The Paying Guest

by

George Gissing

CHAPTER I

It was Mumford who saw the advertisement and made the suggestion. His wife gave him a startled look. 

'But--you don't mean that it's necessary? Have we been extrav--'

'No, no! Nothing of the kind. It just occurred to me that some sucharrangement might be pleasant for you. You must feel lonely, now andthen, during the day, and as we have plenty of room--'

Emmeline took the matter seriously, but, being a young woman of somediscretion, did not voice all her thoughts. The rent was heavy: sowas the cost of Clarence's season-ticket. Against this they had setthe advantage of the fine air of Sutton, so good for the child andfor the mother, both vastly better in health since they quittedLondon. Moreover, the remoteness of their friends favoured economy;they could easily decline invitations, and need not often issuethem. They had a valid excuse for avoiding public entertainments--anexpense so often imposed by mere fashion. The house was roomy, thegarden delightful. Clarence, good fellow, might be sincere in hiswish for her to have companionship; at the same time, thisadvertisement had probably appealed to him in another way. 

'A YOUNG LADY desires to find a home with respectable, well-connected family, in a suburb of London, or not more than 15miles from Charing Cross. Can give excellent references. Terms notso much a consideration as comfort and pleasant society. Noboarding-house. --Address: Louise, Messrs. Higgins & Co. , FenchurchSt. , E. C. '

She read it again and again. 

'It wouldn't be nice if people said that we were taking lodgers. '

'No fear of that. This is evidently some well-to-do person. It's avery common arrangement nowadays, you know; they are called "payingguests. " Of course I shouldn't dream of having anyone you didn'tthoroughly like the look of. '

'Do you think, ' asked Emmeline doubtfully, 'that we should quite_do_? "Well-connected family"--'

'My dear girl! Surely we have nothing to be ashamed of?'

'Of course not, Clarence. But--and "pleasant society. " What aboutthat?'

'Your society is pleasant enough, I hope, ' answered Mumford, gracefully. 'And the Fentimans--'

This was the only family with whom they were intimate at Sutton. Nice people; a trifle sober, perhaps, and not in conspicuouslyflourishing circumstances; but perfectly presentable. 

'I'm afraid--' murmured Emmeline, and stopped short. 'As you say, 'she added presently, 'this is someone very well off. "Terms not somuch a consideration"--'

'Well, I tell you what--there can be no harm in dropping a note. Thekind of note that commits one to nothing, you know. Shall I writeit, or will you?'

They concocted it together, and the rough draft was copied byEmmeline. She wrote a very pretty hand, and had no difficultywhatever about punctuation. A careful letter, calculated for the eyeof refinement; it supplied only the indispensable details of thewriter's position, and left terms for future adjustment. 

'It's so easy to explain to people, ' said Mumford, with an air ofsatisfaction, when he came back from the post, 'that you wanted acompanion. As I'm quite sure you do. A friend coming to stay withyou for a time--that's how I should put it. '

A week passed, and there came no reply. Mumford pretended not tocare much, but Emmeline imagined a new anxiety in his look. 

'Do be frank with me, dear, ' she urged one evening. 'Are we livingtoo--'

He answered her with entire truthfulness. Ground for seriousuneasiness there was none whatever; he could more than make endsmeet, and had every reason to hope it would always be so; but itwould relieve his mind if the end of the year saw a rather largersurplus. He was now five-and-thirty--getting on in life. A man oughtto make provision beyond the mere life-assurance--and so on. 

'Shall I look out for other advertisements?' asked Emmeline. 

'Oh, dear, no! It was just that particular one that caught my eye. '

Next morning arrived a letter, signed 'Louise E. Derrick. ' Thewriter said she had been waiting to compare and think over some twohundred answers to her advertisement. 'It's really too absurd. Howcan I remember them all? But I liked yours as soon as I read it, andI am writing to you first of all. Will you let me come and see you?I can tell you about myself much better than writing. Would tomorrowdo, in the afternoon? Please telegraph yes or no to Coburg Lodge, Emilia Road, Tulse Hill. '

To think over this letter Mumford missed his ordinary train. It wasnot exactly the kind of letter he had expected, and Emmeline sharedhis doubts. The handwriting seemed just passable; there was noorthographic error; but--refinement? This young person wrote, too, with such singular nonchalance. And she said absolutely nothingabout her domestic circumstances. Coburg Lodge, Tulse Hill. A decentenough locality, doubtless; but--

'There's no harm in seeing her, ' said Emmeline at length. 'Send atelegram, Clarence. Do you know, I think she _may_ be the right kindof girl. I was thinking of someone awfully grand, and it's rather arelief. After all, you see, you--you are in business--'

'To be sure. And this girl seems to belong to a business family. Ionly wish she wrote in a more ladylike way. '

Emmeline set her house in order, filled the drawing-room withflowers, made the spare bedroom as inviting as possible, and, afterluncheon, spent a good deal of time in adorning her person. She wasa slight, pretty woman of something less than thirty; with a good, but pale, complexion, hair tending to auburn, sincere eyes. Herlittle vanities had no roots of ill-nature; she could admire withoutenvy, and loved an orderly domestic life. Her husband's desire toincrease his income had rather unsettled her; she exaggerated theimportance of to-day's interview, and resolved with nervous energyto bring it to a successful issue, if Miss Derrick should prove apossible companion. 

About four o'clock sounded the visitor's ring. From her bedroomwindow Emmeline had seen Miss Derrick's approach. As the distancefrom the station was only five minutes' walk, the stranger naturallycame on foot. A dark girl, and of tolerably good features; ratherdressy; with a carriage corresponding to the tone of her letter--aneasy swing; head well up and shoulders squared. 'Oh, how I _hope_she isn't vulgar!' said Emmeline to herself. 'I don't like thebat--I don't. And that sunshade with the immense handle. ' From thetop of the stairs she heard a clear, unaffected voice: 'Mrs. Mumfordat home?' Yes, the aspirate _was_ sounded--thank goodness!

It surprised her, on entering the room, to find that Miss Derricklooked no less nervous than she was herself. The girl's cheeks wereflushed, and she half choked over her 'How do you do?'

'I hope you had no difficulty in finding the house. I would have metyou at the station if you had mentioned the train. Oh, but--howsilly!--I shouldn't have known you. '

Miss Derrick laughed, and seemed of a sudden much more at ease. 

'Oh, I like you for that!' she exclaimed mirthfully. 'It's just thekind of thing I say myself sometimes. And I'm so glad to see thatyou are--you mustn't be offended--I mean you're not the kind ofperson to be afraid of. '

They laughed together. Emmeline could not subdue her delight whenshe found that the girl really might be accepted as a lady. Therewere faults of costume undeniably; money had been misspent inseveral directions; but no glaring vulgarity hurt the eye. And herspeech, though not strictly speaking refined, was free from thefaults that betray low origin. Then, she seemed good-natured thoughthere was something about her mouth not altogether charming. 

'Do you know Sutton at all?' Emmeline inquired. 

'Never was here before. But I like the look of it. I like thishouse, too. I suppose you know a lot of people here, Mrs. Mumford?'

'Well--no. There's only one family we know at all well. Our friendslive in London. Of course they often come out here. I don't knowwhether you are acquainted with any of them. The Kirby Simpsons, ofWest Kensington; and Mrs. Hollings, of Highgate--'

Miss Derrick cast down her eyes and seemed to reflect. Then shespoke abruptly. 

'I don't know any people to speak of. I ought to tell you that mymother has come down with me. She's waiting at the station till I goback; then she'll come and see you. You're surprised? Well, I hadbetter tell you that I'm leaving home because I can't get on with mypeople. Mother and I have always quarrelled, but it has been worsethan ever lately. I must explain that she has married a second time, and Mr. Higgins--I'm glad to say that isn't _my_ name--has adaughter of his own by a first marriage; and we can't bear eachother--Miss Higgins, I mean. Some day, if I come to live here, Idaresay I shall tell you more. Mr. Higgins is rich, and I can't sayhe's unkind to me; he'll give me as much as I want; but I'm surehe'll be very glad to get me out of the house. I have no money of myown--worse luck! Well, we thought it best for me to come alone, first, and see--just to see, you know--whether we were likely tosuit each other. Then mother will come and tell you all she has tosay about me. Of course I know what it'll be. They all say I've ahorrible temper. I don't think so myself; and I'm sure I don't thinkI should quarrel with _you_, you look so nice. But I can't get on athome, and it's better for all that we should part. I'm justtwo-and-twenty--do I look older? I haven't learnt to do anything, and I suppose I shall never need to. '

'Do you wish to see _much_ society?' inquired Mrs. Mumford, who wasthinking rapidly, 'or should you prefer a few really nice people?I'm afraid I don't quite understand yet whether you want society ofthe pleasure-seeking kind, or--'

She left the alternative vague. Miss Derrick again reflected for amoment before abruptly declaring herself. 

'I feel sure that your friends are the kind I want to know. At allevents, I should like to try. The great thing is to get away fromhome and see how things look. '

They laughed together. Emmeline, after a little more talk, offeredto take her visitor over the house, and Miss Derrick had loud praisefor everything she saw. 

'What I like about you, ' she exclaimed of a sudden, as they stoodlooking from a bedroom window on to the garden, 'is that you don'tput on any--you know what I mean. People seem to me to be generallyeither low and ignorant, or so high and mighty there's no getting onwith them at all. You're just what I wanted to find. Now I must goand send mother to see you. '

Emmeline protested against this awkward proceeding. Why should notboth come together and have a cup of tea? If it were desired, MissDerrick could step into the garden whilst her mother said whatevershe wished to say. The girl assented, and in excellent spiritsbetook herself to the railway station. Emmeline waited somethingless than a quarter of an hour; then a hansom drove up, and Mrs. Higgins, after a deliberate surveyal of the house front, followedher daughter up the pathway. 

The first sight of the portly lady made the situation clearer toMrs. Mumford. Louise Derrick represented a certain stage ofcivilisation, a degree of conscious striving for better things; Mrs. Higgins was prosperous and self-satisfied vulgarity. Of a complexionmuch lighter than the girl's, she still possessed a coarsecomeliness, which pointed back to the dairymaid type of damsel. Herfeatures revealed at the same time a kindly nature and an irascibletendency. Monstrously overdressed, and weighted with costly gewgaws, she came forward panting and perspiring, and, before paying any heedto her hostess, closely surveyed the room. 

'Mrs. Mumford, ' said the girl, 'this is my mother. Mother, this isMrs. Mumford. And now, please, let me go somewhere while you haveyour talk. '

'Yes, that'll be best, that'll be best, ' exclaimed Mrs. Higgins. 'Dear, 'ow 'ot it is! Run out into the garden, Louise. Nice little'ouse, Mrs. Mumford. And Louise seems quite taken with you. Shedoesn't take to people very easy, either. Of course, you can givesatisfactory references? I like to do things in a business-like way. I understand your 'usband is in the City; shouldn't wonder if heknows some of Mr. 'Iggins's friends. Yes, I will take a cup, if youplease. I've just had one at the station, but it's such thirstyweather. And what do you think of Louise? Because I'd very muchrather you said plainly if you don't think you could get on. '

'But, indeed, I fancy we could, Mrs. Higgins. '

'Well, I'm sure I'm very glad _of_ it. It isn't everybody can get onwith Louise. I dessay she's told you a good deal about me and herstepfather. I don't think she's any reason to complain of thetreatment--'

'She said you were both very kind to her, ' interposed the hostess. 

'I'm sure we _try_ to be, and Mr. 'Iggins, he doesn't mind what hegives her. A five-pound note, if you'll believe me, is no more thana sixpence to him when he gives her presents. You see, Mrs. Rumford--no, Mumford, isn't it?--I was first married veryyoung--scarcely eighteen, I was; and Mr. Derrick died on ourwedding-day, two years after. Then came Mr. 'Iggins. Of course Iwaited a proper time. And one thing I can say, that no woman wasever 'appier with two 'usbands than I've been. I've two sons growingup, hearty boys as ever you saw. If it wasn't for this trouble withLouise--' She stopped to wipe her face. 'I dessay she's told youthat Mr. 'Iggins, who was a widower when I met him, has a daughterof his first marriage--her poor mother died at the birth, and she'solder than Louise. I don't mind telling _you_, Mrs. Mumford, she'sclose upon six-and-twenty, and nothing like so good-looking asLouise, neither. Mr. 'Iggins, he's kindness itself; but when itcomes to differences between his daughter and _my_ daughter, well, it isn't in nature he shouldn't favour his own. There's more be'ind, but I dessay you can guess, and I won't trouble you with things thatdon't concern you. And that's how it stands, you see. '

By a rapid calculation Emmeline discovered; with surprise, that Mrs. Higgins could not be much more than forty years of age. It must havebeen a life of gross self-indulgence that had made the woman look atleast ten years older. This very undesirable parentage naturallyaffected Emmeline's opinion of Louise, whose faults began to show ina more pronounced light. One thing was clear: but for the fact thatLouise aimed at a separation from her relatives, it would be barelypossible to think of receiving her. If Mrs. Higgins thought ofcoming down to Sutton at unexpected moments--no, that was toodreadful. 

'Should you wish, Mrs. Higgins, to entrust your daughter to meentirely?'

'My dear Mrs. Rumford, it's very little that _my_ wishes has to dowith it! She's made up her mind to leave 'ome, and all I can do isto see she gets with respectable people, which I feel sure you are;and of course I shall have your references. '

Emmeline turned pale at the suggestion. She all but decided that thematter must go no further. 

'And what might your terms be--inclusive?' Mrs. Higgins proceeded toinquire. 

At this moment a servant entered with tea, and Emmeline, sorelyflurried, talked rapidly of the advantages of Sutton as a residence. She did not allow her visitor to put in a word till the door closedagain. Then, with an air of decision, she announced her terms; theywould be three guineas a week. It was half a guinea more than sheand Clarence had decided to ask. She expected, she hoped, Mrs. Higgins would look grave. But nothing of the kind; Louise's motherseemed to think the suggestion very reasonable. Thereupon Emmelineadded that, of course, the young lady would discharge her ownlaundress's bill. To this also Mrs. Higgins readily assented. 

'A hundred and sixty pounds per annum!' Emmeline kept repeating toherself. And, alas! it looked as if she might have asked much more. The reference difficulty might be minimised by naming her ownmarried sister, who lived at Blackheath, and Clarence's mostintimate friend, Mr. Tarling, who held a good position in a Cityhouse, and had a most respectable address at West Kensington. Buther heart misgave her. She dreaded her husband's return home. 

The conversation was prolonged for half-an-hour. Emmeline gave herreferences, and in return requested the like from Mrs. Higgins. Thisastonished the good woman. Why, her husband was Messrs. 'Iggins ofFenchurch Street! Oh, a mere formality, Emmeline hastened toadd--for Mr. Mumford's satisfaction. So Mrs. Higgins very pompouslynamed two City firms, and negotiations, for the present, were at anend. 

Louise, summoned to the drawing-room, looked rather tired ofwaiting. 

'When can you have me, Mrs. Mumford?' she asked. 'I've quite made upmy mind to come. '

'I'm afraid a day or two must pass, Miss Derrick--'

'The references, my dear, ' began Mrs. Higgins. 

'Oh, nonsense! It's all right; anyone can see. '

'There you go! Always cutting short the words in my mouth. I can'tendure such behaviour, and I wonder what Mrs. Rumford thinks of it. I've given Mrs. Rumford fair warning--'

They wrangled for a few minutes, Emmeline feeling too depressed andanxious to interpose with polite commonplaces. When at length theytook their leave, she saw the last of them with a sigh ofthanksgiving. It had happened most fortunately that no one calledthis afternoon. 

'Clarence, it's _quite_ out of the question. ' Thus she greeted herhusband. 'The girl herself I could endure, but oh, her odiousmother!--Three guineas a week! I could cry over the thought. '

By the first post in the morning came a letter from Louise. Shewrote appealingly, touchingly. 'I know you couldn't stand my mother, but do please have me. I like Sutton, and I like your house, and Ilike you. I promise faithfully nobody from home shall ever come tosee me, so don't be afraid. Of course if you won't have me, somebodyelse will; I've got two hundred to choose from, but I'd rather cometo you. Do write and say I may come. I'm so sorry I quarrelled withmother before you. I promise never to quarrel with you. I'm verygood-tempered when I get what I want. ' With much more to the sameeffect. 

'We _will_ have her, ' declared Mumford. 'Why not, if the old peoplekeep away?--You are quite sure she sounds her _h's_?'

'Oh, quite. She has been to pretty good schools, I think. And I daresay I could persuade her to get other dresses and hats. '

'Of course you could. Really, it seems almost a duty to takeher--doesn't it?'

So the matter was settled, and Mumford ran off gaily to catch histrain. 

Three days later Miss Derrick arrived, bringing with her somethinglike half-a-ton of luggage. She bounded up the doorsteps, and, meeting Mrs. Mumford in the hall, kissed her fervently. 

'I've got such heaps to tell you Mr. Higgins has given me twentypounds to go on with--for myself; I mean; of course he'll payeverything else. How delighted I am to be here! Please pay thecabman I've got no change. '

A few hours before this there had come a letter from Mrs. Higgins;better written and spelt than would have seemed likely. 

'Dear Mrs. Mumford, ' it ran, 'L. Is coming to-morrow morning, and Ihope you won't repent. There's just one thing I meant to have saidto you but forgot, so I'll say it now. If it should happen that anygentleman of your acquaintance takes a fancy to L. , and if it shouldcome to anything, I'm sure both Mr. H. And me would be _mostthankful_, and Mr. H. Would behave handsome to her. And what's more, I'm sure he would be only too glad to show _in a handsome way_ thethanks he would owe to you and Mr. M. --Very truly yours, Susan H. Higgins. '

CHAPTER II

'Runnymede' (so the Mumfords' house was named) stood on its ownlittle plot of ground in one of the tree-shadowed roads whichpersuade the inhabitants of Sutton that they live in the country. Itwas of red brick, and double-fronted, with a porch of wood andstucco; bay windows on one side of the entrance, and flat on theother, made a contrast pleasing to the suburban eye. The littlefront garden had a close fence of unpainted lath, a characteristicof the neighbourhood. At the back of the house lay a long, narrowlawn, bordered with flower-beds, and shaded at the far end by a finehorse-chestnut. 

Emmeline talked much of the delightful proximity of the Downs; onewould have imagined her taking long walks over the breezy uplands toBan stead or Epsom, or yet further afield The fact was, she saw nomore of the country than if she had lived at Brixton. Her windowslooked only upon the surrounding houses and their garden foliage. Occasionally she walked along the asphalte pavement of the BrightonRoad--a nursemaids' promenade--as far as the stone which markstwelve miles from Westminster Bridge. Here, indeed, she breathed theair of the hills, but villas on either hand obstructed the view, andbrought London much nearer than the measured distance. Like herfriends and neighbours, Emmeline enjoyed Sutton because it was amost respectable little portion of the great town, set in a pureratmosphere. The country would have depressed her. 

In this respect Miss Derrick proved a congenial companion. Louisemade no pretence of rural inclinations, but had a great liking fortree-shadowed asphalte, for the results of elaborate horticulture, for the repose and the quiet of villadom. 

'I should like to have a house just like this, ' she declared, on herfirst evening at "Runnymede, " talking with her host and hostess outin the garden. 'It's quite big enough, unless, of course, you have avery large family, which must be rather a bore. ' She laughedingenuously. 'And one gets to town so easily. What do you pay foryour season-ticket, Mr. Mumford? Oh, well! that isn't much. I almostthink I shall get one. '

'Do you wish to go up very often, then?' asked Emmeline, reflectingon her new responsibilities. 

'Oh! not every day, of course. But a season-ticket saves the bothereach time, and you have a sort of feeling, you know, that you can bein town whenever you like. '

It had not hitherto been the Mumfords' wont to dress for dinner, butthis evening they did so, and obviously to Miss Derrick'sgratification. She herself appeared in a dress which altogetheroutshone that of her hostess. Afterwards, in private, she drewEmmeline's attention to this garb, and frankly asked her opinion ofit. 

'Very nice indeed, ' murmured the married lady, with a good-naturedsmile. 'Perhaps a little--'

'There, I know what you're going to say. You think it's too showy. Now I want you to tell me just what you think abouteverything--everything. I shan't be offended. I'm not so silly. Youknow I've come here to learn all sorts of things. To-morrow youshall go over all my dresses with me, and those you don't like I'llget rid of. I've never had anyone to tell me what's nice and whatisn't. I want to be--oh, well, you know what I mean. '

'But, my dear, ' said Emmeline, 'there's something I don't quiteunderstand. You say I'm to speak plainly, and so I will. How is itthat you haven't made friends long ago with the sort of people youwish to know? It isn't as if you were in poor circumstances. '

'How _could_ I make friends with nice people when I was ashamed tohave them at home? The best I know are quite poor--girls I went toschool with. They're much better educated than I am, but they maketheir own living, and so I can't see very much of them, and I'm notsure they want to see much of _me_. I wish I knew what people thinkof me; they call me vulgar, I believe--the kind I'm speaking of. Now, do tell me, Mrs. Mumford, _am_ I vulgar?'

'My dear Miss Derrick--' Emmeline began in protest, but was at onceinterrupted. 

'Oh! that isn't what I want. You must call me Louise, or Lou, if youlike, and just say what you really think. Yes, I see, I _am_ rathervulgar, and what can you expect? Look at mother; and if you saw Mr. Higgins, oh! The mistake I made was to leave school so soon. I gotsick of it, and left at sixteen, and of course the idiots at home--Imean the foolish people--let me have my own way. I'm not clever, youknow, and I didn't get on well at school. They used to say I coulddo much better if I liked, and perhaps it was more laziness thanstupidity, though I don't care for books--I wish I did. I've hadlots of friends, but I never keep them for very long. I don't knowwhether it's their fault or mine. My oldest friends are Amy Barkerand Muriel Featherstone; they were both at the school at Clapham, and now Amy does type-writing in the City, and Muriel is at aphotographer's. They're awfully nice girls, and t like them so much;but then, you see, they haven't enough money to live in what _I_call a nice way, and, you know, I should never think of asking themto advise me about my dresses, or anything of that kind. A friend ofmine once began to say something and I didn't like it; after that wehad nothing to do with each other. '

Emmeline could not hide her amusement. 

'Well, that's just it, ' went on the other frankly. 'I _have_ rathera sharp temper, and I suppose I don't get on well with most people. I used to quarrel dreadfully with some of the girls at school--theuppish sort. And yet all the time I wanted to be friends with them. But, of course, I could never have taken them home. '

Mrs. Mumford began to read the girl's character, and to understandhow its complexity had shaped her life. She was still uneasy as tothe impression this guest would make upon their friends, but on thewhole it seemed probable that Louise would conscientiously submitherself to instruction, and do her very best to be "nice. "Clarence's opinion was still favourable; he pronounced Miss Derrick"very amusing, " and less of a savage than his wife's description hadled him to expect. 

Having the assistance of two servants and a nurse-girl, Emmeline wasnot overburdened with domestic work. She soon found it fortunatethat her child, a girl of two years old, needed no great share ofher attention; for Miss Derrick, though at first she affected anextravagant interest in the baby, very soon had enough of thatplaything, and showed a decided preference for Emmeline's societyout of sight and hearing of nursery affairs. On the afternoon of thesecond day they went together to call upon Mrs. Fentiman, who livedat a distance of a quarter of an hour's walk, in a house called"Hazeldene"; a semi-detached house, considerably smaller than"Runnymede, " and neither without nor within so pleasant to lookupon. Mrs. Fentiman, a tall, hard-featured, but amiable lady, hadtwo young children who occupied most of her time; at present one ofthem was ailing, and the mother could talk of nothing else but thisdistressing circumstance. The call lasted only for ten minutes, andEmmeline felt that her companion was disappointed. 

'Children are a great trouble, ' Louise remarked, when they had leftthe house. 'People ought never to marry unless they can keep a lotof servants. Not long ago I was rather fond of somebody, but Iwouldn't have him because he had no money. Don't you think I wasquite right?'

'I have no doubt you were. '

'And now, ' pursued the girl, poking the ground with her sunshade asshe walked, 'there's somebody else. And that's one of the things Iwant to tell you about. He has about three hundred a year. It isn'tmuch, of course; but I suppose Mr. Higgins would give me something. And yet I'm sure it won't come to anything. Let's go home and have agood talk, shall we?'

Mrs. Higgins's letter had caused Emmeline and her husband no littleamusement; but at the same time it led them to reflect. Certainlythey numbered among their acquaintances one or two marriageableyoung men who might perchance be attracted by Miss Derrick, especially if they learnt that Mr. Higgins was disposed to 'behavehandsomely' to his stepdaughter; but the Mumfords had no desire tosee Louise speedily married. To the bribe with which the letterended they could give no serious thought. Having secured their"paying guest, " they hoped she would remain with them for a year ortwo at least. But already Louise had dropped hints such as Emmelinecould not fail to understand, and her avowal of serious interest ina lover came rather as an annoyance than a surprise to Mrs. Mumford. 

It was a hot afternoon, and they had tea brought out into thegarden, under the rustling leaves of the chestnut. 

'You don't know anyone else at Sutton except Mrs. Fentiman?' saidLouise, as she leaned back in the wicker chair. 

'Not intimately. But some of our friends from London will be comingon Sunday. I've asked four people to lunch. '

'How jolly! Of course you'll tell me all about them before then. ButI want to talk about Mr. Cobb. Please, _two_ lumps of sugar. I'veknown him for about a year and a half. We seem quite old friends, and he writes to me; I don't answer the letters, unless there'ssomething to say. To tell the truth, I don't like him. '

'How can that be if you seem old friends?'

'Well, he likes _me_; and there's no harm in that, so long as heunderstands. I'm sure _you_ wouldn't like him. He's a rough, coarsesort of man, and has a dreadful temper. '

'Good gracious! What is his position?'

'Oh, he's connected with the what-d'ye-call-it Electric LightingCompany. He travels about a good deal. I shouldn't mind that; itmust be rather nice not to have one's husband always at home. Justnow I believe he's in Ireland. I shall be having a letter from himvery soon, no doubt. He doesn't know I've left home, and it'll makehim wild. Yes, that's the kind of man he is. Fearfully jealous, andsuch a temper! If I married him, I'm quite sure he would beat mesome day. '

'Oh!' Emmeline exclaimed. 'How can you have anything to do with sucha man?'

'He's very nice sometimes, ' answered Louise, thoughtfully. 

'But do you really mean that he is "rough and coarse"?'

'Yes, I do. You couldn't call him a gentleman. I've never seen hispeople; they live somewhere a long way off; and I shouldn't wonderif they are a horrid lot. His last letter was quite insulting. Hesaid--let me see, what was it? Yes--"You have neither heart norbrains, and I shall do my best not to waste another thought on you?"What do you think of that?'

'It seems very extraordinary, my dear. How can he write to you inthat way if you never gave him any encouragement?'

'Well, but I suppose I have done. We've met on the Common now andthen, and--and that kind of thing. I'm afraid you're shocked, Mrs. Mumford. I know it isn't the way that nice people behave, and I'mgoing to give it up. '

'Does your mother know him?'

'Oh, yes! there's no secret about it. Mother rather likes him. Ofcourse he behaves himself when he's at the house. I've a good mindto ask him to call here so that you could see him. Yes, I shouldlike you to sea him. You wouldn't mind?'

'Not if you really wish it, Louise. But--I can't help thinking youexaggerate his faults. '

'Not a bit. He's a regular brute when he gets angry. '

'My dear, ' Emmeline interposed softly, 'that isn't quite a ladylikeexpression. '

'No, it isn't. Thank you, Mrs. Mumford. I meant to say he ishorrid--very disagreeable. Then there's something else I want to tell youabout. Cissy Higgins--that's Mr. Higgins's daughter, you know--ishalf engaged to a man called Bowling--an awful idiot--'

'I don't think I would use that word, dear. '

'Thank you, Mrs. Mumford. I mean to say he's a regular silly. Buthe's in a very good position--a partner in Jannaway Brothers ofWoolwich, though he isn't thirty yet. Well, now, what do you think?Mr. Bowling doesn't seem to know his own mind, and just lately he'sbeen paying so much attention to _me_ that Cissy has got quitefrantic about it. This was really and truly the reason why I lefthome. '

'I see, ' murmured the listener, with a look of genuine interest. 

'Yes. They wanted to get me out of the way. There wasn't theslightest fear that I should try to cut Cissy Higgins out; but itwas getting very awkward for her, I admit. Now that's the kind ofthing that doesn't go on among nice people, isn't it?'

'But what do you mean, Louise, when you say that Miss Higgins andMr. --Mr. Bowling are _half_ engaged?'

'Oh, I mean she has refused him once, just for form's sake; but heknows very well she means to have him. People of your kind don't dothat sort of thing, do they?'

'I hardly know, ' Emmeline replied, colouring a little at certainprivate reminiscences. 'And am I to understand that you wouldn't onany account listen to Mr. Bowling?'

Louise laughed. 

'Oh, there's no knowing what I might do to spite Cissy. We hate eachother, of course. But I can't fancy myself marrying him, He has along nose, and talks through it. And he says "think you" for "thankyou, " and he sings--oh, to hear him sing! I can't bear the man. '

The matter of this conversation Emmeline reported to her husband atnight, and they agreed in the hope that neither Mr. Cobb nor Mr. Bowling would make an appearance at "Runnymede. " Mumford opined thatthese individuals were "cads. " Small wonder, he said, that the girlwished to enter a new social sphere. His wife, on the other hand, had a suspicion that Miss Derrick would not be content to see thelast of Mr. Cobb. He, the electrical engineer, or whatever he was, could hardly be such a ruffian as the girl depicted. His words, 'Youhave neither heart nor brains, ' seemed to indicate anything but acoarse mind. 

'But what a bad-tempered lot they are!' Mumford observed. 'I supposepeople of that sort quarrel and abuse each other merely to pass thetime. They seem to be just one degree above the roughs who come toblows and get into the police court. You must really do your best toget the girl out of it; I'm sure she is worthy of better things. '

'She is--in one way, ' answered his wife judicially. 'But hereducation stopped too soon. I doubt if it's possible to change hervery much. And--I really should like, after all, to see Mr. Cobb. '

Mumford broke into a laugh. 

'There you go! The eternal feminine. You'll have her married in sixmonths. '

'Don't be vulgar, Clarence. And we've talked enough of Louise forthe present. '

Miss Derrick's presentiment that a letter from Mr. Cobb would soonreach her was justified the next day; it arrived in the afternoon, readdressed from Tulse Hill. Emmeline observed the eagerness withwhich this epistle was pounced upon and carried off for privateperusal. She saw, too, that in half-an-hour's time Louise left thehouse--doubtless to post a reply. But, to her surprise, not a wordof the matter escaped Miss Derrick during the whole evening. 

In her school-days, Louise had learned to "play the piano, " but, caring little or nothing for music, she had hardly touched a key forseveral years. Now the idea possessed her that she must resume herpractising, and to-day she had spent hours at the piano, withpainful effect upon Mrs. Mumford's nerves. After dinner she offeredto play to Mumford, and he, good-natured fellow, stood by her toturn over the leaves. Emmeline, with fancy work in her hands, watched the two. She was not one of the most foolish of her sex, butit relieved her when Clarence moved away. 

The next morning Louise was an hour late for breakfast. She camedown when Mumford had left the house, and Emmeline saw with surprisethat she was dressed for going out. 

'Just a cup of coffee, please. I've no appetite this morning, and Iwant to catch a train for Victoria as soon as possible. '

'When will you be back?'

'Oh, I don't quite know. To tea, I think. '

The girl had all at once grown reticent, and her lips showed theless amiable possibilities of their contour. 

CHAPTER III

At dinner-time she had not returned. It being Saturday, Mumford wasback early in the afternoon, and Miss Derrick's absence caused nogrief. Emmeline could play with baby in the garden, whilst herhusband smoked his pipe and looked on in the old comfortable way. They already felt that domestic life was not quite the same with astranger to share it. Doubtless they would get used to the newrestraints; but Miss Derrick must not expect them to disorganisetheir mealtimes on her account. Promptly at half-past seven they satdown to dine, and had just risen from the table, when Louiseappeared. 

She was in excellent spirits, without a trace of the morning'sill-humour. No apologies! If she didn't feel quite free to come andgo, without putting people out, there would be no comfort in life. Aslice of the joint, that was all she wanted, and she would have donein a few minutes. 

'I've taken tickets for Toole's Theatre on Monday night. You mustboth come. You can, can't you?'

Mumford and his wife glanced at each other. Yes, they could go; itwas very kind of Miss Derrick; but--

'That's all right, it'll be jolly. The idea struck me in the train, as I was going up; so I took a cab from Victoria and booked theplaces first thing. Third row from the front, dress circle; the bestI could do. Please let me have my dinner alone. Mrs. Mumford, I wantto tell you something afterwards. '

Clarence went round to see his friend Fentiman, with whom he usuallyhad a chat on Saturday evening. Emmeline was soon joined by theguest in the drawing-room. 

'There, you may read that, ' said Louise, holding out a letter. 'It'sfrom Mr. Cobb; came yesterday, but I didn't care to talk about itthen. Yes, please read it; I want you to. '

Reluctantly, but with curiosity, Emmeline glanced over the sheet. Mr. Cobb wrote in ignorance of Miss Derrick's having left home. Itwas a plain, formal letter, giving a brief account of his doings inIreland, and making a request that Louise would meet him, ifpossible, on Streatham Common, at three o'clock on Saturdayafternoon. And he signed himself--'Very sincerely yours. '

'I made up my mind at once, ' said the girl, 'that I wouldn't meethim. That kind of thing will have to stop. I'm not going to thinkany more of him, and it's better to make him understand it atonce--isn't it?'

Emmeline heartily concurred. 

'Still, ' pursued the other, with an air of great satisfaction, 'Ithought I had better go home for this afternoon. Because when hedidn't see me on the Common he was pretty sure to call at the house, and I didn't want mother or Cissy to be talking about me to himbefore he had heard my own explanation. '

'Didn't you answer the letter?' asked Emmeline. 

'No. I just sent a line to mother, to let her know I was coming overto-day, so that she might stay at home. Well, and it happened justas I thought. Mr. Cobb came to the house at half-past three. Butbefore that I'd had a terrible row with Cissy. That isn't a niceexpression, I know, but it really was one of our worst quarrels. Mr. Bowling hasn't been near since I left, and Cissy is furious. Shesaid such things that I had to tell her very plainly what I thoughtof her; and she positively foamed at the mouth! "Now look here, " shesaid, "if I find out that he goes to Sutton, you'll see what willhappen. " "_What_ will happen?" I asked. "Father will stop yourallowance, and you'll have to get on as best you can. " "Oh, verywell, " I said, "in that case I shall marry Mr. Bowling. " You shouldhave seen her rage! "You said you wouldn't marry him if he had tenthousand a year!" she screamed. "I dare say I did; but if I'venothing to live upon--" "You can marry your Mr. Cobb, can't you?"And she almost cried; and I should have felt sorry for her if shehadn't made me so angry. "No, " I said, "I can't marry Mr. Cobb. AndI never dreamt of marrying Mr. Cobb. And--"'

Emmeline interposed. 

'Really, Louise, that kind of talk isn't at all ladylike. What apity you went home. '

'Yes, I was sorry for it afterwards. I shan't go again for a longtime; I promise you I won't. However, Mr. Cobb came, and I saw himalone. He was astonished when he heard what had been going on; hewas astonished at _me_, too--I mean, the way I spoke. I wanted himto understand at once that there was nothing between us; I talked inrather a--you know the sort of way. ' She raised her chin slightly, and looked down from under her eyelids. 'Oh, I assure you I behavedquite nicely. But he got into a rage, as he always does, and beganto call me names, and I wouldn't stand it. "Mr. Cobb, " I said, veryseverely, "either you will conduct yourself properly, or you willleave the house. " Then he tried another tone, and said verydifferent things--the kind of thing one likes to hear, you know; butI pretended that I didn't care for it a bit. "It's all over betweenus then?" he shouted at last; yes, really shouted, and I'm surepeople must have heard. "All over?" I said. "But there never _was_anything--nothing serious. " "Oh, all right. Good-bye, then. " And offhe rushed. And I dare say I've seen the last of him--for a time. '

'Now do try to live quietly, my dear, ' said Emmeline. 'Go on withyour music, and read a little each day--'

'Yes, that's just what I'm going to do, dear Mrs. Mumford. And yourfriends will be here to-morrow; it'll be so quiet and nice. And onMonday we shall go to the theatre, just for a change. And I'm notgoing to think of those people. It's all settled. I shall live veryquietly indeed. '

She banged on the piano till nearly eleven o'clock, and went off tobed with a smile of virtuous contentment. 

The guests who arrived on Sunday morning were Mr. And Mrs. Grove, Mr. Bilton, and Mr. Dunnill. Mrs. Grove was Emmeline's elder sister, a merry, talkative, kindly woman. Aware of the circumstances, she atonce made friends with Miss Derrick, and greatly pleased that younglady by a skilful blending of "superior" talk with easy homeliness. Mr. Bilton, a stockbroker's clerk, represented the better kind ofCity young man--athletic, yet intelligent, spirited withoutvulgarity a breezy, good-humoured, wholesome fellow. He came down onhis bicycle, and would return in the same way. Louise at once made aresolve to learn cycling. 

'I wish you lived at Sutton, Mr. Bilton. I should ask you to teachme. '

'I'm really very sorry that I don't, ' replied the young mandiscreetly. 

'Oh, never mind. I'll find somebody. '

The fourth arrival, Mr. Dunnill, was older and less affable. Hetalked chiefly with Mr. Grove, a very quiet, somewhat careworn man;neither of them seemed able to shake off business, but they did notobtrude it on the company in general. The day passed pleasantly, butin Miss Derrick's opinion, rather soberly. Doing her best tofascinate Mr. Bilton, she felt a slight disappointment at herinability to engross his attention, and at the civil friendlinesswhich he thought a sufficient reply to her gay sallies. For sogood-looking and well-dressed a man he struck her as singularlyreserved. But perhaps he was "engaged"; yes, that must be theexplanation. When the guests had left, she put a plain question toMrs. Mumford. 

'I don't _think_ he is engaged, ' answered Emmeline, who on the wholewas satisfied with Miss Derrick's demeanour throughout the day. 

'Oh! But, of course, he _may_ be, without you knowing it. Or is italways made known?'

'There's no rule about it, my dear. '

'Well, they're very nice people, ' said Louise, with a little sigh. 'And I like your sister so much. I'm glad she asked me to go and seeher. Is Mr. Bilton often at her house?--Don't misunderstand me, Mrs. Mumford. It's only that I _do_ like men's society; there's no harm, is there? And people like Mr. Bilton are very different from thoseI've known; and I want to see more of them, you know. '

'There's no harm in saying that to _me_, Louise, ' replied Mrs. Mumford. 'But pray be careful not to seem "forward. " Peoplethink--and say--such disagreeable things. '

Miss Derrick was grateful, and again gave an assurance that reposeand modesty should be the rule of her life. 

At the theatre on Monday evening she exhibited a childlike enjoymentwhich her companions could not but envy. The freshness of hersensibilities was indeed remarkable, and Emmeline observed withpleasure that her mind seemed to have a very wholesome tone. Louisemight commit follies, and be guilty of bad taste to any extent, butnothing in her savoured of depravity. 

Tuesday she spent at home, pretending to read a little, andobviously thinking a great deal. On Wednesday morning she proposedof a sudden that Emmeline should go up to town with her on ashopping expedition. They had already turned over her wardrobe, numerous articles whereof were condemned by Mrs. Mumford's taste, and by Louise cheerfully sacrificed; she could not rest till newpurchases had been made. So, after early luncheon, they took trainto Victoria, Louise insisting that all the expenses should be hers. By five o'clock she had laid out some fifteen pounds, vastly to hersatisfaction. They took tea at a restaurant, and reached Sutton notlong before Mumford's return. 

On Friday they went to London again, to call upon Mrs. Grove. Louisepromised that this should be her last "outing" for a whole week. Sheadmitted a feeling of restlessness, but after to-day she wouldovercome it. And that night she apologised formally to Mumford fortaking his wife so much from home. 

'Please don't think I shall always be running about like this. Ifeel that I'm settling down. We are going to be very comfortable andquiet. '

And, to the surprise of her friends, more than a week went by beforeshe declared that a day in town was absolutely necessary. Mr. Higgins had sent her a fresh supply of money, as there were still afew things she needed to purchase. But this time Emmeline begged herto go alone, and Louise seemed quite satisfied with the arrangement. 

Early in the afternoon, as Mrs. Mumford was making ready to go out, the servant announced to her that a gentleman had called to see MissDerrick; on learning that Miss Derrick was away, he had asked sundryquestions, and ended by requesting an interview with Mrs. Mumford. His name was Cobb. 

'Show him into the drawing-room, ' said Emmeline, a trifle agitated. 'I will be down in a few moments. '

Beset by anxious anticipations, she entered the room, and saw beforeher a figure not wholly unlike what she had imagined: a wiry, resolute-looking man, with knitted brows, lips close-set, and heavyfeet firmly planted on the carpet. He was respectably dressed, butnothing more, and in his large bare hands held a brown hat markedwith a grease spot. One would have judged him a skilled mechanic. When he began to speak, his blunt but civil phrases were in keepingwith this impression. He had not the tone of an educated man, yetcommitted no vulgar errors. 

'My name is Cobb. I must beg your pardon for troubling you. Perhapsyou have heard of me from Miss Derrick?'

'Yes, Mr. Cobb, your name has been mentioned, ' Emmeline repliednervously. 'Will you sit down?'

'Thank you, I will. '

He twisted his hat about, and seemed to prepare with difficulty thenext remark, which at length burst, rather than fell, from his lips. 

'I wanted to see Miss Derrick. I suppose she is still living withyou? They told me so. '

A terrible man, thought Emmeline, when roused to anger; his wordsmust descend like sledge-hammers. And it would not take much toanger him. For all that, he had by no means a truculent countenance. He was trying to smile, and his features softened agreeably enough. The more closely she observed him, the less grew Emmeline's wonderthat Louise felt an interest in the man. 

'Miss Derrick is likely to stay with us for some time, I believe. She has only gone to town, to do some shopping. '

'I see. When I met her last she talked a good deal about you, Mrs. Mumford, and that's why I thought I would ask to see you. You have agood deal of influence over her. '

'Do you think so?' returned Emmeline, not displeased. 'I hope I mayuse it for her good. '

'So do I. But--well, it comes to this, Mrs. Mumford. She seemed tohint--though she didn't exactly say so--that you were advising herto have nothing more to do with me. Of course you don't know me, andI've no doubt you do what you think the best for her. I should feelit a kindness if you would just tell me whether you are reallypersuading her to think no more about me. '

It was an alarming challenge. Emmeline's fears returned; she halfexpected an outbreak of violence. The man was growing very nervous, and his muscles showed the working of strong emotion. 

'I have given her no such advice, Mr. Cobb, ' she answered, with anattempt at calm dignity. 'Miss Derrick's private affairs don't atall concern me. In such matters as this she is really quite oldenough to judge for herself. '

'That's what _I_ should have said, ' remarked Mr. Cobb sturdily. 'Ihope you'll excuse me; I don't wish to make myself offensive. Afterwhat she said to me when we met last, I suppose most men would justlet her go her own way. But--but somehow I can't do that. The thingis, I can't trust what she says; I don't believe she knows her ownmind. And so long as you tell me that you're not interfering--Imean, that you don't think it right to set her against me--'

'I assure you, nothing of the kind. '

There was a brief silence, then Cobb's voice again sounded withblunt emphasis. 

'We're neither of us very good-tempered. We've known each otherabout a year, and we must have quarrelled about fifty times. '

'Do you think, then, ' ventured the hostess, 'that it would ever bepossible for you to live peacefully together?'

'Yes, I do, ' was the robust answer. 'It would be a fight for theupper hand, but I know who'd get it, and after that things would beall right. '

Emmeline could not restrain a laugh, and her visitor joined in itwith a heartiness which spoke in his favour. 

'I promise you, Mr. Cobb, that I will do nothing whatever againstyour interests. '

'That's very kind of you, and it's all I wanted to know. '

He stood up. Emmeline, still doubtful how to behave, asked him if hewould call on another day, when Miss Derrick might be at home. 

'It's only by chance I was able to get here this afternoon, ' hereplied. 'I haven't much time to go running about after her, andthat's where I'm at a disadvantage. I don't know whether there'sanyone else, and I'm not asking you to tell me, if you know. Ofcourse I have to take my chance; but so long as you don't speakagainst me--and she thinks a great deal of your advice--'

'I'm very glad to be assured of that. All I shall do, Mr. Cobb, isto keep before her mind the duty of behaving straightforwardly. '

'That's the thing! Nobody can ask more than that. '

Emmeline hesitated, but could not dismiss him without shaking hands. That he did not offer to do so until invited, though he betrayed nosense of social inferiority, seemed another point in his favour. 

CHAPTER IV

Not half an hour after Cobb's departure Louise returned. Emmelinewas surprised to see her back so soon; they met near the railwaystation as Mrs. Mumford was on her way to a shop in High Street. 

'Isn't it good of me! If I had stayed longer I should have gone hometo quarrel with Cissy; but I struggled against the temptation. Goingto the grocer's? Oh, do let me go with you, and see how you do thatkind of thing. I never gave an order at the grocer's in my life--no, indeed I never did. Mother and Cissy have always looked afterthat. And I want to learn about housekeeping; you promised to teachme. '

Emmeline made no mention of Mr. Cobb's call until they reached thehouse. 

'He came here!' Louise exclaimed, reddening. 'What impudence! Ishall at once write and tell him that his behaviour is outrageous. Am I to be hunted like this?'

Her wrath seemed genuine enough; but she was vehemently eager tolearn all that had passed. Emmeline made a truthful report. 

'You're quite sure that was all? Oh, his impertinence! Well, and nowthat you've seen him, don't you understand how--how impossible itis?'

'I shall say nothing more about it, Louise. It isn't my businessto--'

The girl's face threatened a tempest. As Emmeline was moving away, she rudely obstructed her. 

'I insist on you telling me what you think. It was abominable of himto come when I wasn't at home; and I don't think you ought to haveseen him. You've no right to keep your thoughts to yourself!'

Mrs. Mumford was offended, and showed it. 

'I have a perfect right, and I shall do so. Please don't let usquarrel. You may be fond of it, but I am not. '

Louise went from the room and remained invisible till just beforedinner, when she came down with a grave and rather haughtycountenance. To Mumford's remarks she replied with curt formality;he, prepared for this state of things, began conversing cheerfullywith his wife, and Miss Derrick kept silence. After dinner, shepassed out into the garden. 

'It won't do, ' said Mumford. 'The house is upset. I'm afraid weshall have to get rid of her. '

'If she can't behave herself, I'm afraid we must. It's my fault. Iought to have known that it would never do. '

At half-past ten, Louise was still sitting out of doors in the dark. Emmeline, wishing to lock up for the night, went to summon hertroublesome guest. 

'Hadn't you better come in?'

'Yes. But I think you are very unkind, Mrs. Mumford. '

'Miss Derrick, I really can't do anything but leave you alone whenyou are in such an unpleasant hum our. '

'But that's just what you _oughtn't_ to do. When I'm left alone Isulk, and that's bad for all of us. If you would just get angry andgive me what I deserve, it would be all over very soon. '

'You are always talking about "nice" people. Nice people don't havescenes of that kind. '

'No, I suppose not. And I'm very sorry, and if you'll let me begyour pardon--. There, and we might have made it up hours ago. Iwon't ask you to tell me what you think of Mr. Cobb. I've writtenhim the kind of letter his impudence deserves. '

'Very well. We won't talk of it any more. And if you _could_ be alittle quieter in your manners, Louise--'

'I will, I promise I will I Let me say good-night to Mr. Mumford. '

For a day or two there was halcyon weather. On Saturday afternoonLouise hired a carriage and took her friends for a drive into thecountry; at her special request the child accompanied them. Nothingcould have been more delightful. She had quite made up her mind tohave a house, some day, at Sutton. She hoped the Mumfords would"always" live there, that they might perpetually enjoy each other'ssociety. What were the rents? she inquired. Well, to begin with, shewould be content with one of the smaller houses; a modest, semidetached little place, like those at the far end of Cedar Road. They were perfectly respectable--were they not? How this change inher station was to come about Louise offered no hint, and did notseem to think of the matter. 

Then restlessness again came upon her. One day she all but declaredher disappointment that the Mumfords saw so few people. Emmeline, repeating this to her husband, avowed a certain compunction. 

'I almost feel that I deliberately misled her. You know, Clarence, in our first conversation I mentioned the Kirby Simpsons and Mrs. Hollings, and I feel sure she remembers. It wouldn't be nice to betaking her money on false pretences, would it?'

'Oh, don't trouble. It's quite certain she has someone in mind whomshe means to marry before long. '

'I can't help thinking that. But I don't know who it can be. She hada letter this morning in a man's writing, and didn't speak of it. Itwasn't Mr. Cobb. '

Louise, next day, put a point-blank question. 

'Didn't you say that you knew some people at West Kensington?'

'Oh, yes, ' answered Emmeline, carelessly. 'The Kirby Simpsons. They're away from home. '

'I'm sorry for that. Isn't there anyone else we could go and see, orask over here?'

'I think it very likely Mr. Bilton will come down in a few days. '

Louise received Mr. Bilton's name with moderate interest. But shedropped the subject, and seemed to reconcile herself to domesticpleasures. 

It was on the evening of this day that Emmeline received a letterwhich gave her much annoyance. Her sister, Mrs. Grove, wrote thus:

'How news does get about! And what ridiculous forms it takes! Hereis Mrs. Powell writing to me from Birmingham, and she says she hasheard that you have taken in the daughter of some wealthy _parvenu_, for a consideration, to train her in the ways of decent society!Just the kind of thing Mrs. Powell would delight in talking about--sheis so very malicious. Where she got her information I can'timagine. She doesn't give the slightest hint. "They tell me"--I copyher words--"that the girl is all but a savage, and does and says themost awful things. I quite admire Mrs. Mumford's courage. I've heardof people doing this kind of thing, and I always wondered how theygot on with their friends. " Of course I have written to contradictthis rubbish. But it's very annoying, I'm sure. '

Mumford was angry. The source of these fables must be either Biltonor Dunnill, yet he had not thought either of them the kind of men tomake mischief. Who else knew anything of the affair? Searching hermemory, Emmeline recalled a person unknown to her, a married lady, who had dropped in at Mrs. Grove's when she and Louise were there. 

'I didn't like her--a supercilious sort of person. And she talked agreat deal of her acquaintance with important people. It's far morelikely to have come from her than from either of those men. I shallwrite and tell Molly so. '

They began to feel uncomfortable, and seriously thought of gettingrid of the burden so imprudently undertaken. Louise, the next day, wanted to take Emmeline to town, and showed dissatisfaction when shehad to go unaccompanied. She stayed till late in the evening, andcame back with a gay account of her calls upon two or three oldfriends--the girls of whom she had spoken to Mrs. Mumford. One ofthem, Miss Featherstone, she had taken to dine with her at arestaurant, and afterwards they had spent an hour or two at MissFeatherstone's lodgings. 

'I didn't go near Tulse Hill, and if you knew how I am wonderingwhat is going on there! Not a line from anyone. I shall write tomother to-morrow. '

Emmeline produced a letter which had arrived for Miss Derrick. 

'Why didn't you give it me before?' Louise exclaimed, impatiently. 

'My dear, you had so much to tell me. I waited for the first pause. '

'That isn't from home, ' said the girl, after a glance at theenvelope. 'It's nothing. '

After saying good-night, she called to Emmeline from her bedroomdoor. Entering the room, Mrs. Mumford saw the open letter inLouise's hand, and read in her face a desire of confession. 

'I want to tell you something. Don't be in a hurry; just a fewminutes. This letter is from Mr. Bowling. Yes, and I've had one fromhim before, and I was obliged to answer it. '

'Do you mean they are love-letters?'

'Yes, I'm afraid they are. And it's so stupid, and I'm so vexed. Idon't want to have anything to do with him, as I told you long ago. 'Louise often used expressions which to a stranger would have impliedthat her intimacy with Mrs. Mumford was of years' standing. 'Hewrote for the first time last week. Such a silly letter! I wish youwould read it. Well, he said that it was all over between him andCissy, and that he cared only for me, and always had, and alwayswould--you know how men write. He said he considered himself quitefree. Cissy had refused him, and wasn't that enough? Now that I wasaway from home, he could write to me, and wouldn't I let him see me?Of course I wrote that I didn't _want_ to see him, and I thought hewas behaving very badly--though I don't really think so, becauseit's all that idiot Cissy's fault. Didn't I do quite right?'

'I think so. '

'Very well. And now he's writing again, you see; oh, such a lot ofrubbish! I can hear him saying it all through his nose. Do tell mewhat I ought to do next. '

'You must either pay no attention to the letter, or reply so that hecan't possibly misunderstand you. '

'Call him names, you mean?'

'My dear Louise!'

'But that's the only way with such men. I suppose you never werebothered with them. I think I'd better not write at all. '

Emmeline approved this course, and soon left Miss Derrick to herreflections. 

The next day Louise carried out her resolve to write for informationregarding the progress of things at Coburg Lodge. She had not longto wait for a reply, and it was of so startling a nature that sheran at once to Mrs. Mumford, whom she found in the nursery. 

'Do please come down. Here's something I must tell you about. Whatdo you think mother says? I've to go back home again at once. '

'What's the reason?' Emmeline inquired, knowing not whether to beglad or sorry. 

'I'll read it to you:--"Dear Lou, " she says, "you've made a greatdeal of trouble, and I hope you're satisfied. Things are all upsidedown, and I've never seen dada"--that's Mr. Higgins, of course--"I'venever seen dada in such a bad temper, not since first I knewhim. Mr. B. "--that's Mr. Bowling, you know--"has told him plain thathe doesn't think any more of Cissy, and that nothing mustn't beexpected of him. "--Oh what sweet letters mother does write!--"Thatwas when dada went and asked him about his intentions, as hecouldn't help doing, because Cissy is fretting so. It's all over, and of course you're the cause of it; and, though I can't blame youas much as the others do, I think you _are_ to blame. And Cissy saidshe must go to the seaside to get over it, and she went offyesterday to Margate to your Aunt Annie's boarding-house, and thereshe says she shall stay as long as she doesn't feel quite well, anddada has to pay two guineas a week for her. So he says at once, 'NowLoo 'll have to come back. I'm not going to pay for the both of themboarding out, ' he says. And he means it. He has told me to write toyou at once, and you're to come as soon as you can, and he won't beresponsible to Mrs. Mumford for more than another week'spayment. "--There! But I shan't go, for all that. The idea! I lefthome just to please them, and now I'm to go back just when it suitstheir convenience. Certainly not. '

'But what will you do, Louise, ' asked Mrs. Mumford, 'if Mr. Higginsis quite determined?'

'Do? Oh! I shall settle it easy enough. I shall write at once to theold man and tell him I'm getting on so nicely in every way that Icouldn't dream of leaving you. It's all nonsense, you'll see. '

Emmeline and her husband held a council that night, and resolvedthat, whatever the issue of Louise's appeal to her stepfather, thiswas a very good opportunity for getting rid of their guest. Theywould wait till Louise made known the upshot of her negotiations. Itseemed probable that Mr. Higgins would spare them the unpleasantnessof telling Miss Derrick she must leave. If not, that disagreeablenecessity must be faced. 

'I had rather cut down expenses all round, ' said Emmeline, 'thanhave our home upset in this way. It isn't like home at all. Louiseis a whirlwind, and the longer she stays, the worse it'll be. '

'Yes, it won't do at all, ' Mumford assented. 'By the bye, I metBilton to-day, and he asked after Miss Derrick. I didn't like hislook or his tone at all. I feel quite sure there's a joke goinground at our expense. Confound it!'

'Never mind. It'll be over in a day or two, and it'll be a lesson toyou, Clarence, won't it?'

'I quite admit that the idea was mine, ' her husband replied, ratherirritably. 'But it wasn't I who accepted the girl as a suitableperson. '

'And certainly it wasn't _me_!' rejoined Emmeline. 'You will pleaseto remember that I said again and again--'

'Oh, hang it, Emmy! We made a blunder, both of us, and don't let usmake it worse by wrangling about it. There you are; people of thatclass bring infection into the house. If she stayed here atwelvemonth, we should have got to throwing things at each other. '

The answer to Louise's letter of remonstrance came in the form ofMrs. Higgins herself Shortly before luncheon that lady drove up to"Runnymede" in a cab, and her daughter, who had just returned from awalk, was startled to hear of the arrival. 

'You've got to come home with me, Lou, ' Mrs. Higgins began, as shewiped her perspiring face. 'I've promised to have you back by thisafternoon. Dada's right down angry; you wouldn't know him. He blameseverything on to you, and you'd better just come home quiet. '

'I shall do nothing of the kind, ' answered Louise, her temperrising. 

Mrs. Higgins glared at her and began to rail; the voice waspainfully audible to Emmeline, who just then passed through thehall. Miss Derrick gave as good as she received; a battle raged forsome minutes, differing from many a former conflict only in themoderation of pitch and vocabulary due to their being in astranger's house. 

'Then you won't come?' cried the mother at length. 'I've had myjourney for nothing, have I? Then just go and fetch Mrs. What's-her-name. She must hear what I've got to say. '

'Mrs. Mumford isn't at home, ' answered Louise, with bold mendacity. 'And a very good thing too. I should be sorry for her to see you inthe state you're in. '

'I'm in no more of a state than you are, Louise! And just you listento this. Not one farthing more will you have from 'ome--not onefarthing! And you may think yourself lucky if you still '_ave_ a'ome. For all I know, you'll have to earn your own living, and I'dlike to hear how you mean to do it. As soon as I get back I shallwrite to Mrs. What's-her-name and tell her that nothing will be paidfor you after the week that's due and the week that's for notice. Now just take heed of what you're doing, Lou. It may have moreserious results than you think for. '

'I've thought all I'm going to think, ' replied the girl. 'I shallstay here as long as I like, and be indebted neither to you nor tostepfather. '

Mrs. Mumford breathed a sigh of thankfulness that she was not calledupon to take part in this scene. It was bad enough that the servantengaged in laying lunch could hear distinctly Mrs. Higgins's coarseand violent onslaught. When the front door at length closed sherejoiced, but with trembling; for the words that fell upon her earfrom the hall announced too plainly that Louise was determined tostay. 

CHAPTER V

Miss Derrick had gone back into the drawing-room, and, to Emmeline'ssurprise, remained there. This retirement was ominous; the girl mustbe taking some resolve. Emmeline, on her part, braced her couragefor the step on which she had decided. Luncheon awaited them, but itwould be much better to arrive at an understanding before they satdown to the meal. She entered the room and found Louise leaning onthe back of a chair. 

'I dare say you heard the row, ' Miss Derrick remarked coldly. 'I'mvery sorry, but nothing of that kind shall happen again. '

Her countenance was disturbed, she seemed to be putting a restraintupon herself, and only with great effort to subdue her voice. 

'What are you going to do?' asked Emmeline, in a friendly tone, but, as it were, from a distance. 

'I am going to ask you to do me a great kindness, Mrs. Mumford. '

There was no reply. The girl paused a moment, then resumedimpulsively. 

'Mr. Higgins says that if I don't come home, he won't let me haveany more money. They're going to write and tell you that they won'tbe responsible after this for my board and lodging. Of course Ishall not go home; I shouldn't dream of it; I'd rather earn myliving as--as a scullery maid. I want to ask you, Mrs. Mumford, whether you will let me stay on, and trust me to pay what I owe you. It won't be for very long, and I promise you I _will_ pay, everypenny. '

The natural impulse of Emmeline's disposition was to reply withhospitable kindliness; she found it very difficult to maintain herpurpose; it shamed her to behave like the ordinary landlady, toappear actuated by mean motives. But the domestic strain was growingintolerable, and she felt sure that Clarence would be exasperated ifher weakness prolonged it. 

'Now do let me advise you, Louise, ' she answered gently. 'Are youacting wisely? Wouldn't it be very much better to go home?', Louise lost all her self-control. Flushed with anger, her eyesglaring, she broke into vehement exclamations. 

'You want to get rid of me! Very well, I'll go this moment. I wasgoing to tell you something; but you don't care what becomes of me. I'll send for my luggage; you shan't be troubled with it long. Andyou'll be paid all that's owing. I didn't think you were one of thatkind. I'll go this minute. '

'Just as you please, ' said Emmeline, 'Your temper is really sovery--'

'Oh, I know. It's always my temper, and nobody else is ever toblame. I wouldn't stay another night in the house, if I had to sleepon the Downs!'

She flung out of the room and flew upstairs. Emmeline, angered bythis unwarrantable treatment, determined to hold aloof, and let thegirl do as she would. Miss Derrick was of full age, and quitecapable of taking care of herself, or at all events ought to be. Perhaps this was the only possible issue of the difficulties inwhich they had all become involved; neither Louise nor her parentscould be dealt with in the rational, peaceful way preferred bywell-conditioned people. To get her out of the house was the mainpoint; if she chose to depart in a whirlwind, that was her ownaffair. All but certainly she would go home, to-morrow if notto-day. 

In less than a quarter of an hour her step sounded on thestairs--would she turn into the dining-room, where Emmeline now satat table? No; straight through the hall, and out at the front door, which closed, however, quite softly behind her. That she did notslam it seemed wonderful to Emmeline. The girl was not wholly asavage. 

Presently Mrs. Mumford went up to inspect the forsaken chamber. Louise had packed all her things: of course she must have tumbledthem recklessly into the trunks. Drawers were left open, as if toexhibit their emptiness, but in other respects the room looked tidyenough. Neatness and order came by no means naturally to MissDerrick, and Emmeline did not know what pains the girl had taken, ever since her arrival, to live in conformity with the habits of a'nice' household. 

Louise, meanwhile, had gone to the railway station, intending totake a ticket for Victoria. But half an hour must elapse before thearrival of a train, and she walked about in an irresolute mood. Forone thing, she felt hungry; at Sutton her appetite had been keen, and meal-times were always welcome. She entered the refreshmentroom, and with inward murmurs made a repast which reminded her ofthe excellent luncheon she might now have been enjoying. All thetime, she pondered her situation. Ultimately, instead of booking forVictoria, she procured a ticket for Epsom Downs, and had not long towait for the train. 

It was a hot day at the end of June. Wafts of breezy coolness passednow and then over the high open country, but did not suffice tocombat the sun's steady glare. After walking half a mile or so, absorbed in thought, Louise suffered so much that she looked aboutfor shadow. Before her was the towering ugliness of the Grand Stand;this she had seen and admired when driving past it with her friends;it did not now attract her. In another direction the Downs wereedged with trees, and that way she turned. All but overcome withheat and weariness, she at length found a shaded spot where hersolitude seemed secure. And, after seating herself, the first thingshe did was to have a good cry. 

Then for an hour she sat thinking, and as she thought her facegradually emerged from gloom--the better, truer face which so oftenallowed itself to be disguised at the prompting of an evil spirit;her softening lips all but smiled, as if at an amusing suggestion, and her eyes, in their reverie, seemed to behold a pleasant promise. Unconsciously she plucked and tasted the sweet stems of grass thatgrew about her. At length, the sun's movements having robbed her ofshadow, she rose, looked at her watch, and glanced around foranother retreat. Hard by was a little wood, delightfully grassy andcool, fenced about with railings she could easily have climbed; buta notice-board, severely admonishing trespassers, forbade theattempt. With a petulant remark to herself on the selfishness of"those people, " she sauntered past. 

Along this edge of the Downs stands a picturesque row of pine-trees, stunted, bittered, and twisted through many a winter by the uplandgales. Louise noticed them, only to think for a moment what uglytrees they were. Before her, east, west, and north, lay the woodedlandscape, soft of hue beneath the summer sky, spreading itstranquil beauty far away to the mists of the horizon. In vivaciouscompany she would have called it, and perhaps have thought it, acharming view; alone, she had no eye for such things--anindifference characteristic of her mind, and not at all dependentupon its mood. Presently another patch of shade invited her torepose again, and again she meditated for an hour or more. 

The sun had grown less ardent, and a breeze, no longer fitful, madewalking pleasant. The sight of holiday-making school-children, who, in their ribboned hats and white pinafores, were having tea not faraway, suggested to Louise that she also would like such refreshment. Doubtless it might be procured at the inn yonder, near theracecourse, and thither she began to move. Her thoughts were more atrest; she had made her plan for the evening; all that had to be donewas to kill time for another hour or so. Walking lightly over theturf, she noticed the chalk marks significant of golf, and wonderedhow the game was played. Without difficulty she obtained her cup oftea, loitered over it as long as possible, strayed yet awhile aboutthe Downs, and towards half-past six made for the railway station. 

She travelled no further than Sutton, and there lingered in thewaiting room till the arrival of a certain train from London Bridge. As the train came in she took up a position near the exit. Among thepeople who had alighted, her eye soon perceived Clarence Mumford. She stepped up to him and drew his attention. 

'Oh! have you come by the same train?' he asked, shaking hands withher. 

'No. I've been waiting here because I wanted to see you, Mr. Mumford. Will you spare me a minute or two?'

'Here? In the station?'

'Please--if you don't mind. '

Astonished, Mumford drew aside with her to a quiet part of the longplatform. Louise, keeping a very grave countenance, told him rapidlyall that had befallen since his departure from home in the morning. 

'I behaved horridly, and I was sorry for it as soon as I had leftthe house. After all Mrs. Mumford's kindness to me, and yours, Idon't know how I could be so horrid. But the quarrel with mother hadupset me so, and I felt so miserable when Mrs. Mumford seemed towant to get rid of me. I feel sure she didn't really want to send meaway: she was only advising me, as she thought, for my good. But Ican't, and won't, go home. And I've been waiting all the afternoonto see you. No; not here. I went to Epsom Downs and walked about, and then came back just in time. And--do you think I might go back?I don't mean now, at once, but this evening, after you've haddinner. I really don't know where to go for the night, and it's sucha stupid position to be in, isn't it?'

With perfect naivete, or with perfect simulation of it, she looked him in the face, and it was Mumford who had to avert hiseyes. The young man felt very uncomfortable. 

'Oh! I'm quite sure Emmy will be glad to let you come for the night, Miss Derrick--'

'Yes, but--Mr. Mumford, I want to stay longer--a few weeks longer. Do you think Mrs. Mumford would forgive me? I have made up my mindwhat to do, and I ought to have told her. I should have, if I hadn'tlost my temper. '

'Well, ' replied the other, in grave embarrassment, but feeling thathe had no alternative, 'let us go to the house--'

'Oh! I couldn't. I shouldn't like anyone to know that I spoke to youabout it. It wouldn't be nice, would it? I thought if I came later, after dinner. And perhaps you could talk to Mrs. Mumford, and--andprepare her. I mean, perhaps you wouldn't mind saying you were sorryI had gone so suddenly. And then perhaps Mrs. Mumford--she's sokind--would say that she was sorry too. And then I might come intothe garden and find you both sitting there--'

Mumford, despite his most uneasy frame of mind, betrayed a passingamusement. He looked into the girl's face and saw its prettinessflush with pretty confusion, and this did not tend to restore histranquillity. 

'What shall you do in the meantime?'

'Oh! go into the town and have something to eat, and then walkabout. '

'You must be dreadfully tired already. '

'Just a little; but I don't mind. It serves me right. I shall be sograteful to you, Mr. Mumford. If you won't let me come, I suppose Imust go to London and ask one of my friends to take me in. '

'I will arrange it. Come about half-past eight. We shall be in thegarden by then. '

Avoiding her look, he moved away and ran up the stairs. But from theexit of the station he walked slowly, in part to calm himself, toassume his ordinary appearance, and in part to think over the comedyhe was going to play. 

Emmeline met him at the door, herself too much flurried to noticeanything peculiar in her husband's aspect. She repeated the storywith which he was already acquainted. 

'And really, after all, I am so glad!' was her conclusion. 'I didn'tthink she had really gone; all the afternoon I've been expecting tosee her back again. But she won't come now, and it is a good thingto have done with the wretched business. I only hope she will tellthe truth to her people. She might say that we turned her out of thehouse. But I don't think so; in spite of all her faults, she neverseemed deceitful or malicious. '

Mumford was strongly tempted to reveal what had happened at thestation, but he saw danger alike in disclosure and in reticence. 

When there enters the slightest possibility of jealousy, a man cannever be sure that his wife will act as a rational being. He fearedto tell the simple truth lest Emmeline should not believe hisinnocence of previous plotting with Miss Derrick, or at all eventsshould be irritated by the circumstances into refusing Louise alodging for the night. And with no less apprehension he decided atlength to keep the secret, which might so easily become knownhereafter, and would then have such disagreeable consequences. 

'Well, let us have dinner, Emmy; I'm hungry. Yes, it's a good thingshe has gone; but I wish it hadn't happened in that way. What aspitfire she is!'

'I never, never saw the like. And if you had heard Mrs. Higgins! Oh, what dreadful people! Clarence, hear me register a vow--'

'It was my fault, dear. I'm awfully sorry I got you in for suchhorrors. It was wholly and entirely my fault. '

By due insistence on this, Mumford of course put his wife into anexcellent humour, and, after they had dined, she returned to herregret that the girl should have gone so suddenly. Clarence, declaring that he would allow himself a cigar, instead of the usualpipe, to celebrate the restoration of domestic peace, soon ledEmmeline into the garden. 

'Heavens! how hot it has been. Eighty-five in our office atnoon--eighty-five! Fellows are discarding waistcoats and wearingwhat they call a cummerbund--silk sash round the waist. I think Imust follow the fashion. How should I look, do you think?'

'You don't really mind that we lose the money?' Emmeline askedpresently. 

'Pooh! We shall do well enough. --Who's that?'

Someone was entering the garden by the side path. And in a momentthere remained no doubt who the person was. Louise came forward, herhead bent, her features eloquent of fatigue and distress. 

'Mrs. Mumford--I couldn't--without asking you to forgive me--'

Her voice broke with a sob. She stood in a humble attitude, andEmmeline, though pierced with vexation, had no choice but to holdout a welcoming hand. 

'Have you come all the way back from London just to say this?'

'I haven't been to London. I've walked about--all day--and oh, I'mso tired and miserable! Will you let me stay, just for to-night? Ishall be so grateful. '

'Of course you may stay, Miss Derrick. It was very far from my wishto see you go off at a moment's notice. But I really couldn't stopyou. '

Mumford had stepped aside, out of hearing. He forgot his privateembarrassment in speculation as to the young woman's character. Thatshe was acting distress and penitence he could hardly believe;indeed, there was no necessity to accuse her of dishonest behaviour. The trivial concealment between him and her amounted to nothing, didnot alter the facts of the situation. But what could be at the rootof her seemingly so foolish existence? Emmeline held to the viewthat she was in love with the man Cobb, though perhaps unwilling toadmit it, even in her own silly mind. It might be so, and, _if_ so, it made her more interesting; for one was tempted to think thatLouise had not the power of loving at all. Yet, for his own part, hecouldn't help liking her; the eyes at had looked into his at thestation haunted him a little, and would not let him think of hercontemptuously. But what a woman to make ones wife! Unless--unless--

Louise had gone into the house. Emmeline approached her husband. 

'There! I foresaw it. Isn't vexing?'

'Never mind, dear. She'll go to morrow, or the day after. '

'I wish I could be sure of that. '

CHAPTER VI

Louise did not appear again that evening. Thoroughly tired, sheunpacked her trunks, sat awhile by the open window, listening to apiano in a neighbouring house, and then jumped into bed. From teno'clock to eight next morning she slept soundly. 

At breakfast her behaviour was marked with excessive decorum. To theordinary civilities of her host and hostess she replied softly, modestly, in the manner of a very young and timid girl; save whenaddressed, she kept silence, and sat with head inclined; a virginalfreshness breathed about her; she ate very little, and that withouther usual gusto, but rather as if performing a dainty ceremony. Hereyes never moved in Mumford's direction. 

The threatened letter from Mrs. Higgins had arrived; Emmeline andher husband read it before their guest came down. If Louisecontinued to reside with them, they entertained her with a fullknowledge that no payment must be expected from Coburg Lodge. Emmeline awaited the disclosure of her guest's project, which hadmore than once been alluded to yesterday; she could not dream ofpermitting Louise to stay for more than a day or two, whatever thesuggestion offered. This morning she had again heard from hersister, Mrs. Grove, who was strongly of opinion that Miss Derrickshould be sent back to her native sphere. 

'I shall always feel, ' she said to her husband, 'that we havebehaved badly. I was guilty of false pretences. Fortunately, we havethe excuse of her unbearable temper. But for that, I should feeldreadfully ashamed of myself. '

Very soon after Mumford's departure, Louise begged for a fewminutes' private talk. 

'Every time I come into this drawing-room, Mrs. Mumford, I think howpretty it is. What pains you must have taken in furnishing it! Inever saw such nice curtains anywhere else. And that littlescreen--I _am_ so fond of that screen!'

'It was a wedding present from an old friend, ' Emmeline replied, complacently regarding the object, which shone with embroidery ofmany colours. 

'Will you help me when _I_ furnish _my_ drawing-room?' Louise askedsweetly. And she added, with a direct look, 'I don't think it willbe very long. '

'Indeed?'

'I am going to marry Mr. Bowling. '

Emmeline could no longer fed astonishment at anything her guest saidor did. The tone, the air, with which Louise made this declarationaffected her with a sense of something quite unforeseen; but, at thesame time, she asked herself why she had not foreseen it. Was notthis the obvious answer to the riddle? All along, Louise had wishedto marry Mr. Bowling. She might or might not have consciously helpedto bring about the rupture between Mr. Bowling and Miss Higgins; shemight, or might not, have felt genuinely reluctant to take advantageof her half-sister's defeat. But a struggle had been going on in thegirl's conscience, at all events. Yes, this explained everything. And, on the whole, it seemed to speak in Louise's favour. Herridicule of Mr. Bowling's person and character became, in this newlight, a proof of desire to resist her inclinations. She had onlyyielded when it was certain that Miss Higgins's former lover hadquite thrown off his old allegiance, and when no good could be doneby self-sacrifice. 

'When did you make up your mind to this, Louise?'

'Yesterday, after our horrid quarrel. No, _you_ didn't quarrel; itwas all my abominable temper. This morning I'm going to answer Mr. Bowling's last letter, and I shall tell him--what I've told you. He'll be delighted!'

'Then you have really wished for this from the first?'

Louise plucked at the fringe on the arm of her chair, and replied atlength with maidenly frankness. 

'I always thought it would be a good marriage for me. But Inever--do believe me--I never tried to cut Cissy out. The truth is Ithought a good deal of the other--of Mr. Cobb. But I knew that I_couldn't_ marry him. It would be dreadful; we should quarrelfrightfully, and he would kill me--I feel sure he would, he's soviolent in his temper. But Mr. Bowling is very nice; he couldn't getangry if he tried. And ho has a much better position than Mr. Cobb. '

Emmeline began to waver in her conviction and to feel a naturalannoyance. 

'And you think, ' she said coldly, 'that your marriage will takeplace soon?'

'That's what I want to speak about, dear Mrs. Mumford. Did you hearfrom my mother this morning? Then you see what my position is. I amhomeless. If I leave you, I don't know where I shall go. When Mr. Higgins knows I'm going to marry Mr. Bowling he won't have me inthe house, even if I wanted to go back. Cissy Will be furious:she'll come back from Margate just to keep up her father's angeragainst me. If you could let me stay here just a short time, Mrs. Mumford; just a few weeks I should _so_ like to be married from yourhouse. '

The listener trembled with irritation, and before she could commandher voice Louise added eagerly:

'Of course, when we're married, Mr. Bowling will pay all my debts. '

''You are quite mistaken, ' said Emmeline distantly, 'if you thinkthat the money matter has anything to do with--with my unreadinessto agree--'

'Oh, I didn't think it--not for a moment. I'm a trouble to you; Iknow I am. But I'll be so quiet, dear Mrs. Mumford. You shall hardlyknow I'm in the house. If once it's all settled I shall _never_ beout of temper. Do, please, let me stay! I like you so much, and howwretched it would be if I had to be married from a lodging-house. '

'I'm afraid, Louise--I'm really afraid--'

'Of my temper?' the girl interrupted. 'If ever I say an angry wordyou shall turn me out that very moment. Dear Mrs. Mumford! Oh!_what_ shall I do if you won't be kind to me? What will become ofme? I have no home, and everybody hates me. '

'Tears streamed down her face; she lay back, overcome with misery. Emmeline was distracted. She felt herself powerless to act ascommon-sense dictated, yet desired more than ever to rid herself ofevery shadow of responsibility for the girl's proceedings. The ideaof this marriage taking place at "Runnymede" made her blood runcold. No, no; _that_ was absolutely out of the question. But equallyimpossible did it seem to speak with brutal decision. Once more shemust temporise, and hope for courage on another day. 

'I can't--I really can't give you a definite answer till I havespoken with Mr. Mumford. '

'Oh! I am sure he will do me this kindness, ' sobbed Louise. 

A slight emphasis on the "he" touched Mrs. Mumford unpleasantly. Sherose, and began to pick out some overblown flowers from a vase onthe table near her. Presently Louise became silent. Before either ofthem spoke again a postman's knock sounded at the house-door, andEmmeline went to see what letter had been delivered. It was for MissDerrick; the handwriting, as Emmeline knew, that of Mr. Cobb. 

'Oh, bother!' Louise murmured, as she took the letter from Mrs. Mumford's hand. 'Well, I'm a trouble to everybody, and I don't knowhow it'll all end. I daresay I shan't live very long. '

'Don't talk nonsense, Louise. '

'Should you like me to go at once, Mrs. Mumford?' the girl asked, with a submissive sigh. 

'No, no. Let us think over it for a day or two. Perhaps you haven'tquite made up your mind, after all. '

To this, oddly enough, Louise gave no reply. She lingered by thewindow, nervously bending and rolling her letter, which she did notseem to think of opening. After a glance or two of discreetcuriosity, Mrs. Mumford left the room. Daily duties called forattention, and she was not at all inclined to talk further withLouise. The girl, as soon as she found herself alone, broke Mr. Cobb's envelope, which contained four sides of bold handwriting--nota long letter, but, as usual, vigorously worded. 'Dear MissDerrick, ' he wrote, 'I haven't been in a hurry to reply to yourlast, as it seemed to me that you were in one of your touchy moodswhen you sent it. It wasn't my fault that I called at the house whenyou were away. I happened to have business at Croydon unexpectedly, and ran over to Sutton just on the chance of seeing you. And I haveno objection to tell you all I said to your friend there. I am notin the habit of saying things behind people's backs that I don'twish them to hear. All I did was to ask out plainly whether Mrs. M. Was trying to persuade you to have nothing to do with me. She saidshe wasn't, and that she didn't wish to interfere one way oranother. I told her that I could ask no more than that. She seemedto me a sensible sort of woman, and I don't suppose you'll get muchharm from her, though I daresay she thinks more about dress andamusements, and so on, than is good for her or anyone else. You sayat the end of your letter that I'm to let you know when I think ofcoming again, and if you mean by that that you would be glad to seeme, I can only say, thank you. I don't mean to give you up yet, andI don't believe you want me to say what you will. I don't spy afteryou; you're mistaken in that. But I'm pretty much always thinkingabout you, and I wish you were nearer to me. I may have to go toBristol in a week or two, and perhaps I shall be there for a monthor more, so I must see you before then. Will you tell me what daywould suit you, after seven? If you don't want me to come to thehouse, then meet me where you like. And there's only one more thingI have to say--you must deal honestly with me. I can wait, but Iwon't be deceived. '

Louise pondered for a long time, turning now to this part of theletter, now to that. And the lines of her face, though they made noapproach to smiling, indicated agreeable thoughts. Tears had leftjust sufficient trace to give her meditations a semblance ofunwonted seriousness. 

About midday she went up to her room and wrote letters. The firstwas to Miss Cissy Higgins:--'Dear Ciss, --I dare say you would liketo know that Mr. B. Has proposed to me. If you have any objection, please let me know it by return. --Affectionately yours, L. E. DERRICK. ' This she addressed to Margate, and stamped with a littlethump of the fist. Her next sheet of paper was devoted to Mr. Bowling, and the letter, though brief, cost her some thought. 'DearMr. Bowling, --Your last is so very nice and kind that I feel I oughtto answer it without delay, but I cannot answer in the way you wish. I must have a long, long time to think over such a very importantquestion. I don't blame you in the least for your behaviour tosomeone we know of; and I think, after all that happened, you werequite free. It is quite true that she did not behavestraightforwardly, and I am very sorry to have to say it. I shallnot be going home again: I have quite made up my mind about that. Iam afraid I must not let you come here to call upon me. I have aparticular reason for it. To tell you the truth, my friend Mrs. Mumford is _very_ particular, and rather fussy, and has a rathertrying temper. So please do not come just yet. I am quite well, andenjoying myself in a _very_ quiet way. --I remain, sincerely yours, LOUISE E. DERRICK. ' Finally she penned a reply to Mr. Cobb, andthis, after a glance at a railway time-table, gave her no trouble atall. 'Dear Mr. Cobb, ' she scribbled, 'if you really _must_ see mebefore you go away to Bristol, or wherever it is, you had bettermeet me on Saturday at Streatham Station, which is about halfwaybetween me and you. I shall come by the train from Sutton, whichreaches Streatham at 8. 6. --Yours truly, L. E. D. '

To-day was Thursday. When Saturday came the state of things at"Runnymede" had undergone no change whatever; Emmeline still waitedfor a moment of courage, and Mumford, though he did not relish theprospect, began to think it more than probable that Miss Derrickwould hold her ground until her actual marriage with Mr. Bowling. Whether that unknown person would discharge the debt his betrothedwas incurring seemed an altogether uncertain matter. Louise, in themeantime, kept quiet as a mouse--so strangely quiet, indeed, thatEmmeline's prophetic soul dreaded some impending disturbance, worsethan any they had yet suffered. 

At luncheon, Louise made known that she would have to leave in themiddle of dinner to catch a train. No explanation was offered orasked, but Emmeline, it being Saturday, said she would put thedinner-hour earlier, to suit her friend's convenience. Louise smiledpleasantly, and said how very kind it was of Mrs. Mumford. 

She had no difficulty in reaching Streatham by the time appointed. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy evening, and a spattering of rainfell from time to time. 

'I suppose you'll be afraid to walk to the Common, ' said Mr. Cobb, who stood waiting at the exit from the station, and showed moresatisfaction in his countenance when Louise appeared than he evincedin words. 

'Oh, I don't care, ' she answered. 'It won't rain much, and I'vebrought my umbrella, and I've nothing on that will take any harm. '

She had, indeed, dressed herself in her least demonstrative costume. Cobb wore the usual garb of his leisure hours, which was better thanthat in which he had called the other day at "Runnymede. " For someminutes they walked towards Streatham Common without interchange ofa word, and with no glance at each other. Then the man coughed, andsaid bluntly that he was glad Louise had come. 

'Well, I wanted to see you, ' was her answer. 

'What about?'

'I don't think I shall be able to stay with the Mumfords. They'revery nice people, but they're not exactly my sort, and we don't geton very well. Where had I better go?'

'Go? Why home, of course. The best place for you. '

Cobb was prepared for a hot retort, but it did not come. After amoment's reflection, Louise said quietly:

'I can't go home. I've quarrelled with them too badly. You haven'tseen mother lately? Then I must tell you how things are. '

She did so, with no concealment save of the correspondence with Mr. Bowling, and the not unimportant statements concerning him which shehad made to Mrs. Mumford. In talking with Cobb, Louise seemed todrop a degree or so in social status; her language was much lesscareful than when she conversed with the Mumfords, and even hervoice struck a note of less refinement. Decidedly she was moreherself, if that could be said of one who very rarely made consciousdisguise of her characteristics. 

'Better stay where you are, then, for the present, ' said Cobb, whenhe had listened attentively. 'I dare say you can get along wellenough with the people, if you try. '

'That's all very well; but what about paying them? I shall owe threeguineas for every week I stop. '

'It's a great deal, and they ought to feed you very well for it, 'replied the other, smiling rather sourly. 

'Don't be vulgar. I suppose you think I ought to live on a fewshillings a week. '

'Lots of people have to. But there's no reason why _you_ should. Butlook here: why should you be quarrelling with your people now aboutthat fellow Bowling? You don't see him anywhere, do you?'

He flashed a glance at her, and Louise answered with a defiantmotion of the head. 

'No, I don't. But they put the blame on me, all the same. Ishouldn't wonder if they think I'm trying to get him. '

She opened her umbrella, for heavy drops had begun to fall; theypattered on Cobb's hard felt hat, and Louise tried to shelter him aswell as herself. 

'Never mind me, ' he said. 'And here, let me hold that thing overyou. If you just put your arm in mine, it'll be easier. That's theway. Take two steps to my one; that's it. '

Again they were silent for a few moments. They had reached theCommon, and Cobb struck along a path most likely to be unfrequented. No wind was blowing; the rain fell in steady spots that could allbut be counted, and the air grew dark. 

'Well, I can only propose one thing, ' sounded the masculine voice. 'You can get out of it by marrying me. '

Louise gave a little laugh, rather timid than scornful. 

'Yes, I suppose I can. But it's an awkward way. It would be ratherlike using a sledge-hammer to crack a nut. '

'It'll come sooner or later, ' asserted Cobb, with genial confidence. 

'That's what I don't like about you. ' Louise withdrew her armpetulantly. 'You always speak as if I couldn't help myself. Don'tyou suppose I have any choice?'

'Plenty, no doubt, ' was the grim answer. 

'Whenever we begin to quarrel it's your fault, ' pursued MissDerrick, with unaccustomed moderation of tone. 'I never knew a manwho behaved like you do. You seem to think the way to make anyonelike you is to bully them. We should have got on very much better ifyou had tried to be pleasant. '

'I don't think we've got along badly, all things considered, ' Cobbreplied, as if after weighing a doubt. 'We'd a good deal rather betogether than apart, it seems to me; or else, why do we keepmeeting? And I don't want to bully anybody--least of all, you. It'sa way I have of talking, I suppose. You must judge a man by hisactions and his meaning, not by the tone of his voice. You know verywell what a great deal I think of you. Of course I don't like itwhen you begin to speak as if you were only playing with me; nobodywould. '

'I'm serious enough, ' said Louise, trying to hold the umbrella overher companion, and only succeeding in directing moisture down theback of his neck. 'And it's partly through you that I've got intosuch difficulties. '

'How do you make that out?'

'If it wasn't for you, I should very likely marry Mr. Bowling. '

'Oh, he's asked you, has he?' cried Cobb, staring at her. 'Whydidn't you tell me that before?--Don't let me stand in your way. Idare say he's just the kind of man for you. At all events, he's likeyou in not knowing his own mind. '

'Go on! Go on!' Louise exclaimed carelessly. 'There's plenty oftime. Say all you've got to say. '

From the gloom of the eastward sky came a rattling of thunder, likequick pistol-shots. Cobb checked his steps. 

'We mustn't go any further. You're getting wet, and the rain isn'tlikely to stop. '

'I shall not go back, ' Louise answered, 'until something has beensettled. ' And she stood before him, her eyes cast down, whilst Cobblooked at the darkening sky. 'I want to know what's going to becomeof me. The Mumfords won't keep me much longer, and I don't wish tostay where I'm not wanted. '

'Let us walk down the hill. '

A flash of lightning made Louise start, and the thunder rattledagain. But only light drops were falling. The girl stood her ground. 

'I want to know what I am to do. If you can't help me, say so, andlet me go my own way. '

'Of course I can help you. That is, if you'll be honest with me. Iwant to know, first of all, whether you've been encouraging that manBowling. '

'No, I haven't. '

'Very well, I believe you. And now I'll make you a fair offer. Marryme as soon as I can make the arrangements, and I'll pay all you owe, and see that you are in comfortable lodgings until I've time to geta house. It could be done before I go to Bristol, and then, ofcourse, you could go with me. '

'You speak, ' said Louise, after a short silence, 'just as if youwere making an agreement with a servant. '

'That's all nonsense, and you know it. I've told you how I think, often enough, in letters, and I'm not good at saying it. Look here, I don't think it's very wise to stand out in the middle of theCommon in a thunderstorm. Let us walk on, and I think I would putdown your umbrella. '

'It wouldn't trouble you much if I were struck with lightning. '

'All right, take it so. I shan't trouble to contradict. '

Louise followed his advice, and they began to walk quickly down theslope towards Streatham. Neither spoke until they were in the highroad again. A strong wind was driving the rain-clouds to otherregions and the thunder had ceased; there came a grey twilight; rowsof lamps made a shimmering upon the wet ways. 

'What sort of a house would you take?' Louise asked suddenly. 

'Oh, a decent enough house. What kind do you want?'

'Something like the Mumfords'. It needn't be quite so large, ' sheadded quickly; 'but a house with a garden, in a nice road, and in arespectable part. '

'That would suit me well enough, ' answered Cobb cheerfully. 'Youseem to think I want to drag you down, but you're very muchmistaken. I'm doing pretty well, and likely, as far as I can see, todo better. I don't grudge you money; far from it. All I want to knowis, that you'll marry me for my own sake. '

He dropped his voice, not to express tenderness, but because otherpeople were near. Upon Louise, however, it had a pleasing effect, and she smiled. 

'Very well, ' she made answer, in the same subdued tone. 'Then let ussettle it in that way. '

They talked amicably for the rest of the time that they spenttogether. It was nearly an hour, and never before had they succeededin conversing so long without a quarrel. Louise became light-heartedand mirthful; her companion, though less abandoned to the mood ofthe moment, wore a hopeful countenance. Through all his roughness, Cobb was distinguished by a personal delicacy which no doubt hadimpressed Louise, say what she might of pretended fears. At parting, he merely shook hands with her, as always. 

CHAPTER VII

Glad of a free evening, Emmeline, after dinner, walked round to Mrs. Fentiman's. Louise had put a restraint upon the wonted friendlyintercourse between the Mumfords and their only familiaracquaintances at Sutton. Mrs. Fentiman liked to talk of purelydomestic matters, and in a stranger's presence she was never atease. Coming alone, and when the children were all safe in bed, Emmeline had a warm welcome. For the first time she spoke of hertroublesome guest without reserve. This chat would have been restfuland enjoyable but for a most unfortunate remark that fell from theelder lady, a perfectly innocent mention of something her husbandhad told her, but, secretly, so disturbing Mrs. Mumford that, afterhearing it, she got away as soon as possible, and walked quicklyhome with dark countenance. 

It was ten o'clock; Louise had not yet returned, but might do so anymoment. Wishing to be sure of privacy in a conversation with herhusband, Emmeline summoned him from his book to the bedroom. 

'Well, what has happened now?' exclaimed Mumford. 'If this kind ofthing goes on much longer I shall feel inclined to take a lodging intown. '

'I have heard something very strange. I can hardly believe it; theremust have been a mistake. '

'What is it? Really, one's nerves--'

'Is it true that, on Thursday evening, you and Miss Derrick wereseen talking together at the station? Thursday: the day she went offand came back again after dinner. '

Mumford would gladly have got out of this scrape at any expense ofmendacity, but he saw at once how useless such an attempt wouldprove. Exasperated by the result of his indiscretion, and resenting, as all men do, the undignified necessity of defending himself, heflew into a rage. Yes, it _was_ true, and what next? The girl hadwaylaid him, begged him to intercede for her with his wife. Ofcourse it would have been better to come home and reveal the matter;he didn't do so because it seemed to put him in a silly position. For Heaven's sake, let the whole absurd business be forgotten anddone with!

Emmeline, though not sufficiently enlightened to be above smalljealousies, would have been ashamed to declare her feeling with theenergy of unsophisticated female nature. She replied coldly andloftily that the matter, of course, _was_ done with; that itinterested her no more; but that she could not help regretting aninstance of secretiveness such as she had never before discovered inher husband. Surely he had put himself in a much sillier position, as things turned out, than if he had followed the dictates ofhonour. 

'The upshot of it is this, ' cried Mumford: 'Miss Derrick has toleave the house, and, if necessary, I shall tell her so myself. '

Again Emmeline was cold and lofty. There was no necessity whateverfor any further communication between Clarence and Miss Derrick. Letthe affair be left entirely in her hands. Indeed, she must veryspecially request that Clarence would have nothing more to do withMiss Derrick's business. Whereupon Mumford took offence. DidEmmeline wish to imply that there had been anything improper in hisbehaviour beyond the paltry indiscretion to which he had confessed?No; Emmeline was thankful to say that she did not harbour basesuspicions. Then, rejoined Mumford, let this be the last word of adifference as hateful to him as to her. And he left the room. 

His wife did not linger more than a minute behind him, and she satin the drawing-room to await Miss Derrick's return; Mumford keptapart in what was called the library. To her credit, Emmeline triedhard to believe that she had learnt the whole truth; her mind, asshe had justly declared, was not prone to ignoble imaginings; butacquitting her husband by no means involved an equal charity towardsLouise. Hitherto uncertain in her judgment, she had now the reliefof an assurance that Miss Derrick was not at all a proper person toentertain as a guest, on whatever terms. The incident of the railwaystation proved her to be utterly lacking in self-respect, infeminine modesty, even if her behaviour merited no darkerdescription. Emmeline could now face with confidence the scene fromwhich she had shrunk; not only was it a duty to insist upon MissDerrick's departure, it would be a positive pleasure. 

Louise very soon entered; she came into the room with her brightestlook, and cried gaily:

'Oh, I hope I haven't kept you waiting for me. Are you alone?'

'No. I have been out. '

'Had you the storm here? I'm not going to keep you talking; you looktired. '

'I am rather, ' said Emmeline, with reserve. She had no intention ofallowing Louise to suspect the real cause of what she was about tosay--that would have seemed to her undignified; but she could notspeak quite naturally. 'Still, I should be glad if you would sitdown for a minute. '

The girl took a chair and began to draw off her gloves. Sheunderstood what was coming; it appeared in Emmeline's face. 

'Something to say to me, Mrs. Mumford?'

'I hope you won't think me unkind. I feel obliged to ask you whenyou will be able to make new arrangements. '

'You would like me to go soon?' said Louise, inspecting herfinger-nails, and speaking without irritation. 

'I am sorry to say that I think it better you should leave us. Forgive this plain speaking, Miss Derrick. It's always best to beperfectly straightforward, isn't it?'

Whether she felt the force of this innuendo or not, Louise took itin good part. As if the idea had only just struck her, she looked upcheerfully. 

'You're quite right, Mrs. Mumford. I'm sure you've been very kind tome, and I've had a very pleasant time here, but it wouldn't do forme to stay longer. May I wait over to-morrow, just till Wednesdaymorning, to have an answer to a letter?'

'Certainly, if it is quite understood that there will be no delaybeyond that. There are circumstances--private matters--I don't feelquite able to explain. But I must be sure that you will have left usby Wednesday afternoon. '

'You may be sure of it. I will write a line and post it to-night, for it to go as soon as possible. '

Therewith Louise stood up and, smiling, withdrew. Emmeline was bothrelieved and surprised; she had not thought it possible for the girlto conduct herself at such a juncture with such perfect propriety. An outbreak of ill-temper, perhaps of insolence, had seemed morethan likely; at best she looked for tears and entreaties. Well, itwas over, and by Wednesday the house would be restored to itsancient calm. Ancient, indeed! One could not believe that so short atime had passed since Miss Derrick first entered the portals. Onlyone more day. 

'Oh, blindness to the future, kindly given, That each may fill thecircle marked by Heaven. ' At school, Emmeline had learnt and recitedthese lines; but it was long since they had recurred to her memory. 

In ten minutes Louise had written her letter. She went out, returned, and looked in at the drawing-room, with a pleasant smile. 'Good-night, Mrs. Mumford. ' 'Good-night, Miss Derrick. ' For thegrace of the thing, Emmeline would have liked to say 'Louise, ' butcould not bring her lips to utter the name. 

About a year ago there had been a little misunderstanding betweenMr. And Mrs. Mumford, which lasted for some twenty-four hours, during which they had nothing to say to each other. To-night theyfound themselves in a similar situation, and remembered that lastdifference, and wondered, both of them, at the harmony of theirmarried life. It was in truth wonderful enough; twelve monthswithout a shadow of ill-feeling between them. The reflectioncompelled Mumford to speak when his head was on the pillow. 

'Emmy, we're making fools of ourselves. Just tell me what you havedone. '

'I can't see how _I_ am guilty of foolishness, ' was the clear-cutreply. 

'Then why are you angry with me?'

'I don't like deceit. '

'Hanged if I don't dislike it just as much. When is that girlgoing?'

Emmeline made known the understanding at which she had arrived, andher husband breathed an exclamation of profound thankfulness. Butpeace was not perfectly restored. 

In another room, Louise lay communing with her thoughts, which werenot at all disagreeable. She had written to Cobb, telling him whathad happened, and asking him to let her know by Wednesday morningwhat she was to do. She could not go home; he must not bid her doso; but she would take a lodging wherever he liked. The positionseemed romantic and enjoyable. Not till after her actual marriageshould the people at home know what had become of her. She wasmarrying with utter disregard of all her dearest ambitions all thesame, she had rather be the wife of Cobb than of anyone else. Herstepfather might recover his old kindness and generosity as soon ashe knew she no longer stood in Cissy's way, and that she had neverseriously thought of marrying Mr. Bowling. Had she not thought ofit? The question did not enter her own mind, and she would have beenquite incapable of passing a satisfactory cross-examination on thesubject. 

Mrs. Mumford, foreseeing the difficulty of spending the next day athome, told her husband in the morning that she would have earlyluncheon and go to see Mrs. Grove. 

'And I should like you to fetch me from there, after business, please. '

'I will, ' answered Clarence readily. He mentally added a hope thathis wife did not mean to supervise him henceforth and for ever. Ifso, their troubles were only beginning. 

At breakfast, Louise continued to be discretion itself. She talkedof her departure on the morrow as though it had long been a settledthing, and was quite unconnected with disagreeable circumstances. Only midway in the morning did Mrs. Mumford, who had been busy withher child, speak of the early luncheon and her journey to town. Shehoped Miss Derrick would not mind being left alone. 

'Oh, don't speak of it, ' answered Louise. 'I've lots to do. You'llgive my kind regards to Mrs. Grove?'

So they ate together at midday, rather silently, but with facescomposed. And Emmeline, after a last look into the nursery, hastenedaway to catch her train. She had no misgivings; during her absence, all would be well as ever. 

Louise passed the time without difficulty, and at seven o'clock madean excellent dinner. This evening no reply could be expected fromCobb, as he was not likely to have received her letter of last nighttill his return home from business. Still, there might be somethingfrom someone; she always looked eagerly for the postman. 

The weather was gloomy. Not long after eight the housemaid broughtin a lighted lamp, and set it, as usual, upon the little blackfour-legged table in the drawing-room. And in the same moment theknocker of the front door sounded a vigorous rat-tat-tat, avisitor's summons. 

CHAPTER VIII

'It may be someone calling upon me, ' said Louise to the servant. 'Let me know the name before you show anyone in. '

'Of course, miss, ' replied the domestic, with pert familiarity, andtook her time in arranging the shade of the lamp. When she returnedfrom the door it was to announce, smilingly, that Mr. Cobb wished tosee Miss Derrick. 

'Please to show him in. '

Louise stood in an attitude of joyous excitement, her eyessparkling. But at the first glance she perceived that her lover'smood was by no means correspondingly gay. Cobb stalked forward andkept a stern gaze upon her, but said nothing. 

'Well? You got my letter, I suppose?'

'What letter?'

He had not been home since breakfast-time, so Louise's appeal to himfor advice lay waiting his arrival. Impatiently, she described thecourse of events. As soon as she had finished, Cobb threw his hataside and addressed her harshly. 

'I want to know what you mean by writing to your sister that you aregoing to marry Bowling. I saw your mother this morning, and that'swhat she told me. It must have been only a day or two ago that yousaid that. Just explain, if you please. I'm about sick of this kindof thing, and I'll have the truth out of you. '

His anger had never taken such a form as this; for the first timeLouise did in truth feel afraid of him. She shrank away, her heartthrobbed, and her tongue refused its office. 

'Say what you mean by it!' Cobb repeated, in a voice that was allthe more alarming because he kept it low. 

'Did you write that to your sister?'

'Yes--but I never meant it--it was just to make her angry--'

'You expect me to believe that? And, if it's true, doesn't it makeyou out a nice sort of girl? But I don't believe it You've beenthinking of him in that way all along; and you've been writing tohim, or meeting him, since you came here. What sort of behaviour doyou call this?'

Louise was recovering self-possession; the irritability of her owntemper began to support her courage. 

'What if I have? I'd never given _you_ any promise till last night, had I? I was free to marry anyone I liked, wasn't I? What do _you_mean by coming here and going on like this? I've told you the truthabout that letter, and I've always told you the truth abouteverything. If you don't like it, say so and go. '

Cobb was impressed by the energy of her defence. He looked herstraight in the eyes, and paused a moment; then spoke lessviolently. 

'You haven't told me the _whole_ truth. I want to know when you sawBowling last. '

'I haven't seen him since I left home. '

'When did you write to him last?'

'The same day I wrote to Cissy. And I shall answer no morequestions. '

'Of course not. But that's quite enough. You've been playing adouble game; if you haven't told lies, you've acted them. What sortof a wife would you make? How could I ever believe a word you said?I shall have no more to do with you. '

He turned away, and, in the violence of the movement, knocked over alittle toy chair, one of those perfectly useless, and no less ugly, impediments which stand about the floor of a well-furnisheddrawing-room. Too angry to stoop and set the object on its legsagain, he strode towards the door. Louise followed him. 

'You are going?' she asked, in a struggling voice. 

Cobb paid no attention, and all but reached the door. She laid ahand upon him. 

'You are going?'

The touch and the voice checked him. Again he turned abruptly andseized the hand that rested upon his arm. 

'Why are you stopping me? What do you want with me? I'm to help youout of the fix you've got into, is that it? I'm to find you alodging, and take no end of trouble, and then in a week's time get aletter to say that you want nothing more to do with me. '

Louise was pale with anger and fear, and as many other emotions asher little heart and brain could well hold. She did not look herbest--far from it but the man saw something in her eyes which threwa fresh spell upon him. Still grasping her one hand, he caught herby the other arm, held her as far off as he could, and glaredpassionately as he spoke. 

'What do you want?'

'You know--I've told you the truth--'

His grasp hurt her; she tried to release herself, and movedbackwards. For a moment Cobb left her free; she moved backwardagain, her eyes drawing him on. She felt her power, and could not becontent with thus much exercise of it. 

'You may go if you like. But you understand, if you do--'

Cobb, inflamed with desire and jealousy, made an effort to recaptureher. Louise sprang away from him; but immediately behind her lay thefoolish little chair which he had kicked over, and just beyond_that_ stood the scarcely less foolish little table which supportedthe heavy lamp, with its bowl of coloured glass and its spreadingyellow shade. She tottered back, fell with all her weight againstthe table, and brought the lamp crashing to the floor. A shriek ofterror from Louise, from her lover a shout of alarm, blended withthe sound of breaking glass. In an instant a great flame shot uphalf way to the ceiling. The lamp-shade was ablaze; themuch-embroidered screen, Mrs. Mumford's wedding present, forthwithcaught fire from a burning tongue that ran along the carpet; andLouise's dress, well sprinkled with paraffin, aided theconflagration. Cobb, of course, saw only the danger to the girl. Heseized the woollen hearthrug and tried to wrap it about her; butwith screams of pain and frantic struggles, Louise did her best tothwart his purpose. 

The window was open, and now a servant, rushing in to see what theuproar meant, gave the blaze every benefit of draught. 

'Bring water!' roared Cobb, who had just succeeded in extinguishingLouise's dress, and was carrying her, still despite her struggles, out of the room. 'Here, one of you take Miss Derrick to the nexthouse. Bring water, you!'

All three servants were scampering and screeching about the hall. Cobb caught hold of one of them and all but twisted her arm out ofits socket. At his fierce command, the woman supported Louise intothe garden, and thence, after a minute or two of faintness on thesufferer's part, led her to the gate of the neighbouring house. Thepeople who lived there chanced to be taking the air on their frontlawn. Without delay, Louise was conveyed beneath the roof, and herhost, a man of energy, sped towards the fire to be of whatassistance he could. 

The lamp-shade, the screen, the little table and the diminutivechair blazed gallantly, and with such a volleying of poisonous fumesthat Cobb could scarce hold his ground to do battle. Louise out ofthe way, he at once became cool and resourceful. Before a flamecould reach the window he had rent down the flimsy curtains andflung them outside. Bellowing for the water which was so long incoming, he used the hearthrug to some purpose on the outskirts ofthe bonfire, but had to keep falling back for fresh air. Thenappeared a pail and a can, which he emptied effectively, and nextmoment sounded the voice of the gentleman from next door. 

'Have you a garden hose? Set it on to the tap, and bring it inhere. '

The hose was brought into play, and in no great time the last flamehad flickered out amid a deluge. When all danger was at an end, oneof the servants, the nurse-girl, uttered a sudden shriek; it merelysignified that she had now thought for the first time of the littlechild asleep upstairs. Aided by the housemaid, she rushed to thenursery, snatched her charge from bed, and carried the unhappyyoungster into the breezes of the night, where he screamed at thetop of his gamut. 

Cobb, when he no longer feared that the house would be burnt down, hurried to inquire after Louise. She lay on a couch, wrapped in adressing-gown; for the side and one sleeve of her dress had beenburnt away. Her moaning never ceased; there was a fire-mark on thelower part of her face, and she stared with eyes of terror andanguish at whoever approached her. Already a doctor had been sentfor, and Cobb, reporting that all was safe at 'Runnymede, ' wished toremove her at once to her own bed room, and the strangers were eagerto assist. 

'What will the Mumfords say?' Louise asked of a sudden, trying toraise herself. 

'Leave all that to me, ' Cobb replied reassuringly. 'I'll make it allright; don't trouble yourself. '

The nervous shock had made her powerless; they carried her in achair back to 'Runnymede, ' and upstairs to her bedroom. Scarcely wasthis done when Mr. And Mrs. Mumford, after a leisurely walk from thestation, approached their garden gate. The sight of a little crowdof people in the quiet road, the smell of burning, loud voices ofexcited servants, caused them to run forward in alarm. Emmeline, frenzied by the certainty that her own house was on fire, began tocry aloud for her child, and Mumford rushed like a madman throughthe garden. 

'It's all right, ' said a man who stood in the doorway. 'You Mr. Mumford? It's all right. There's been a fire, but we've got it out. '

Emmeline learnt at the same moment that her child had suffered noharm, but she would not pause until she saw the little one and heldhim in her embrace. Meanwhile, Cobb and Mumford talked in thedevastated drawing-room, which was illumined with candles. 

'It's a bad job, Mr. Mumford. My name is Cobb: I daresay you'veheard of me. I came to see Miss Derrick, and I was clumsy enough toknock the lamp over. '

'Knock the lamp over! How could you do that? Were you drunk?'

'No, but you may well ask the question. I stumbled over something--alittle chair, I think--and fell against the table with the lamp onit. '

'Where's Miss Derrick?'

'Upstairs. She got rather badly burnt, I'm afraid. We've sent for adoctor. '

'And here I am, ' spoke a voice behind them. 'Sorry to see this, Mr. Mumford. '

The two went upstairs together, and on the first landing encounteredEmmeline, sobbing and wailing hysterically with the child in herarms. Her husband spoke soothingly. 

'Don't, don't, Emmy. Here's Dr. Billings come to see Miss Derrick. She's the only one that has been hurt. Go down, there's a good girl, and send somebody to help in Miss Derrick's room; you can't be anyuse yourself just now. '

'But how did it happen? Oh, _how_ did it happen?'

'I'll come and tell you all about it. Better put the boy to bedagain, hadn't you?'

When she had recovered her senses Emmeline took this advice, and, leaving the nurse by the child's cot, went down to survey the ruinof her property. It was a sorry sight. Where she had left areception-room such as any suburban lady in moderate circumstancesmight be proud of; she now beheld a mere mass of unrecognisablefurniture, heaped on what had once been a carpet, amid drippingwalls and under a grimed ceiling. 

'Oh! Oh!' She all but sank before the horror of the spectacle. Then, in a voice of fierce conviction, 'She did it! _She_ did it! It wasbecause I told her to leave. I _know_ she did it on purpose!'

Mumford closed the door of the room, shutting out Cobb and the cookand the housemaid. He repeated the story Cobb had told him, andquietly urged the improbability of his wife's explanation. MissDerrick, he pointed out, was lying prostrate from severe burns; thefire must have been accidental, but the accident, to be sure, wasextraordinary enough. Thereupon Mrs. Mumford's wrath turned againstCobb. What business had such a man--a low-class savage--in _her_drawing-room? He must have come knowing that she and her husbandwere away for the evening. 

'You can question him, if you like, ' said Mumford. 'He's out there. '

Emmeline opened the door, and at once heard a cry of pain fromupstairs. Mumford, also hearing it, and seeing Cobb'smisery-stricken face by the light of the hall lamp, whispered to hiswife:

'Hadn't you better go up, dear? Dr. Billings may think it strange. '

It was much wiser to urge this consideration than to make a directplea for mercy. Emmeline did not care to have it reported thatselfish distress made her indifferent to the sufferings of a friendstaying in her house. But she could not pass Cobb without addressinghim severely. 

'So _you_ are the cause of this!'

'I am, Mrs. Mumford, and I can only say that I'll do my best to makegood the damage to your house. '

'Make good I fancy you have strange ideas of the value of theproperty destroyed. '

Insolence was no characteristic of Mrs. Mumford. But calamity hadput her beside herself; she spoke, not in her own person, but as awoman whose carpets, curtains and bric-a-brac haveignominiously perished. 

'I'll make it good, ' Cobb repeated humbly, 'however long it takesme. And don't be angry with that poor girl, Mrs. Mumford. It wasn'ther fault, not in any way. She didn't know I was coming; she hadn'tasked me to come. I'm entirely to blame. '

'You mean to say you knocked over the table by accident?'

'I did indeed. And I wish I'd been burnt myself instead of her. '

He had suffered, by the way, no inconsiderable scorching, to whichhis hands would testify for many a week; but of this he was stillhardly aware. Emmeline, with a glance of uttermost scorn, left him, and ascended to the room where the doctor was busy. Free to behaveas he thought fit, Mumford beckoned Cobb to follow him into thefront garden, where they conversed with masculine calm. 

'I shall put up at Sutton for the night, ' said Cobb, 'and perhapsyou'll let me call the first thing in the morning to ask how shegets on. '

'Of course. We'll see the doctor when he comes down. But I wish Icould understand how you managed to throw the lamp down. '

'The truth is, ' Cobb replied, 'we were quarrelling. I'd heardsomething about her that made me wild, and I came and behaved like afool. I feel just now as if I could go and cut my throat, that's thefact. If anything happens to her, I believe I shall. I might aswell, in any case; she'll never look at me again. '

'Oh, don't take such a dark view of it. '

The doctor came out, on his way to fetch certain requirements, andthe two men walked with him to his house in the next road. Theylearned that Louise was not dangerously injured; her recovery wouldbe merely a matter of time and care. Cobb gave a description of thefire, and his hearers marvelled that the results were no worse. 

'You must have some burns too?' said the doctor, whose curiosity waspiqued by everything he saw and heard of the strange occurrence. 'Ithought so; those hands must be attended to. '

Meanwhile, Emmeline sat by the bedside and listened to thehysterical lamentation in which Louise gave her own--thetrue--account of the catastrophe. It was all her fault, and upon herlet all the blame fall. She would humble herself to Mr. Higgins andget him to pay for the furniture destroyed. If Mrs. Mumford wouldbut forgive her! And so on, as her poor body agonised, and the bloodgrew feverish in her veins. 

CHAPTER IX

'Accept it? Certainly. Why should we bear the loss if he's able tomake it good? He seems to be very well off for an unmarried man. '

'Yes, ' replied Mumford, 'but he's just going to marry, and itseems--Well, after all, you know, he didn't really cause thedamage. I should have felt much less scruple if Higgins had offeredto pay--'

'He _did_ cause the damage, ' asseverated Emmeline. 'It was his grossor violent behaviour. If we had been insured it wouldn't matter somuch. And pray let this be a warning, and insure at once. Howeveryou look at it, he ought to pay. '

Emmeline's temper had suffered much since she made the acquaintanceof Miss Derrick. Aforetime, she could discuss difference of opinion;now a hint of diversity drove her at once to the female weapon--angryand iterative assertion. Her native delicacy, also, seemed tohave degenerated. Mumford could only hold his tongue and trust thatthis would be but a temporary obscurement of his wife's amiablevirtues. 

Cobb had written from Bristol, a week after the accident, formallyrequesting a statement of the pecuniary loss which the Mumfords hadsuffered; he was resolved to repay them, and would do so, ifpossible, as soon as he knew the sum. Mumford felt a trifle ashamedto make the necessary declaration; at the outside, even withexpenses of painting and papering, their actual damage could not beestimated at more than fifty pounds, and even Emmeline did not wishto save appearances by making an excessive demand. The one costlyobject in the room--the piano--was practically uninjured, and sundryother pieces of furniture could easily be restored; for Cobb and hiscompanion, as amateur firemen, had by no means gone recklessly towork. By candle-light, when the floor was still a swamp, thingslooked more desperate than they proved to be on subsequentinvestigation; and it is wonderful at how little outlay, in ourglistening times, a villa drawing-room may be fashionably equipped. So Mumford wrote to his correspondent that only a few 'articles' hadabsolutely perished; that it was not his wish to make any demand atall; but that, if Mr. Cobb insisted on offering restitution, why, amatter of fifty pounds, etc. Etc. And in a few days this sumarrived, in the form of a draft upon respectable bankers. 

Of course the house was in grievous disorder. Upholsterers' workmenwould have been bad enough, but much worse was the establishment ofMrs. Higgins by her daughter's bedside, which naturally involved herpresence as a guest at table, and the endurance of her conversationwhenever she chose to come downstairs. Mumford urged his wife totake her summer holiday--to go away with the child until all was putright again--a phrase which included the removal of Miss Derrickto her own home; but of this Emmeline would not hear. How could sheenjoy an hour of mental quietude when, for all she knew, Mrs. Higgins and the patient might be throwing lamps at each other? Andher jealousy was still active, though she did not allow it to betrayitself in words. Clarence seemed to her quite needlessly anxious inhis inquiries concerning Miss Derrick's condition. Until that younglady had disappeared from 'Runnymede' for ever, Emmeline would keepmatronly watch and ward. 

Mrs. Higgins declared at least a score of times every day that shecould _not_ understand how this dreadful affair had come to pass. The most complete explanation from her daughter availed nothing; shedeemed the event an insoluble mystery, and, in familiar talk withMrs. Mumford, breathed singular charges against Louise's lover. 'She's shielding him, my dear. I've no doubt of it. I never had avery good opinion of him, but now she shall never marry him with_my_ consent. ' To this kind of remark Emmeline at length deigned noreply. She grew to detest Mrs. Higgins, and escaped her society byevery possible manoeuvre. 

'Oh, how pleasant it is, ' she explained bitterly to her husband, 'tothink that everybody in the road is talking about us with contempt!Of course tile servants have spread nice stories. And theWilkinsons'--these were the people next door--'look upon us ashardly respectable. Even Mrs. Fentiman said yesterday that shereally could not conceive how I came to take that girl into thehouse. I acknowledged that I must have been crazy. '

'Whilst we're thoroughly upset, ' replied Mumford, with irritation atthis purposeless talk, 'hadn't we better leave the house and go tolive as far away as possible?'

'Indeed, I very much wish we could. I don't think I shall ever behappy again at Sutton. '

And Clarence went off muttering to himself about the absurdity andthe selfishness of women. 

For a week or ten days Louise lay very ill; then her vigorousconstitution began to assert itself. It helped her greatly towardsconvalescence when she found that the scorches on her face would notleave a permanent blemish. Mrs. Mumford came into the room once aday and sat for a few minutes, neither of them desiring longercommunion, but they managed to exchange inquiries and remarks with ashow of came from Cobb, Emmeline made no friendliness. When thefifty pounds mention of it. The next day, however, Mrs. Higginsbeing absent when Emmeline looked in, Louise said with an air ofsatisfaction, 'So he has paid the money! I'm very glad of that. '

'Mr. Cobb insisted on paying, ' Mrs. Mumford answered with reserve. 'We could not hurt his feelings by refusing. '

'Well, that's all right, isn't it? You won't think so badly of usnow? Of course you wish you'd never set eyes on me, Mrs. Mumford;but that's only natural: in your place I'm sure I should feel thesame. Still, now the money's paid, you won't always think unkindlyof me, will you?'

The girl lay propped on pillows; her pale face, with its healingscars, bore witness to what she had undergone, and one of her armswas completely swathed in bandages. Emmeline did not soften towardsher, but the frank speech, the rather pathetic little smile, indecency demanded a suave response. 

'I shall wish you every happiness, Louise. '

'Thank you. We shall be married as soon as ever I'm well, but I'msure I don't know where. Mother hates his very name, and does herbest to set me against him; but I just let her talk. We're beginningto quarrel a little--did you hear us this morning? I try to keepdown my voice, and I shan't be here much longer, you know. I shallgo home at first my stepfather has written a kind letter, and ofcourse he's glad to know I shall marry Mr. Cobb. But I don't thinkthe wedding will be there. It wouldn't be nice to go to church in arage, as I'm sure I should with mother and Cissy looking on. '

This might, or might not, signify a revival of the wish to bemarried from 'Runnymede. ' Emmeline quickly passed to anothersubject. 

Mrs. Higgins was paying a visit to Coburg Lodge, where, during thedays of confusion, the master of the house had been left at hisservants' mercy. On her return, late in the evening, she enteredflurried and perspiring, and asked the servant who admitted herwhere Mrs. Mumford was. 

'With master, in the library, 'm. '

'Tell her I wish to speak to her at once. '

Emmeline came forth, and a lamp was lighted in the dining-room, forthe drawing-room had not yet been restored to a habitable condition. Silent, and wondering in gloomy resignation what new annoyance wasprepared for her, Emmeline sat with eyes averted, whilst the stoutwoman mopped her face and talked disconnectedly of the hardships oftravelling in such weather as this; when at length she reached herpoint, Mrs. Higgins became lucid and emphatic. 

'I've heard things as have made me that angry I can hardly bearmyself. Would you believe that people are trying to take away mydaughter's character? It's Cissy 'Iggins's doing: I'm sure of it, though I haven't brought it 'ome to her yet. I dropped in to seesome friends of ours--I shouldn't wonder if you know the name; it'sMrs. Jolliffe, a niece of Mr. Baxter--Baxter, Lukin and Co. , youknow. And she told me in confidence what people are saying--as howLouise was to marry Mr. Bowling, but he broke it off when he found_the sort of people she was living with_, here at Sutton--and agreat many more things as I shouldn't like to tell you. Now what_do_ you think of--'

Emmeline, her eyes flashing, broke in angrily:

'I think nothing at all about it, Mrs. Higgins, and I had very muchrather not hear the talk of such people. '

'I don't wonder it aggravates you, Mrs. Mumford. Did anyone everhear such a scandal! I'm sure nobody that knows you could say a wordagainst your respectability, and, as I told Mrs. Jolliffe, she'squite at liberty to call here to-morrow or the next day--'

'Not to see _me_, I hope, ' said Emmeline. 'I must refuse--'

'Now just let me tell you what I've thought, ' pursued the stoutlady, hardly aware of this interruption. 'This'll have to be setright, both for Lou's sake and for yours, and to satisfy us all. They're making a mystery, d'you see, of Lou leaving 'ome and goingoff to live with strangers; and Cissy's been doing her best to makepeople think there's something wrong--the spiteful creature! Andthere's only one way of setting it right. As soon as Lou can bedressed and got down, and when the drawing-room's finished, I wanther to ask all our friends here to five o'clock tea, just to letthem see with their own eyes--'

'Mrs. Higgins!'

'Of course there'll be no expense for _you_, Mrs. Mumford--not afarthing. I'll provide everything, and all I ask of you is just tosit in your own drawing-room--'

'Mrs. Higgins, be so kind as to listen to me. This is quiteimpossible. I can't dream of allowing any such thing. '

The other glared in astonishment, which tended to wrath. 

'But can't you see, Mrs. Mumford, that it's for your _own_ good aswell as ours? Do you want people to be using your name--'

'What can it matter to me how _such_ people think or speak of me?'cried Emmeline, trembling with exasperation. 

'Such people! I don't think you know who you're talking about, Mrs. Mumford. You'll let me tell you that my friends are as respectableas yours--'

'I shall not argue about it, ' said Emmeline, standing up. 'You willplease to remember that already I've had a great deal of trouble andannoyance, and what you propose would be quite intolerable. Once forall, I can't dream of such a thing. '

'Then all I can say is, Mrs. Mumford'--the speaker rose with heavydignity--'that you're not behaving in a very ladylike way. I'm not aquarrelsome person, as you well know, and I don't say nasty thingsif I can help it. But there's one thing I _must_ say and _will_ say, and that is, that when we first came here you gave a very differentaccount of yourself to what it's turned out. You told me and mydaughter distinctly that you had a great deal of the very bestsociety, and that was what Lou came here _for_, and you knew it, andyou can't deny that you did. And I should like to know how muchsociety she's seen all the time she's been here--that's the questionI _ask_ you. I don't believe she's seen more than three or fourpeople altogether. They may have been respectable enough, and I'mnot the one to say they weren't, but I _do_ say it isn't what we wasled to expect, and that you can't deny, Mrs. Mumford. '

She paused for breath. Emmeline had moved towards the door, andstood struggling with the feminine rage which impelled her toundignified altercation. To withdraw in silence would be like ashamed confession of the charge brought against her, and shesuffered not a little from her consciousness of the modicum of truththerein. 

'It was a most unfortunate thing, Mrs. Higgins, ' burst from herlips, 'that I ever consented to receive your daughter, knowing as Idid that she wasn't our social equal. '

'Wasn't _what_?' exclaimed the other, as though the suggestionstartled her by its novelty. 'You think yourself superior to us? Youdid us a favour--'

Whilst Mrs. Higgins was uttering these words the door opened, andthere entered a figure which startled her into silence. It was thatof Louise, in a dressing-gown and slippers, with a shawl wrappedabout the upper part of her body. 

'I heard you quarrelling, ' she began. (Her bedroom was immediatelyabove, and at this silent hour the voices of the angry ladies hadbeen quite audible to her as she lay in bed. ) 'What _is_ it allabout? It's too bad of you, mother--'

'The idea, Louise, of coming down like that!' cried her parentindignantly. 'How did you know Mr. Mumford wasn't here? For shame!Go up again this moment. '

'I don't see any harm if Mr. Mumford had been here, ' replied thegirl calmly. 

'I'm sure it's most unwise of you to leave your bed, ' beganEmmeline, with anxious thought for Louise's health, due probably toher dread of having the girl in the house for an indefinite period. 

'Oh, I've wrapped up. I feel shaky, that's all, and I shall have tosit down. ' She did so, on the nearest chair, with a little laugh ather strange feebleness. 

'Now please _don't_ quarrel, you two. Mrs. Mumford, don't mindanything that mother says. '

Thereupon Louise's mother burst into a vehement exposition of thereasons of discord, beginning with the calumnious stories she hadheard at Mrs. Jolliffe's, and ending with the outrageous arroganceof Mrs. Mumford's latest remark. Louise listened with a smile. 

'Now look here, mother, ' she said, when silence came for a moment, 'you can't expect Mrs. Mumford to have a lot of strangers coming tothe house just on my account. She's sick and tired of us all, andwants to see our backs as soon as ever she can. I don't say it tooffend you, Mrs. Mumford, but you know it's true. And I tell youwhat it is: To-morrow morning I'm going back home. Yes, I am. Youcan't stay here, mother, after this, and I'm not going to haveanyone new to wait on me. I shall go home in a cab, straight fromthis house to the other, and I'm quite sure I shan't take any harm. '

'You won't do it till the doctor's given you leave, ' said Mrs. Higgins with concern. 

'He'll be here at ten in the morning, and I know he will give meleave. So there's an end of it. And you can go to bed and sleep inpeace, Mrs. Mumford. '

It was not at all unamiably said. But for Mrs. Higgins's presence, Emmeline would have responded with a certain kindness. Stillsmarting under the stout lady's accusations, which continued tosound in sniffs and snorts, she answered as austerely as possible. 

'I must leave you to judge, Miss Derrick, how soon you feel able togo. I don't wish you to do anything imprudent. But it will be muchbetter if Mrs. Higgins regards me as a stranger during the rest ofher stay here. Any communication she wishes to make to me must bemade through a servant. '

Having thus delivered herself; Emmeline quitted the room. From thelibrary, of which the door was left ajar, she heard Louise and hermother pass upstairs, both silent. Mumford, too well aware that yetanother disturbance had come upon his unhappy household, affected toread, and it was only when the door of Louise's room had closed thatEmmeline spoke to him. 

'Mrs. Higgins will breakfast by herself to-morrow, ' she saidseverely. 'She may perhaps go before lunch; but in any case we shallnot sit down at table with her again. '

'All right, ' Mumford replied, studiously refraining from any hint ofcuriosity. 

So, next morning, their breakfast was served in the library. Mrs. Higgins came down at the usual hour, found the dining-room at herdisposal, and ate with customary appetite, alone. Had Emmeline'sexperience lain among the more vigorously vulgar of her sex shewould have marvelled at Mrs. Higgins's silence and generalself-restraint during these last hours. Louise's mother might, without transgressing the probabilities of the situation, have madethis a memorable morning indeed. She confined herself to a ratherfrequent ringing of the bedroom bell. Her requests of the servantsbecame orders, such as she would have given in a hotel orlodging-house, but no distinctly offensive word escaped her. Andthis was almost entirely due to Louise's influence for the girlimpressed upon her mother that 'to make a row' would be the sure andcertain way of proving that Mrs. Mumford was justified in claimingsocial superiority over her guests. 

The doctor, easily perceiving how matters stood, made no difficultyabout the patient's removal in a closed carriage, and, with exerciseof all obvious precautions, she might travel as soon as she liked. Anticipating this, Mrs. Higgins had already packed all the luggage, and Louise, as well as it could be managed, had been clad for thejourney. 

'I suppose you'll go and order the cab yourself?' she said to hermother, when they were alone again. 

'Yes, I must, on account of making a bargain about the charge. Anice expense you've been to us, Louise. That man ought to pay everypenny. '

'I'll tell him you say so, and no doubt he will. '

They wrangled about this whilst Mrs. Higgins was dressing to go out. As soon as her mother had left the house Louise stole downstairs andto the door of the drawing-room, which was half open. Emmeline, herback turned, stood before the fireplace, as if considering some newplan of decoration; she did not hear the girl's light step. Whitewashers and paperhangers had done their work; a new carpet waslaid down; but pictures had still to be restored to their places, and the furniture stood all together in the middle of the room. Nottill Louise had entered did her hostess look round. 

'Mrs. Mumford, I want to say good-bye. '

'Oh, yes, ' Emmeline answered civilly, but without a smile. 'Good-bye, Miss Derrick. '

And she stepped forward to shake hands. 

'Don't be afraid, ' said the girl, looking into her facegood-humouredly. 'You shall never see me again unless you wish to. '

'I'm sure I wish you all happiness, ' was the embarrassed reply. 'And--I shall be glad to hear of your marriage. '

'I'll write to you about it. But you won't talk--unkindly about mewhen I've gone--you and Mr. Mumford?'

'No, no; indeed we shall not. '

Louise tried to say something else, but without success. She pressedEmmeline's hand, turned quickly, and disappeared. In half-an-hour'stime arrived the vehicle Mrs. Higgins had engaged; without delaymother and daughter left the house, and were driven off. Mrs. Mumford kept a strict retirement. When the two had gone she learntfrom the housemaid that their luggage would be removed later in theday. 

A fortnight passed, and the Mumfords once more lived inenjoyment of tranquillity, though Emmeline could not quite recoverher old self. They never spoke of the dread experiences throughwhich they had gone. Mumford's holiday time approached, and theywere making arrangements for a visit to the seaside, when onemorning a carrier's cart delivered a large package, unexpected andof unknown contents. Emmeline stripped off the matting, and found--adrawing-room screen, not unlike that which she had lost in thefire. Of course it came from Louise, and, though she professedherself very much annoyed, Mrs. Mumford had no choice but toacknowledge it in a civil little note addressed to Coburg Lodge. 

They were away from home for three weeks. On returning, Emmelinefound a letter which had arrived for her the day before; it was fromLouise, and announced her marriage. 'Dear Mrs. Mumford, --I knowyou'll be glad to hear it's all over. It was to have been at the endof October, when our house was ready for us. We have taken a verynice one at Holloway. But of course something happened, and motherand Cissy and I quarrelled so dreadfully that I went off and took alodging. And then Tom said that we must be married at once; and sowe were, without any fuss at all, and I think it was ever so muchbetter, though some girls would not care to go in their plain dressand without friends or anything. After it was over, Tom and I hadjust a little disagreement about something, but of course he gaveway, and I don't think we shall get on together at all badly. Mystepfather has been very nice, and is paying for all the furniture, and has promised me a lot of things. Of course he is delighted tosee me out of the house, just as you were. You see that I write fromBroadstairs, where we are spending our honeymoon. Please remember meto Mr. Mumford, and believe me, very sincerely yours, Louise L. Cobb. '

Enclosed was a wedding-card. 

'Mr. And Mrs. Thomas Cobb, ' in gilt lettering, occupied the middle, and across the right-hand upper corner ran 'Louise E. Derrick, ' anarrow transfixing the maiden surname.