Italy of brigands and bravoes, andstealthy surprises haunted shadows of picturesque archways, an Italyof chromo-lithographed skies and draperies in the Southdown Road. Maggie was spoken of with alternate fear and hate; her wickednessseemed more than natural, and had the Southdown Road known anything ofItalian opera, there is little doubt that Miss Brookes would have beencompared to Lucretia Borgia. The young women looked out of theirwindows at night, and wondered how they'd feel if a troubadour weresuddenly to sing to them from behind the privet hedges. The young menwere even more impressed than their womenfolk; they cursed their placeof birth and habitation, knowing that it incapacitated them fromknowing her; they wasted their mothers' candles sitting up till two inthe morning writing odes to cruel women with raven hair; and all gazedsadly on the old ship in the harbour, and the Spanish main seemednearer, and those gallant days more realisable than they had ever beenbefore. 

The direct cause of this revival of romance lived, however, unconscious of it. She was genuinely frightened. She said her prayerswith great fervour, begging God that He might save Frank, and that shemight not be a murderess. She made him soups, she sent him wine, shebrought him books, and she sat with him for hours. She thought he hadnever looked so nice as now--so pale, so aristocratic, so elegantlyweak, his head laid upon a cushion, which she had brought him, andwhen he took her hand and said, "Will you, darling?" and she murmured, "Yes, " then it seemed that the happiness of his life was upon hisface. 

Three days after Frank was sitting at his table writing to MountRorke, and on the following Sunday he walked to the Manor House totell Mr. Brookes that he was engaged to his daughter, and to ask hisconsent. He did not think of his folly, he was too happy; he seemedlike one in a quiet dulcet dream; he walked slowly, leaning from timeto time against the wooden paling, for he wished to prolong thismeditative moment; he saw everything vaguely, and loved all with aquiet fulness of heart; he took in the sense of this village and itslife as he had never done before. He compared it with Ireland; MountRorke, with its towers, and lakes, and woods arose, and he wasgrateful that Maggie was going there, yet he was sure that he couldnot live without sometimes seeing this village where he had found somuch happiness. 

His wound had sucked away his strength, the sunlight dazzled him, andfeeling a little overcome, and not equal, without pause, to the longinterview that awaited him, he stayed awhile in a shady laurel corner, and leaning against a piece of iron railing, watched Mr. Brookes andMr. Berkins as they paced the tennis lawn to and fro. The oldgentleman frequently stopped in his walk to point at the glass houses. 

"My dear Berkins, I wish you would try to get Willy some appointment;he would, I am sure, take anything over two hundred and fifty a year. He would do marvellously well in an office--he loves it. I assure youhis eyes twinkle when one speaks of how books are kept, or alludes inany way to the routine of office work. You should see his accounts andhis letter books, they would make the best clerk you ever had feelashamed of himself; but left to himself I am afraid he will do nogood; he has all the method, but nothing else. He lost money in BondStreet; I am afraid to tell you how much he dropped on the StockExchange, but that was not entirely his fault--the firm went bankrupt;nobody could have foreseen it, it was quite unheard of. "

"I have always noticed that successful men do not buy partnerships infirms that go bankrupt. "

"Very true, Berkins; I wish I had asked your advice on the subject. "

"I wish you had, Mr. Brookes. You are no doubt a very clever man, buton one or two points you are liable to make mistakes; you are, if Imay so speak, a little weak. You should come and live with me for afew months, I would put you right. "

"This is really too much, " thought Mr. Brookes; and had it not beenfor the certain knowledge that Berkins had lately increased his incomeby a couple of thousands a year, he would have answered him tartlyenough; but as this fact admitted of no doubt he bridled his anger andsaid: "If you could put my boy right it would be more to the point. Hehas all the method of the best clerk in London; he loves the work, hewould do honour to any office, but on his own hook I am afraid he willnever do anything but lose his money. "

"Your money, you mean. "

"Well, my money if you like. You are very provoking, Berkins. I don'tknow if you do it with the express purpose of annoying me. I wassaying, when you interrupted me, that Nature had evidently intended myson for a clerk rather than for a speculator. I fear he is doing verybadly with his shop in Brighton. The rents are very high in EastStreet, and I don't think he sells anything. He takes enough away fromhere, though. I don't remember if I ever told you that I was foolishenough to agree to his taking away, buying from me at the market pricehe calls it, the surplus produce of my garden and greenhouses. I daresay I shall get the money one of these days, but at present I see nosign of it. He is always making up the accounts, and, so far as wehave gone, the result of this arrangement is that, when I complainthat there is neither fruit nor vegetables on my table, I am told thateverything went to Brighton. I am forced, I assure you, to send mycarriage and my horses, that I paid two hundred guineas for, to fetchpotatoes, and he, too, uses my carriage to take his vegetables to theshop. He gets his sisters to bring them when they go out driving, norcan I even buy my fruit and vegetables off him at cost price; he saysthat would interfere with his book-keeping, and so I am obliged to buyeverything from Hutton, and you know what his prices are. I assureyou, it is most annoying. "

"Mr. Brookes, your fortune will not bear this constant drain; you mustremember that we are living in very bad times--times that are not whatthey were. I have heard that your distillery--"

"Yes, times are very bad. I have never known them worse, and no doubtyou find them so too. They ought to affect you even more than they dome. My income is, as you know, all invested money, whereas yours isall in your business. "

"Of course, I am affected by the times; had they remained what theywere, even what they were towards the end of the seventies, I shouldbe making now something over ten thousand pounds a year. But, thankGod! I have not to complain. Next year I hope to invest another fivethousand pounds. The worst of it is, that there is no price for moneyin legitimate securities. "

"Everything is very bad; you never will invest your money as I didmine ten years ago. My business is not, of course, what it used to be, but I don't complain; if it weren't for troubles nearer home I shouldget on very well. "

"I hope that Sally has commenced no new flirtation in the SouthdownRoad. I thought she had promised you--since she gave up Meason--thatshe would for the future know no one that lived there. "

"I was thinking for the moment of Willy, not of Sally; she has notbeen so troublesome lately. But no sooner are we out of one troublethan we are in another. It is, of course, very regrettable that youngEscott should have stabbed himself, and in my garden too. I, who hatescandals, seem always plunged in one. I hear they are talking of it inthe clubs in Brighton. I hope Lord Mount Rorke will not hear of it; ifhe did, do you think it would prejudice him against the match?"

"Then you're prepared to give your consent?"

"Why not? Surely! I really don't see--Lord Mount Rorke is a very richman. "

"Possibly, but Irish peers are not always as rich as they would likeus to believe they are. The connection is, of course, desirable, but Ihope your anxiety to secure it will not lead you into making foolish, I will say reprehensible, monetary concessions. What I mean is this. Iam a straightforward man, Mr. Brookes, brought up in a hard school, and I always come straight to the point. You are a rich man, Mr. Brookes--you have the reputation of being a richer man than you are--and it is possible, I don't say it is probable, that Lord Mount Rorkewill expect you to make a large settlement. He will possibly--mindyou, I do not say probably--taking the coronet into consideration--those people think as much of their titles as we do of our money--askyou to settle a thousand a year, may be fifteen hundred a year, uponyour daughter. "

"Settle a thousand--maybe fifteen hundred--a year on my daughter!"cried the horror-stricken Brookes. 

"He may even ask for two thousand a year. Remember, you are adistiller--he is a peer of the realm. And now I say, " continuedBerkins, growing more emphatic as he reached the close of hisdeclamation, "that in my wife's interest I will oppose any and allattempts to purchase a coronet for Maggie at her sister's expense. "

Mr. Brookes stood for a moment stupefied--as if some great calamityhad befallen him. The housekeeping bills, the loss of his fruit andvegetables, even the Southdown Road seemed as nothing in the face ofthis new misfortune. Troublesome as his daughters were, he preferredan occasional recrudescence of flirtation in his garden to settlingthe money that he had made himself and letting them go; no pen candescribe the anguish that the surrendering of the ten thousand poundswhich he had settled on Grace had caused him; but to be told now thatthe alliance with a lord which he so greedily coveted, and which hadbeen so agreeably tickling him for the last few days, would cost himperhaps two thousand a year, was more than he could bear. He hadavoided as much as possible even thinking of the money question. Onehundred--two hundred--the shadow of three hundred had fallen for amoment on his mind, but he had successfully chastened theseunpleasantnesses by thoughts of the liberality, the generosity of thearistocracy, and he had encouraged a hope that Mount Rorke would lethim off with a statement of how much Maggie would have at his death. And now to hear these terrible prognostications, and from his own son-in-law, too. It was too bad--it was too cruel. "You don't know whatyou are talking about, Berkins. If it were business I would listen toyou, but really when it comes to discussing the aristocracy it is morethan I can stand. What do you know about the aristocracy--not that, "cried Mr. Brookes, snapping his fingers. "You were brought up in anoffice--what should you know? You were a clerk once at thirtyshillings a week--what should you know? Lord Mount Rorke would neverthink of making such ridiculous proposals to me. You judge him byyourself, Berkins, that's it, that's it! I dare say he has heard of mein the City--many of your great lords do business in the City. I daresay he has heard of me, and if he has he'll not try any nonsense withme. Twist him round my finger, twist him round my finger. "

Berkins liked a lord, but Berkins liked lords without thinking himselfone jot their inferior, and he was sure that his horse and his dog andhis house and everything belonging to him were better than theirs; andsecure in the fact that his grandfather had been a field officer, hedid not think it amiss to brag that he had begun life with thirtyshillings a week, so he only smiled at his father-in-law's wrath, feeling now easy in his mind that Grace's future fortune would not beprejudiced for Maggie's glorification. 

The discussion had fallen, and Mr. Brookes went to meet the young manwhom he caught sight of coming across the sward. 

"Most imprudent of you to come out to-day, " he said, scanning thewhite face. 

"Oh, I am very well now, thanks. The sun is a little overpowering, that is all. I want to speak to you, Mr. Brookes. "

"Speak to me? Yes. Will you go into the billiard-room, my boy? I cansee the heat has upset you. Take my arm. "

Frank took the offered arm. He was feeling very faint, but the cooland dim colour of the billiard-room revived him, and when he had hadsome claret and water, he said that he felt quite strong, and listenedpatiently to Mr. Brookes. 

"Well, I never! No, I never heard of such a thing. A stiletto, too. You brought it from Italy? It makes me feel quite young again. Ah!'tis hard to say what we won't do for a girl when Miss Right comesalong. I was just the same--pretty keen on it, I can tell you, when Iwas your age; and I don't know, even now, --but a man with grown-updaughters must be careful. Still when I see a little waist, highheels, plump--you know, that's the way I used to like them when I usedto go to the oyster shops; there was one at the top of the Haymarket. Ah! I was young then, young as you are; I was keen on it--Aunt Marywill tell you that--there was nothing I wouldn't do; I never went asfar as stabbing--walking about at night, tears, torments as much asyou like, but I never went so far as stabbing. Wonderful what lovewill make a man do! Supposing you had killed yourself; in my garden, too--awful! What would people say? I hear they are talking of it inthe clubs--hope it won't go any further. Should Mount Rorke hear ofit! Eh? Might set him against us; might not give his consent--eh? Weshould be up a tree, then. "

"I don't think there is much danger of that. I came to-day, Mr. Brookes, to ask for your consent; am I to understand that you giveit?"

"Well, my dear Frank, I don't see why I should refuse it; I have knownyou since you were quite a small boy. I don't want to flatter you. Idon't know that I care much about young men as a rule, but you, I havealways found you--well, just what you should be. Of course theconnection is very flattering. You will one day be Lord Mount Rorke, and to see my darling Maggie sharing your honours will be--that is tosay if I live to see it--a great, a very gre--great hon--our. "

Feeling much embarrassed Frank begged of him not to mention it. "Ishall be writing to-morrow or next day to my uncle; shall I say thatyou have given your consent to my marriage with your daughter? I maysay that I have already written to him on the subject. "

"By all means, my dear boy. I think I can say you have my consent--that is to say, you have my consent if the money's all right. All is, of course, subject to that. Now you are for love in a cottage, breadand cheese romance; a man who will use a stiletto can't be expected toknow much about money, but I am a father, my stiletto days are over, and I couldn't give my daughter without a settlement. You will, nodoubt, be--of course you will be--Lord Mount Rorke one of these days;but in the meantime there must be a proper settlement. My daughtermust be properly provided for; it is my duty to look after herinterests, so you may as well tell your uncle that I shall be pleasedto meet him and talk the matter over with him. I will meet him inLondon, when it suits his convenience; I need hardly say that if heshould choose to come down here that I shall be pleased to see him. And now tell me--of course he will be prepared to act handsomely; Ihave no doubt he will, the aristocracy always do act handsomely, noone is so liberal as your aristocrat. I hope he will settle a goodround sum on my daughter--money invested in first-class securities, not what Berkins would call first-class, but what I should call first-class securities; and should your uncle prove the liberal man that Ihave no doubt he is, I don't say that I won't behave handsomely. Ofcourse you know that my dear children will have all my money at mydeath. I shall never marry again, that is a settled thing; but in themeantime I will do something. When Grace was married I behaved verygenerously--too generously--a lot of money--mustn't do it again, timesare not what they were. But at my death I shall make no difference, all three will share and share alike. "

Frank hoped when Brookes and Mount Rorke met, that the former wouldmodify his demands, and what was still more important, his mode ofexpressing them. But why should Mr. Brookes appear to him in such asudden glow of vulgarity? He had never thought of him as a refined andcultivated gentleman, but was unprepared for this latestmanifestation. 

"Lord Mount Rorke allows me a certain annual income, he will no doubtdouble this income upon my marriage; I daresay he would--since he hasrecognised me as his heir--make this income legally mine by deed, Icould then settle a certain sum on Maggie, in case of my death; butthen further settlements would be required when I succeed to the titleand the property. I had thought--and indeed I think still--that if myuncle makes me a sufficient allowance, that we might avoid touching onthis matter at all. Lord Mount Rorke is an irritable man, and I amsure that if you were to speak to him as you--"

"Pooh! pooh! Nonsense! nonsense! You don't suppose I am going to givemy daughter to a man unless he can settle a sufficient sum of moneyupon her? Berkins wouldn't hear of it. He was only telling me justnow--"

"But I don't think you understand me, Mr. Brookes. I do not proposethat you should give me any money with your daughter. Let what yougive her be settled upon her, and let it be tied up as strictly as thelaw can tie it. "

"Pooh! pooh! the man that marries my daughter must settle a sum ofmoney at least equal to what I settle upon her; and it must be moneyinvested in first-class security, otherwise I couldn't think of givingher one penny. "

"I am sorry, Mr. Brookes, that you are so determined on this point. These matters generally arrange themselves if people incline to meeteach other half way, and I am sure that my uncle will resent it if youinsist on pounds, shillings, and pence as you propose doing. He is notaccustomed to strict business--marriages in our family were never madeon such principles; my happiness is bound up in Maggie. I hope youwill consider what you are risking. "

"I would do more for you than any one else, Frank, but business isbusiness, and the man who has my daughter must settle a sum of moneyequivalent to what I settle. "

"I am afraid I have talked too much, I am not very strong, yet withyour permission we will adjourn this discussion to another day--in themeantime I will write to my uncle. "

Mr. Brookes did not offer the assistance of his arm, and had he, Frankwould certainly not have accepted it. Holding the door, the old manwaited for his visitor to pass out. "Southdown Road or the heir to apeerage: it is all the same, my money is what is wanted--the money Ihad made myself, " thought Mr. Brookes. "Dreadful old man, he wouldsell his daughter for a settlement of a few hundred pounds a year. Inever knew he was so bad, my eyes are opened, " thought Frank. Bothwere equally angry, and without secrecy or subterfuge they soughtconsolation in different parts of the garden. Mr. Brookes resumed hiswalk on the tennis ground with Berkins, and stopping frequently topoint to his glass-houses, he described his misfortunes with profusewaves of his stick. Frank had found Maggie, and they now walkedtogether in the shade and silence of the sycamores--he, vehement anddespairing of the future; she, subtle and strangely confident thatthings would happen as she wished them. 

Having once yielded and felt the pang of possession she was whollyhis, in all ramifications of spirit and flesh, both in her brain andblood, and the utmost ends of her sense mingled with him. But to him, she was the symbol of the desire of which he was enamoured, the desirewhich held together his nature and gave it individuality--love of_the_ young girl. 

"Oh! my darling, if he should speak so to Mount Rorke, we should beparted for ever--no, that could never be--nothing in heaven or earthwould induce me to give you up, be true to me and I will be true toyou; but our happiness--no, not our happiness, that is in ourselves--but all our prospects in life will be wrecked if he will not give way. Should he and Mount Rorke meet--"

"But they won't meet; have patience--I know how to manage father. Hedoesn't like to part with his money, and I can understand it, he madeit all himself; but he will get used to the idea in time, leave him tome; put your trust in me. "

She extended her hand, he took it, pressed it to his lips; he took herin his arms and kissed her, and the leaves of the sycamores werefilled with the sunset. 

"DEAR SIR, --I received a letter this morning from my nephew, apprisingme of his engagement to your daughter. He has apparently obtained yourconsent, and he asks for mine, and he also asks from me not only anincrease of income to meet the requirements of altered circumstances, but he tells me that you will expect me to settle some seven, eight, or ten thousand pounds upon your daughter. 

"I do not propose to discuss the reasonableness of his or yourdemands, but it seems that a statement of his prospects is owing toyou. 

"Having never married when I was a young man, many have assumed--Iamong the number--that I never would marry; and I admit that I haveallowed my nephew to grow up in the belief that he is my heir and thesuccessor to the title of Mount Rorke; but beyond a general assumptionexisting in my mind, his mind, and the minds of those who know us, there is no reason to suppose that I shall not marry, or that I shallleave him a single sixpence, and I willingly make use of thisopportunity to say that I have no faintest intention of enteringintoany engagement either verbal or written with him upon this matter. --Yours very truly, MOUNT RORKE. "

"MY DEAR FRANK, --The enclosed is a copy of the letter which I send bythis post to Mr. Brookes. And I make no disguise of the fact that itwas written with the full intention of rendering your marriage animpossibility. It will no doubt appear to you a harsh and cruelletter; it will no doubt grieve you, madden you--in your rage you maycall me a brute. The epithet will be unjust; but knowing very wellindeed what love is at twenty-five, I will forgive it. And now to thepoint. I know something about old Brookes, and I remember the lean boyyou used to bring here, and judging from some slight traces that Etonhad not succeeded in effacing, I think I can guess what the rest ofthe family is like; indeed, the old gentleman's preposterous demandthat I should settle ten thousand pounds on his daughter throws asufficient light on his character, and in some measure reveals whatsort of manner of man he is. But let all this be waived. I admit thatwith some show of reason, you may say it is unjust, nay more, it isridiculous, to pronounce judgment on people I have never seen, and itis cruelty worthy of a Roman Emperor to wreck the lifelong happinessof two young people for the sake of a prejudice that the trouble of ajourney to Brighton will most certainly extinguish. I will notirritate you by assuring you that the world is full of desirablewomen-women that will appeal to you two years hence precisely as MissBrookes appeals to you now. Were I to whisper that it is unwise togive up all women for one woman, you could not fail, in your presentmood, to see in my philosophy only the nasty wisdom of a cynical oldreprobate. Therefore I will not weary you with advice--what I havesaid must be considered not as advice, but rather as an expression ofpersonal experience in the love passion, serving as illustration ofthe attitude of my mind towards you. I will limit myself to merelyasking you--no, not to think again of Miss Brookes--that would beimpossible, but to leave Southwick for London or Paris, the latter forpreference. I will give you a letter of introduction to a charminglady (ah! were I thirty years younger). Put yourself in her hands, andI have no doubt in the world but that she will send you back cured insix months, as my bank-book will abundantly prove. 

"If you cannot do this--if so drastic a remedy should be too repugnantto your present feelings, I would remember, were I in your place, thatmy uncle had never refused me anything; that I could draw upon him forwhat money I liked--that is to say, for all pleasures and satisfactionsave one. I would remember that at his death I was to inherit tenthousand a year and a title; and I would weigh (first examining eachweight carefully, to see if it were true weight) all these present andfuture advantages against the gratification of possessing a woman Iloved when I was twenty-five for a period of time extending perhapsover half a century; I would think--at least I think and hope I shouldhesitate--before I refused to obey one of whose affection I was sure, and I feel certain it would go hard with me before I refused togratify the whim--call it a whim if you like--of one who had oftengiven but never asked before. 

"Somehow I think you owe me this sacrifice; I have done much for youand am prepared to do more, and to speak quite candidly, I wantsomething in return; I do not mean that I am desirous of striking abargain with you, but we all expect to receive--of course notdirectly, but in some remote way--something for what we give, and Iconfess that I look forward to your companionship to assist me throughthe last course of life. I do not want you now--for the next few yearsI want you to see the world, to educate yourself; I want you toimprove your taste in art and letters, and later on, if possible, toturn yourself to some public account. Besides other work, I am nowworking at my memoirs; they are to be published after my death, as Ihave arranged, under your supervision. I regard these memoirs as beingof the first importance, and it is advisable that you should be infull possession of all my intentions respecting them. Hitherto I havealways looked after everything myself, but the time will come when Ishall not be able to do this, and shall require you to relieve me ofthe burden of business. Then I wish you to live here, so that you maylearn to love Mount Rorke. I am very busy now with improvements, and Iwould wish you to be with me so that you might adequately enter intomy views and ideas. To conclude, I do not marry for your sake; do younot marry for mine, at least do not marry for the present. I do notsay that if I knew and liked the girl of your choice--if she were inyour own set--that I could not be won over, but on the whole I wouldsooner you didn't marry. But I could not really endure a lot of newacquaintances--people who had never dined in a lord's house, and wouldall want to be asked--no, I could not endure it. I am an old man, andnow I want to enjoy myself in my own way, and my desire is to getthrough the last years of my life with you. 

"You can do what you please, ask here whomever you please, give me afew hours of your time when I am particularly busy with my memoirs, and, above all, let us be alone sometimes after dinner, so that we canturn our chairs round to the fire and talk at our ease. --Youraffectionate uncle, MOUNT RORKE. "

"So he won't pay for a secretary, and wants me to do the work; that'sabout the meaning of that letter. " Frank re-read the letter sentencefor sentence, and as he read new sneers and new expressions of scornrose in his brain in tremulous ebullition. There was scarcely a planfor the chastisement of his uncle that he did not for some fleetingmoment entertain, and one most ironical letter he committed to paper;but Maggie would not hear of its being sent, and he was surprised andglad to see that she was not depressed and disheartened at the turnaffairs had taken. 

"I can do what I like with father; Sally can't, but I can. You leaveit me. "

"What's the good of that? You can't get round Mount Rorke. "

"Never mind; we don't want to get married yet awhile. We'll beengaged, it is nearly the same thing. We shall be able to go anywheretogether--up to town, if we only come back the same day. Write a niceletter to your uncle, saying you'll do nothing without his consent;that it is true your affections are very much engaged, but that yourfirst thought is of him--"

"Oh! but my darling, I want to make you mine. "

"So you shall--we shall be engaged; father won't consent to our beingmarried, but he can't prevent us being engaged. You'll see, I'll getround father sooner or later; he'll give in. "

"But you won't get round Mount Rorke; if he would only come here andsee you. "

"He won't do that; but one of these days he'll be in London. I supposehe goes to the Park sometimes; we'll go too, you'll introduce me--alittle impromptu, and I'll see if I can't get him to like me. "

"How clever you are!"

"I understand father. "

Still it required all Maggie's adroitness to even partially reconcileMr. Brookes to Lord Mount Rorke's letter. She accepted withoutargument that marriage in the present circumstances was out of thequestion. She even went so far as to cordially assent that a man wouldbe a fool to give his daughter to a man who could not settle asubstantial sum of money upon her, and she only ventured to suggestthat it would be foolish not to give Lord Mount Rorke the opportunityof changing his mind. She spoke of his immense fortune, andexaggerated it until she made even Berkins seem a paltry creature inthe old man's eyes. 

Frank was anxious to propitiate Sally. He returned from London withpresents for her, and he always spoke to her, looking at heradmiringly. 

He showed much anxiety, and, fearing that she found it dull at hisstudio, when the sisters came to tea he begged her to give himMeason's address. Sally tossed her head; she had had enough of Meason, and her manner left no doubt as to her sincerity. But happening tomeet Meason a few days after in the train, Frank slipped easily intoasking him to come and see him; and in the easy atmosphere of thestudio the acquaintanceship soon ripened into intimacy, and after apreliminary ruffling of plumage, Sally restored her old sweetheart toall the rights of wrong. Life went well amid incessant secrets, letter-writing, and tea parties. Grace came to the studio to lunchsometimes, and she had been betrayed into a promise not to say a wordabout Meason. It was never ascertained whether, in the indiscretion ofthe marital night, she had betrayed this trust, or whether somejealous enemy had spoken or written to Mr. Brookes on the subject; butcertain it is that one joyful day when Meason, Sally, and Maggie wereeating oysters, and Frank was twisting the corkscrew into a bottle ofChablis, there came an ominous ringing at the door. 

"I wonder who that can be. Shut up, Triss. "

"Perhaps it is father. "

"He is in London. "

"I'm not so sure about that. "

"No matter--we don't want to see them. "

"Rather not! They wouldn't have known we were here had it not been forthat dog. "

"I must go and see who it is. Come here, sir; come here, you brute. "

"Supposing it is father?"

"Get behind that piece of tapestry. I'll say that Meason and I werehaving some oysters. "

"Come here, sir. I'd better tie up that dog--I wonder who it is?"

"Open the door. "

"Oh! Mr. Brookes, quite an unexpected pleasure. "

"I have come, sir, for my daughters. "

"Your daughters? Your daughters are not here. Mr. Brookes. "

"I have reason to know they are here, and I will not leave withoutthem. "

"You will do well to let us in, Mr. Escott; we are determined--"

"Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

"Should you refuse us admission we are resolved to wait here tillevening, till midnight if necessary!" exclaimed Berkins. "I say againyou will do well to admit us, and so avoid a scandal on the green. "

"You can come in if you like. "

"Will you kindly chain up that dog of yours?"

"Well, this is coming it too strong; this is a little too 'steep. ' IfMr. Brookes refuses to believe my word that his daughters are not herehe may come in and look for them, and to facilitate his search I willtie up the dog--(the dog is tied up). But you, what brings you here?What the devil, I should like to know, brings you here, poking yournose into other people's business?"

"Mr. Brookes, will you answer him?"

"I must decline your offer to admit me unaccompanied by my son-in-law. We shall not stay long. "

"All this seems to me very extraordinary, but since you wish it, Mr. Brookes, pray enter. "

"Is that dog tied up quite securely?"

"Quite. I think you know Mr. Meason?"

"Mr. Meason knows very well that I do not wish to know him. "

"If you only come here to insult my guest, the sooner you go out thebetter. Had I known that you intended to behave in this fashion Ishould have left you standing outside till morning. I'll not have--"

"Never mind, Escott; I'm off. Mr. Brookes and I are no longer onspeaking terms, that's all! I'll see you later on. "

"Don't go, pray. "

"I think I must. "

"I am surprised, Frank, " said Mr. Brookes, when Meason was gone, "thatyou should seek your friends among the enemies of my family. "

"We will not discuss that question now. I never heard of such conduct--you force your way into my studio, and apparently for no purpose butto insult my guest. You see your daughters are not here. "

"I am by no means satisfied with that, " said Berkins, opening a door. "I must see behind that piece of tapestry. "

"No, you shall not. I have had just about enough of this. How dareyou? God's truth--" and as Berkins seemed determined to continue hissearch, Frank caught him by the collar. 

But Berkins was tall and strong, and showed no intention of allowinghimself to be thrown out. His long legs were soon extended here andthere; his body was sometimes bent back by Frank's weight, once he hadsucceeded in nearly throwing Frank over on the sofa. Mr. Brookes hadfled to the door, which, in his excitement, he failed to open, and thestruggle was continued until at last, maddened by a most tight andtempting aspect of Berkin's thigh, Triss broke his collar, and in acouple of bounds, reached and fixed his teeth deep in the flesh. 

"Triss, you brute, leave go. " But Triss clung to the long-desiredthigh. "I'll twist his tail, it will make him leave go. "

With a savage yelp of pain the dog turned on his master and was hauledinstantly off Berkins's thigh. 

"I need hardly say that so far as the dog is concerned, I regret, andI am truly sorry for what has occurred. "

"Sir, do you not see what a state I am in; do not stand there makingexcuses, but lend me your handkerchief. I shall bleed to death if youdon't. "

"Shall I tie it up for you?"

"If those girls there would only fetch a doctor. "

Mr. Brookes could not refrain from foolish laughter, and in a momentof wretched despair he declared that it would be all the same in ahundred years time--a remark which would not have failed to irritateBerkins if he had not fainted. 

XIII

Next day Willy called at the studio, and Frank told him what hadoccurred. 

"But I don't see why you shouldn't come to the Manor House, " saidWilly. "If you will only say something about the Measons, I think itcan be made all right. "

"No, I'm not going to turn against Meason; I have always found him agood fellow. I know nothing about his flirtation with Sally. "

"No more do I; I think it has been exaggerated, but, as you know, Inever interfere. I wish you would come in to dinner one night. "

"Supposing I were to meet Berkins?"

Willy stroked his moustache. 

"No, it is quite impossible that I could return to the Manor House. Your father behaved in a way--well, I will not say what I think ofit. "

"Berkins hasn't been to the City since. Grace was over here yesterday, she says he limps about the garden. He'll never forgive you; he saysthat you didn't call the dog off at once. "

"That's a lie; and I said, 'So far as the incident with the dog isconcerned, I am very sorry. '"

"I think that made him more angry than anything else; he thought youwere laughing at him. "

"I was not. It was most unfortunate. I shall not give Maggie up. I amwriting to-morrow or next day to Mount Rorke. "

All were agreed that things must come right sooner or later. Maggiefought for her lover, and emphatically asserted her engagement. Sheyielded on one point only--not to visit the studio; but she maintainedher right in theory and in practice to go where she liked with him intrain or in cart, to walk with him on the cliff, to lunch with him atMutton's. They found pleasure in thus affirming their love, and itpleased them to see they were observed, and to hear that they werespoken about. Nevertheless the string that sung their happiness hadslipped a little, and the note was now not quite so clear or true. Frank could not go to the Manor House; Maggie could not go to thestudio. Whether Mount Rorke would consent to their marriage perplexedthem as it had not done before. 

The summer fades, the hills grow grey, and a salt wind blew up fromthe sea, blackening the trees, and the beauty of autumn was done. Frank thought of Ireland, and what personal intercession mightachieve. She begged of him to go, and he promised to write to herevery day. 

"Every day, darling, or I shall be miserable. "

"Every day. "

"Arrived safe after a very rough passage. Every one was ill, I most ofall. "

She received a post-card:--"It was raining cats and dogs when I got out of the train. Mount Rorkesent a car to meet me; the result is that I am in bed with a bad cold. The house is full of company--people I have known, or known of, sinceI was a boy; we shall begin pheasant-shooting in a few days. When I amout of bed I shall write a long letter. Do you write to me; I shall beawfully disappointed if I do not get a letter to-morrow morning. "

Extract from a letter:--

"Mount Rorke is considered to be a handsome place, but as I have knownit from childhood, as my earliest memories are of it, I cannot see itwith the eyes of a professed scenery hunter. I have loved it always, but I do not think I ever loved it more than now, for now I think thatone day I shall give it to you. Should that day come--and it willcome--what happiness it will be to walk with you under the old trees, made lovelier by your presence, to pass down the glades to the river, watching your shadow on the grass and your image in the stream. Wewill roam together through the old castle, and I will show you thelittle bed I used to sleep in, the school-room where I learned mylessons. When I entered the old room I saw in imagination--and oh, howclearly!--the face of my governess; and how easily I see her in thecorridor she used to walk down to get to her room. 

"Poor, dear, old thing, I wonder what has become of her!

"I saw again the pictures that stirred my childish fancy, and whosemeaning I once vainly strove to decipher. 

"I came to live here when I was four, immediately after my father'sdeath. I can just remember coming here. I remember Mount Rorke takingme up in his arms and kissing me. I will not say there is no placelike home--I do not believe that; but certainly no place seems soreal. Every spot of ground has its own particular recollections. Everybend of the avenue evokes some incident of childish life (in Irelandwe call any road leading to a house an avenue, even if it isabsolutely bare of trees; we also speak of rooks as crows, and thesetwo provincialisms jarred on my ear after my long stay in Sussex). Mount Rorke is covered with trees--great woods of beech and fir--andat the end of every vista you see a piece of blue mountain. A riverpasses behind the castle, winding through the park; there are bridges, and swans float about the sedges, and there are deer in the glades. The garden, --I do not know if you would like the garden; it is old-fashioned--full of old-fashioned flowers--convolvuluses, Michaelmasdaisies, marigolds; hedges clipped into all sorts of strange and closeshapes. There is a beautiful avenue behind the garden (an avenue inthe English sense of the word) where you may pace to and fro and feelan exquisite sense of solitude; for when the castle had passed out ofthe hands of Irish princes--that is to say, brigands--it was turnedinto a monastery, and I often think, as I look on the mossy trees--theprogeny of those under whose leafage the monks told their beads--thatall happened that I might throw my arm about you some beautiful day, and whisper, 'My wife, this is yours. '"

"How beautifully he writes, " said Sally reflectively. 

"You never had a lover who wrote to you like that. Do you remember howJimmy used to write?"

"I don't know how he wrote to you, but his letters to me, I will saythat, were quite as nice as anything Frank could write. You needn'ttoss your head, you are not Lady Mount Rorke yet. "

Sally refused to hear, but presently, seeing a cloud on her sister'sface, and thinking the letter contained some piece of unpleasantness, she relented, and pressed her to continue. 

"The house is full of people--people whom I have known all my life--and they make a great deal of me. I have to tell them about Italy, andthey ask me absurd questions about Michael Angelo or Titian, Leonardoor Watteau.... The house party is a large one, and we have people todinner every day; and in the evening the drawing-room, with its grimoak and escutcheons and rich modern furniture, is a pretty sightindeed. There is a lady here whom I knew in London, Lady Seveley; andI have had suspicions that Mount Rorke would like me to marry her. Butshe has the reputation of being rather fast, so perhaps the oldgentleman is allowing his thoughts to wander where they should not. Ihope not for his sake, for I hear she is devoted to a young Irishman, a Mr. Fletcher, a journalist in London. I met them at Reading once inmost suspicious circumstances. He is the son of a large grazier, oneof my uncle's tenants, and she is, I suppose, so infatuated that shecould not resist the temptation of calling on his family. She wascareful not to speak of her intentions to anybody, but waited untilshe got a favourable opportunity and slipped off to pay her visit. TheFletchers live about half a mile from the castle. I was riding thatway, and met her coming out of their house. I got off my horse andwalked back together. I hope Mount Rorke will not hear of herladyship's escapade; he would be very angry, for the Fletchers arepeople who would be asked to have something to eat in thehousekeeper's room if they called at the Castle. In London one knowseverybody, but in the country we are more conservative. "

 "I hope she won't cut you out, " said Sally. "It would be a sell foryou if she did. Go on. "

"No, I shan't, you are too insulting. "

"Who began it? You told me that I didn't get such nice letters as you. Pray go on. "

"I do not know if you would think her handsome. I don't. She is, however, an excellent musician; we play duets together every evening, to Mount Rorke's intense delight. You know my dialogue between a ladyand a gentleman? She has written it down for me and corrected a fewmistakes; I think I shall publish it. Darling, I love you better thanany one in the world; you are all the world to me; try to love me alittle--you will never find any one to love you as I do. "

"Well, you can't find anything peculiarly disagreeable to say aboutthat, I think. "

Extract from another letter:--

"All the visitors have gone; Mount Rorke and I are quite alone. He iskindness itself, and does not bother me about his memoirs; but fromwhat I hear that book will make one of the biggest sensations evermade in the literary world. I want him to publish it now, but he onlysmiles and shakes his head. He says: 'What is the use of setting theworld talking about you when you are alive; as long as I am alive Ican see those I want to see, and be with them far more personally thanI could by placing in their hands three volumes in 8vo; the 8vos areonly useful when you have passed into darkness, and are not yetreconciled to dying quite out of the minds of men. I do not desire tobe remembered by those who will live three hundred years hence, but Iconfess that I should like to modulate the pace of forgetfulnessaccording to my fancy, and be remembered, let us say, for the nextsixty or seventy years. I find no fault with death but its abruptness, and that I hope to be able to correct. The vulgar and most usual planis children, but children are no anodyne to oblivion, whereas a goodbook in a certain measure is. '

"These are almost the words Mount Rorke used, and I quote them asexactly as possible, so that you may see what kind of man he is. Wepulled our chairs round to the fire and had a real good talk. I knowno better company than Mount Rorke. He has seen everything, readeverything, and known everybody worth knowing; he is a mine ofinformation, and, what is far better, he is a complete man of theworld; and long contact with the world has left him a little cynical, otherwise he is perfect. I told him the story about Berkins, and helaughed; I never saw him laugh so before; and when I told him that Ihad told Berkins, as he was tying up his leg, that so far as theincident with the dog was concerned, I regretted deeply what hadoccurred, he could not contain himself. He rang the bell, and we hadold Triss up. He asked a great deal about you; I leave you to imaginewhat I said. How did he expect me to describe my darling? I told himof your subtle, fascinating ways, of your picturesque attitudes, andyour exquisite little black eyes. 'I think I see her, ' he said;'little eyes that light up are infinitely more interesting than thosebig, limpid, silly eyes that everybody admires. ' I am now doing awater-colour sketch from the photograph--the one in which you standwith your hands behind your back and your head on one side--for him. Iam getting on with it pretty well. Ah! if only I had you here for anhour (I should like to have you here for ever, of course; but now I amspeaking artistically, not humanly), I think I could get it reallylike you; there are one or two things that the photo does not give me. I shall send the sketch to Dublin to be framed; it will be a nicepresent for Mount Rorke. 

"My darling, you must not be anxious; all will come right in time--have a little patience. He is already much more reconciled to thematch than he was when I arrived, and if your father will refrain fromspeaking too much about that hateful question, I am sure that alldifficulties can be surmounted. "

She wrote to him three or four times a week, and on beautiful hand-made paper, delicately scented. 

Extract from a letter:--

"We went up to town yesterday by the ten o'clock train West Brighton;and so that we might have more money to spend, we went third class. Father doesn't like us going third class, but I don't think it mattersif you get in with nice people. We were very jolly. The Shaws wentwith us. They are very nice girls. They had to leave us at Victoria, and I and my cousin, Agnes Keating, went shopping together. We met theHarrisons at Russell & Allen's. We saw there some lovely dresses--Iwish you had been with us, for I have confidence in your taste, andwhen I choose a thing myself I am never sure that I like it. Theassistant was so polite; she told me to ask for Miss ---; she said shewould like to fit me. Sally was coming up with us, but she changed hermind and remained at home, I was very glad, for she is wretchedlycross, and not looking at all well. You would not admire her in theleast; she is growing very yellow. But I don't mean to be ill-natured, so we'll let Sally bide, as we say in Sussex. After Russell & Allen'swe went to Blanchard's, and had a nice lunch. Grace was in town; shechaperoned us, and paid for everything; it was very kind of her. Thenwe went to the theatre, and saw a play which we did not care aboutmuch. There was a very stupid 'tart' in it. I do like 'gadding, ' don'tI? But, oh, my darling Frank, gadding is not really gadding withoutyou. How I miss you, how we all miss you, but I especially. TheKeatings came over to tea to-day, and they asked about you. Blanchewants you to write something in her album, and she admired immenselythe drawing you gave me. She is very artistic in her tastes; I thinkyou would like her. 

"But I have a bit of news that I think will amuse you. You rememberMrs. Horlock's old dog--not the blind Angel; he's old too. But I meanthe real old dog, --the one twenty years old, that once belonged to abutcher. He never smelt very sweet, as you know, but latterly he wasunbearable, and the General resolved on a silent and secretdestruction. He purchased in Brighton a bottle of chloroform. It wasthe dead of the night and pitch dark. However, he reached the end ofthe passage in safety; but suddenly he uttered a fearful shriek anddropped the chloroform. He thought he had seen a ghost; but it wasonly Mrs. Horlock, who was going her rounds, letting down the mouse-traps and supplying the little creatures with food. The Generalblurted out various excuses. He said that he had come to relieve thecock parrot's tooth-ache--that he feared the Circassian goat wassuffering from spinal complaint and the squirrels from neuralgia. Buthis protestations proved unavailing, and now he eats his meals insilence. And to make matters worse, the old dog did die a few daysafter--the General says from old age, but Mrs. Horlock avows that hisdeath resulted from fright. 'He was a sweet, cunning old thing, and nodoubt knew all about that plan to destroy him. ' I think this wouldmake an excellent subject for a comic sketch; I wish you would do one--the General dropping the bottle; Mrs. Horlock, surrounded by closedmouse-traps and crumbs, sternly upbraiding him. 

"I see lots of Emily Pierce. Every Sunday I have tea with her, andsometimes lunch; but she doesn't come here. I am afraid I couldn't geton at all without her; we do everything together, and we hit it off sowell. 

"Sally has been staying in Kent. I do not know what's up, but she seemsto see everything _couleur de rose_; everything in Kent is better inher estimation than anywhere else. The men dance so much better for onething. I am glad she is so happy, and I wish she would get married andstay there. Father says he has a cough that tears him to pieces, but Ihaven't heard it yet. "

The elementary notion of a woman in love is to surround, to envelopthe man she loves, with her individuality, and to draw him from allother influences. And the woman in love strives to accomplish this byceaseless reiteration of herself or himself seen through herself. SoMaggie with her nervous, highly-strung, febrile temperament could notrefrain from constantly striking the lyre of love. Her hands were forever on the chords. Letters and notes of all kinds; impetuous messagesasking him when he would return; letters apologising for herselfishness--he had better remain with Mount Rorke until his consenthad been obtained; resolutions and irresolutions, ardours, lassitudes, forgetfulness followed fast in strange and incomprehensiblecontradiction. And Frank was asked daily to perform some small task. There was always something; and Frank undertook all he was asked todo, for he loved to be as much as possible in that circle of life inwhich his sweetheart lived, and to feel her presence about him. 

Extract from a letter:--

"Mount Rorke and I had a long and serious talk about you last night. He is against the marriage, but then he is against marriage ingeneral. He said with his quiet, cynical laugh, 'I daresay she is apretty girl--I can read the truth through your romantic descriptions. I am convinced that she is very charming. But are you quite sure thatyou will never meet another equally charming girl? Remember the worldis a very big place, and the stock of women is large; are you surethat you will be able to enjoy the charm which now rules and enchantsyou for thirty, forty years without wearying of it? These are thequestions you have to consider, which marriage entails. ' I need hardlytell you what answer I made, and how I tried to convince him that yourcharms are those that a man capable of appreciating them could notweary of. Indeed I think I made him rather a neat answer--I said thereare books in one volume, in two volumes, in three volumes, and thereare books that you can take down and read at any time. He laughed; itrather tickled his fancy. And he said, 'Quite true, there are somebooks and some women that one never tires of--that is to say, thatsome people never tire of. I haven't been so fortunate or unfortunate, but that by the way. I admit such cases may occur. I will go further--I will admit that a man's life may be made or marred by his taking tohimself a wife; and if Miss Brookes were a really nice girl--if shewere the one girl in a million, and if I were sure that your passionfor each other has its root in deeper and more lasting sympathies thanthose of the skin (these were his exact words)--believe me, my dearFrank, I should not think of opposing the marriage. I shall be inLondon during the season, and no doubt an occasion will arise, ofwhich I promise you to avail myself, of making this model young lady'sacquaintance. I will tell you what I think of her; she won't deceiveme, let her try how she will. There is only one thing I bar--one thingmust not be, one thing I will not tolerate--a bad marriage. ' I lost mytemper for a moment, but Mount Rorke did not lose his, and I soon cameround. It is annoying to be spoken to in that way; but I rememberedthat he had not seen you, and I consoled myself by thinking of howgreat his conversion will be when he does. My only fear is that he'llwant to marry you himself. So, you see, my own darling, my uncle is onthe 'give, ' and we shall win soon and easily. The only real obstacleis your father's pig-headedness on all matters in which money enters. I think with terror of his meeting with Mount Rorke. If he speaks toMount Rorke as he spoke to me, my uncle will take up his hat and wishhim good-morning. Do you exert all your influence. Do leave no stoneunturned. All depends upon you. "

Extract from another letter:--

"I am weary of this place, and I long to see you. My longing is suchthat I can resist it no longer. Besides, nothing would be gained byremaining here. Mount Rorke will not say more than he has said. In afew days--think of that--I shall be with you. With what eagerness Ilook forward. How gladly I shall see the train leave the dreary bogsand the blue mountains of the West and pass into the pasture lands ofMeath; how gladly I shall hail the brown, slobber-faced city ofDublin; with what delight I shall step on board the packet--I shallnot think of sea sickness--and watch the line of the low coastdisappear, then the Welsh mountains and castles, looking so like anillustrated history of England. I must spend two days in London, alas!I must order some new clothes. Victoria Station, with all its doorsand cab stands, and book-stalls, the Sussex scenery, the woodlands, the Downs, the plunging through tunnels, and then you. Darling, Icannot believe that such happiness is in store for me. "

All happened as he had anticipated. At Victoria the usual difficultieshad arisen about the dog. Triss was growling, the guard was cringing, and, with reference to no stoppage before we come to Redhill, thenecessity of a muzzle was being argued. 

"I am certain it is she, " and he followed with his eyes the tall, swinging figure in the black cloth dress. Then he saw the clear plumpprofile, so white, of Lizzie Baker. 

"Here, give me the chain, I'll tie the dog up. "

"But the muzzle, sir. "

A muzzle was procured, and Frank ran to the third class carriage wherehe had seen Lizzie enter. 

"Lizzie! Lizzie!"

"Oh, Mr. Escott, who would have thought of seeing you! It is such atime--"

"Yes, isn't it; how long? But are you going to Brighton?"

"Yes. "

"So am I; but--let me get you a first-class ticket. Guard, have I timeto change my ticket?"

"No, sir, the train is going to start; get in. ""Do you get out, Lizzie; I'll pay the difference at Brighton. "

"No time for changing now, sir; are you getting into this carriage?"

He could not forego the pleasure of being with Lizzie. An old womanwith a provision basket on her lap drew her skirts aside and made wayfor him; there were three dirtily dressed girls--probably shop girls;they sat whispering together, a little troubled by the publicity;there were two youths, shabbily dressed, their worn boots and trouserscovered with London mud. He was surprised, and he did not for a momentunderstand or realise his company. Frank had never been in a third-class carriage before. 

"I'm afraid you won't be comfortable here. "

"Oh, yes, I shall; I'd just as soon travel in one class as another--much sooner when it means being with you. "

"None of your nonsense; I see you haven't changed. Well, who'd havethought it? Just fancy meeting you, and after all this time. "

"How long is it? It must be nearly two years. I haven't seen yousincethat day we went up the river. "

"Yes, you have. "

"No; where did I see you since?"

"At the bar; I didn't leave the 'Gaiety' for several days after. "

"No more you did; I remember now. But why did you leave withoutletting me know where you were going?"

"I didn't know I was leaving till the morning, and I left in theafternoon. A lot of us were changed suddenly. The firm couldn't getenough young ladies to do the work at the Exhibition. "

"But you didn't leave an address. "

"Yes, I did. "

"No, you didn't; I asked the manager, and he told me you had left noaddress. They didn't know where you had gone. "

"Did he say so? You mean Mr. Fairlie, I suppose--now I come to thinkof it, it is the rule of the firm not to give information about theyoung ladies. I am sorry. "

"Are you?"

"I am, really. We had a very pleasant day up the river--Reading; youtook me to Reading. "

"Yes; but you would never come again. "

"Wouldn't I? I suppose I couldn't find time--I did enjoy myself. Whata lovely day it was. "

"Yes; and do you remember how like a beautiful smile the river lay?And do you remember the bulrushes? I rowed you in among the rushes;you wet the sleeve of your dress plunging your arm in. I remember it, that white plump arm. "

"Get along with you. "

"I wanted to make a sketch of you leaning over the boatside with yourlapful of water-lilies; I wish I had. "

"I wish you had, too; you wrote a little poem instead. It was verypretty, but I should have liked the picture better. You gave me thepoem next day when you came in to lunch. You had lunch at the bar, andI was so cross with you because you said I hadn't wiped the glass. Itwas all done to annoy me because I had been talking to that tall, rather stout young man, with the dark moustache, whom you were sojealous of. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember; and I believe it was that fellow who prevented youfrom coming out with me again. "

"No, it wasn't; but don't speak so loud, all these people arelistening to you. "

Frank met the round stare of the girls; and, turning from the dormantcuriosity of the old woman, he said--

"Do you remember the locks, how frightened you were; you had neverbeen through a lock before; and the beautiful old red brick houseshowing upon the lofty woods; and coming back in the calm of theevening, passing the different boats, the one where the girls lay backin the arms of the young men, the flapping sail, and the dreamyinfluences of the woods where we climbed and looked into space overthe railing?"

"At the green-table--don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember every hour of that day; we had lunch at the'Roebuck. '"

"You haven't spoken of the lady we saw there. Lady Something--I forgetwhat you said her name was; you said she had been making up to you. "

"I dined with her one night, and we went to the theatre. "

"You may do that without it being said that you are making up to agentleman. "

"Of course; I should never think of saying you made up to me. "

"I should hope not, indeed. "

"I should never think of accusing you of having made up to me; youhave always treated me very badly. "

Lizzie did not answer. He looked at her, puzzled and perplexed, and hehoped that neither the girls nor the old lady had understood. 

"I am sorry; I really didn't mean to offend you. All I meant to saywas that the lady we saw at the 'Roebuck' had been rather civil to me;had--well I don't know how to put it--shown an inclination to flirtwith me--will that suit you?--and that I had not availed myself of mychances because I was in love with you. "

Encouraged by a sunny smile, Frank continued: "You wouldn't listen tome; you were very cruel. "

"I am sure I didn't mean to be cruel; I went out on the river withyou, and we had a very pleasant day. You didn't say then I was cruel. "

"No, you were very nice that day; it was the happiest day of my life. I was in love with you; I shall never care for any one as I cared foryou. "

"I don't believe you. "

"I swear it is true. When you left the 'Gaiety' I searched London foryou. If you had only cared for me we might have been very happy. Assure as a fellow loves a woman, so sure is she to like some otherchap. Tell me, why did you go away and leave no address?"

"I did leave an address. "

"Well, we won't discuss that. Why didn't you write to me? You knew myaddress. It's no use saying you didn't. "

"Well, I suppose I was in love with some one else. "

"Were you? You always denied it. Ah! so you were in love with some oneelse? I knew it--I knew it was that thick-set fellow with the blackmoustache. I wonder how you could like him--the amount of whisky andwater he used to drink. "

"Yes, usen't he? I have served him with as many as six whiskies in anafternoon--Irish, he always drank Irish. "

"How could you like a man who drank?"

"But it wasn't he--I assure you; I give you my word of honour. Itreally wasn't. I'd tell you if it was. "

"Well, who was it, then? It couldn't be the old man with the beard andwhite teeth?"

"No. "

"Was it that great tall fellow, clean shaven?"

"No, it wasn't; you'll never guess; There's no use trying. However, itis all over now. "

"Why? Did he treat you badly? Whose fault was it?"

"His. And the chances I threw away. He behaved like a beast. I had togive up keeping company with him. "

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. He changed very much towards me lately; he wentmessing about after other girls, and we had words, and I left. "

"You will make it up. Perhaps you are mistaken. "

"Mistaken--no; I found their letters in his pocket. "

"There are always rows between sweethearts; and then they kiss andmake it up, and love each other the more. "

"No, I shall not see him again. We were going to be married; no, it isall over. It was a little hard at first, but I am all right now. "

"I am sorry. Do you think there is no chance of making it up?"

"I should have thought that you would be glad; men are so selfish theynever think of any one but themselves. "

"How do you mean? Why should I be glad that your marriage was brokenoff?"

"You said just now that you liked me very much, I thought--"

"So I do like you very much. Once I was in love with you--that daywhen we walked up the steep woods together. "

"And you don't care for me any longer?"

"I don't say that; but I am engaged to be married. "

"Oh!"

"Had you not snubbed me so I might have been married to you. "

"Who are you going to be married to--to the lady we saw that day?"

"Oh, no, not to her. "

"I don't believe you. You mean to say you haven't been to see hersince. "

"I assure you---"

"You mean to say you haven't seen her?"

"I don't say that. I've just come from Ireland. I've been staying withmy uncle. She spent a week with us; that's all I have seen of her. Iam going now to see the young lady whom I am engaged to. "

"And when will you be married?"

"I don't know; there are a great many difficulties in the way. PerhapsI shall never marry her. "

"Nonsense. I know better. You think it will take me in. I'll never betaken in again, not if I know it. "

"I don't want to take you in. "

"I don't know so much about that. Is she very pretty? I suppose youare very much in love with her?"

"Yes, I love her very much. Dark, not like you a bit--just theopposite. "

"And you met her since you saw me?"

"No. "

"Ah, I thought as much, and yet you told me the day we went up theriver together that you never had and couldn't care for any one elsebutme. Men are all alike--they never tell the truth. "

"Wait a minute; wait a minute. I knew her long before I knew you; Ihave known her since I was a boy, but that doesn't mean that I havebeen in love with her since I was a boy. I never thought of her untilyou threw me over, until long after; it was last summer I fell in lovewith her. "

Lizzie's eyes were full upon him, and it seemed to them that eachcould see and taste the essence of the other's thought. 

"What have you been doing ever since? You have told me nothing aboutyourself. "

"Well, after trying vainly to find you--having searched, as I thought, all Speirs and Pond's establishments in London, I tried to resignmyself to my fate. I assure you, I was dreadfully cut up--could donothing. My life was a burden to me. You have been in love, and youknow what an ache it is; it used to catch me about the heart. Therewas no hope; you were gone--gone as if the earth had swallowed you. Igot sick of going to the 'Gaiety' and asking those girls if they knewanything about you; so to cure myself I went to France, and I workedhard at my painting. In such circumstances there is only one thing--work. "

"You are right. "

"Yes; nothing does you any good but work. I worked in the _atelier_--that's the French for studio--all the morning, and in the afternoon Ipainted from the nude in a public studio. I had such a nice studio--such a jolly little place. I was up every morning at eight o'clock, mymodel arrived at nine, and I worked without stopping (barring the tenor twelve minutes' rest at the end of every hour) till twelve. Then Iwent to the cafe to have breakfast--how I used to enjoy thosebreakfasts--fried eggs all swimming in butter, a cutlet, after, nicebread and butter, then cock your legs up, drink your coffee, and smokeyour cigarette till one. "

"Did you like the French cafe better than the 'Gaiety'?"

"It is impossible to compare them. I made a great deal of progress. Ibegan one picture of a woman in a hammock, a recollection of you. Youremember when we passed under those cedar branches, close to the'Roebuck, ' we saw a hammock hung by the water's edge, and I said Iwould like to see you in it, and stand by and rock you. I had intendedto send it to the Academy, but I never could finish it, the Frenchmodel was not what I wanted--I wanted you; and I was obliged to leaveFrance, and I could get no one in Southwick. Once a fellow changes hismodel he is done for; he never can find his idea again. ""Where's Southwick?"

"A village outside Brighton, three or four miles, not more. I have astudio there; you must come and see it. "

"You must paint me. But what would your lady love say if she found mein your studio? She'd have me out of it pretty quick. Tell me abouther; I want to hear how you fell in love. "

"It happened in the most curious, quite providential way. I have toldyou that I knew them since I was a boy. Maggie has often sat on myknee. "

"Maggie is her name, then?"

"Yes, don't you like the name? I do. Her brother was a school-fellowof mine. We were at Eton together, and one time when Mount Rorke wasaway travelling they asked me to spend my holidays at Southwick. That's how I got to know them. One day Maggie and Sally were at mystudio; Sally has a sweetheart--"

The sentence was cut short by a sudden roar. The train had entered atunnel, and the speakers made pause, seeing each other vaguely in thedim light, and when they emerged into the cold April twilight Franktold the story of Triss and Berkins, Mr. Brookes struggling with thedoor, and the girls rushing screaming from their hiding-place; andFrank's imitation of Berkin's pomposity amused Lizzie, and she laughedtill she cried. He continued till the joke was worn bare; then, fearing he had been talking too much of himself, he said: "Now, I havebeen very candid with you, tell me about yourself. "

"There is nothing to tell; I think I have told you all. " Then shesaid, slipping, as she spoke, into minute confidences: "When I leftthe 'Gaiety' I went for a few days to the Exhibition, but _he_ wantedto leave London, so I applied to the firm to remove me to Liverpool(not Liverpool Street; the girl--I suppose it was Miss Clarke, for Iwrote to her--made a mistake, or you misunderstood her). We remained inLiverpool a year, and then we came back to London, and I went to the'Criterion, ' but I couldn't stop there long; he was so awfully jealousof me; he used to catechise me every evening--who had I spoken to? Howlong I had spoken to this man? Once I slapped a man's face in funbecause he squeezed my hand when I handed him the change across thecounter. There was such a row about it. I don't know how _he_ heard ofit. I think he must have got some one to watch me. I often suspectedthe porter--the bigger one of the two; but you don't know the'Criterion. ' You used to go to the 'Gaiety. '"

"Perhaps he saw you himself. I suppose he used to come to the bar?"

"No, not unless--no, not very often. He banged me about. "

"Banged you about, the brute! Good heavens! How could you like a manwho would strike a woman? Who was he? Was he a gentleman--I mean, washe supposed to be a gentleman? Of course he wasn't really a gentleman, or he wouldn't have struck you. "

"He was in a passion, he was very sorry for it afterwards. Then I leftthe firm and went to live in lodgings; he allowed me so much a week. "

"He was a man of some means?"

"No, but it didn't cost him much, he knew the people. We were going tobe married, but he got ill, and we thought we had better wait; and Iwent to the 'Gaiety' again. I was a fool, of course, to think so muchabout him, for I had plenty of chances. One man who used to lunchthere three times a week wanted me to marry him, and take me rightaway. I think he was in the printing business--a man who was makinggood money; but I could not give Harry up. "

"Harry is his name, then?"

"Yes; but it all began over again. It was just the same at the'Gaiety' as it was at the 'Criterion. ' He would never leave me alone, but kept on accusing me of flirting with the gentlemen that came tothe bar. Now, you know as well as I do what the bar is. You must bepolite to the gentlemen you serve. There are certain gentlemen whoalways come to me, and don't care to be served by any one else, and ifI didn't speak to them they wouldn't come to the bar. The manager isvery sharp, and would be sure to mention it. "

"Whom do you mean? That fellow with the yellow moustache that walksabout with his frock-coat all open--a sort of apotheosis of sherry andbitters?"

"That's what you called him once before. You see I remember. He isvery fond of sherry and bitters. But I was saying that Harry wouldkeep on interfering with me, pulling me over the coals. We had suchdreadful rows. He accused me of having gone with gentlemen to theirrooms--a thing I never did. I could stand it no longer, and we agreedto part. "

"How long is that ago?"

"About three weeks. I could stand it no longer, I couldn't remain atthe 'Gaiety, ' so I resolved to leave. "

"Why couldn't you remain at the 'Gaiety, ' the manager didn't knowanything about it?"

"No, he knew nothing about it, it wouldn't have mattered if he had, but after a break up like that you can't remain among people you know--you want to get right away; there's nothing like a change. Besides Imightn't get such a good chance again; I had the offer of a very goodplace in Brighton, and I took it--a new restaurant, they open to-morrow. I get thirty pounds a year and my food. "

"And lodging?"

"No, they are very short of accommodation, and I have taken a room inone of the streets close by--Preston Street. Do you know it?"

"Perfectly, off the Western Road. "

"The lady who has the house knew my poor mother--a very nice woman--will let me have a bedroom for five shillings a week, and I shall beallowed to use her sitting-room when I want it, which, of course, won't be very often, for I shall be at business all day. "

The train rolled along the platform; Frank asked the porter when therewould be a train for Southwick, and was told he would have half anhour to wait. 

"I shall have time to drive you to Preston Street. "

"Oh, no, please don't! She will be waiting for you--you will miss yourtrain. "

XIV

About four in the afternoon he left off painting, and went to Brightonfor a couple of hours. The little journey broke up the day, he boughtthe evening papers, and it was pleasant to glance from the news tothose who passed, and to look upon the sunny and hazy sea. He liked togo to Mutton's, and regretted Lizzie was not there, instead of behinda bar serving whisky and beer. But he went to the bar. It was a Germanestablishment, decorated with the mythological art of Munich, andenlivened with a discordant band. The different rooms were fitted withbars of various importance. Lizzie was engaged at the largest--thatnearest the entrance. At half-past five this bar was thronged with allclasses. Beer and whisky were drunk hurriedly, with a look of trainson the face. The quietest time was from half-past three to half-pastfour, during these hours the dining-room was alone in the presence ofthe awful goddesses and a couple of drowsy waiters. Most of the girlswere out, some two or three read faded novels in the sloppy twilight;a group of four or five men who had lingered from half-hour to half-hour turned their backs, and talked among themselves; sometimes acouple would condescendingly address Lizzie, and tease her with ruderemarks; or else Frank found her having a little private chat with anold gentleman, a youth, or, may be, the waiter. 

Lizzie had her bar manners and her town manners, and she slipped onthe former as she would an article of clothing when she lifted theslab and passed behind. They consisted principally of cordial smiles, personal observations, and a look of vacancy which she assumed whenthe conversation became coarse. From behind the bar she spokeauthoritatively, she was secure, it was different--it was behind thebar; and she spoke with a cheek and a raciness that at other timeswere quite foreign to her. "I will not sleep with you to-night if youdon't behave yourself, " so Frank once heard her answer a swaggeringyoung man. She spoke out loud, evidently regarding her words merely inthe light of gentle repartee. What she heard and said in the barremained not a moment on her mind, she appeared to accept it all aspart of the business of the place, and when Frank was annoyed she onlylaughed. 

"Men will talk improper--what does it matter? One doesn't payattention to their nonsense, and it is only in the bar. Never mind allthat, tell me what you have been doing. You didn't come into Brightonyesterday, I suppose?"

"No, I had to go to the Manor House. "

"And how is she--the only one? Are you as much in love with her asever?"

"I suppose I am; I have begun a portrait of her. "

"What, another! You never finish anything. I shan't have that when Icome and sit for you. I shall make you finish my portrait. "

"Ah, yes; when you come and sit. But, joking apart, when will youcome? I should so like to show you my studio. It really looks verynice now. When will you come?"

"I have no time. "

"Why not come next Sunday; it is your Sunday off. "

"What would Maggie say if she found me there? She'd have my eyes out. "

"If she did find it out she'd know you came to sit; but as a matter offact she'd know nothing about it. You come and lunch with me abouttwelve--they're all in church about that time. "

"And you never go to church, you wicked boy. I don't know that I daretrust myself with you. "

A scruple jarred the even strain of his desire to paint Lizzie'sportrait, but his scruple vanished in one of her sweet sunny smiles, and he gave her all information about the train she would have to taketo reach Southwick by twelve o'clock. 

He ordered some delicacies in the way of potted meats, and there was abottle of champagne in a bucket of ice when she arrived. 

"Do you keep your champagne in ice? We never do in the bar. When thegentlemen want it they have a piece to put in their wine. "

"I wish you'd try to forget your gentlemen when you come here. "

Lizzie began to cry, and it was hard to console her; she said thatFrank had spoilt her lunch for her. 

"It is because you are so much superior to the men I see you speakingto. How can I help feeling annoyed that you should be serving drinks?"

"But I've got to get my living. You don't suppose I serve in a barbecause I like it?"

"No, of course not; but don't let us talk any more about it. You'regoing to sit to me, and I want to do as pretty a portrait of you as Ican. All that beautiful brown hair, and that hat! Let me take it fromyour head!" Frank had bought this hat for her and had handed it to herover the counter, thereby bringing censure upon her from the manager. "Let's forget what I said. The hat suits you. There, now against thelight, just a three-quarter face. "

At the end of half an hour he said she was a very good sitter and thispleased her, and she tried to keep the pose till the clock struck, butat the end of fifty minutes she said: "I must get up, " and she cameround to see what he was doing. 

"Now you mustn't criticise it, " he said. "It's only a beginning. You've forgiven me my remarks about the bar?"

"Don't remind me of it again. "

But he could not get it out of his head that he had annoyed her, andwas unable to apply himself to his painting; perhaps for this reasonhis drawing went wrong, and his colour became muddy, and the thoughtstruck him that if Maggie were to find this portrait about the studioshe would certainly ask him whose portrait it was, "I can't paint to-day, " he said, getting up from his easel. 

"And why can't you paint?" The question seemed to him at first astupid one, and then she showed a perception that surprised him. "Areyou afraid the young lady you're engaged to might come and catch mesitting to you?"

The fear that this might happen had been floating in the back of hismind for the last half hour; he had kept Lizzie too long in thestudio, and it was not improbable that the girls might knock at hisdoor at any moment, and if they did it would be impossible for him notto answer. Triss would bark. 

"Well, " she said, "I won't keep you any longer. "

"No, I assure you, " he said aloud, and within himself, "I'd give asovereign if I could get her to the station without being seen. "

And he thought he had done so as he returned half an hour afterwardsacross the green. Maggie was waiting for him. "Come to ask me to dineat the Manor House, " he thought; but she told him that she knew allabout his visitor, and, despite all Frank's efforts to pacify her shegrew more violent, more excited until at last she told him she didn'twant to see him any more, that he was to go away, that she gave himhis liberty. 

"What an excitable girl she is! I'll go there this evening and try tocoax her out of her anger. I must try to explain to her that a paintermust have models. If we were married we shouldn't have more than athousand a year to live on at the outside--that is to say, if MountRorke and Brookes come to terms, which is not very likely, they mightmake up a thousand a year between them, that would not be enough fortwo, and I should have to work; and I couldn't work without a model. The thing is absurd! She'll have to learn that a model is absolutelynecessary; we were bound to have a row over that model question, so itmight as well come off now as later on, and we shall understand eachother better when this has blown over. There is nothing, and never hasbeen anything, between me and Lizzie--my conscience is clear on thatscore. How pretty she looked to-day--that pale brown hair, so soft andso full of colour. To-day was an unlucky day; I began by beingunfortunate with my painting; I never made a worse drawing in my life, and the worst of it was that I did not see that my drawing was wronguntil I had begun to paint. "

A remembrance of Maggie's gracefulness came dazzling and straining hisimagination, and in sharp revulsion of desire he assailed Lizzie withangry and contemptuous memory. She was always in low company--wasnever happy out of it; it was part of her. How this man liked sixdashes of bitters in his sherry, and the other would not drink whiskyexcept in a thin glass. 

As he was leaving the studio he received a letter from Maggie, andwhen he thought of the circumstances in which it was written, he grewgenuinely alarmed, for there was no forgetting the seriousness of theletter, and she stated her reasons for the step she was taking withoutundue emphasis. In its severity and quiet determination the letter didnot seem like her, and he suspected forgery, sisterly advice, paternalinfluence--a family conspiracy. There was but one thing to do. Helooked through the various furniture for his hat; and with his headfull of citations from the lives of artists illustrative of theirconduct, he went to her. But Maggie would not see him. 

"Miss Brookes, " the servant said, "is in her room and cannot see you, sir. "

"She will never be mine, she will never be mine, " he muttered as hepassed into the town. "But why do I think she'll never be mine?" Andlooking at the grey sea with only a trace of the sunset left in thegrey sky he asked himself if the thought that had crossed his mindwere a conviction, a fore-telling or merely a passing fancy created bythe difficulty of the moment. He asked himself if he had heard himselfsaying, "She'll never be mine" and mistaken his own voice for thevoice of Fate. Over the shingle bank the sea faded, a thin illusion, dim and promiseful of peace, and as the darkness and the sea filledFrank's soul he, the lightest and most life-loving of men, was filledfor once with a sense of failure of life, and as his sorrowingthoughts drifted on he remembered that he had stood with her inhearing of the rising tide, and all his pleading and passion came backto him. 

"What are you doing here?"

It was Willy. 

"I don't know. Maggie has broken off her engagement; she will neverspeak to me again, she hopes we may never meet. "

"I don't understand. When did she break off her engagement?"

Frank told his story, and they walked across the green towards thestudio. 

"Oh, you don't care. I don't believe you are listening to me. "

"I am listening. You never think any one understands what is said tothem if they do not instantly jump and call the stars to witness. "

"I suppose I am like that--excitable--the difference between the Celtand the Saxon; and yet I don't know, your sisters are quite asexcitable as I am. "

"They take after their mother; I am more like my father. "

"It wouldn't be a bad character for a play--a man who never wouldbelieve what you said, unless you threw up your arms and called on thestars. "

"He can't be very bad if he can think about plays, " thought Willy. 

"Tell me, Willy, you won't offend me; tell me exactly what you think, did I do anything wrong? I swear to you there is nothing between meand Lizzie--I believe she is over head and ears in love with somefellow who has treated her very badly. She never would tell me who hewas. In fact, she told me she had left London so that she might getover it. There would be no use my humbugging you, and I swear there isnot, and never was, anything between me and Lizzie Baker. I neverexpected to see her again. It is very strange how people meet. I havetold you all about it. When I go to Brighton I must go somewhere toget a drink, and I really don't see there is any harm in going to the'Tivoli'; it didn't occur to me to think I should avoid the placemerely because she was serving there. I have often been there, I don'tdeny it. Do you see there is any harm in my going there?"

"I don't like giving an opinion unless I am fully acquainted with thefacts; but it seems to me that you might have gone to the 'Tivoli' tohave a drink without asking her to your studio. "

"Stay a bit, we'll speak of that presently. I am now telling you how Isee Lizzie when I go to Brighton. I often go to Brighton by the fouro'clock train, I often go to the 'Tivoli, ' and when she is not talkingto some one else I talk to her about things in general; but I swear Ihave never been out with her, that I never saw her except in the bar, and yet Maggie accuses me of keeping a woman in Brighton, and won'thear what I have to say in my defence. This is what she says: 'I haveit on unquestionable authority that you have been keeping this womansince you returned from Ireland, perhaps before, and that you go in bythe four o'clock train almost daily to see her. ' Now I ask you if itis fair to make such accusations--such utterly false and baselessaccusations--and then to refuse to hear what a fellow has to say inhis defence? By Jove! if I caught the fellow who has been telling liesabout me, I'd let him have it. Some of those Southdown Road peoplehave been writing to her, that's about the long and short of it. 

"As for having asked her to come to the studio, I assure you myintentions were quite innocent. Perhaps you won't understand what Imean; you don't care for painting, but very often an artist has alonging to paint a certain face, and the desire completely mastershim. Well, I had a longing of this kind to paint Lizzie; hers is justthe kind of head that suits me--she offered to give me a sitting, Ididnot see much harm in accepting, and as I could not paint her inthe bar-room, I asked her to the studio. But as for making out therewas anything wrong--I assure you she is not that sort of girl. If wewere married (I mean Maggie and I) I would have to have models; we'llhave to come to an understanding on that point. Now what I want you todo is to explain to Maggie that there is nothing wrong between me andLizzie, you can tell her there is nothing--I swear there is nothing;and then you had better explain that an artist must have models towork from. "

"Don't ask me. I wish you wouldn't ask me. I make a rule never tointerfere in my sisters' affairs. I did once, you remember, and Ithought I should never hear the end of it. "

"I think you might do this for me. "

"Don't ask me. I wish you wouldn't, my dear fellow. I am anexceedingly nervous chap, and I have had nothing but bad luck all mylife. "

"You think of nothing but yourself. You certainly are the most selfishfellow I ever met. You take no interest in any affairs but your own. "

Willy made no answer. He sat stroking his moustache softly with slowcrumpled hand. After a long silence, he said: "Tell me, Frank, are youreally in love with my sister, or is it only imagination? I knowpeople often think they are in love when their fancy is only a littleexcited. Very little will pass for being in love, but the real thingis very different from such fancies. "

"I assure you I never loved any one like Maggie. Yes, I am sure I loveher. "

"You may be in love, I don't say you aren't; but I am sure there's nomore common mistake than to fancy one's self in love because one'simagination is a bit excited. When you do fall in love, you find outyour mistake. "

"You think no one was ever in love but yourself. Do you remember whenyou took me to see her, when we heard her sing 'Love was false as hewas fair, and I loved him far too well'?"

Frank knew no more of the story than that: Willy had loved thisactress vainly. On occasions Willy had alluded to her, but he hadnever shown signs of wishing to confide. 

"Yes, I remember. How I loved that woman, and what a wreck it has madeof my life. I daresay you often think me dull; I can quite understandyour thinking me narrow-minded, selfish, and incapable of takinginterest in other people's affairs: losing her took the soul out of mylife. Now nothing really amuses me--now nothing really interests me. Ioften think if I were to die, it would be a happy release. "

"You never told me anything about it before; wouldn't she marry you?"

"I never knew her. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, and my love swallowed up everything else. Then I wasn't wrapped up inaccount-books, although I was always a precise and methodical sort ofchap; I was young enough then, now I am an older man than my father. Some fellows have all the luck; everything succeeds with them, everyone loves them, men and women, they get all they ask for and more, others get nothing. No matter what I tried to do, something went wrongand I was baulked. I set my heart on that girl, she was the one thingI wanted. I saw her play the same piece fifty times. I knew my passionwas hopeless, but I couldn't resist it. Had I known her I might havewon her, but there were no means; I never saw her but once off thestage, and that was but a moment. I often sent her presents, sometimesjewellery, sometimes fans or flowers, anything and everything Ithought she would like. I sent her a beautiful locket; I paid fiftypounds for it. "

"Did she accept your presents?"

"I sent them anonymously. "

"Why did you not try to make her acquaintance?"

"I knew nobody in the theatrical world. I was not good at makingacquaintances. You might have done it. I am a timid man. "

"Did you make no attempt? You might have written. "

"At last I did write. "

"What did you write?"

"I tried to tell her the exact truth. I told her that I had refrainedfrom writing to her for three years. That I quite understood the follyand the presumption of the effort; but I felt now, as drowning menthat clutch at straws, that I must make my condition known to her. Itold her I loved her truly and honourably, that my position andfortune would have entitled me to aspire to her hand if fate had beenkind enough to allow me to know her. It was a very difficult letter towrite, and I just tried to make myself clear. I told her I knew no onein the theatrical world, and that waiting and hoping for some chancetobring us together would only result in misery long drawn out; thatI had some faint hope that this letter might lead her to consider thatthere might be an exception to the rule that a young lady should notstop to speak to a young man she didn't know. I remember I said 'whenmen are in deadly earnest, truth seems to shine between the lines theywrite. I know I am in earnest, and may say that all I hold dear andprecious in life is set in the hope that this letter may not appear toyou in the light of one of those foolish and wicked letters which Ibelieve men often write to actresses, and of which I suppose you havebeen the recipient. ' Then I said that I would be at the stage door onthe following night, and that I hoped she would allow me to speak afew words to her. "

"And did she?"

"I could not speak to her; I lost all courage in that moment. Shewalked close by me. "

"You mean to say you did not speak to her after writing that letter?"

"Call me a fool, an idiot, what you will; I could not do it. I canonly compare my feeling to what Livingstone says he felt when he foundhimself face to face with a lion. He stood staring in the lion's eyes, unable to move. "

"She must have thought your letter a practical joke. I wonder what shedid think. "

"I wrote explaining the unfortunate circumstances as well as I could, and telling her I would come the following night. "

"Did you go?"

"Yes. "

"Did you speak to her?"

"Yes. "

"And she wouldn't speak?"

"She passed on with her maid, but I didn't lose hope until shemarried. It was always a sort of sad pleasure to go to the theatre tosee her. I used to live at the Manor House for two or three months ata time, saving up my money so as to be able to make her some nicepresent. I wished her to remember me, although she would not speak tome. No one came to the Manor House; there was nothing to do except toread the paper and smoke my pipe. I was sick of my life, and I countedthe days that would have to pass till I saw her again--only thirtymore days, only nineteen days, only one more week--so I used to count, marking off each day in an almanac, until one day I read theannouncement of her marriage; then I knew all hope was at an end. Iwent mad that night and rushed out of the house, and I should havedrowned myself had I not fainted. When I came to, I was weak anddelirious, and wandered along the beach, not knowing where I wasgoing. Some fishermen brought me home. My sisters were at school atthe time. I believe I was very near dying. I fainted three times oneafternoon. I used to lie on the sofa and cry for hours. She married astockbroker. I believe she didn't care for him at all. Then she died. She was buried in Kensal Green. Whenever I am in London I go and seeher grave. "

"This is awfully sad. "

"Yes; it ruined my life. I never had any luck. Things always wentwrong with me. "

"I should like to see those letters. "

"I haven't got copies. I didn't keep a letter-book in those days. Let's talk of something else. I have some news. I am going in forbreeding race-horses. "

"What do you mean?"

"What I say. I have calculated it all out, and I find I shall makefrom fifteen to twenty per cent, on my money. "

"By breeding race-horses! And where are you going to breed them?"

"You know those stables on the Portslade Road where the veterinarysurgeon used to live? I am going to take that place. The rent is threehundred pounds a year; there are fifty acres of pasture, and stablingfor thirty horses. The dwelling-house is not a very aristocratic-looking place, but it will do for the present; when I begin to makemoney I shall go in for alterations. You can't do everything at once. "

"You do astonish me. And where are you going to get the money to doall this? You will require at least twenty thousand pounds capital. "

"More than that. You would not be able to work a place like that undertwenty-five thousand pounds, " Willy replied sententiously. "I have gotabout eight thousand left of my own, and I came in for a legacy ofthree thousand at the beginning of this year--an aunt of mine left methe money; and my father has agreed to let me have fourteen thousandon condition of my abandoning all further claim upon him. The bulk ofhis fortune will now be divided among my sisters. Berkins advised himto accept my offer. "

"I should think so indeed; your father is worth ten thousand a year. "

"No, nothing like that. His business has been going down for yearspast. Last year he lost heavily again; if it weren't for hisinvestments he wouldn't be able to go on with it. The business is donefor; I knew that long ago. My father and I could never agree about howthe accounts should be kept. That head clerk of his is an awfulduffer. "

"Yes, but what are you going to do with the shop?"

"The shop was the origin of it all. If it hadn't been for the shop Idare say I never should have thought of the race-horses. My father andI could never work together. I offered to buy his surplus fruit andvegetables, and, without absolutely binding myself to deal with no oneelse, I had assured him of my chief custom. Naturally I expectedsomething in return--I expected him to let me have peaches in Apriland strawberries in March. You cannot do this without using a gooddeal of heating power. I spoke to the gardener several times. Oftenwhen I went into the houses I found the pipes nearly cold. I got tiredof this, and I paid a man out of my own pocket to keep the furnacesproperly stoked, and--would you believe it?--my father actually raisedobjections--objected to my paying a man to look after his glass-housesas they should be looked after. He said he would not order in any morecoke, that I'd have to get along with what there was in the garden; hesaid he wished the shop at the devil. I saw it was hopeless. Youcannot help my father, and he won't help himself, so I threw the wholething up. "

"And when are you going to start the new scheme?"

"Immediately. One of my reasons for accepting fourteen thousand poundsdown as a settlement in full was because I was beginning to fear thathe might get wind of my marriage. From one or two things I have heardlately, I have reason to suspect that the secret is beginning to oozeout, and I thought it might be as well to take time by the forelock. "

"And you told him? What did he say?"

"What people usually say when they criticise other people's liveswithout knowing anything of their temptations and sufferings. But Iwant to tell you about my scheme. I have bought Blue Mantle, thewinner of the Czarewitch, and only beaten by a length for theCambridgeshire, a three-year-old, with eight stone on his back; a mostunlucky horse--if he had been in the Leger or Derby he would have wonone or both. He broke down when he was four years old. By King Tom outof Merry Agnes, by Newminster out of Molly Bawn. "

"I didn't know you knew so much about racing. "

"I know more than you think. I don't let out all I know. "

"And how much did you pay for Blue Mantle?"

"Dirt cheap. I can imagine myself two years hence, when my first batchof yearlings is put up for sale--500, 650, 800, 1000, knocked down for1000 guineas, brown colt by Blue Mantle out of Wild Rose, bred byWilliam Brookes, Esq. "

"I don't think money will come in quite so fast as that. "

"Perhaps not; but can't you let a fellow enjoy himself? I never knewany one like you for throwing cold water. I believe you are jealous. "

"What nonsense!"

"Well, never mind. I shall be the deuce of a dog, see if I shan't. Ialways like to kill two birds with one stone if I can, and my businesswill bring me into connection with the very best in the land. Unfortunately! my people don't care about getting on; now I do. I liketo know people who are better than myself--at all events, who are noworse. I shouldn't be surprised if I were dining at Goodwood andArundel before long. When I go up to town I shall be calling on LadyThis and Lady That, and later on I might get in somewhere in theConservative interest. "

"How long you may know a man, and then find you are mistaken in hischaracter, " thought Frank. "So vanity is at the bottom of all theseefforts to make money. "

"When are you coming to the Manor House?"

"Impossible. You know I can't go there so long as your father--"

"Come in one afternoon; he'll ask you to stay to dinner. He hasforgotten all about it. "

"I cannot come to the Manor House until my engagement to your sisteris sanctioned by him. "

"The way to get that is to come to the Manor House and talk him intoit. For my part, I think, even from his point of view, that it wouldbe better that he should recognise the engagement; nothing can be moredamaging than these clandestine meetings. "

"What can I do? I will not give her up. "

"I never interfere. I have quite enough worries of my own. I must begetting home. It is very late. Good-bye. "

The green was as bright as day in the moonlight and Frank watchedWilly walking, his shoulders thrown back. He sighed; an undefinable, but haunting melancholy hung about Willy; he often impressed Frank asan old book--a book whose text is trite--which no one will read, andwhich yet continues to make its mute appeal; a something that hasalways missed its way, that can hardly be said to be an adequate thingto offer for any man's money, that will soon disappear somehow out ofall sight and reckoning. 

XV

A few days after he got a letter from Lizzie, saying she was alone andill, and asking him to come and see her. He took the next train toBrighton. The land-lady's daughter, a girl of about twelve, opened thedoor to him. 

"How is Miss Baker? Is she any better?"

"Please, sir, she is not at all well, she has cold shivers; and motherwent away yesterday. "

"And who looks after Miss Baker?"

"Please, sir, I do. "

"You do! Is there no one else in the house?"

"No, sir. "

"Is Miss Baker in bed?"

"No, sir. She said she would get up a little while this afternoon, 'cause she said she thought you was coming. "

"Go and tell her I am here. "

"Please, sir, she said you was to go upstairs--the back room on thesecond floor, please. "

"Come in. "

"I am so sorry you are ill, Lizzie. What is the matter?"

"I don't know; I think I caught a severe chill. I stayed out very lateon the beach. "

"But why are you crying? Do tell me. Can I do anything?"

"No no. What does it matter whether I laugh or cry? Nothing mattersnow. I don't care what becomes of me. "

"A pretty girl like you; nonsense! Some one rich and grand will fallin love with you, and give you everything you want. "

"I don't want any one to fall in love with me; I am done for--don'tcare what becomes of me. "

"Do tell me about it. Have you heard anything further about him? Dotell me; don't cry like that. "

"No, no, leave me, leave me! I am so miserable. I don't know why Iwrote to you. I hope I shall die. "

"It is very lucky you did write to me, for you are clearly very ill. What is the matter?"

"I don't know; I can't get warm. This room is very cold--don't youthink so?"

"Cold? No. "

"I feel cold; my throat is very bad--perhaps I shall be better in themorning. "

"You must see a doctor. "

"Oh, no! I don't want to see a doctor. "

"You must see a doctor. "

"No, no, I beg of you. I only wrote to you because I was feeling somiserable. "

Lizzie stood between him and the door, imploring him not to fetch adoctor, but to go away at once, and to tell no one she had written tohim, or that he had been to see her. "Nothing matters now--I amruined--I don't care what becomes of me. " He marvelled; but soon allconsiderations were swept away in anxiety for her bodily health; andhaving extorted a promise from her that she would not leave the roomuntil he came back, he rushed to the nearest chemist and hence to thedoctor. 

"I want you to come at once, if possible, and see a young lady who, Ifear, is dangerously ill. She has not been in Brighton long. She isquite alone. She sent for me. I live at Southwick. I came out at once. I have known her a long time. I may say she is a great friend of mine. I found her very ill--I must say her condition seems to me alarming. Ishould like her to see a doctor at once. Can you come at once?"

"I am just finishing dinner. I will come in about ten minutes' time. What is the address?"

"20 Preston Street. --I hope he does not think there is anythingwrong, " thought Frank. "He look's as if he did, " and with a view ofremoving suspicion, he said: "She is a young lady whom I have knownfor some years. We had lost sight of each other until we travelleddown in the train together. I say this because I do not wish you tothink there is anything wrong. "

"My good sir, I should not allow myself to have any opinions on thematter. I am summoned to attend a patient, and I give the best advicein my power. "

"Yes, but one can't help forming opinions--a beautiful young girlliving alone in lodgings, and having apparently for sole protector ayoung man, are circumstances that might be easily misconstrued, and asI am engaged to be married, I think it right to tell you exactly how Istand in relation to this young woman. "

The doctor bowed. 

"Do you not think I did well in making this explanation?"

"It can do no harm; we medical men see so much that we take no noticeof anything but our patient. But tell me something of this younglady's suffering. Can you describe the symptoms?"

"She has a racking headache--she is shivering all over--she sits bythe fire and cannot get warm. It looks to me as if it were fever. "

"Does she complain of her throat?"

"Yes; she cannot swallow. "

"Probably an attack of quinsy. "

"Is that dangerous?"

"No; but it is infectious. "

"I don't mind about that--she is alone. I will see her through it. "

"I will go round to Preston Street immediately I have finished dinner--in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. "

When the doctor had seen Lizzie, he said to Frank, who accompanied himdownstairs: "Just as I expected--quinsy. She will take from eight toten days to get well. We have taken it in time, that's one good thing. The throat is very bad. She must have a linseed poultice, and she mustuse the gargle. Is there any one in the house who can attend to her?"

"I am afraid not; the landlady went away this morning, leaving no onein the house but that child. She will, I hope, be home to-morrow. "

"In that case you had better have a nurse in; I will give you theaddress of one. "

When Frank returned he found her lying on the bed weeping. As before, she refused to tell him the cause of her grief. She would make noother answer than that nothing mattered now, that she didn't care whatbecame of her; and when he spoke of going to fetch a nurse, she wavedher hands excitedly, declaring she would on no consideration stop inthe house with a woman she didn't know. And, hardly able to decidewhat course he should take, he promised not to leave her; she clungabout him, and he was forced to send the child (whose name he nowfound to be Emma) to the chemist for the linseed, and he wrote a noteasking for explicit directions how it should be used. Then he had topersuade Lizzie to go to bed. She resisted him, and it was with greatdifficulty that he got her boots and stockings off; then she collectedher strength, unbuttoned her dress, and took off her stays. Then shesaid: "Go out of the room for a moment. "

He found his way into the kitchen, and guessing that hot water wouldbe required, he lit a fire. But there was no muslin, and he had tosend Emma for some. Lizzie smiled faintly when they entered--Frankwith a basin, Emma with a kettle and a parcel of linen. Frank pouredsome rum into a glass, and beat an egg up with it. 

"What is that?" she asked; and her voice was so faint and hoarse thathe turned, quite startled. 

"Something that will do your throat good and keep your strength up. Possibly you will not be able to eat much to-morrow. " He held thetumbler to her lips, and at length succeeded in getting her to drinkit. "Emma, is the kettle boiling?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You had better go downstairs and get some coals, and if you can'tfind any nightlights you must go out and buy a box. Have you got anymoney over?"

"Yes, sir, sixpence. "

"Now, Lizzie, let me put this on your throat. Throw your head wellback. There, it isn't too hot?"

And all that night he sat by her bedside. Often she could not get herbreath, and he had to lift her and prop her up with pillows; and fourtimes he lit the candle, and, with tired eyes, mixed the meal andplaced it on her throat. The firelight played upon the ceiling, thekettle sang softly, the sufferer moaned, the light brought the rumbleof a cart, and they awoke from shallow sleeps that blurred but did notextinguish consciousness of the actual present. "You must not uncoveryourself; you will catch cold. Let me pin this shawl about you. " Abouteight o'clock Emma knocked at the door. Frank asked her to make him acup of tea. The morning dragged along amid many anxieties, for hecould see she was worse than she had been over night. 

"The disease must take its course, " said the doctor; "we shall befortunate if by poulticing we can stop it; if we can't, it will cometo a head in about eight or nine days' time, and then it will break. Did you see the nurse last night? Couldn't she come?"

"She, " said Frank, pointing to the sufferer, "wouldn't allow me tosend for her; she said she would not stay in the house with a strangewoman. She was very excited; I fancy she has had some great mentaltrouble--a sweetheart, I suppose. I did not like to cross her. Ithought I could nurse her; I did my best. Was the poultice all right?"

"Quite right. But you will have to sit up with her to-night. You willbe very tired; you had better get in a nurse. "

"I think I shall be able to manage. The landlady is expected home thisevening or to-morrow morning. What had she better have to eat?"

"She won't be able to eat anything for some days. Try to get her totake an egg beat up in a wine-glass of rum. "

Hourly she grew worse, and on the following day Frank stood by her bedmomentarily fearing that she would suffocate; once her face blackenedand he had to seize and lift her out of bed, and place her in a chair. When she seemed a little easier he called Emma, and they made the bedand cleaned up the room together. Then he ate a sausage and drank aglass of beer that had been brought from the public-house. 

The first night had seemed long and weary, but now the hours passedquickly; he had forgotten all but the suffering woman, and in theinterest of inducing her to swallow some beef-tea, in the pride ofsuch successes another and then another day fled lightly. Nor did hefeel tired as he had done, and now a nap in an arm-chair seemed allthat he required. So the landlady came as an unwelcome interruption ofan absorbing occupation. Haggard and unshaven, he returned toSouthwick, where he found a note on his table from General Horlock, asking him to dinner that evening. 

"I know the meaning of this: Maggie will be there--a reconciliation!Can I?" He turned his ear quickly from his conscience; he wasfrightened of the voice that would tell him that Maggie was nothing tohim, never had been, never could be; that he had been born for LizzieBaker, as the soldier is for the sword or the bullet that kills him;others had passed him, had been heard sharply, had gleamed dangerouslyin his eyes. They were but signs and omens meant for others, not forhim, and they had passed. But this one had remained, though oftenlost, as that remains which is to be, and she was now no less for himthan before, though now seemingly lost irrevocably to another; and inall the seeming of irrevocable loss was drawing nearer--not with thevictory and destiny of old in her eyes, but with no less victory anddestiny inherent in her. Though far from him, she had been for long adisintegrated influence, but what had been distant was now near, andall was yielding like a ship in the attraction of the fabulousloadstone mountain. That room!--the wash-hand-stand, the dirty panesof glass, the iron bed-there his fate had been sealed. That body whichhe had lifted out of bed still lay heavy in his arms. He stillbreathed the odour of the hair he had gathered from the pillow andstriven to pin up; those eyes of limpid blue, pale as water whereisles are sleeping, burned deep and livid in his soul; the touch andsight of that flesh, the sound of that voice, those tears, thesolicitude and anxiety of those hours of night and day conspiredagainst him, and his life was big with incipient overthrow. 

Lizzie was with him at all times. He saw her eyes, then her teeth, andthe perfume and touch of her hair was often about him; and yet he washardly conscious that a revolution of feeling was in progress withinhim; and when the time came for him to go to Horlock's he went thereavoiding all thoughts of Maggie, although he knew he would be calledupon that night to take a decisive step. He saw little of her beforedinner, and during dinner the General's allusions to the quarrels oflovers being the renewal of love vexed him, and he thought, "Confoundit! If I want to make it up I will; but I am not going to be bulliedinto it. " When the ladies left the room he found it difficult topretend to the kind-hearted old soldier that he did not believe thatMaggie would forgive him. "Forgive me for what? I have done nothing. "

"To get on with women you must always admit you are in the wrong--ha, ha, ha!" laughed the General; "now I have it from my wife--women knoweverything--ha, ha, ha!" laughed the General. "Have another glass ofsherry?"

"No, thanks; couldn't take any more. "

"I took I won't tell you how many glasses before I proposed to mywife, and then I was afraid; enough to make me--a clever woman likeMrs. Horlock, I believe you wouldn't find a woman in England like Mrs. Horlock. Look round; all that's her work. Look at that white Arab--exactly like him. I won five hundred pounds with that horse; but Iwouldn't be satisfied, and I ran him again the following day and lostit all and five hundred more with it. I had another horse. My wife ismodelling him in wax; she will show it to you in the next room. Marvellous woman!"

Passing Maggie by who was sitting in the window, Frank inveigled Mrs. Horlock into an anatomical discussion. The General stretched out hisfeet, put on his spectacles, and took up the _St James's_. Theconversation dropped, and, full of apprehension and expectingreconciliation, Frank went to Maggie and talked to her of the tennisparties he was going to, of the people he had seen--of indifferentthings. The time was tense with the fate of their lives. Once sheturned her head and sighed. Time slipped by, and still they talked oftheir friends--of things they knew perfectly. Maggie said: "I hope youare not angry; I hope we shall remain friends. " Frank replied: "I hopeso, " and again the conversation paused. The General denouncedGladstone, and praised his wife's sculpture. Ten o'clock! Angel waslifted out of his basket. If Maggie had been Helen and Southwick Troy, he would not be kept waiting; the dogs had to be taken out; Willy cameto fetch Maggie; hands were tendered, lips said good-bye, and, with asense of parting, they parted. 

Feeling adrift and strangely alone, he walked to his lodging. Hisfuture loomed up in his mind as vague and as illusive as the villagethat now glared through the mist, white and phantasmal. He did notregret--we can hardly regret the impossible. Then, falling back on apiece of prose, he said: "Where was the good? Mount Rorke would neverhave given his consent. Poor Lizzie; I hope she is better. I hope ithas broken. She won't get any relief until it does. "

And next day, towards evening, he went to Brighton. He found hershrinking over the fire, wrapped in a woollen shawl. 

"How are you to-day? You look a little better. I did not expect tofind you out of bed. "

"I am better, thank you; it broke yesterday, and I feel relieved. Youare very good. I think I should have died if it had not been for you. Think of that landlady leaving me in the way she did. "

"What was the reason? Why did she rush off in that way?"

"She went to town to see her sister, and she says she was taken ill. She drinks. "

"Does she? I hope she looked after you yesterday?"

"Oh, yes. "

"As well as I did?"

"I don't know about that; you are a very good nurse. It was very goodof you; no one else would have done it. "

"What, not even _he_?"

"You were with me for four days, and you never even went to bed--nevertook your clothes off. "

"Never even washed myself. By George! I was glad to get home and havea good wash. I was a sorry-looking object--haggard and unshaven. "

"Where did you say you had been to?"

"Nobody asked me. "

"Not Maggie?"

"No; I didn't tell you our engagement is broken off. "

"No; you didn't say nothing about it. "

"On account of you. She discovered that you had been to my studio, andshe said I was keeping a woman in Brighton. "

"Keeping a woman in Brighton--she thinks you are keeping me! I willwrite to her and tell her that it is not true. What right has she tosay such things about me?"

"She doesn't say it about you. She says a woman. "

"She means me. "

"No, she doesn't; she doesn't know anything about you. Some one toldher I went into Brighton every day by the four o'clock train, and sheput two and two or rather two and three together, and said it wassix. "

"But I will write to her. I will not be the cause of any one'smarriage being broken off. "

"You need not trouble. I saw her last night, and I could have made itall right had I chosen--she was quite willing. "

"You can't care for her!"

"I suppose not. I don't think I ever really loved her. I thought Idid. I was mistaken. "

"You are very changeable. "

"No, I don't think I am--at least not so far as you are concerned. Iwas mistaken. I was in love with some one else--with you. "

"With me?"

"Yes, with you. I was in love with you when we went to Reading, andnever got over it. I thought I had, but when love is real we never getover it. I always loved you, and those four days I spent nursing youhave brought it all out. I shall never love any one else. I know youdon't care for me; you said once you couldn't care for me. "

"I! I am too miserable to care for any one. I wish you had let me die;but that is ungrateful. You must excuse me, I am so miserable. Whyspeak of loving me? I can love no one. I don't care what becomes ofme. I am ruined; nothing matters now. "

"I wish you would confide in me; you can trust me. Has he forsakenyou? Can you not make it up?"

"No, never now; I shall never see him again. "

"Has anything happened lately, since you came to Brighton?"

Lizzie nodded. 

"Don't cry like that; tell me about it. "

"What's the use? Nothing matters now. "

"Has he been here?"

Lizzie nodded, and Frank folded the shawl about her, and wiped hertears away with his pocket handkerchief. "Since you were ill?"

"No, before I was ill; he was down here watching me. He found out Ihad gone to your studio, and he said the most dreadful things--that hewould break your head, and that I had never been true to him, and thatI was not fit to be the wife of an honest man. "

"But I will tell him that you came to my studio to sit for yourportrait. "

"No, you mustn't write; it would only make matters worse. No use; hesays he will never see me again. "

"Where can I see him? Has he gone back to London? I will follow himand tell him he is mistaken. " "No, please don't, and please don't goto the 'Gaiety'; he is a violent-tempered man; something dreadfulmight occur. Please, promise me. "

"Not go to the 'Gaiety'? He doesn't know me. "

"Yes, he does. "

"Have I seen him? Do tell me; you know you can trust me. I am yourfriend. Tell me--"

"You have seen him in the 'Gaiety, ' in the grill-room--the waiter, number two, the good-looking tall man. "

"Oh!"

"He wasn't always a waiter; his people are very superior. He has beenunfortunate. "

"And it was he you loved this long while?"

"I never cared for another man. "

"I must write and tell him he is committing an act of injustice. Iwill make this matter right for you, Lizzie. "

"Do you think you can?"

"I am sure of it. "

He rang for the landlady, and asked for writing materials. Sheapologised for the penny bottle of ink, and spoke of getting a tablefrom the next room, but he said he could write very well on thechimney-piece. "I suppose I had better begin, 'Sir'?"

"Don't people generally begin, 'Dear Sir'?"

"Not when they don't know the people they are writing to. "

"But you do know him a little. He always said you were very haughty. You used to sit at his table. "

"I think I had better begin the letter with 'Sir. '"

"Very well. You know best. He was always very jealous. "

XVI

"SIR, --I hear from Miss Baker that you were in Brighton last week, and, drawing the inference from the fact that she came to my studio tosit for her portrait, you accuse her of very grievous impropriety. Ibeg to assure you that this is not so. At my urgent request, MissBaker, whom I had better say I have known for some years, consented togive me a sitting. My intentions were purely artistic; hers wereconfined to a wish to oblige an old friend, and I deeply regret thatthey should have been misinterpreted, and I fear much unhappinesscaused thereby. "

"Do you think that will do?"

"Yes, it is a beautiful letter. "

"Do you think so--do you really think so? Do you think I have saidall?"

"You might say something--that I never even kissed you; and that yourespected me too much. "

"I will if you like, but don't you think that is implied?"

"Perhaps so; but you see he does not read many books. He hasn't timefor much reading, and you put things in a difficult way. They soundbeautiful, but I--"

"Show me. "

"Well, this 'grievous impropriety. ' I know what you mean, but Icouldn't explain it. "

"Shall I say 'serious impropriety'? but grievous is the right word. You say a grievous sin for a mortal sin. If we had done any wrong itwould have been a grievous sin; but I'll change the word if you like. "

"No, don't change it on my account; but I think he would understand aneasier word better. "

"A 'heinous impropriety'? No, that won't do. A 'serious impropriety. 'That will do. Is there anything else you would like me to alter?"

"No, I don't think there is. "

"You think this letter will convince him that there was nothingwrong?"

"I hope so; but he is a very suspicious man. "

"I will post it when I go out. " Then after a long silence: "Do youknow what time it is? It must be getting late. "

"It must be getting on for nine. "

"Then I must say good-bye; but I forgot, I want to ask you--you mustbe hard up, and want some money--do you? If you do, I assure you Ishall be only too glad. "

"Well, I am rather hard up, for you know that this illness hasprevented my doing anything; and I am afraid I have lost my place atthe 'Tivoli. '"

"What do you intend to do?"

"I should like to go back to London. I shall see him there, and if theletter makes it right we may be married. I will write to you. "

"You will?--Do. Here is five pounds. I have no more about me, but ifanything should occur, you know where to write to. "

"You are very good; I don't deserve it. I don't know why you take somuch trouble about me. If he doesn't marry me I'll try to get anotherplace; I shall go back to the firm. "

"When do you intend to leave?"

"As soon as I am well enough, in a day or two; but you will not comehere again. "

"I had thought that I might. "

"I know; but if he were to hear that you had been here, it would beworse than ever. You don't mind, do you? You aren't angry, are you?"

"No; good-bye, Lizzie. Write to me when you are married. " Frank walkedinto the street. There was neither rage nor will in him. He was asorrowing creature in a bitter world. The sea was cruelly blue in thecoming night; the sky was also blue, only deeper, a red streak like ared bar of iron stretched across the embaying land, relieving intopicturesque detail the outlines of coast-towns and villages. His eyesrested on and drew grief from this dim distance so illusive; and forjarring contrast, the pier hung with gaudy and gross decoration in theblue night, and a brass band replied to the waves. 

Then the clouds lifted, and when he returned to Southwick the moon wasshining and some boys pursued the resounding ball through the shadows. He undressed with an effort, and he lay down hoping never to riseagain. Next morning he went to his studio full of resolve. His picturemust be finished for one of the winter exhibitions. He did not take uphis palette, nor did he sit at his piano for more than a few minutes;and when he met Willy he raged against Lizzie, jeered at hervulgarity, heaped ridicule upon her lover, the waiter; he spoke ofwriting a novel on the subject; he set out her character at length;and was alarmed when told that Maggie was ill. He must win her. Shemust be his wife. So he told Willy, so he assured himself that shewould. He knew that Lizzie was nothing to him. She had left Brighton, thank God! He went to sleep, certain he had torn this page out of hislife, and he awoke to find it still there; and day after day hecontinued to brood upon, and still unable to understand its meaning, he longed to turn it over and read, for there were other pages; butthey were sealed, and he might only read this one page. 

"I'm afraid that our old friend Brookes is having a hard time of it, "said the General, taking the spectacles from his nose, and laying downthe _St James's_, "they are all at him tooth and nail, " and the Generallaughed gleefully. "You are the young man who has upset them. The younglady won't dress herself. "

"My dear Reggie, you shouldn't talk like that. I do hate to hearscandal; you'll repent it, " said Mrs. Horlock, and she adroitlysmoothed the wax on the horse's quarters. 

"I assure you, Mrs. Horlock, I never repeat what I hear; the guidingprinciple of my life is not to repeat conversations. Particularly in avillage like Southwick, it is most essential that none of us shouldrepeat conversations; I have always said that. "

"Do tell me about Maggie; I hear she is very ill. What is the matterwith her? What did you say--the young lady won't dress herself?"

"My dear Reggie, I will not stay here and listen to scandal. Not aword of it is true, Mr. Escott. "

"What is not true, Mrs. Horlock?"

"What he told you about her walking about the house with her hairdown. "

"I don't think the General said anything about walking about the housewith her hair down; he said some one wouldn't dress herself. I supposehe meant Maggie. I am sure I am sorry--I am most sorry--to hear she isill, but it is unjust to assume that I had anything to do with herillness. We can speak freely among ourselves, you know. You know thecircumstances; no one is more capable of understanding the case thanyou, for you are an artist. Maggie heard that I had had a model, that's what it amounts to, and she broke off the engagement; nothingcould be more unjust, nothing could be more unwarranted. "

"It could be brought on again, I know that, " said Mrs. Horlock, andshe turned the shoulders of her horse to the light. 

"We will not go into that question, Mrs. Horlock. I confine myself towhat has happened, and I say I was treated unjustly, most shamefully;and when I have been cast aside like an old hat, I hear indirectlythat it can be made up again. I have borne quite enough, and will bearno more. Old Brookes came down to my studio with that cad Berkins, andforced his way in, and then forbade me the house because my dog bitBerkins's thigh. I couldn't help it. What did he attack me for? Hedidn't suppose a bull-dog would be still while his master was beingknocked on the head. "

"What should a common City man know about dogs? He wouldn't sign thepetition when I asked him, to Sir Charles Warren, to cancel theregulations about muzzling. "

"And then they set a report going that I had set the dog on, and if Ihadn't set it on, that I hadn't called him off. As if I could! Youknow what a bull-dog is, Mrs. Horlock? Is a highly-bred dog likely tolet go when he has fixed his teeth in the fleshy part of a thigh? TheBrookes are old friends of mine, and I wouldn't say a word againstthem for the world; but of course it is as obvious to you as it is tome that they are not quite the thing. I mean--you know--I would notthink of comparing them with the Southdown Road; but there is a littlesomething. City people are not the Peerage; there's no use saying theyare. Mount Rorke was upset; but I would not give in, and I think Ishould have won his consent in the long run. After all I have bornefor her sake I think I might expect better treatment than to be thrownover, as I have said, like an old hat; and I don't mind telling youthat I do not intend to be made a fool of in this matter; I shall turna very deaf ear to stories of a broken heart and failing health. Ishall not cease to think of Maggie. I loved her once very deeply, andI should have loved her always if--But tell me, General. You know Iwill not repeat anything. "

"I advise you to say no more, Reggie. I will not be mixed up in anyscandal. I shall leave the room. Sally is dining here to-night; she isonly too anxious to talk of her sister. If Mr. Escott will stay andtake pot-luck with us, he will no doubt hear everything there is tohear in the course of the evening. "

"What have we got for dinner, Ethel? I know we have got a leg ofmutton, and there is some curry. "

"Your dinners are always excellent, Mrs. Horlock. I shall be delightedto stay. Here is Sally. Oh, how do you do, Sally? We were talking ofyou. "

"I'm afraid every one is talking of me, now, " she whispered, and thebig girl passed over to Mrs. Horlock and kissed her. "How is it thatno one has seen anything of you lately?" she said, taking the seatnext him. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing in particular. But I want to ask you about Maggie. I hear sheis very ill. "

Perceiving that his tone did not bespeak a loving mood, Sally's facebrightened, and she became at once voluble and confidential. 

"Oh, we have been having no end of a time at home. Father has beenspeaking of selling the place and leaving Southwick. "

"Speaking of selling the place and leaving Southwick! And where doeshe think of going to live, and what is the reason of this?"

"Oh, the reason! I suppose he would say I was the reason; and whereheis going to live, that is not settled yet--probably one of the bigLondon hotels. He says everybody is laughing at him, and that when hemeets the young men at the station he can see them laughing at himover their newspapers, for, according to father, they have all flirtedwith us. Maggie has been saying all kinds of things against me, and Iam afraid that the Southdown Road people have been writing himanonymous letters again. Some one--I don't know who it is--I wish Idid--has been telling him the most shocking things about Jimmy Measonand me; things in which I assure you there is not a word of truth. Youknow yourself that we have hardly spoken for nearly two years; lastyear, it is true, we made it up a bit in your studio, but it didn'tlast long. I don't think I saw him twice afterwards, and never alone--and now to have everything that happened two years ago raked up andthrown in my face! I don't say I haven't--I don't know what you'd callit, I suppose you'd call it spooning. I admit I infinitely preferredwalking about the garden with a young man to sitting in the drawing-room and doing woolwork. I was a silly little fool then, but I dothink it hard that all this should be raked up now. I don't know whatwill happen. Maggie pretends to be frightened at me; 'tis only hernonsense to set father against me. She won't dress herself, and shewalks about with her hair down her back, wringing her hands. "

"But what does she say? This is very bewildering. I don't understand--I am quite lost. "

"The fact is that Maggie doesn't know what she is saying, so I supposeI oughtn't to blame her. She is a little off her head, that's thetruth of it; but you mustn't say I said so, it will get me into worsetrouble than I am already in. She was like that once before, and hadto be put in the charge of a lady who was in the habit of dealing withexcitable people. I don't mean lunatics, don't run away with thatnotion. I don't know what would happen if it got about that I wasputting that about. Maggie is very excitable, and she has beenexciting herself a great deal lately--you were the principal cause. She did all she could to get you to make it up when you met her hereat dinner--the dinner was given for that--but you said nothing aboutit, and she came home in an awful state, accusing every one ofcombining to ruin her. She said I was jealous of her, that I was wildwith fear that she would one day be Lady Mount Rorke. She said fatherhad done everything to break off her marriage, because he did not likeparting with his money. She had set her heart on being married, and itwas a terrible disappointment. She has been disappointed two or threetimes. Father doesn't know what to do. Her thoughts seem to run onthat one subject. She walks about the garden saying the mostextraordinary things. "

"But tell me about the illness. "

"I don't know if I ought to tell you. "

"Oh, do!"

"I don't know how to say it. She used to say she longed to become amother. "

"Longed to become a mother? Well, that is the last thing--"

"You know what I mean. "

"But tell me about the illness. "

"I should call it more than being a little excited, but of course sheisn't mad. She has, however, the most curious notions. She is always alittle too imaginative at the best of times; at least, I find her so, but now her delusions are really too absurd, and, as I have said, theworst of it is that her thoughts run on that one thing; it really ismost unfortunate. Poor father. "

"But what are her delusions?"

"Well, I scarcely know how to tell you. "

"Try; anything can be told. It depends how it is told. "

"She thinks that the coachman has spread it all over Southwick--howshall I say it? I don't know that I ought to tell you. Well, that shehas gone wrong with you and Berkins. I thought I should die oflaughing--the idea of Berkins was too funny for words. "

"But your father doesn't believe it?"

"Of course not. "

"He doesn't suspect me, I hope?"

"No; I am sure he doesn't. He knows Maggie doesn't know what she issaying. But he was dreadfully put out about Berkins; he is frightenedout of his wits lest he should hear of it. But for goodness' sakedon't mention that I said anything to you about it; I am in troubleenough as it is. Father says he can stand it no longer. I am very muchafraid that he will leave Southwick. It depends on what Aunt Marysays. He has sent for her; she will be here to-morrow. "

These family councils were held in the billiard-room, and when AuntMary and Aunt Hester had had their tea they came along the passage, Aunt Mary of course in front, Aunt Hester timid and freckled and withher usual air of tracts. Uncle James stood with his back to the firewaiting for them. Willy caught at his hair, but an expression ofresignation overspread his face, he packed his diary and accounts inbrown paper and lit a pipe. 

"Now, James, let us hear about these new troubles. Something must bedone, that is clear. "

"Yes, something must be done, Mary, and I can think of nothing for itbut to leave this place. It is no longer a place for me to live in. The Southdown Road has proved too strong for me, it has conquered me. "

"Don't speak like that, James. We must try to bear our burdens, if notfor our own sakes, for the sake of Him who died for us. He bore a veryheavy cross for us. "

"There's no use in talking to me like that, Hester, you only provokeme. You forget what a cross two daughters are, and the Southdown Roadhas become intolerable. It is more than any man can bear; I will bearit no longer. I have borne it long enough, and am determined to getrid of it. I am afraid there's nothing for it but to sell the placeand go and live in London. "

Aunt Hester cast her eyes into her satchel, afraid even to think thather brother had intentionally misinterpreted her words; but Aunt Marylaughed at the idea of the slonk-hill, as a latter-day Golgotha, withpoor Uncle James staggering beneath the weight of the Southdown Road, young men and all, upon him. It was very irreverent. He burst intotears, Hester moved to leave the room, but was restrained by hersister. 

"My position is a most unfortunate one; since the death of poor JuliaI have had no one to turn to, there has been no restraining influencein this house. Here am I working all day long in the City for thosegirls, and when I come home in the evening I find my house full ofpeople I don't know. I assure you, Mary, I don't know any of thepeople who come to my house. I am consulted in nothing. It is notfair--I say it is not fair; and at my death those girls will havethirty thousand pounds a-piece. "

"I knew you had the money, James, I knew you had, " exclaimed AuntMary, and even Aunt Hester could not help casting a look of admirationon her weeping brother. 

"I say it is not fair; a man of my money should have a comfortablehome to return to. Even the Southdown Road people have that; but noconsideration is shown to me. My dinner is put back so that Sally maycontinue her flirtation with Meason in the slonk. Did any one everhear of such a thing? A man's dinner put back so that--that--that--"

"Yes, we know all about the dinner being put back; that was threeyears ago. "

"Why, " Mr. Brookes asked himself, "had he invited his sisters to hishelp?" He was only adding bitterness to his bitter cup. "You have nosympathy, Mary, " he went on; "you cannot understand the difficultiesof my position--these two girls are for ever quarrelling and fighting;sometimes they are not even on speaking terms, but I think I prefertheir sullen looks to their violence. Sally threatened to knock hersister down if she interfered with her young men. "

"What, again?"

"Oh, I don't know if she has threatened to beat her lately. I don'tremember when was the last time. Their various rows are all jumbled upin my head. All I know is that Maggie says she cannot live in thehouse with Sally. Maggie is very ill, she is in a very excited state, as she was once before, when I would not consent to her marriage with--I have forgotten his name, but it doesn't matter. Now she won't dressherself, and she walks about the house with her hair hanging down. Iknow there is nothing for it but to send her away under the charge ofsome lady who has had experience in such matters. She can't remainhere. She has the strangest delusions. Among other things, she fanciesthe coachman has spread it all over Southwick that she has gone wrongwith Berkins and that fellow Escott. Just fancy if Berkins--a tenthousand a year man--should hear of it! I don't know what he wouldsay. He would peg into me; he is at times very hard indeed upon me. Idon't say he is not a first-rate man of business, I know he has madeseveral excellent investments; but for all that I do not and cannotthink him competent to advise me on all my affairs, and that's what heis always doing. He talks of putting down that Southdown Road. Ishould like to see how he would set about doing it. "

"James, Maggie must go away; she is very highly organised, verysensitive, and if she were to remain here, Sally might have a realeffect on her mind. It is clear the sisters don't get on together;have you had medical advice? I told you before that you should havemedical advice about those girls; I told you to spare no expense, butto go to a first-rate London physician and take his opinion. I saidbefore, and I say it again, that no girls in good health could carryon as dear Sally, and I will include dear Maggie; for although shedoes not defy you to the same extent, there is no doubt that she istoo fast, too fond of young men; her thoughts run too much in thatway, and now she is ill, of course she has delusions. You ought tohave medical advice. "

"Mary, dear, the body is not everything; to cure the flesh you mustfirst cure the soul. I believe our dear nieces rarely, if ever, attendchurch, rarely, if ever, remember that this life is not eternal andthat there is a hereafter. "

The conversation came to a pause. Presently Aunt Mary asked Willy, whosat resigned to his fate, calm and solemn as a Buddha, his handsclasped over his rotund stomach, if he thought that Maggie's state wasone to cause immediate anxiety, to which he replied: "My sisters thinkof nothing but pleasure. The trouble girls are in a house is more thanany one would believe. Here I am, I can do nothing; every night it isthe same thing, over and over again. " And the lean man lapsed intocontemplation. 

"But to come to the point, James, I want to hear about Sally. You saidin your letter that a great deal had come to light, and that you nowfind that her conduct has been worse than you had ever imagined it, even in your moments of deepest dejection. Now, I want to hear aboutall this. What has she done? Let's have it in plain English. What hasshe done?"

"To put it plainly, Mary, " said Mr. Brookes, wiping his tears away, and turning his back upon his Goodall, "I don't know what she hasn'tdone--everything. She is at the present moment the talk of Southwick. The doctor here has seen her in the field at the back here with Measonat nine o'clock at night. "

"Why did you allow her to leave the house at that hour? No young girl--"

"She always takes her dogs out in the evening; I cannot prevent herdoing that. It appears, too, that she has had Meason up in herbedroom. "

"O James, you do not mean to say that my dear niece had a man in herbedroom!"

"Hester, dear, you have lived in a rectory and know nothing of theworld. She says it isn't a bedroom. She pushes the bed away in thedaytime, and covers it up to make it look like a couch. Besides, shekeeps birds in her room, and Flossy had her puppies there. I am notexcusing her conduct, pray do not think that, I am only telling youwhat she says. "

"This is very serious. Are you quite sure? Perhaps she only meant toshow the young man her birds or puppies. Her spirit must be broken, Ican clearly see that. "

"I allow them, as you know, one hundred pounds a year apiece. Maggiekeeps none, but Sally always keeps accurate accounts of what shespends. I asked to see those accounts, for I had heard she had beengiving her money to Meason, and she refused to let me see them. Thereis a sum of twenty pounds for which she can give no explanation. Thenit is well known she gave a set of diamond studs to that fellow, andthat he pledged them for five pounds in Brighton. He boasted he haddone so, and said he intended to get plenty of money out of me beforehe had done with me. After that I ask you, how can I live in thisplace? When I go to the station in the morning I see these youngfellows laughing at me over the tops of their newspapers. When I comehome of an evening after a hard day's work, I find that my dinner--"

"Her spirit must be broken, " said Aunt Mary, drawing her shawl abouther, and crossing her hands. "Her spirit must be broken; she cannot beallowed to remain here to drive dear Maggie into a lunatic asylum. Iam with you in that, James, but I cannot think you did well to letFrank Escott slip through your fingers. Had you not talked so muchabout money your daughter might have been Lady Mount Rorke. "

"Talked too much about my money? Who would talk about it, I shouldlike to know, if I didn't? I made it all myself. What do I care forthat lot--a stuck-up lot, pooh, pooh! twist them all round my finger. I am not going to give my daughter to a man who cannot make asettlement upon her. "

Seeing he was not to be moved in anything that concerned his pocket, Aunt Mary returned to the consideration of what was to be done withSally. "From what you tell me it is clear that Sally must not remainin Southwick a day longer than can be helped. I will take her with meto Woburn; and I think she had better go abroad as soon as we can hearof some one in whose charge we can place her. But it must not be a seavoyage--there is nothing more dangerous than to be on board a ship fora young girl who is at all inclined to be fast. All are thrown so muchtogether. The cabins open out one into the other, and there is alwaysa looking for something--a handkerchief, a bunch of keys, a lot ofstooping and playing, twiddling of moustaches, " said Aunt Mary, with apeal of laughter. 

"Mary, dear, we should not speak lightly of wickedness. "

"It was so that all the mischief was done when Emily Evans was sentout to the Cape--it was all done on board a ship. You remember theEvanses, James?--you ought to, you used to flirt pretty desperatelywith Lucy, the younger sister. " And then Aunt Mary rattled off intointerminable tales concerning the attachment contracted on board aship in particular, its unfortunate consequences, how it brought abouta divorce later on by sowing the seeds of passion (Aunt Mary alwayspronounced the word "passion" in her narratives with strong emphasis), in the young girl's heart; and at various stages of her discourse sheintroduced fragments of the family history of the Evanses; shefollowed the wanderings of the different sisters from Homburg toParis, from Paris to Scotland, from Scotland to the Punjab, explainingtheir different temperaments by heredity, which led her back into theobscure and remote times of grandfathers and grandmothers, and, havingfinally lost herself, she said: "What was I talking about? You havebeen listening to me, James, what was I talking about?"

Till the end of a week the discussion was continued. Aunt Mary triedhard to reconcile all parties to their different lots, and, as isusual in such cases, without attaining any result. And yet Aunt Marywent with her sister to see Frank in his studio. Willy accompaniedthem, and when they left he complained bitterly of how his time waswasted. "Regularly every evening, just as I am sitting down to work, Ihear them coming along the passage. First of all they go to get theirgrog--squeak, squeak, pop. I know it all so well. Then they come inwith their tumblers, and they sit down on the sofa, and they begin. --Idon't know what is to be done with dear Sally, unless we can send herabroad in the care of some relation. How is dear Maggie to-day? I hopeI shall be able to induce her to put on her frock to-morrow, and comefor a drive with me in the carriage. What a trouble young girls are inthe house, to be sure. Then father begins to groan, and pulls out hishandkerchief; he is quite alone, he has no one he can depend upon, then he laughs, 'Well, well, I suppose it will be all the same ahundred years hence. ' So it goes on night after night. Here am Istarting a big business, and I haven't a room to work in. Just as I amadding up a long column of figures, perhaps when I am within three ofthe top, Aunt Mary asks me a question, and it has to be gone overagain. It is most provoking, there's no denying that it is mostprovoking. " Frank agreed that nothing could be more provoking than tobe interrupted when you were within three of the top of a long columnof figures. On the following day he heard that the aunts had left, taking Sally with them. They had promised their brother to find a ladywho would take dear Maggie under her care--one who would soon wean herfrom dressing-gowns and delusions, and restore her to staid remarksand stays; and hopes were entertained that the Manor House would nothave to be sold after all. 

But many days had not sped when an event occurred that precipitatedthe five acres into the jaws of the builders. Meason had sailed forMelbourne, and his sister, thinking that some of Sally's letters mightbe of use to Mr. Brookes, offered to surrender them upon the receiptof a cheque for one hundred pounds--a very modest sum, she urged, considering the character of the letters, most of which concernedartfully laid plans to meet in the train going or coming from London. Mr. Brookes called on the shade of dear Julia, but he was not a man tobe blackmailed--he had made all his money himself, and on that pointwas immovable. He prepared to leave Southwick. He looked fondly on hisglass-houses, and despairingly on his Friths, Goodalls, andBouguereaus, and he wondered if they would look as well in the newrooms as in the old, and what sum they would realise if he were toinclude them in the auction; for an auction was necessary. Mr. Brookesdid not thus decide to abandon his acres without many a sob, nor is itcertain that the final step would have been taken if the gentlebuilder had not gilded his insidious hand, and if certain rumours werenot about that the villas in the Southdown Road were not letting, andthat Southwick would never be anything but what it was, a dirty littlevillage--half suburb, half village. 

XVII

Frank was grieved and troubled at the sad accounts that came to him ofMaggie's health; he was perplexed, too, for he knew himself to be thecause, and he longed to relieve and to cure her. It seemed to him thathe would give his life to go to her, and comfort her with love, andyet he was impotent to make the least effort to attain the end hedesired. He lay in the sad and cruel memory of Lizzie, his mind filledwith ignoble visions of her life with the waiter, or with delicatefancies of her beauty amid the summer of the Thames. He mused on hergracious figure and face, illuminated by reflections from the water, set off by the bulrushes and floating blossoms which she so eagerlycoveted, and varied by the movements of the waist and shoulders, theround white arm, the trailing scarf, and all the wistful charm of theslumbering evening. He thought of the country light, the sound andsmell of cows, of the sparrows in the vine, the cottage looking socosy amid the foliage, the bit of garden full of old-fashionedflowers, tall lilies, convolvuluses, and marigolds, and the sitting-room full of things belonging to her--her flowers, her books, hermusic, and he thought of this until his life was sick with desire, andthere grew a burning pain about his heart. 

A man's struggles in the web of a vile love are as pitiful as those ofa fly in the meshes of the spider; he crawls to the edge, but only toensnare himself more completely; he takes pleasure in ridiculing her, but whether he praises or blames, she remains mistress of his life;all threads are equally fatal, and each that should have served tobear him out of the trap only goes to bind him faster. A man in lovesuggests the spider's web, and when he is seeking to escape from awoman that will degrade his life, the cruelty which is added completesand perfects the comparison. A man's love for a common woman is as afire in his vitals; sometimes it seems quenched, sometimes it is tornout by angry hands, but always some spark remains; it contrives tounite about its victim, and in the end has its way. It is a cancerousdisease, but it cannot be cut out like a cancer. It is more deadly; itis inexplicable. All good things, wealth and honour, are forfeited forit; long years of toil, trouble, privation of all kinds, are willinglyaccepted; on one side all the sweetness of the world, on the othernothing of worth, often vice, meanness, ill-temper, all that go tomake life a madness and a terror; twenty, thirty, forty, perhaps fiftyyears lie a head of him and her, but the years and their burdens arenot for his eyes any more than the flowers he elects to disdain. Loveis blind, but sometimes there is no love. How then shall we explainthis inexplicable mystery; wonderful riddle that none shall explainand that every generation propounds?

Frank lingered in Southwick, for he had promised Willy to stay withhim when he went to live at the stables on the Portslade Road. Summerwas nearly over, hunting would soon commence, and he could keep acouple of hunters--Willy had calculated it out--for two and twentyshillings a week. He had ceased to paint, and when he went to thestudio it was to play the piano or the violin. None knew of Lizzie, and all knew of Maggie. It was thought a little strange that he wouldnot forgive her, but the obscurity of the story of this point and thedelight felt in her misfortune helped to intensify and idealise Frankin the popular mind, and when he played Gounod in the still eveningsthe young ladies would steal from the villas and wander sentimentallythrough the shadows about the green. He got up late in the morning, helingered over breakfast, and until it was time to go to Brighton helay on the sofa watching the cricketers and the children playing, shaping resolutions, and striving with himself and deceiving himself. A dozen times, a hundred times, he had concluded he must see Maggie;he had decided he would write to Lord Mount Rorke, that he would go toMr. Brookes and settle the matter off-hand. But, somehow, he didnothing. His mind was absorbed in a novel, which he narrated whenWilly came to see him. It concerned the accident that led a man not tomarry the woman he loved, and was in the main an incoherent version ofhis own life at Southwick. 

"I don't think I told you, " said Willy, "that they are removing thefurniture to-day. "

"You don't say so--to-day? And where is your father?"

"He is in London, at the 'Metropole. '"

The young men walked on slowly in silence, and when they came to thelodge gate, standing wide open, and saw the curtainless windows andthe flowerless greenhouses, Willy said: "It is very sad to see all thethings you have known since you were a child sold by auction. "

"Oh, yes, it is. Look at the swards. Do they not look sad already?Those beautiful elms, under whose shade we have sat, will be cut down, and stucco work and glass porticoes take their places. Oh, it is verysad. "

"My father never had any feeling, he never cared for the place. Had Ibeen in his place I should have invested my money in land and gone infor the county families. "

"How old was I when I came down to see you for the first time--fourteen, I think? How well I remember everything. It was there, look, through that glade, that I saw your sisters coming to meet me, theywere then only ten or eleven years old. I can see them in my mind'seye, quite distinctly, walking towards me, Grace leading the way, andnow she is a mother; and they were all so dark. I remember thinking Ihad never seen girls so dark, they were like foreigners. And do youremember how your father scolded Sally for carrying me round thegarden on her back, and she used to wake me up in the mornings byrolling croquet balls along the floor into my room. Oh, what good, dear days those were, and to think they are dead and gone, and thatthe house is going to be pulled down; and the garden--oh! themoonlights in that garden, where I walked with the girls, with scarvesround their shoulders, through the dreamy light and shade. We havesung songs, and talked of all manner of things. You don't feel as Ifeel. "

"Yes I do, my dear fellow, I think I feel a great deal more, only Idon't talk so much about it. "

"I know it is infinitely sad. This dear old wall! There is Maggie'swindow: how often have I looked up to that window for her winsomeface, and I shall never look again. "

"You are as bad as my father. Cheer up; I suppose it will be all thesame a hundred years hence. "

"No, no, it won't be the same. Why should all I feel and love beforgotten. I suppose it will be all the same. There goes Berkins. Ihate that man. "

"So do I. "

"If time takes away pleasant things it takes unpleasant things too, and those who live a hundred years hence will not be troubled withthat fool. True, there will be other Berkinses, and there will beother gardens, and other girls, but that doesn't make it the leastless sad to see this garden pass into bricks and mortar. "

Two footmen approached Mr. Berkins, and with all solemnity helped himto take off his overcoat. He said a few words to Willy, and was soonloudly ordering the workmen who were taking the Goodalls and theFriths from the walls. 

"Take care, there! Hi, you! get on the ladder and take hold of thisend of the picture. There, that's better! That's the way to do it!"

"That's what he said when he shot my bird, " Willy whispered; and theytried to laugh as they went upstairs. But their footsteps soundedhollow, and the wardrobes, where they had so often put their clothes, stood wide open, desolately empty. They looked out of the windows, andheard the voices of the work-people. 

"How very sad it is, " said Frank; then, after a long silence: "Howbeautiful a scene like this would be in a book--a young girl leavingher home, straying through the different rooms musing on the differentpieces of furniture, all of which recall the past. I think I shallwrite it. I wish you would tell me what you feel; I mean, I wish youwould tell me what impresses itself most on your mind, and, as itwere, epitomises the whole. You have known all this since you were achild. You have played in these passages; some spot, some piece offurniture, your toys--I suppose they are gone long ago; but somethingmust stand out and assert itself amid conflicting thoughts. Do tellme. "

Willy stroked his moustache. "Of course it is very sad, but it isdifficult to put one's feelings into words. I should have to thinkabout it; I don't think I could say off-hand. "

At that moment there came a great crash. 

"What the devil is that?" cried Frank. 

"I hope they haven't broken the statue of Flora, " said Willy, and alook of alarm overspread his face. Frank felt that if such were thecase he should feel no great sorrow. They ran down the echoing stairs. The workmen had got drunk in the cellars and in removing the statuethey had let it fall, and it strewed the floor--an arm here, afragment of drapery there. 

"I knew what would happen. I told Mr. Brookes so. All my statues arein marble. "

"Come away, I can't listen to that cad. I wouldn't have had Florabroken for a hundred pounds. When I was a child I used to stand andlook at her. I never could make out how she was made, and I alwayswanted to look inside. If you'd like to know what I feel most sorryfor, it is Flora. She has stood amid the flowers in the bow window aslong as I can remember. "

They followed the high road by Windmill Inn, where they struck acrossthe Downs, and when they reached the first crest they could see thepaddocks and enclosures situated along the road in the valley, and theprivate house so trim and middle-class. "Splendid paddocks and first-rate stabling. The house is not much. When I am making fifteen percent. On my money I shall go in for a little architecture. If I had aglass I could show you Blue Mantle's stable. Do you see two horses inthe paddock, right away on the left, in the far corner--Apple Blossomand Astarte? Apple Blossom is by See-saw out of Melody, by Stockwellout of Fairy Queen. Is that good enough for you? Astarte is by BlueGown out of Merry Maid, by Beadsman out of Aurora. What do you say tothat?"

"I see you have been looking up the Stud Book. "

"Business, sir, business. And if I were to go in for owning a racer ortwo, just look and see what a magnificent training ground; miles uponmiles of downland. Did you ever see a handsomer view? You must paintme some landscapes for my dining-room. "

XVIII

"The pain is always here--just over the heart. You know what I mean?Suddenly, when I am thinking of other things, the sound of her voiceand the sight of her face comes upon me, and then a dead, weary ache. I know I cannot have her, perhaps if I did I shouldn't be wholly glad;but glad or sorry, good fortune or ill, I cannot forget her. My lifewill not be complete. You have felt all this. "

"Never mind how I felt, you know I don't like talking about it. I amsorry for you. We all have our troubles, I've had nothing else; Ioften think that if I were to die to-morrow it would be a happyrelease. "

"If I had never seen her, or if I had married Maggie; if your fatherhad not put obstacles in the way; if he had not raised the wretchedmoney question, which you know as well as I do was dragged in quiteunnecessarily, I should not be suffering now. For, once married, Ishould think of no one but my wife. I am sure I should make a goodhusband. I know I could make a woman happy; she'll never find ahusband better than she'd have found in me, I don't believe if theywere to be made that you could make a better husband than I should be--I feel it. "

"I have always said that my father brings all his troubles on himself. He never went in for the country people; he never would have people atthe Manor House. You can't shut up young girls as if they were in aconvent, and if they don't get the right people they'll have the wrongpeople. My father thinks of nothing but his money, and he can'tunderstand that he might go for an equivalent. How could he haveexpected it to have turned in your case but as it did? Lord MountRorke was not going to come over to Southwick to haggle over pounds, shillings, and pence with him--not likely. My sisters might havemarried very well if he had gone the right way to work, and he wouldhave been saved a deal of worry and bother. I always say that myfather brings all his troubles on himself. "

"So far as I was concerned he certainly acted very stupidly. Ah, if Ihad married Maggie last summer, how different my life would be now. "

"But you couldn't have really loved her; if you had you would never--"

"Yes, I did love her. "

"I heard from my father to-day. Maggie is better. This is, of course, a very delicate question, but we have been friends so long--would youlike me to see if--if this matter could be arranged? I don't like, asyou know, to meddle in other people's affairs, I have quite enough todo to look after my own; but if you would like--You, of course, do notthink of marrying Lizzie Baker?"

"Of course not. "

"Then you would like me to speak to my father? Are you willing? Wouldyou like to marry Maggie?"

"Yes, of course I should. "

"I don't say so because she is my sister, but I think it is the bestthing you could do. "

They had traversed the paddock, and were close to the stables. Pickinga few carrots out of a heap, they opened the door of Blue Mantle'sbox. The horse came towards them, his large eyes glancing, hisbeautiful crest arched. His coat shone like satin, his legs were asfine as steel, and with exquisite relish he drew the carrots fromtheir hands. 

The perspective of the hills was prolonged upon fading tints, and inthe pale blueness the mares feeding in the paddocks grew strangelysolitary and distinct; the trees about the coast towns were blended inshadow, and out of the first stars fell a quiet peace. 

Their dinner awaited them--a little dinner, simple and humble. Afterdinner, when the lamp was brought in, Willy nursed the missus withaffection and sincerity. Cissy sat on Frank's knee, and he told herstories and stroked her hair. This household retired at eleven. At tenevery morning Willy was busy with his letters, his cheques, hisaccounts, and in the afternoon the young men walked about the fieldstalking of possible successes of the forthcoming breeding season, andso the days went. But the secret forces were busy about Frank's life. There were mines and counter-mines. Every fort of prejudice, everycitadel of reason rested now upon foundations that quaked, and wouldfall at the first shock. Doom was about him. As the silence rustles inthe deadly hush of the storm that brings winter upon the forest, hewaited unconscious as a leaf in the imminence of the autumn moment;and in such a stillness, awaiting a change of soul, he received aletter from Lizzie. It dropped from his hand, and such desire to go ascomes on swallow and cuckoo came on him; he struggled for a moment, and was sucked down in his passion. 

The little village--a summary of English life and custom, a symbol ofthe Saxon, the church steeple pointing through the elm trees, thevillas with their various embellishment in the line of glass porticosand privet hedges, the General, Mrs. Horlick, Messrs Brookes andBerkins--how complete it seemed, how individual and how synthetical--his eyes filled with tears of unpremeditated grief. The leaves werefalling, the hills were shrouded in wreaths of floating mist. Sometrees had been cut down and scaffolding had been reared about theManor House, some of the walls had already fallen revealing the wallpaper, the pattern of which he could almost distinguish. He was goingto the woman he loved, but he was leaving his youth behind, and thosewhom he had known as children, as girls, as women; he remembered allthe gossip, all the quarrels, all the to-do about nothing; and now, looking on the beautiful garden where he had played and passioned inall varying moments of grief and glee, he re-lived the past; andleaning out of the carriage window he gazed fondly, and cried out:"Alas, those were Spring Days. "

THE END