[Illustration: "Margaret"]

THE

EAGLE'S SHADOW

By

JAMES BRANCH CABELL

1904

To

Martha Louise Branch

_In trust that the enterprise may be judged less by the merits of itsfactor than by those of its patron_

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

THE CHARACTERS

Colonel Thomas Hugonin, formerly in the service of Her Majesty theEmpress of India, Margaret Hugonin's father. 

Frederick R. Woods, the founder of Selwoode, Margaret's uncle bymarriage. 

Billy Woods, his nephew, Margaret's quondam fiancé. 

Hugh Van Orden, a rather young young man, Margaret's adorer. 

Martin Jeal, M. D. , of Fairhaven, Margaret's family physician. 

Cock-Eye Flinks, a gentleman of leisure, Margaret's chanceacquaintance. 

Petheridge Jukesbury, president of the Society for the Suppression ofNicotine and the Nude, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause ofeducation and temperance. 

Felix Kennaston, a minor poet, Margaret's almoner in furthering thecause of literature and art. 

Sarah Ellen Haggage, Madame President of the Ladies' League for theEdification of the Impecunious, Margaret's almoner in furthering thecause of charity and philanthropy. Kathleen Eppes Saumarez, a lecturerbefore women's clubs, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause oftheosophy, nature study, and rational dress. 

Adèle Haggage, Mrs. Haggage's daughter, Margaret's rival with Hugh VanOrden. 

And Margaret Hugonin. 

The other participants in the story are Wilkins, Célestine, The SpringMoon and The Eagle. 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"Margaret"

"'Altogether, ' says Colonel Hugonin, 'they strike me as being themost ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noahlanded on Ararat'"

"Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, and Billy . . . Thoughtit vastly becoming"

"Billy Woods"

"Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growing in hiscountenance"

"'My lady, ' he asked, very softly, 'haven't you any good news for meon this wonderful morning?'"

"Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't, be such a grandfather, ' shesuggested helpfully. "

"Regarded them with alert eyes"

THE EAGLE'S SHADOW

I

This is the story of Margaret Hugonin and of the Eagle. And with yourpermission, we will for the present defer all consideration of thebird, and devote our unqualified attention to Margaret. 

I have always esteemed Margaret the obvious, sensible, mostappropriate name that can be bestowed upon a girl-child, for it is aname that fits a woman--any woman--as neatly as her proper size ingloves. 

Yes, the first point I wish to make is that a woman-child, oncebaptised Margaret, is thereby insured of a suitable name. Be she graveor gay in after-life, wanton or pious or sullen, comely or otherwise, there will be no possible chance of incongruity; whether she develop ataste for winter-gardens or the higher mathematics, whether she taketo golf or clinging organdies, the event is provided for. One has onlyto consider for a moment, and if among a choice of Madge, Marjorie, Meta, Maggie, Margherita, Peggy, and Gretchen, and countlessothers--if among all these he cannot find a name that suits her to aT--why, then, the case is indeed desperate and he may permissiblyfall back upon Madam or--if the cat jump propitiously, and at his ownperil--on Darling or Sweetheart. 

The second proof that this name must be the best of all possible namesis that Margaret Hugonin bore it. And so the murder is out. You maysuspect what you choose. I warn you in advance that I have no partwhatever in her story; and if my admiration for her given name appearsomewhat excessive, I can only protest that in this dissentient worldevery one has a right to his own taste. I knew Margaret. I admiredher. And if in some unguarded moment I may have carried my admirationto the point of indiscretion, her husband most assuredly knows allabout it, by this, and he and I are still the best of friends. So youperceive that if I ever did so far forget myself it could scarcelyhave amounted to a hanging matter. 

I am doubly sure that Margaret Hugonin was beautiful, for the reasonthat I have never found a woman under forty-five who shared myopinion. If you clap a Testament into my hand, I cannot affirm thatwomen are eager to recognise beauty in one another; at the utmost theyconcede that this or that particular feature is well enough. But whena woman is clean-eyed and straight-limbed, and has a cheery heart, she really cannot help being beautiful; and when Nature accords hera sufficiency of dimples and an infectious laugh, I protest she iswell-nigh irresistible. And all these Margaret Hugonin had. 

And surely that is enough. 

I shall not endeavour, then, to picture her features to you in anynicely picked words. Her chief charm was that she was Margaret. 

And besides that, mere carnal vanities are trivial things; a grayeye or so is not in the least to the purpose. Yet since it is theimmemorial custom of writer-folk to inventory such possessions oftheir heroines, here you have a catalogue of her personal attractions. Launce's method will serve our turn. 

Imprimis, there was not very much of her--five feet three, at themost; and hers was the well-groomed modern type that implies agrandfather or two and is in every respect the antithesis of thathulking Venus of the Louvre whom people pretend to admire. Item, shehad blue eyes; and when she talked with you, her head drooped forwarda little. The frank, intent gaze of these eyes was very flatteringand, in its ultimate effect, perilous, since it led you fatuously tobelieve that she had forgotten there were any other trousered beingsextant. Later on you found this a decided error. Item, she had a quiteincredible amount of yellow hair, that was not in the least like goldor copper or bronze--I scorn the hackneyed similes of metallurgicalpoets--but a straightforward yellow, darkening at the roots; and shewore it low down on her neck in great coils that were held in placeby a multitude of little golden hair-pins and divers corpulenttortoise-shell ones. Item, her nose was a tiny miracle of perfection;and this was noteworthy, for you will observe that Nature, who is anadept at eyes and hair and mouths, very rarely achieves a creditablenose. Item, she had a mouth; and if you are a Gradgrindian with ataste for hairsplitting, I cannot swear that it was a particularlysmall mouth. The lips were rather full than otherwise; one saw in thempotentialities of heroic passion, and tenderness, and generosity, and, if you will, temper. No, her mouth was not in the least like the pinkshoe-button of romance and sugared portraiture; it was manifestlydesigned less for simpering out of a gilt frame or the dribbling ofstock phrases over three hundred pages than for gibes and laughterand cheery gossip and honest, unromantic eating, as well as anotherpurpose, which, as a highly dangerous topic, I decline even tomention. 

There you have the best description of Margaret Hugonin that I amcapable of giving you. No one realises its glaring inadequacy moreacutely than I. 

Furthermore, I stipulate that if in the progress of our comedy sheappear to act with an utter lack of reason or even common-sense--asevery woman worth the winning must do once or twice in alifetime--that I be permitted to record the fact, to set it down inall its ugliness, nay, even to exaggerate it a little--all to the endthat I may eventually exasperate you and goad you into crying out, "Come, come, you are not treating the girl with common justice!"

For, if such a thing were possible, I should desire you to rival evenme in a liking for Margaret Hugonin. And speaking for myself, I canassure you that I have come long ago to regard her faults with thesame leniency that I accord my own. 

II

We begin on a fine May morning in Colonel Hugonin's rooms at Selwoode, which is, as you may or may not know, the Hugonins' country-place. And there we discover the Colonel dawdling over his breakfast, in anintermediate stage of that careful toilet which enables him later inthe day to pass casual inspection as turning forty-nine. 

At present the old gentleman is discussing the members of hisdaughter's house-party. We will omit, by your leave, a number ofpicturesque descriptive passages--for the Colonel is, on occasion, aman of unfettered speech--and come hastily to the conclusion, to thesumming-up of the whole matter. 

"Altogether, " says Colonel Hugonin, "they strike me as being the mostungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noahlanded on Ararat. "

Now, I am sorry that veracity compels me to present the Colonelin this particular state of mind, for ordinarily he was aspleasant-spoken a gentleman as you will be apt to meet on thelongest summer day. 

[Illustration: "'Altogether, ' says Colonel Hugonin, 'they strike me asbeing the most ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roofsince Noah landed on Ararat. '"]

You must make allowances for the fact that, on this especial morning, he was still suffering from a recent twinge of the gout, and that histoast was somewhat dryer than he liked it; and, most potent of all, that the foreign mail, just in, had caused him to rebel anew againstthe proprieties and his daughter's inclinations, which chained him toSelwoode, in the height of the full London season, to preside over ahouse-party every member of which he cordially disliked. Therefore, the Colonel having glanced through the well-known names of those atLady Pevensey's last cotillion, groaned and glared at his daughter, who sat opposite him, and reviled his daughter's friends with pointand fluency, and characterised them as above, for the reason that hewas hungered at heart for the shady side of Pall Mall, and that theirpresence at Selwoode prevented his attaining this Elysium. For, I amsorry to say that the Colonel loathed all things American, saving hisdaughter, whom he worshipped. 

And, I think, no one who could have seen her preparing his second cupof tea would have disputed that in making this exception he acted witha show of reason. For Margaret Hugonin--but, as you know, she isour heroine, and, as I fear you have already learned, words are verypaltry makeshifts when it comes to describing her. Let us simply say, then, that Margaret, his daughter, began to make him a cup of tea, andadd that she laughed. 

Not unkindly; no, for at bottom she adored her father--a comelyEnglishman of some sixty-odd, who had run through his wife's fortuneand his own, in the most gallant fashion--and she accorded hisopinions a conscientious, but at times, a sorely taxed, tolerance. That very month she had reached twenty-three, the age of omniscience, when the fallacies and general obtuseness of older people becomedishearteningly apparent. 

"It's nonsense, " pursued the old gentleman, "utter, bedlamitenonsense, filling Selwoode up with writing people! Never heard of sucha thing. Gad, I do remember, as a young man, meeting Thackeray at agarden-party at Orleans House--gentlemanly fellow with a broken nose--and Browning went about a bit, too, now I think of it. People had 'emone at a time to lend flavour to a dinner--like an olive; we didn'tdine on olives, though. You have 'em for breakfast, luncheon, dinner, and everything! I'm sick of olives, I tell you, Margaret!" Margaretpouted. 

"They ain't even good olives. I looked into one of that fellowCharteris's books the other day--that chap you had here last week. It was bally rot--proverbs standing on their heads and grinninglike dwarfs in a condemned street-fair! Who wants to be told thatimpropriety is the spice of life and that a roving eye gathersremorse? _You_ may call that sort of thing cleverness, if you like; Icall it damn' foolishness. " And the emphasis with which he said thisleft no doubt that the Colonel spoke his honest opinion. 

"Attractive, " said his daughter patiently, "Mr. Charteris is very, very clever. Mr. Kennaston says literature suffered a considerableloss when he began to write for the magazines. "

And now that Margaret has spoken, permit me to call your attention toher voice. Mellow and suave and of astonishing volume was Margaret'svoice; it came not from the back of her throat, as most of our women'svoices do, but from her chest; and I protest it had the timbre of aviolin. Men, hearing her voice for the first time, were wont to stareat her a little and afterward to close their hands slowly, for alwaysits modulations had the tonic sadness of distant music, and itthrilled you to much the same magnanimity and yearning, cloudilyconceived; and yet you could not but smile in spite of yourself at thequaint emphasis fluttering through her speech and pouncing for themost part on the unlikeliest word in the whole sentence. 

But I fancy the Colonel must have been tone-deaf. "Don't you makephrases for me!" he snorted; "you keep 'em for your menagerie Think!By gad, the world never thinks. I believe the world deliberatelyreads the six bestselling books in order to incapacitate itself forthinking. " Then, his wrath gathering emphasis as he went on: "Thelonger I live the plainer I see Shakespeare was right--whatfools these mortals be, and all that. There's that Haggagewoman--speech-making through the country like a hiatused politician. It may be philanthropic, but it ain't ladylike--no, begad! What hasshe got to do with Juvenile Courts and child-labour in the South, I'dlike to know? Why ain't she at home attending to that crippled boyof hers--poor little beggar!--instead of flaunting through Americameddling with other folk's children?"

Miss Hugonin put another lump of sugar into his cup and deigned noreply. 

"By gad, " cried the Colonel fervently, "if you're so anxious to spendthat money of yours in charity, why don't you found a Day Nursery forthe Children of Philanthropists--a place where advanced men and womencan leave their offspring in capable hands when they're busied withMothers' Meetings and Educational Conferences? It would do a thousandtimes more good, I can tell you, than that fresh kindergarten schemeof yours for teaching the children of the labouring classes to make anew sort of mud-pie. "

"You don't understand these things, attractive, " Margaret gentlypointed out. "You aren't in harmony with the trend of modern thought. "

"No, thank God!" said the Colonel, heartily. 

Ensued a silence during which he chipped at his egg-shell in anabsent-minded fashion. 

"That fellow Kennaston said anything to you yet?" he presentlyqueried. 

"I--I don't understand, " she protested--oh, perfectly unconvincingly. The tea-making, too, engrossed her at this point to an utterlyimprobable extent. 

Thus it shortly befell that the Colonel, still regarding her underintent brows, cleared his throat and made bold to question hergenerosity in the matter of sugar; five lumps being, as he suggested, a rather unusual allowance for one cup. 

Then, "Mr. Kennaston and I are very good friends, " said she, withdignity. And having spoiled the first cup in the making, she began onanother. 

"Glad to hear it, " growled the old gentleman. "I hope you value hisfriendship sufficiently not to marry him. The man's a fraud--a flimsy, sickening fraud, like his poetry, begad, and that's made up of botanyand wide margins and indecency in about equal proportions. It ain'tfit for a woman to read--in fact, a woman ought not to read anything;a comprehension of the Decalogue and the cookery-book is enoughlearning for the best of 'em. Your mother never--never--"

Colonel Hugonin paused and stared at the open window for a little. Heseemed to be interested in something a great way off. 

"We used to read Ouida's books together, " he said, somewhat wistfully. "Lord, Lord, how she revelled in Chandos and Bertie Cecil and thosedashing Life Guardsmen! And she used to toss that little head of hersand say I was a finer figure of a man than any of 'em--thirtyyears ago, good Lord! And I was then, but I ain't now. I'm only abroken-down, cantankerous old fool, " declared the Colonel, blowinghis nose violently, "and that's why I'm quarrelling with the dearest, foolishest daughter man ever had. Ah, my dear, don't mind me--run yourmenagerie as you like, and I'll stand it. "

Margaret adopted her usual tactics; she perched herself on the armof his chair and began to stroke his cheek very gently. Sheoften wondered as to what dear sort of a woman that tender-eyed, pink-cheeked mother of the old miniature had been--the mother who haddied when she was two years old. She loved the idea of her, vague asit was. And, just now, somehow, the notion of two grown people readingOuida did not strike her as being especially ridiculous. 

"Was she very beautiful?" she asked, softly. 

"My dear, " said her father, "you are the picture of her. "

"You dangerous old man!" said she, laughing and rubbing her cheekagainst his in a manner that must have been highly agreeable. "Dear, do you know that is the nicest little compliment I've had for a longtime?"

Thereupon the Colonel chuckled. "Pay me for it, then, " said he, "bydriving the dog-cart over to meet Billy's train to-day. Eh?"

"I--I can't, " said Miss Hugonin, promptly. 

"Why?" demanded her father. 

"Because----" said Miss Hugonin; and after giving this reallyexcellent reason, reflected for a moment and strengthened it byadding, "Because----"

"See here, " her father questioned, "what did you two quarrel about, anyway?"

"I--I really don't remember, " said she, reflectively; then continued, with hauteur and some inconsistency, "I am not aware that Mr. Woodsand I have ever quarrelled. "

"By gad, then, " said the Colonel, "you may as well prepare to, forI intend to marry you to Billy some day. Dear, dear, child, " heinterpolated, with malice aforethought, "have you a fever?--yourcheek's like a coal. Billy's a man, I tell you--worth a dozen of yourKennastons and Charterises. I like Billy. And besides, it's only righthe should have Selwoode--wasn't he brought up to expect it? Itain't right he should lose it simply because he had a quarrel withFrederick, for, by gad--not to speak unkindly of the dead, mydear--Frederick quarrelled with every one he ever knew, from the womanwho nursed him to the doctor who gave him his last pill. He may havegotten his genius for money-making from Heaven, but he certainlygot his temper from the devil. I really believe, " said the Colonel, reflectively, "it was worse than mine. Yes, not a doubt of it--I'm alamb in comparison. But he had his way, after all; and even now poorBilly can't get Selwoode without taking you with it, " and he caughthis daughter's face between his hands and turned it toward his for amoment. "I wonder now, " said he, in meditative wise, "if Billy willconsider that a drawback?"

It seemed very improbable. Any number of marriageable males would havesworn it was unthinkable. 

However, "Of course, " Margaret began, in a crisp voice, "if you adviseMr. Woods to marry me as a good speculation--"

But her father caught her up, with a whistle. "Eh?" said he. "Love ina cottage?--is it thus the poet turns his lay? That's damn' nonsense!I tell you, even in a cottage the plumber's bill has to be paid, andthe grocer's little account settled every month. Yes, by gad, andeven if you elect to live on bread and cheese and kisses, you'll findCamembert a bit more to your taste than Sweitzer. "

"But I don't want to marry anybody, you ridiculous old dear, " saidMargaret. 

"Oh, very well, " said the old gentleman; "don't. Be an old maid, andlecture before the Mothers' Club, if you like. I don't care. Anyhow, you meet Billy to-day at twelve-forty-five. You will?--that's a goodchild. Now run along and tell the menagerie I'll be down-stairs assoon as I've finished dressing. "

And the Colonel rang for his man and proceeded to finish his toilet. He seemed a thought absent-minded this morning. 

"I say, Wilkins, " he questioned, after a little. "Ever read any ofOuida's books?"

"Ho, yes, sir, " said Wilkins; "Miss 'Enderson--Mrs. 'Aggage's maid, that his, sir--was reading haloud hout hof 'Hunder Two Flags' honlylast hevening, sir. "

"H'm--Wilkins--if you can run across one of them in the servants'quarters--you might leave it--by my bed--to-night. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And--h'm, Wilkins--you can put it under that book of HerbertSpencer's my daughter gave me yesterday. _Under_ it, Wilkins--and, h'm, Wilkins--you needn't mention it to anybody. Ouida ain't cultured, Wilkins, but she's damn' good reading. I suppose that's why she ain'tcultured, Wilkins. "

III

And now let us go back a little. In a word, let us utilise the nexttwenty minutes--during which Miss Hugonin drives to the neighbouringrailway station, in, if you press me, not the most pleasant state ofmind conceivable--by explaining a thought more fully the posture ofaffairs at Selwoode on the May morning that starts our story. 

And to do this I must commence with the nature of the man who foundedSelwoode. 

It was when the nineteenth century was still a hearty octogenarianthat Frederick R. Woods caused Selwoode to be builded. I give you thename by which he was known on "the Street. " A mythology has grownabout the name since, and strange legends of its owner are stillnarrated where brokers congregate. But with the lambs he sheared, andthe bulls he dragged to earth, and the bears he gored to financialdeath, we have nothing to do; suffice it, that he performed theseoperations with almost uniform success and in an unimpeachablyrespectable manner. 

And if, in his time, he added materially to the lists of inmates invarious asylums and almshouses, it must be acknowledged that he borehis victims no malice, and that on every Sunday morning he confessedhimself to be a miserable sinner, in a voice that was perfectlyaudible three pews off. At bottom, I think he considered his relationswith Heaven on a purely business basis; he kept a species of runningaccount with Providence; and if on occasions he overdrew it somewhat, he saw no incongruity in evening matters with a cheque for the churchfund. 

So that at his death it was said of him that he had, in his day, sentmore men into bankruptcy and more missionaries into Africa than anyother man in the country. 

In his sixty-fifth year, he caught Alfred Van Orden short in Lard, erected a memorial window to his wife and became a country gentleman. He never set foot in Wall Street again. He builded Selwoode--ahandsome Tudor manor which stands some seven miles from the village ofFairhaven--where he dwelt in state, by turns affable and domineeringto the neighbouring farmers, and evincing a grave interest in thecondition of their crops. He no longer turned to the financial reportsin the papers; and the pedigree of the Woodses hung in the living-hallfor all men to see, beginning gloriously with Woden, the Scandinaviangod, and attaining a respectable culmination in the names of FrederickR. Woods and of William, his brother. 

It is not to be supposed that he omitted to supply himself with acoat-of-arms. Frederick R. Woods evinced an almost childlike pride inhis heraldic blazonings. 

"The Woods arms, " he would inform you, with a relishing gusto, "arevert, an eagle displayed, barry argent and gules. And the crest isout of a ducal coronet, or, a demi-eagle proper. We have no motto, sir--none of your ancient coats have mottoes. "

The Woods Eagle he gloried in. The bird was perched in every availablenook at Selwoode; it was carved in the woodwork, was set in themosaics, was chased in the tableware, was woven in the napery, wasglazed in the very china. Turn where you would, an eagle or twoconfronted you; and Hunston Wyke, who is accounted something of awit, swore that Frederick R. Woods at Selwoode reminded him of "asore-headed bear who had taken up permanent quarters in an aviary. "

There was one, however, who found the bear no very untractablemonster. This was the son of his brother, dead now, who dwelt atSelwoode as heir presumptive. Frederick R. Woods's wife had died longago, leaving him childless. His brother's boy was an orphan; and so, for a time, he and the grim old man lived together peaceably enough. Indeed, Billy Woods was in those days as fine a lad as you would wishto see, with the eyes of an inquisitive cherub and a big tow-head, which Frederick R. Woods fell into the habit of cuffing heartily, inorder to conceal the fact that he would have burned Selwoode to theground rather than allow any one else to injure a hair of it. 

In the consummation of time, Billy, having attained the ripe age ofeighteen, announced to his uncle that he intended to become a famouspainter. Frederick R. Woods exhorted him not to be a fool, and packedhim off to college. 

Billy Woods returned on his first vacation with a fragmentary mustacheand any quantity of paint-tubes, canvases, palettes, mahl-sticks, andsuch-like paraphernalia. Frederick R. Woods passed over the mustache, and had the painters' trappings burned by the second footman. Billypromptly purchased another lot. His uncle came upon them one morning, rubbed his chin meditatively for a moment, and laughed for the firsttime, so far as known, in his lifetime; then he tiptoed to his ownapartments, lest Billy--the lazy young rascal was still abed in thenext room--should awaken and discover his knowledge of this act offlat rebellion. 

I dare say the old gentleman was so completely accustomed to havinghis own way that this unlooked-for opposition tickled him by itsnovelty; or perhaps he recognised in Billy an obstinacy akin to hisown; or perhaps it was merely that he loved the boy. In any event, henever again alluded to the subject; and it is a fact that whenBilly sent for carpenters to convert an upper room into an atelier, Frederick R. Woods spent two long and dreary weeks in Boston in orderto remain in ignorance of the entire affair. 

Billy scrambled through college, somehow, in the allotted four years. At the end of that time, he returned to find new inmates installed atSelwoode. 

For the wife of Frederick R. Woods had been before her marriage one ofthe beautiful Anstruther sisters, who, as certain New Yorkers stillremember--those grizzled, portly, rosy-gilled fellows who prattleon provocation of Jenny Lind and Castle Garden, and remembereverything--created a pronounced furor at their début in the days ofcrinoline and the Grecian bend; and Margaret Anstruther, as theywill tell you, was married to Thomas Hugonin, then a gallant cavalryofficer in the service of Her Majesty, the Empress of India. 

And she must have been the nicer of the two, because everybody whoknew her says that Margaret Hugonin is exactly like her. 

So it came about naturally enough, that Billy Woods, now an _ArtiumBaccalaureus_, if you please, and not a little proud of it, found theColonel and his daughter, then on a visit to this country, installedat Selwoode as guests and quasi-relatives. And Billy was twenty-two, and Margaret was nineteen. 

 * * * * *

Precisely what happened I am unable to tell you. Billy Woods claimsit is none of my business; and Margaret says that it was a long, longtime ago and she really can't remember. 

But I fancy we can all form a very fair notion of what is most likelyto occur when two sensible, normal, healthy young people are throwntogether in this intimate fashion at a country-house where theremaining company consists of two elderly gentlemen. Billy was forcedto be polite to his uncle's guest; and Margaret couldn't well bediscourteous to her host's nephew, could she? Of course not: soit befell in the course of time that Frederick R. Woods and theColonel--who had quickly become a great favourite, by virtue of hisimplicit faith in the Eagle and in Woden and Sir Percival de Wode ofHastings, and such-like flights of heraldic fancy, and had augmentedhis popularity by his really brilliant suggestion of Wynkyn de Worde, the famous sixteenth-century printer, as a probable collateralrelation of the family--it came to pass, I say, that the two gentlemennodded over their port and chuckled, and winked at one another andagreed that the thing would do. 

This was all very well; but they failed to make allowances for theinevitable quarrel and the subsequent spectacle of the gentlemancontemplating suicide and the lady looking wistfully toward a nunnery. In this case it arose, I believe, over Teddy Anstruther, who for acousin was undeniably very attentive to Margaret; and in the naturalcourse of events they would have made it up before the week was outhad not Frederick R. Woods selected this very moment to interfere inthe matter. 

Ah, _si vieillesse savait!_

The blundering old man summoned Billy into his study and ordered himto marry Margaret Hugonin, precisely as the Colonel might have ordereda private to go on sentry-duty. Ten days earlier Billy would havejumped at the chance; ten days later he would probably have suggestedit himself; but at that exact moment he would have as willinglycontemplated matrimony with Alecto or Medusa or any of the Furies. Accordingly, he declined. Frederick R. Woods flew into a pyrotechnicaldisplay of temper, and gave him his choice between obeying hiscommands and leaving his house forever--the choice, in fact, which hehad been according Billy at very brief intervals ever since the boyhad had the measles, fifteen years before, and had refused to take theproper medicines. 

It was merely his usual manner of expressing a request or asuggestion. But this time, to his utter horror and amaze, the boy tookhim at his word and left Selwoode within the hour. 

Billy's life, you see, was irrevocably blighted. It mattered verylittle what became of him; personally, he didn't care in the least. But as for that fair, false, fickle woman--perish the thought! Soonera thousand deaths! No, he would go to Paris and become a painter ofworldwide reputation; the money his father had left him would easilysuffice for his simple wants. And some day, the observed of allobservers in some bright hall of gaiety, he would pass her coldly by, with a cynical smile upon his lips, and she would grow pale and totterand fall into the arms of the bloated Silenus, for whose title she hadbartered her purely superficial charms. 

Yes, upon mature deliberation, that was precisely what Billy decidedto do. 

Followed dark days at Selwoode. Frederick R. Woods told Margaret ofwhat had occurred; and he added the information that, as his wife'snearest relative, he intended to make her his heir. 

Then Margaret did what I would scarcely have expected of Margaret. She turned upon him like a virago and informed Frederick R. Woodsprecisely what she thought of him; she acquainted him with the factthat he was a sordid, low-minded, grasping beast, and a miser, anda tyrant, and (I think) a parricide; she notified him that he wasthoroughly unworthy to wipe the dust off his nephew's shoes--anoffice toward which, to do him justice, he had never shown any markedaspirations--and that Billy had acted throughout in a most noble andsensible manner; and that, personally, she wouldn't marry Billy Woodsif he were the last man on earth, for she had always despised him; andshe added the information that she expected to die shortly, and shehoped they would both be sorry _then_; and subsequently she clappedthe climax by throwing her arms about his neck and bursting into tearsand telling him he was the dearest old man in the world and that shewas thoroughly ashamed of herself. 

So they kissed and made it up. And after a little the Colonel andMargaret went away from Selwoode, and Frederick R. Woods was leftalone to nourish his anger and indignation, if he could, and to hungerfor his boy, whether he would or not. He was too proud to seek himout; indeed, he never thought of that; and so he waited alone in hisfine house, sick at heart, impotent, hoping against hope that the boywould come back. The boy never came. 

No, the boy never came, because he was what the old man had madehim--headstrong, and wilful, and obstinate. Billy had been thoroughlyspoiled. The old man had nurtured his pride, had applauded it as amark of proper spirit; and now it was this same pride that had robbedhim of the one thing he loved in all the world. 

So, at last, the weak point in the armour of this sturdy old Phariseewas found, and Fate had pierced it gaily. It was retribution, if youwill; and I think that none of his victims in "the Street, " none ofthe countless widows and orphans that he had made, suffered morebitterly than he in those last days. 

It was almost two years after Billy's departure from Selwoode that hisbody-servant, coming to rouse Frederick R. Woods one June morning, found him dead in his rooms. He had been ailing for some time. Itwas his heart, the doctors said; and I think that it was, though notprecisely in the sense which they meant. 

The man found him seated before his great carved desk, on which hishead and shoulders had fallen forward; they rested on a sheet oflegal-cap paper half-covered with a calculation in his crabbed oldhand as to the value of certain properties--the calculation which henever finished; and underneath was a mass of miscellaneous papers, among them his will, dated the day after Billy left Selwoode, in whichFrederick R. Woods bequeathed his millions unconditionally to MargaretHugonin when she should come of age. 

Her twenty-first birthday had fallen in the preceding month. SoMargaret was one of the richest women in America; and you may dependupon it, that if many men had loved her before, they worshipped hernow--or, at least, said they did, and, after all, their protestationswere the only means she had of judging. She might have been acountess--and it must be owned that the old Colonel, who had an honestAnglo-Saxon reverence for a title, saw this chance lost wistfully--andshe might have married any number of grammarless gentlemen, personallyunknown to her, whose fervent proposals almost every mail brought in;and besides these, there were many others, more orthodox in theirwooing, some of whom were genuinely in love with Margaret Hugonin, andsome--I grieve to admit it--who were genuinely in love with her money;and she would have none of them. 

She refused them all with the utmost civility, as I happen to know. How I learned it is no affair of yours. 

For Miss Hugonin had remarkably keen eyes, which she used toadvantage. In the world about her they discovered very little that shecould admire. She was none the happier for her wealth; the piled-upmillions overshadowed her personality; and it was not long before sheknew that most people regarded her simply as the heiress of the Woodsfortune--an unavoidable encumbrance attached to the property, whichdivers thrifty-minded gentlemen were willing to put up with. To put upwith!--at the thought, her pride rose in a hot blush, and, it must beconfessed, she sought consolation in the looking-glass. 

She was an humble-minded young woman, as the sex goes, and she saw nogreat reason there why a man should go mad over Margaret Hugonin. Thisdecision, I grant you, was preposterous, for there were any number ofreasons. Her final conclusion, however, was for the future to regardall men as fortune-hunters and to do her hair differently. 

She carried out both resolutions. When a gentleman grew pressing inhis attentions, she more than suspected his motives; and when sheeventually declined him it was done with perfect, courtesy, but theglow of her eyes was at such times accentuated to a marked degree. 

Meanwhile, the Eagle brooded undisturbed at Selwoode. Miss Hugoninwould allow nothing to be altered. 

"The place doesn't belong to me, attractive, " she would tell herfather. "I belong to the place. Yes, I do--I'm exactly like a littlecow thrown in with a little farm when they sell it, and _all_ mylittle suitors think so, and they are very willing to take me on thoseterms, too. But they shan't, attractive. I hate every single solitaryman in the whole wide world but you, beautiful, and I particularlyhate that horrid old Eagle; but we'll keep him because he's a constantreminder to me that Solomon or Moses, or whoever it was that said allmen were liars, was a person of _very_ great intelligence. "

So that I think we may fairly say the money did her no good. 

If it benefited no one else, it was not Margaret's fault. She had ahigh sense of her responsibilities, and therefore, at various times, endeavoured to further the spread of philanthropy and literature andtheosophy and art and temperance and education and other laudablecauses. Mr. Kennaston, in his laughing manner, was wont to jest ather varied enterprises and term her Lady Bountiful; but, then, Mr. Kennaston had no real conception of the proper uses of money. Infact, he never thought of money. He admitted this to Margaret with awhimsical sigh. 

Margaret grew very fond of Mr. Kennaston because he was not mercenary. 

Mr. Kennaston was much at Selwoode. Many people came therenow--masculine women and muscleless men, for the most part. They had, every one of them, some scheme for bettering the universe; and ifamong them Margaret seemed somewhat out of place--a butterfly amongearnest-minded ants--her heart was in every plan they advocated, andthey found her purse-strings infinitely elastic. The girl was pitiablyanxious to be of some use in the world. 

So at Selwoode they gossiped of great causes and furthered themillenium. And above them the Eagle brooded in silence. 

And Billy? All this time Billy was junketing abroad, where everyyear he painted masterpieces for the Salon, which--on account of anefarious conspiracy among certain artists, jealous of his superiormerits--were invariably refused. 

Now Billy is back again in America, and the Colonel has insisted thathe come to Selwoode, and Margaret is waiting for him in the dog-cart. The glow of her eyes is very, very bright. Her father's careless wordsthis morning, coupled with certain speeches of Mr. Kennaston's lastnight, have given her food for reflection. 

"He wouldn't dare, " says Margaret, to no one in particular. "Oh, no, he wouldn't dare after what happened four years ago. "

And, Margaret-like, she has quite forgotten that what happened fouryears ago was all caused by her having flirted outrageously with TeddyAnstruther, in order to see what Billy would do. 

IV

The twelve forty-five, for a wonder, was on time; and there descendedfrom it a big, blond young man, who did not look in the least like afortune-hunter. 

Miss Hugonin resented this. Manifestly, he looked clean and honest forthe deliberate purpose of deceiving her. Very well! She'd show him!

He was quite unembarrassed. He shook hands cordially; then he shookhands with the groom, who, you may believe it, was grinning in a mostunprofessional manner because Master Billy was back again at Selwoode. Subsequently, in his old decisive way, he announced they would walk tothe house, as his legs needed stretching. 

The insolence of it!--quite as if he had something to say to Margaretin private and couldn't wait a minute. Beyond doubt, this was a youngman who must be taken down a peg or two, and that at once. Of course, she wasn't going to walk back with him!--a pretty figure they'd cutstrolling through the fields, like a house-girl and the milkman on aSunday afternoon! She would simply say she was too tired to walk, andthat would end the matter. 

So she said she thought the exercise would do them both good. 

They came presently with desultory chat to a meadow bravely decked inall the gauds of Spring. About them the day was clear, the air bland. Spring had revamped her ageless fripperies of tender leaves andbird-cries and sweet, warm odours for the adornment of this meadow;above it she had set a turkis sky splashed here and there with littleclouds that were like whipped cream; and upon it she had scatteredlargesse, a Danaë's shower of buttercups. Altogether, she had made ofit a particularly dangerous meadow for a man and a maid to frequent. 

Yet there Mr. Woods paused under a burgeoning maple--pausedresolutely, with the lures of Spring thick about him, compassed withevery snare of scent and sound and colour that the witch is mistressof. 

Margaret hoped he had a pleasant passage over. Her father, thank you, was in the pink of condition. Oh, yes, she was quite well. She hopedMr. Woods would not find America--

"Well, Peggy, " said Mr. Woods, "then, we'll have it out right here. "

His insolence was so surprising that--in order to recoverherself--Margaret actually sat down under the maple-tree. Peggy, indeed! Why, she hadn't been called Peggy for--no, not for four wholeyears!

"Because I intend to be friends, you know, " said Mr. Woods. 

And about them the maple-leaves made a little island of sombre green, around which more vivid grasses rippled and dimpled under the fitfulspring breezes. And everywhere leaves lisped to one another, and birdsshrilled insistently. It was a perilous locality. 

I fancy Billy Woods was out of his head when he suggested beingfriends in such a place. Friends, indeed!--you would have thought fromthe airy confidence with which he spoke that Margaret had come safelyto forty year and wore steel-rimmed spectacles!

But Miss Hugonin merely cast down her eyes and was aware of no reasonwhy they shouldn't be. She was sure he must be hungry, and she thoughtluncheon must be ready by now. 

In his soul, Mr. Woods observed that her lashes were long--long beyondall reason. Lacking the numbers that Petrarch flowed in, he did notventure, even to himself, to characterise them further. But oh, howqueer it was they should be pure gold at the roots!--she must havedipped them in the ink-pot. And oh, the strong, sudden, bewilderingcurve of 'em! He could not recall at the present moment ever noticingquite such lashes anywhere else. No, it was highly improbable thatthere were such lashes anywhere else. Perhaps a few of the superiorangels might have such lashes. He resolved for the future to attendchurch more regularly. 

Aloud, Mr. Woods observed that in that case they had better shakehands. 

It would have been ridiculous to contest the point. The dignifiedcourse was to shake hands, since he insisted on it, and then to returnat once to Selwoode. 

Margaret Hugonin had a pretty hand, and Mr. Woods, as an artist, couldnot well fail to admire it. Still, he needn't have looked at it asthough he had never before seen anything quite like it; he needn'thave neglected to return it; and when Miss Hugonin reclaimed it, aftera decent interval, he needn't have laughed in a manner that compelledher to laugh, too. These things were unnecessary and annoying, as theycaused Margaret to forget that she despised him. 

[Illustration: "Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, andBilly . . . Thought it vastly becoming"]

For the time being--will you believe it?--she actually thought he wasrather nice. 

"I acted like an ass, " said Mr. Woods, tragically. "Oh, yes, I did, you know. But if you'll forgive me for having been an ass I'll forgiveyou for throwing me over for Teddy Anstruther, and at the wedding I'lldance through any number of pairs of patent-leathers you choose tomention. "

So that was the way he looked at it. Teddy Anstruther, indeed! Why, Teddy was a dark little man with brown eyes--just the sort of man shemost objected to. How could any one ever possibly fancy a brown-eyedman? Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, and Billy, whohad stretched his great length of limb on the grass beside her, notedit with a pair of the bluest eyes in the world and thought it vastlybecoming. 

"Billy, " said she, impulsively--and the name having slipped out onceby accident, it would have been absurd to call him anything elseafterward--"it was horrid of you to refuse to take any of that money. "

"But I didn't want it, " he protested. "Good Lord, I'd only have donesomething foolish with it. It was awfully square of you, Peggy, tooffer to divide, but I didn't want it, you see. I don't want to be amillionaire, and give up the rest of my life to founding libraries andexplaining to people that if they never spend any money on amusementsthey'll have a great deal by the time they're too old to enjoy it. I'drather paint pictures. "

So that I think Margaret must have endeavoured at some time to makehim accept part of Frederick R. Woods's money. 

"You make me feel--and look--like a thief, " she reproved him. 

Then Billy laughed a little. "You don't look in the least like one, "he reassured her. "You look like an uncommonly honest, straightforwardyoung woman, " Mr. Woods added, handsomely, "and I don't believe you'dpurloin under the severest temptation. "

She thanked him for his testimonial, with all three dimples inevidence. 

This was unsettling. He hedged. 

"Except, perhaps--" said he. 

"Yes?" queried Margaret, after a pause. 

However, she questioned him with her head drooped forward, her browsraised; and as this gave him the full effect of her eyes, Mr. Woodsbecame quite certain that there was, at least, one thing she might beexpected to rob him of, and wisely declined to mention it. 

Margaret did not insist on knowing what it was. Perhaps she heard itthumping under his waistcoat, where it was behaving very queerly. 

So they sat in silence for a while. Then Margaret fell a-humming toherself; and the air--will you believe it?--chanced by the purestaccident to be that foolish, senseless old song they used to singtogether four years ago. 

Billy chuckled. "Let's!" he obscurely pleaded. 

Spring prompted her. 

 "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy?"queried Margaret's wonderful contralto, "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?"

She sang it in a low, hushed voice, just over her breath. Not lookingat him, however. And oh, what a voice! thought Billy Woods. A voicethat was honey and gold and velvet and all that is most sweet and richand soft in the world! Find me another voice like that, you _primedonne!_ Find me a simile for it, you uninventive poets! Indeed, I'dlike to see you do it. 

But he chimed in, nevertheless, with his pleasant throaty baritone, and lilted his own part quite creditably. 

 "I've been to seek a wife, She's the joy of my life; She's a young thing, and cannot leave her mother"--

Only Billy sang it "father, " just as they used to do. 

And then they sang it through, did Margaret and Billy--sang of thedimple in her chin and the ringlets in her hair, and of the cherrypies she achieved with such celerity--sang as they sat in thespring-decked meadow every word of that inane old song that is soutterly senseless and so utterly unforgettable. 

It was a quite idiotic performance. I set it down to the snares ofSpring--to her insidious, delightful snares of scent and sound andcolour that--for the moment, at least--had trapped these young peopleinto loving life infinitely. 

But I wonder who is responsible for that tatter of rhyme and melodythat had come to them from nowhere in particular? Mr. Woods, as he satup at the conclusion of the singing vigorously to applaud, would haveshared his last possession, his ultimate crust, with that unknownbenefactor of mankind. Indeed, though, the heart of Mr. Woods just nowwas full of loving kindness and capable of any freakish magnanimity. 

For--will it be believed?--Mr. Woods, who four years ago had thrownover a fortune and exiled himself from his native land, rather thanpropose marriage to Margaret Hugonin, had no sooner come again intoher presence and looked once into her perfectly fathomless eyes thanhe could no more have left her of his own accord than a moth can turnhis back to a lighted candle. He had fancied himself entirely curedof that boy-and-girl nonsense; his broken heart, after the first fewmonths, had not interfered in the least with a naturally healthyappetite; and, behold, here was the old malady raging again in hisveins and with renewed fervour. 

And all because the girl had a pretty face! I think you will agreewith me that in the conversation I have recorded Margaret had notdisplayed any great wisdom or learning or tenderness or wit, nor, in fine, any of the qualities a man might naturally look for in ahelpmate. Yet at the precise moment he handed his baggage-check to thegroom, Mr. Woods had made up his mind to marry her. In an instant hehad fallen head over ears in love; or to whittle accuracy to a point, he had discovered that he had never fallen out of love; and if you hadoffered him an empress or fetched Helen of Troy from the grave for hisdelectation he would have laughed you to scorn. 

In his defense, I can only plead that Margaret was an unusuallybeautiful woman. It is all very well to flourish a death's-head at thefeast, and bid my lady go paint herself an inch thick, for to thisfavour she must come; and it is quite true that the reddest lips inthe universe may give vent to slander and lies, and the brightest eyesbe set in the dullest head, and the most roseate of complexions bepurchased at the corner drug-store; but, say what you will, a prettywoman is a pretty woman, and while she continue so no amount ofcommon-sense or experience will prevent a man, on provocation, fromalluring, coaxing, even entreating her to make a fool of him. We likeit. And I think they like it, too. 

So Mr. Woods lost his heart on a fine spring morning and wasunreasonably elated over the fact. 

And Margaret? Margaret was content. 

V

They talked for a matter of a half-hour in the fashion aforetimerecorded--not very wise nor witty talk, if you will, but very pleasantto make. There were many pauses. There was much laughter over nothingin particular. There were any number of sentences ambitiously begunthat ended nowhere. Altogether, it was just the sort of talk for a manand a maid. 

Yet some twenty minutes later, Mr. Woods, preparing for luncheon inthe privacy of his chamber, gave a sudden exclamation. Then he satdown and rumpled his hair thoroughly. 

"Good Lord!" he groaned; "I'd forgotten all about that damned money!Oh, you ass!--you abject ass! Why, she's one of the richest women inAmerica, and you're only a fifth-rate painter with a paltry thousandor so a year! _You_ marry her!--why, I dare say she's refused ahundred better men than you! She'd think you were mad! Why, she'dthink you were after her money! She--oh, she'd only think you aprecious cheeky ass, she would, and she'd be quite right. You _are_ anass, Billy Woods! You ought to be locked up in some nice quiet stable, where your heehawing wouldn't disturb people. You need a keeper, youdo!"

He sat for some ten minutes, aghast. Afterward he rose and threw backhis shoulders and drew a deep breath. 

"No, we aren't an ass, " he addressed his reflection in the mirror, ashe carefully knotted his tie. "We're only a poor chuckle-headed mothwho's been looking at a star too long. It's a bright star, Billy, butit isn't for you. So we're going to be sensible now. We're going toget a telegram to-morrow that will call us away from Selwoode. Wearen't coming back any more, either. We're simply going to continuepainting fifth-rate pictures, and hoping that some day she'll find theright man and be very, very happy. "

Nevertheless, he decided that a blue tie would look better, and wasvery particular in arranging it. 

At the same moment Margaret stood before her mirror and tidied herhair for luncheon and assured her image in the glass that she was aweak-minded fool. She pointed out to herself the undeniable fact thatBilly, having formerly refused to marry her--oh, ignominy!--seemedpleasant-spoken enough, now that she had become an heiress. Hisrefusal to accept part of her fortune was a very flimsy device; itsimply meant he hoped to get all of it. Oh, he did, did he!

Margaret powdered her nose viciously. 

_She_ saw through him! His honest bearing she very plainly perceivedto be the result of consummate hypocrisy. In his laughter her keen eardetected a hollow ring; and his courteous manner she found, at bottom, mere servility. And finally she demonstrated--to her own satisfaction, at least--that his charm of manner was of exactly the, same sort thathad been possessed by many other eminently distinguished criminals. 

How did she do this? My dear sir, you had best inquire of your motheror your sister or your wife, or any other lady that your fancydictates. They know. I am sure I don't. 

And after it all--

"Oh, dear, dear!" said Margaret; "I _do_ wish he didn't have such niceeyes!"

VI

On the way to luncheon Mr. Woods came upon Adèle Haggage and Hugh VanOrden, both of whom he knew, very much engrossed in one another, in anook under the stairway. To Billy it seemed just now quite proper thatevery one should be in love; wasn't it--after all--the most pleasantcondition in the world? So he greeted them with a semi-paternal smilethat caused Adèle to flush a little. 

For she was--let us say, interested--in Mr. Van Orden. That wastolerably well known. In fact, Margaret--prompted by Mrs. Haggage, it must be confessed--had invited him to Selwoode for the especialpurpose of entertaining Miss Adèle Haggage; for he was a good match, and Mrs. Haggage, as an experienced chaperon, knew the value ofcountry houses. Very unexpectedly, however, the boy had developed adisconcerting tendency to fall in love with Margaret, who snubbed himpromptly and unmercifully. He had accordingly fallen back on Adèle, and Mrs. Haggage had regained both her trust in Providence and hertemper. 

In the breakfast-room, where luncheon was laid out, the Colonelgreeted Mr. Woods with the enthusiasm a sailor shipwrecked on a desertisland might conceivably display toward the boat-crew come to rescuehim. The Colonel liked Billy; and furthermore, the poor Colonel'sposition at Selwoode just now was not utterly unlike that of thesuppositious mariner; were I minded to venture into metaphor, I shouldpicture him as clinging desperately to the rock of an old fogeyismand surrounded by weltering seas of advanced thought. Colonel Hugoninhimself was not advanced in his ideas. Also, he had forceful opinionsas to the ultimate destination of those who were. 

Then Billy was presented to the men of the party--Mr. Felix Kennastonand Mr. Petheridge Jukesbury. Mrs. Haggage he knew slightly; andKathleen Saumarez he had known very well indeed, some six yearspreviously, before she had ever heard of Miguel Saumarez, and whenBilly was still an undergraduate. She was a widow now, and notwell-to-do; and Mr. Woods's first thought on seeing her was that a manwas a fool to write verses, and that she looked like just the sort ofwoman to preserve them. 

His second was that he had verged on imbecility when he fancied headmired that slender, dark-haired type. A woman's hair ought to be anenormous coronal of sunlight; a woman ought to have very large, candideyes of a colour between that of sapphires and that of the springheavens, only infinitely more beautiful than either; and allpetticoated persons differing from this description were manifestlyquite unworthy of any serious consideration. 

So his eyes turned to Margaret, who had no eyes for him. She hadforgotten his existence, with an utterness that verged on ostentation;and if it had been any one else Billy would have surmised she was in atemper. But that angel in a temper!--nonsense! And, oh, what eyes shehad! and what lashes! and what hair!--and altogether, how adorable shewas, and what a wonder the admiring gods hadn't snatched her up toOlympus long ago!

Thus far Mr. Woods. 

But if Miss Hugonin was somewhat taciturn, her counsellors in diversschemes for benefiting the universe were in opulent vein. Billy heardthem silently. 

"I have spent the entire morning by the lake, " Mr. Kennaston informedthe party at large, "in company with a mocking-bird who was practisinga new aria. It was a wonderful place; the trees were lisping verses tothemselves, and the sky overhead was like a robin's egg in colour, and a faint wind was making tucks and ruches and pleats all overthe water, quite as if the breezes had set up in business asmantua-makers. I fancy they thought they were working on a great sheetof blue silk, for it was very like that. And every once in a while afish would leap and leave a splurge of bubble and foam behind that youwould have sworn was an inserted lace medallion. "

Mr. Kennaston, as you are doubtless aware, is the author of "TheKing's Quest" and other volumes of verse. He is a full-bodied youngman, with hair of no particular shade; and if his green eyes are alittle aged, his manner is very youthful. His voice in speaking iswonderfully pleasing, and he has a habit of cocking his head on oneside, in a bird-like fashion. 

"Indeed, " Mr. Petheridge Jukesbury observed, "it is very true that Godmade the country and man made the town. A little more wine, please. "

Mr. Jukesbury is a prominent worker in the cause of philanthropyand temperance. He is ponderous and bland; and for the rest, he ispresident of the Society for the Suppression of Nicotine and theNude, vice-president of the Anti-Inebriation League, secretary of theIncorporated Brotherhood of Benevolence, and the bearer of diverssimilar honours. 

"I am never really happy in the country, " Mrs. Saumarez dissented; "itreminds me so constantly of our rural drama. I am always afraid thequartette may come on and sing something. "

Kathleen Eppes Saumarez, as I hope you do not need to be told, isthe well-known lecturer before women's clubs, and the author of manysympathetic stories of Nature and animal life of the kind that havehad such a vogue of late. There was always an indefinable air ofpathos about her; as Hunston Wyke put it, one felt, somehow, that hermother had been of a domineering disposition, and that she took afterher father. 

"Ah, dear lady, " Mr. Kennaston cried, playfully, "you, like many ofus, have become an alien to Nature in your quest of a mere EarthlyParadox. Epigrams are all very well, but I fancy there is morehappiness to be derived from a single impulse from a vernal wood thanfrom a whole problem-play of smart sayings. So few of us arenatural, " Mr. Kennaston complained, with a dulcet sigh; "we are toosophisticated. Our very speech lacks the tang of outdoor life. Why should we not love Nature--the great mother, who is, I grant you, the necessity of various useful inventions, in her angry moods, butwho, in her kindly moments--" He paused, with a wry face. "I beg yourpardon, " said he, "but I believe I've caught rheumatism lying by thatconfounded pond. "

Mrs. Saumarez rallied the poet, with a pale smile. "That comes ofcommuning with Nature, " she reminded him; "and it serves you rightly, for natural communications corrupt good epigrams. I prefer Naturewith wide margins and uncut leaves, " she spoke, in her best platformmanner. "Art should be an expurgated edition of Nature, with allthe unpleasant parts left out. And I am sure, " Mrs. Saumarez added, handsomely, and clinching her argument, "that Mr. Kennaston gives usmuch better sunsets in his poems than I have ever seen in the west. "

He acknowledged this with a bow. 

"Not sherry--claret, if you please, " said Mr. Jukesbury. "Art shouldbe an expurgated edition of Nature, " he repeated, with a suavechuckle. "Do you know, I consider that admirably put, Mrs. Saumarez--admirably, upon my word. Ah, if our latter-day writers wouldonly take that saying to heart! We do not need to be told of the viceand corruption prevalent, I am sorry to say, among the very bestpeople; what we really need is continually to be reminded of the factthat pure hearts and homes and happy faces are to be found to-dayalike in the palatial residences of the wealthy and in the humblerhomes of those less abundantly favoured by Fortune, and yet dwellingtogether in harmony and Christian resignation and--er--comparativelymoderate circumstances. "

"Surely, " Mrs. Saumarez protested, "art has nothing to do withmorality. Art is a process. You see a thing in a certain way; you makeyour reader see it in the same way--or try to. If you succeed, theresult is art. If you fail, it may be the book of the year. "

"Enduring immortality and--ah--the patronage of the reading public, "Mr. Jukesbury placidly insisted, "will be awarded, in the end, onlyto those who dwell upon the true, the beautiful, and the--er--respectable. Art must cheer; it must be optimistic andedifying and--ah--suitable for young persons; it must have an uplift, a leaven of righteousness, a--er--a sort of moral baking-powder. Itmust utterly eschew the--ah--unpleasant and repugnant details of life. It is, if I may so express myself, not at home in the ménage à troisor--er--the representation of the nude. Yes, another glass of claret, if you please. "

"I quite agree with you, " said Mrs. Haggage, in her deep voice. SarahEllen Haggage is, of course, the well-known author of "Child-Labour inthe South, " and "The Down-Trodden Afro-American, " and other notablecontributions to literature. She is, also, the "Madame President" bothof the Society for the Betterment of Civic Government and Sewerage, and of the Ladies' League for the Edification of the Impecunious. 

"And I am glad to see, " Mrs. Haggage presently went on, "that theliterature of the day is so largely beginning to chronicle the sayingsand doings of the labouring classes. The virtues of the humble must beadmitted in spite of their dissolute and unhygienic tendencies. Yes, "Mrs. Haggage added, meditatively, "our literature is undoubtedlyacquiring a more elevated tone; at last we are shaking off thescintillant and unwholesome influence of the French. "

"Ah, the French!" sighed Mr. Kennaston; "a people who think depravitythe soul of wit! Their art is mere artfulness. They care nothing forNature. "

"No, " Mrs. Haggage assented; "they prefer nastiness. _All_ Frenchbooks are immoral. I ran across one the other day that was simplyhideously indecent--unfit for a modest woman to read. And I can assureyou that none of its author's other books are any better. I purchasedthe entire set at once and read them carefully, in order to make surethat I was perfectly justified in warning my working-girls' classesagainst them. I wish to misjudge no man--not even a member of a nationnotoriously devoted to absinthe and illicit relations. "

She breathed heavily, and looked at Mr. Woods as if, somehow, hewas responsible. Then she gave the name of the book to PetheridgeJukesbury. He wished to have it placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ ofthe Brotherhood of Benevolence, he said. 

"Dear, dear, " Felix Kennaston sighed, as Mr. Jukesbury made a note ofit; "you are all so practical. You perceive an evil and proceed atonce, in your common-sense way, to crush it, to stamp it out. Now, I can merely lament certain unfortunate tendencies of the age; I amquite unable to contend against them. Do you know, " Mr. Kennestoncontinued gaily, as he trifled with a bunch of grapes, "I feelhorribly out-of-place among you? Here is Mrs. Saumarez creating anepidemic of useful and improving knowledge throughout the country, bymeans of her charming lectures. Here is Mrs. Haggage, the mainspring, if I may say so, of any number of educational and philanthropicalarm clocks which will some day rouse the sleeping public from itslethargy. And here is my friend Jukesbury, whose eloquent pleas for ahigher life have turned so many workmen from gin and improvidence, andwhich in a printed form are disseminated even in such remote regionsas Africa, where I am told they have produced the most satisfactoryresults upon the unsophisticated but polygamous monarchs of thatcontinent. And here, above all, is Miss Hugonin, utilising the vastpower of money--which I am credibly informed is a very good thing tohave, though I cannot pretend to speak from experience--and castingwhole bakeryfuls of bread upon the waters of charity. And here amI, the idle singer of an empty day--a mere drone in this hive ofphilanthropic bees! Dear, dear, " said Mr. Kennaston, enviously, "whata thing it is to be practical!" And he laughed toward Margaret, in hiswhimsical way. 

Miss Hugonin had been strangely silent; but she returned Mr. Kennaston's smile, and began to take part in the conversation. 

"You're only an ignorant child, " she rebuked him, "and a very naughtychild, too, to make fun of us in this fashion. "

"Yes, " Mr. Kennaston assented, "I am wilfully ignorant. The worldadores ignorance; and where ignorance is kissed it is folly to bewise. To-morrow I shall read you a chapter from my 'Defense ofIgnorance, ' which my confiding publisher is going to bring out in theautumn. "

So the table-talk went on, and now Margaret bore a part therein. 

 * * * * *

However, I do not think we need record it further. 

Mr. Woods listened in a sort of a daze. Adèle Haggage and Hugh VanOrden were conversing in low tones at one end of the table; theColonel was eating his luncheon, silently and with a certain air ofresignation; and so Billy Woods was left alone to attend and marvel. 

The ideas they advanced seemed to him, for the most part, sensible. What puzzled him was the uniform gravity which they accordedequally--as it appeared to him--to the discussion of the most pompousplatitudes and of the most arrant nonsense. They were always serious;and the general tone of infallibility, Billy thought, could bewarranted only by a vast fund of inexperience. 

But, in the main, they advocated theories he had alwaysheld--excellent theories, he considered. And he was seized with anunreasonable desire to repudiate every one of them. 

For it seemed to him that every one of them was aimed at Margaret'sapproval. It did not matter to whom a remark was ostensiblyaddressed--always at its conclusion the speaker glanced more orless openly toward Miss Hugonin. She was the audience to which theyzealously played, thought Billy; and he wondered. 

I think I have said that, owing to the smallness of the house-party, luncheon was served in the breakfast-room. The dining-room at Selwoodeis very rarely used, because Margaret declares its size makes a mealthere equivalent to eating out-of-doors. 

And I must confess that the breakfast-room is far cosier. The room, inthe first place, is of reasonable dimensions; it is hung with Flemishtapestries from designs by Van Eyck representing the Four Seasons, butthe walls and ceiling are panelled in oak, and over the mantel carvedin bas-relief the inevitable Eagle is displayed. 

The mantel stood behind Margaret's chair; and over her golden head, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, with his wings outstretched tothe uttermost, the Eagle brooded as he had once brooded over FrederickR. Woods. The old man sat contentedly beneath that symbol of whathe had achieved in life. He had started (as the phrase runs) fromnothing; he had made himself a power. To him, the Eagle meant thatcrude, incalculable power of wealth he gloried in. And to Billy Woods, the Eagle meant identically the same thing, and--I am sorry to say--hebegan to suspect that the Eagle was really the audience to whom MissHugonin's friends so zealously played. 

Perhaps the misanthropy of Mr. Woods was not wholly unconnected withthe fact that Margaret never looked at him. _She'd_ show him!--thefortune-hunter!

So her eyes never strayed toward him; and her attention never lefthim. At the end of luncheon she could have enumerated for you everymorsel he had eaten, every glare he had directed toward Kennaston, every beseeching look he had turned to her. Of course, he had takensherry--dry sherry. Hadn't he told her four years ago--it was thefirst day she had ever worn the white organdie dotted with purplesprigs, and they sat by the lake so late that afternoon that FrederickR. Woods finally sent for them to come to dinner--hadn't he told herthen that only women and children cared for sweet wines? Of course hehad--the villain!

[Illustration: "Billy Woods"]

Billy, too, had his emotions. To hear that paragon, that queen amongwomen, descant of work done in the slums and of the mysteries ofsweat-shops; to hear her state off-hand that there were seventeenhundred and fifty thousand children between the ages of ten andfifteen years employed in the mines and factories of the UnitedStates; to hear her discourse of foreign missions as glibly as thoughshe had been born and nurtured in Zambesi Land: all these thingsfilled him with an odd sense of alienation. He wasn't worthy of her, and that was a fact. He was only a dumb idiot, and half the words thatwere falling thick and fast from philanthropic lips about him might aswell have been hailstones, for all the benefit he was deriving fromthem. He couldn't understand half she said. 

In consequence, he very cordially detested the people whocould--especially that grimacing ass, Kennaston. 

Altogether, neither Mr. Woods nor Miss Hugonin got much comfort fromtheir luncheon. 

VII

After luncheon Billy had a quiet half-hour with the Colonel in thesmoking-room. 

Said Billy, between puffs of a cigar:

"Peggy's changed a bit. "

The Colonel grunted. Perhaps he dared not trust to words. 

"Seems to have made some new friends. "

A more vigorous grunt. 

"Cultured lot, they seem?" said Mr. Woods. "Anxious to do good in theworld, too--philanthropic set, eh?"

A snort this time. 

"Eh?" said Mr. Woods. There was dawning suspicion in his tone. 

The Colonel looked about him. "My boy, " said he, "you thank your starsyou didn't get that money; and, depend upon it, there never was agold-ship yet that wasn't followed. "

"Pirates?" Billy Woods suggested, helpfully. 

"Pirates are human beings, " said Colonel Hugonin, with dignity. "Sharks, my boy; sharks!"

VIII

That evening, after proper deliberation, "Célestine, " Miss Hugonincommanded, "get out that little yellow dress with the little redbandanna handkerchiefs on it; and for heaven's sake, stop pullingmy hair out by the roots, unless you want a _raving_ maniac on yourhands, Célestine!"

Whereby she had landed me in a quandary. For how, pray, is it possiblefor me, a simple-minded male, fittingly to depict for you the clothesof Margaret?--the innumerable vanities, the quaint devices, thepleasing conceits with which she delighted to enhance her comeliness?The thing is beyond me. Let us keep discreetly out of her wardrobe, you and I. 

Otherwise, I should have to prattle of an infinity of mysteries--ofher scarfs, feathers, laces, gloves, girdles, knots, hats, shoes, fans, and slippers--of her embroideries, rings, pins, pendants, ribbons, spangles, bracelets, and chains--in fine, there would be noend to the list of gewgaws that went to make Margaret Hugonin evenmore adorable than Nature had fashioned her. For when you come tothink of it, it takes the craft and skill and life-work of a thousandmen to dress one girl properly; and in Margaret's case, I protest thatevery one of them, could he have beheld the result of their unitedlabours, would have so gloried in his own part therein that therewould have been no putting up with any of the lot. 

Yet when I think of the tiny shoes she affected--patent-leather onesmostly, with a seam running straight up the middle (and you may guessthe exact date of our comedy by knowing in what year these shoes weremodish); the string of fat pearls she so often wore about her round, full throat; the white frock, say, with arabesques of blue all overit, that Felix Kennaston said reminded him of Ruskin's tombstone; orthat other white-and-blue one--_décolleté_, that was--which I swearseraphic mantua-makers had woven out of mists and the skies of June:when I remember these things, I repeat, almost am I tempted to becomea boot-maker and a lapidary and a milliner and, in fine, an adeptin all the other arts and trades and sciences that go to make awell-groomed American girl what she is--the incredible fruitof grafted centuries, the period after the list of Time'sachievements--just that I might describe Margaret to you properly. 

But the thing is beyond me. I leave such considerations, then, toCélestine, and resolve for the future rigorously to eschew all suchgauds. Meanwhile, if an untutored masculine description will contentyou--

Margaret, I have on reliable feminine authority, was one of the veryfew blondes whose complexions can carry off reds and yellows. This particular gown--I remember it perfectly--was of a dim, dullyellow--flounciful (if I may coin a word), diaphanous, expansive. Ihave not the least notion what fabric composed it; but scattered aboutit, in unexpected places, were diamond-shaped red things that I amcredibly informed are called medallions. The general effect of it maybe briefly characterised as grateful to the eye and dangerous to theheart, and to a rational train of thought quite fatal. 

For it was cut low in the neck; and Margaret's neck and shoulderswould have drawn madrigals from a bench of bishops. 

And in consequence, Billy Woods ate absolutely no dinner that evening. 

IX

It was an hour or two later when the moon, drifting tardily up fromthe south, found Miss Hugonin and Mr. Kennaston chatting amicablytogether in the court at Selwoode. They were discussing the deplorabletendencies of the modern drama. 

The court at Selwoode lies in the angle of the building, the groundplan of which is L-shaped. Its two outer sides are formed by coveredcloisters leading to the palm-garden, and by moonlight--the nightbland and sweet with the odour of growing things, vocal with plashingfountains, spangled with fire-flies that flicker indolently among aglimmering concourse of nymphs and fauns eternally postured in flightor in pursuit--by moonlight, I say, the court at Selwoode is perhapsas satisfactory a spot for a _tête-à-tête_ as this transitory worldaffords. 

Mr. Kennaston was in vein to-night; he scintillated; he was also alittle nervous. This was probably owing to the fact that Margaret, leaning against the back of the stone bench on which they both sat, her chin propped by her hand, was gazing at him in that peculiar, intent fashion of hers which--as I think I have mentioned--caused youfatuously to believe she had forgotten there were any other trouseredbeings extant. 

Mr. Kennaston, however, stuck to apt phrases and nice distinctions. The moon found it edifying, but rather dull. 

After a little Mr. Kennaston paused in his boyish, ebullient speech, and they sat in silence. The lisping of the fountains was veryaudible. In the heavens, the moon climbed a little further andregistered a manifestly impossible hour on the sun-dial. It alsobrightened. 

It was a companionable sort of a moon. It invited talk of aconfidential nature. 

"Bless my soul, " it was signalling to any number of gentlemen at thatmoment, "there's only you and I and the girl here. Speak out, man!She'll have you now, if she ever will. You'll never have a chance likethis again, I can tell you. Come, now, my dear boy, I'm shining fullin your face, and you've no idea how becoming it is. I'm not like thatgarish, blundering sun, who doesn't know any better than to let hersee how red and fidgetty you get when you're excited; I'm an old handat such matters. I've presided over these little affairs since Babylonwas a paltry village. _I'll_ never tell. And--and if anything shouldhappen, I'm always ready to go behind a cloud, you know. So, speakout!--speak out, man, if you've the heart of a mouse!"

Thus far the conscienceless spring moon. 

Mr. Kennaston sighed. The moon took this as a promising sign andbrightened over it perceptibly, and thereby afforded him an excellentgambit. 

"Yes?" said Margaret. "What is it, beautiful?"

That, in privacy, was her fantastic name for him. 

The poet laughed a little. "Beautiful child, " said he--and that, undersimilar circumstances, was his perfectly reasonable name forher--"I have been discourteous. To be frank, I have been sulking asirrationally as a baby who clamours for the moon yonder. "

"You aren't really anything but a baby, you know. " Indeed, Margaretalmost thought of him as such. He was so delightfully naïf. 

He bent toward her. A faint tremor woke in his speech. "And so, " saidhe, softly, "I cry for the moon--the unattainable, exquisite moon. Itis very ridiculous, is it not?"

But he did not look at the moon. He looked toward Margaret--pastMargaret, toward the gleaming windows of Selwoode, where the Eaglebrooded:

"Oh, I really can't say, " Margaret cried, in haste. "She was kind toEndymion, you know. We will hope for the best. I think we'd better gointo the house now. "

"You bid me hope?" said he. 

"Beautiful, if you really want the moon, I don't see the _least_objection to your continuing to hope. They make so many littleairships and things nowadays, you know, and you'll probably find itonly green cheese, after all. What _is_ green cheese, I wonder?--itsounds horribly indigestible and unattractive, doesn't it?" MissHugonin babbled, in a tumult of fear and disappointment. He was aboutto spoil their friendship now; men were so utterly inconsiderate. "I'ma little cold, " said she, mendaciously, "I really must go in. "

He detained her. "Surely, " he breathed, "you must know what I have solong wanted to tell you--"

"I haven't the _least_ idea, " she protested, promptly. "You can tellme all about it in the morning. I have some accounts to cast upto-night. Besides, I'm not a good person to tell secrets to. You--you'd much better not tell me. Oh, really, Mr. Kennaston, " shecried, earnestly, "you'd much better not tell me!"

"Ah, Margaret, Margaret, " he pleaded, "I am not adamant. I am only aman, with a man's heart that hungers for you, cries for you, clamoursfor you day by day! I love you, beautiful child--love you with apoet's love that is alien to these sordid days, with a love that ishalf worship. I love you as Leander loved his Hero, as Pyramus lovedThisbe. Ah, child, child, how beautiful you are! You are fairest ofcreated women, child--fair as those long-dead queens for whose smilesold cities burned and kingdoms were lightly lost. I am mad for love ofyou! Ah, have pity upon me, Margaret, for I love you very tenderly!"

He delivered these observations with appropriate fervour. 

"Mr. Kennaston, " said she, "I am sorry. We got along so nicely before, and I was _so_ proud of your friendship. We've had such good timestogether, you and I, and I've liked your verses so, and I've likedyou--Oh, please, _please_, let's keep on being just friends!" Margaretwailed, piteously. 

"Friends!" he cried, and gave a bitter laugh. "I was never friendswith you, Margaret. Why, even as I read my verses to you--thosepallid, ineffectual verses that praised you timorously under variednames--even then there pulsed in my veins the riotous pæan of love, the great mad song of love that shamed my paltry rhymes. I cannot befriends with you, child! I must have all or nothing. Bid me hope orgo!"

Miss Hugonin meditated for a moment and did neither. 

"Beautiful, " she presently queried, "would you be very, very muchshocked if I descended to slang?"

"I think, " said he, with an uncertain smile, "that I could endure it. "

"Why, then--cut it out, beautiful! Cut it out! I don't believe a wordyou've said, in the first place; and, anyhow, it annoys me to have youtalk to me like that. I don't like it, and it simply makes me awfully, awfully tired. "

With which characteristic speech, Miss Hugonin leaned back and sat upvery rigidly and smiled at him like a cherub. 

Kennaston groaned. 

"It shall be as you will, " he assured her, with a little quaver in hisspeech that was decidedly effective. "And in any event, I am not sorrythat I have loved you, beautiful child. You have always been a powerfor good in my life. You have gladdened me with the vision of a beautythat is more than human, you have heartened me for this petty businessof living, you have praised my verses, you have even accorded mecertain pecuniary assistance as to their publication--though I mustadmit that to accept it of you was very distasteful to me. Ah!" FelixKennaston cried, with a quick lift of speech, "impractical child thatI am, I had not thought of that! My love had caused me to forget thegreat barrier that stands between us. "

He gasped and took a short turn about the court. 

"Pardon me, Miss Hugonin, " he entreated, when his emotions were undera little better control, "for having spoken as I did. I had forgotten. Think of me, if you will, as no better than the others--think of me asa mere fortune-hunter. My presumption will be justly punished. "

"Oh, no, no, it isn't that, " she cried; "it isn't that, is it?You--you would care just as much about me if I were poor, wouldn'tyou, beautiful? I don't want you to care for me, of course, " Margaretadded, with haste. "I want to go on being friends. Oh, that money, that _nasty_ money!" she cried, in a sudden gust of petulance. "Itmakes me so distrustful, and I can't help it!"

He smiled at her wistfully. "My dear, " said he, "are there no mirrorsat Selwoode to remove your doubts?"

"I--yes, I do believe in you, " she said, at length. "But I don't wantto marry you. You see, I'm not a bit in love with you, " Margaretexplained, candidly. 

Ensued a silence. Mr. Kennaston bowed his head. 

"You bid me go?" said he. 

"No--not exactly, " said she. 

He indicated a movement toward her. 

"Now, you needn't attempt to take any liberties with me, " Miss Hugoninannounced, decisively, "because if you do I'll never speak to youagain. You must let me go now. You--you must let me think. "

Then Felix Kennaston acted very wisely. He rose and stood aside, witha little bow. 

"I can wait, child, " he said, sadly. "I have already waited a longtime. "

Miss Hugonin escaped into the house without further delay. It was veryflattering, of course; he had spoken beautifully, she thought, andnobly and poetically and considerately, and altogether there wasabsolutely no excuse for her being in a temper. Still, she was. 

The moon, however, considered the affair as arranged. 

For she had been no whit more resolute in her refusal, you see, thanbecomes any self-respecting maid. In fact, she had not refused him;and the experienced moon had seen the hopes of many a wooer thrive, chameleon-like, on answers far less encouraging than that whichMargaret had given Felix Kennaston. 

Margaret was very fond of him. All women like a man who can do apicturesque thing without bothering to consider whether or not he bemaking himself ridiculous; and more than once in thinking of him shehad wondered if--perhaps--possibly--some day--? And always these vagueflights of fancy had ended at this precise point--incinerated, if youwill grant me the simile, by the sudden flaming of her cheeks. 

The thing is common enough. You may remember that Romeo was not theonly gentleman that Juliet noticed at her début: there was the youngPetruchio; and the son and heir of old Tiberio; and I do not questionthat she had a kind glance or so for County Paris. Beyond doubt, therewere many with whom my lady had danced; with whom she had laughed alittle; with whom she had exchanged a few perfectly affable words andlooks--when of a sudden her heart speaks: "Who's he that would notdance? If he be married, my grave is like to prove my marriage-bed. "In any event, Paris and Petruchio and Tiberio's young hopeful can gohang; Romeo has come. 

Romeo is seldom the first. Pray you, what was there to prevent Julietfrom admiring So-and-so's dancing? or from observing that SignorSuch-an-one had remarkably expressive eyes? or from thinking of Tybaltas a dear, reckless fellow whom it was the duty of some good woman torescue from perdition? If no one blames the young Montague for sendingRosaline to the right-about--Rosaline for whom he was weeping andrhyming an hour before--why, pray, should not Signorina Capulet havehad a few previous _affaires du coeur_? Depend upon it, she had; forwas she not already past thirteen?

In like manner, I dare say that a deal passed between Desdemona andCassio that the honest Moor never knew of; and that Lucrece wasprobably very pleasant and agreeable to Tarquin, as a well-bredhostess should be; and that Helen had that little affair with Theseusbefore she ever thought of Paris; and that if Cleopatra died for loveof Antony it was not until she had previously lived a great while withCæsar. 

So Felix Kennaston had his hour. Now Margaret has gone into Selwoode, flame-faced and quite unconscious that she is humming under her breaththe words of a certain inane old song:

 "Oh, she sat for me a chair; She has ringlets in her hair; She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother"--

Only she sang it "father. " And afterward, she suddenly frowned andstamped her foot, did Margaret. 

"I _hate_ him!" said she; but she looked very guilty. 

X

In the living-hall of Selwoode Miss Hugonin paused. Undeniably therewere the accounts of the Ladies' League for the Edification of theImpecunious to be put in order; her monthly report as treasurerwas due in a few days, and Margaret was in such matters a careful, painstaking body, and not wholly dependent upon her secretary; but shewas entirely too much out of temper to attend to that now. 

It was really all Mr. Kennaston's fault, she assured a prickingconscience, as she went out on the terrace before Selwoode. He hadbothered her dreadfully. 

There she found Petheridge Jukesbury smoking placidly in theeffulgence of the moonlight; and the rotund, pasty countenance heturned toward her was ludicrously like the moon's counterfeit in muddywater. I am sorry to admit it, but Mr. Jukesbury had dined somewhatinjudiciously. You are not to stretch the phrase; he was merelyprepared to accord the universe his approval, to pat Destiny uponthe head, and his thoughts ran clear enough, but with Apriliancounter-changes of the jovial and the lachrymose. 

"Ah, Miss Hugonin, " he greeted her, with a genial smile, "I am indeedfortunate. You find me deep in meditation, and also, I am sorry tosay, in the practise of a most pernicious habit. You do not object?Ah, that is so like you. You are always kind, Miss Hugonin. Yourkindness, which falls, if I may so express myself, as the gentle rainfrom Heaven upon all deserving charitable institutions, and dailycomforts the destitute with good advice and consoles the sorrowingwith blankets, would now induce you to tolerate an odour which I amsure is personally distasteful to you. "

"But _really_ I don't mind, " was Margaret's protest. 

"I cannot permit it, " Mr. Jukesbury insisted, and waved a pudgy handin the moonlight. "No, really, I cannot permit it. We will throwit away, if you please, and say no more about it, " and his glancefollowed the glowing flight of his cigar-end somewhat wistfully. "Yourfather's cigars are such as it is seldom my privilege to encounter;but, then, my personal habits are not luxurious, nor my privateincome precisely what my childish imaginings had pictured it at thiscomparatively advanced period of life. Ah, youth, youth!--as the poetadmirably says, Miss Hugonin, the thoughts of youth are long, longthoughts, but its visions of existence are rose-tinged and free fromcare, and its conception of the responsibilities of manhood--suchas taxes and the water-rate--I may safely characterise as extremelysketchy. But pray be seated, Miss Hugonin, " Petheridge Jukesburyblandly urged. 

Common courtesy forced her to comply. So Margaret seated herself ona little red rustic bench. In the moonlight--but I think I havementioned how Margaret looked in the moonlight; and above her goldenhead the Eagle, sculptured over the door-way, stretched his wings tothe uttermost, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, and seemed toview Mr. Jukesbury with a certain air of expectation. 

"A beautiful evening, " Petheridge Jukesbury suggested, after a littlecogitation. 

She conceded that this was undeniable. 

"Where Nature smiles, and only the conduct of man is vile andaltogether what it ought not to be, " he continued, with unction--"ah, how true that is and how consoling! It is a good thing to meditateupon our own vileness, Miss Hugonin--to reflect that we are but wormswith naturally the most vicious inclinations. It is most salutary. Even I am but a worm, Miss Hugonin, though the press has been pleasedto speak most kindly of me. Even you--ah, no!" cried Mr. Jukesbury, kissing his finger-tips, with gallantry; "let us say a worm who hasburst its cocoon and become a butterfly--a butterfly with a charmingface and a most charitable disposition and considerable property!"

Margaret thanked him with a smile, and began to think wistfully of theLadies' League accounts. Still, he was a good man; and she endeavouredto persuade herself that she considered his goodness to atone for hisflabbiness and his fleshiness and his interminable verbosity--whichshe didn't. 

Mr. Jukesbury sighed. 

"A naughty world, " said he, with pathos--"a very naughty world, whichreally does not deserve the honour of including you in its censusreports. Yet I dare say it has the effrontery to put you down in thetax-lists; it even puts me down--me, an humble worker in the vineyard, with both hands set to the plough. And if I don't pay up it sellsme out. A very naughty world, indeed! I dare say, " Mr. Jukesburyobserved, raising his eyes--not toward heaven, but toward the Eagle, "that its conduct, as the poet says, creates considerable distressamong the angels. I don't know. I am not acquainted with many angels. My wife was an angel, but she is now a lifeless form. She has been forfive years. I erected a tomb to her at considerable personal expense, but I don't begrudge it--no, I don't begrudge it, Miss Hugonin. Shewas very hard to live with. But she was an angel, and angels are rare. Miss Hugonin, " said Petheridge Jukesbury, with emphasis, "_you_ are anangel. "

"Oh, dear, _dear!_" said Margaret, to herself; "I do wish I'd gone tobed directly after dinner!"

Above them the Eagle brooded. 

"Surely, " he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted totell you--"

"No, " said Margaret, "and I don't want to know, please. You make meawfully tired, and I don't care for you in the _least_. Now, you letgo my hand--let go at once!"

He detained her. "You are an angel, " he insisted--"an angel with alarge property. I love you, Margaret! Be mine!--be my blushing bride, I entreat you! Your property is far too large for an angel to lookafter. You need a man of affairs. I am a man of affairs. I amforty-five, and have no bad habits. My press-notices are, as a rule, favourable, my eloquence is accounted considerable, and my dearestaspiration is that you will comfort my declining years. I might addthat I adore you, but I think I mentioned that before. Margaret, willyou be my blushing bride?"

"No!" said Miss Hugonin emphatically. "No, you tipsy old beast--no!"

There was a rustle of skirts. The door slammed, and the philanthropistwas left alone on the terrace. 

XI

In the living-hall Margaret came upon Hugh Van Orden, who wassearching in one of the alcoves for a piece of music that AdèleHaggage wanted and had misplaced. 

The boy greeted her miserably. 

"Miss Hugonin, " he lamented, "you're awfully hard on me. "

"I am sorry, " said Margaret, "that you consider me discourteous to aguest in my own house. " Oh, I grant you Margaret was in a temper now. 

"It isn't that, " he protested; "but I never see you alone. And I'vehad something to tell you. "

"Yes?" said she, coldly. 

He drew near to her. "Surely, " he breathed, "you must know what I havelong wanted to tell you--"

"Yes, I should think I _did!_" said Margaret, "and if you dare tellme a word of it I'll never speak to you again. It's getting a littlemonotonous. Good-night, Mr. Van Orden. "

Half way up the stairs she paused and ran lightly back. 

"Oh, Hugh, Hugh!" she said, contritely, "I was unpardonably rude. I'msorry, dear, but it's quite impossible. You are a dear, cute littleboy, and I love you--but not that way. So let's shake hands, Hugh, andbe friends! And then you can go and play with Adèle. " He raised herhand to his lips. He really was a nice boy. 

"But, oh, dear!" said Margaret, when he had gone; "what horridcreatures men are, and what a temper I'm in, and what a vexatiousplace the world is! I wish I were a pauper! I wish I had never beenborn! And I wish--and I wish I had those League papers fixed! I'lldo it to-night! I'm sure I need something tranquillising, likeassessments and decimal places and unpaid dues, to keep me from_screaming_. I hate them all--all three of them--as badly as I do_him!_"

Thereupon she blushed, for no apparent reason, and went to her ownrooms in a frame of mind that was inexcusable, but very becoming. Hercheeks burned, her eyes flashed with a brighter glow that was gem-likeand a little cruel, and her chin tilted up defiantly. Margaret had aresolute chin, a masculine chin. I fancy that it was only at the lastmoment that Nature found it a thought too boyish and modified it witha dimple--a very creditable dimple, by the way, that she must havebeen really proud of. That ridiculous little dint saved it, feminisedit. 

Altogether, then, she swept down upon the papers of the Ladies' Leaguefor the Edification of the Impecunious with very much the look of adiminutive Valkyrie--a Valkyrie of unusual personal attractions, youunderstand--_en route_ for the battle-field and a little, a verylittle eager and expectant of the strife. 

Subsequently, "Oh, dear, _dear!_" said she, amid a feverish rustlingof papers; "the whole world is out of sorts to-night! I never _did_know how much seven times eight is, and I hate everybody, and I'veleft that list of unpaid dues in Uncle Fred's room, and I've got to goafter it, and I don't want to! Bother those little suitors of mine!"

Miss Hugonin rose, and went out from her own rooms, carrying a bunchof keys, across the hallway to the room in which Frederick R. Woodshad died. It was his study, you may remember. It had been littleused since his death, but Margaret kept her less important papersthere--the overflow, the flotsam of her vast philanthropic andeducational correspondence. 

And there she found Billy Woods. 

XII

His back was turned to the door as she entered. He was staring at apicture beside the mantel--a portrait of Frederick R. Woods--and hiseyes when he wheeled about were wistful. 

Then, on a sudden, they lighted up as if they had caught fire fromhers, and his adoration flaunted crimson banners in his cheeks, andhis heart, I dare say, was a great blaze of happiness. He loved her, you see; when she entered a room it really made a difference to thisabsurd young man. He saw a great many lights, for instance, and heardmusic. And accordingly, he laughed now in a very contented fashion. 

"I wasn't burglarising, " said he--"that is, not exactly. I ought tohave asked your permission, I suppose, before coming here, but Icouldn't find you, and--and it was rather important. You see, " Mr. Woods continued, pointing to the great carved desk. "I happened tospeak of this desk to the Colonel to-night. We--we were talking ofUncle Fred's death, and I found out, quite by accident, that it hadn'tbeen searched since then--that is, not thoroughly. There are secretdrawers, you see; one here, " and he touched the spring that threwit open, "and the other on this side. There is--there is nothing ofimportance in them; only receipted bills and such. The other drawer isinside that centre compartment, which is locked. The Colonel wouldn'tcome. He said it was all foolishness, and that he had a book he wantedto read. So he sent me after what he called my mare's nest. It isn't, you see--no, not quite, not quite, " Mr. Woods murmured, with an oddsmile, and then laughed and added, lamely: "I--I suppose I'm the onlyperson who knew about it. "

Mr. Woods's manner was a thought strange. He stammered a little inspeaking; he laughed unnecessarily; and Margaret could see that hishands trembled. Taking him all in all, you would have sworn he wasrepressing some vital emotion. But he did not seem unhappy--no, notexactly unhappy. He was with Margaret, you see. 

"Oh, you beauty!" his meditations ran. 

He had some excuse. In the soft, rosy twilight of the room--the studyat Selwoode is panelled in very dark oak, and the doors and windowsare screened with crimson hangings--her parti-coloured red-and-yellowgown might have been a scrap of afterglow left over from an unusuallyfine sunset. In a word, Miss Hugonin was a very quaint and colourfuland delectable figure as she came a little further into the room. Hereyes shone like blue stars, and her hair shone--there must be poundsof it, Billy thought--and her very shoulders, plump, flawless, ineffable, shone with the glow of an errant cloud-tatter that is justpast the track of dawn, and is therefore neither pink nor white, butmanages somehow to combine the best points of both colours. 

"Ah, indeed?" said Miss Hugonin. Her tone imparted a surprising degreeof chilliness to this simple remark. 

"No, " she went on, very formally, "this is not a private room; you oweme no apology for being here. Indeed, I am rather obliged to you, Mr. Woods, for none of us knew of these secret drawers. Here is the key tothe central compartment, if you will be kind enough to point out theother one. Dear, dear!" Margaret concluded, languidly, "all this isquite like a third-rate melodrama. I haven't the least doubt you willdiscover a will in there in your favour, and be reinstated as thelong-lost heir and all that sort of thing. How tiresome that will befor me, though. "

She was in a mood to be cruel to-night. She held out the keys tohim, in a disinterested fashion, and dropped them daintily into hisoutstretched palm, just as she might have given a coin to an unusuallygrimy mendicant. But the tips of her fingers grazed his hand. 

That did the mischief. Her least touch was enough to set every nervein his body a-tingle. "Peggy!" he said hoarsely, as the keys jangledto the floor. Then Mr. Woods drew a little nearer to her and said"Peggy, Peggy!" in a voice that trembled curiously, and appeared tohave no intention of saying anything further. 

Indeed, words would have seemed mere tautology to any one who couldhave seen his eyes. Margaret looked into them for a minute, and herown eyes fell before their blaze, and her heart--very foolishly--stoodstill for a breathing-space. Subsequently she recalled the factthat he was a fortune-hunter, and that she despised him, and alsoobserved--to her surprise and indignation--that he was holding herhand and had apparently been doing so for some time. You may believeit, that she withdrew that pink-and-white trifle angrily enough. 

"Pray don't be absurd, Mr. Woods, " said she. 

Billy caught up the word. "Absurd!" he echoed--"yes, that describeswhat I've been pretty well, doesn't it, Peggy? I _was_ absurd when Ilet you send me to the right-about four years ago. I realised thatto-day the moment I saw you. I should have held on like the verygrimmest death; I should have bullied you into marrying me, ifnecessary, and in spite of fifty Anstruthers. Oh, yes, I know thatnow. But I was only a boy then, Peggy, and so I let a boy's pride comebetween us. I know now there isn't any question of pride where youare concerned--not any question of pride nor of any sillymisunderstandings, nor of any uncle's wishes, nor of anything but justyou, Peggy. It's just you that I care for now--just you. "

"Ah!" Margaret cried, with a swift intake of the breath that wasalmost a sob. He had dared, after all; oh, it was shameless, sordid!And yet (she thought dimly), how dear that little quiver in his voicehad been were it unplanned!--and how she could have loved this big, eager boy were he not the hypocrite she knew him!

_She'd_ show him! But somehow--though it was manifestly what hedeserved--she found she couldn't look him in the face while she didit. 

So she dropped her eyes to the floor and waited for a moment of tensesilence. Then, "Am I to consider this a proposal, Mr. Woods?" sheasked, in muffled tones. 

Billy stared. "Yes, " said he, very gravely, after an interval. 

"You see, " she explained, still in the same dull voice, "you phrasedit so vaguely I couldn't well be certain. You don't propose very well, Mr. Woods. I--I've had opportunities to become an authority on suchmatters, you see, since I've been rich. That makes a difference, doesn't it? A great many men are willing to marry me now who wouldn'thave thought of such a thing, say--say, four years ago. So I've hadsome experience. Oh, yes, three--three _persons_ have offered to marryme for my money earlier in this very evening--before you did, Mr. Woods. And, really, I can't compliment you on your methods, Mr. Woods;they are a little vague, a little abrupt, a little transparent, don'tyou think?"

"Peggy!" he cried, in a frightened whisper. He could not believe, yousee, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking. 

And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever inher life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking. 

"Dear me, " she airily observed, "I'm sure I've said nothing out of theway. I think it speaks very well for you that you're so fond of yourold home--so anxious to regain it at _any_ cost. It's quite touching, Mr. Woods. "

She raised her eyes toward his. I dare say she was suffering as muchas he. But women consider it a point of honour to smile when theystab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemedoverdone in an angel. 

Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed ofherself. Billy's face had gone white. His mouth was set, mask-like, and his breathing was a little perfunctory. It stung her, though, thathe was not angry. He was sorry. 

"I--I see, " he said, very carefully. "You think I--want the money. Yes--I see. "

"And why not?" she queried, pleasantly. "Dear me, money's a verysensible thing to want, I'm sure. It makes a great difference, youknow. "

He looked down into her face for a moment. One might have sworn thisdetected fortune-hunter pitied her. 

"Yes, " he assented, slowly, "it makes a difference--not a differencefor the better, I'm afraid, Peggy. "

Ensued a silence. 

Then Margaret tossed her head. She was fast losing her composure. She would have given the world to retract what she had said, andaccordingly she resolved to brazen it out. 

"You needn't look at me as if I were a convicted criminal, " she said, sharply. "I won't marry you, and there's an end of it. "

"It isn't that I'm thinking of, " said Mr. Woods, with a grave smile. "You see, it takes me a little time to realise your honest opinionof me. I believe I understand now. You think me a very hopelesscad--that's about your real opinion, isn't it, Peggy? I didn't knowthat, you see. I thought you knew me better than that. You did once, Peggy--once, a long time ago, and--and I hoped you hadn't quiteforgotten that time. "

The allusion was ill chosen. 

"Oh, oh, _oh!_" she cried, gasping. "_You_ to remind me of thattime!--you of all men. Haven't you a vestige of shame? Haven't youa rag of honour left? Oh, I didn't know there were such men in theworld! And to think--to think--" Margaret's glorious voice broke, andshe wrung her hands helplessly. 

Then, after a little, she raised her eyes to his, and spoke withouta trace of emotion. "To think, " she said, and her voice was tonelessnow, "to think that I loved you! It's that that hurts, you know. For Iloved you very dearly, Billy Woods--yes, I think I loved you quite asmuch as any woman can ever love a man. You were the first, you see, and girls--girls are very foolish about such things. I thought youwere brave, and strong, and clean, and honest, and beautiful, anddear--oh, quite the best and dearest man in the world, I thought you, Billy Woods! That--that was queer, wasn't it?" she asked, with alistless little shiver. "Yes, it was very queer. You didn't think ofme in quite that way, did you? No, you--you thought I was well enoughto amuse you for a while. I was well enough for a summer flirtation, wasn't I, Billy? But marriage--ah, no, you never thought of marriagethen. You ran away when Uncle Fred suggested that. You refusedpoint-blank--refused in this very room--didn't you, Billy? Ah, that--that hurt, " Margaret ended, with a faint smile. "Yes, it--hurt. "

Billy Woods raised a protesting hand, as though to speak, butafterward he drew a deep, tremulous breath and bit his lip and wassilent. 

She had spoken very quietly, very simply, very like a tired child;now her voice lifted. "But you've hurt me more to-night, " she said, equably--"to-night, when you've come cringing back to me--to me, whomyou'd have none of when I was poor. I'm rich now, though. That makesa difference, doesn't it, Billy? You're willing to whistle back thegirl's love you flung away once--yes, quite willing. But can't youunderstand how much it must hurt me to think I ever loved you?"Margaret asked, very gently. 

She wanted him to understand. She wanted him to be ashamed. She prayedGod that he might be just a little, little bit ashamed, so that shemight be able to forgive him. 

But he stood silent, bending puzzled brows toward her. 

"Can't you understand, Billy?" she pleaded, softly. "I can't helpseeing what a cur you are. I must hate you, Billy--of course, I must, "she insisted, very gently, as though arguing the matter with herself;then suddenly she sobbed and wrung her hands in anguish. "Oh, I can't, I can't!" she wailed. "God help me, I can't hate you, even though Iknow you for what you are!"

His arms lifted a little; and in a flash Margaret knew that what shemost wanted in all the world was to have them close about her, andthen to lay her head upon his shoulder and cry contentedly. 

Oh, she did want to forgive him! If he had lost all sense of shame, why could he not lie to her? Surely, he could at least lie? And, oh, how gladly she would believe!--only the tiniest, the flimsiestfiction, her eyes craved of him. 

But he merely said "I see--I see, " very slowly, and then smiled. "We'll put the money aside just now, " he said. "Perhaps, after alittle, we--we'll came back to that. I think you've forgotten, though, that when--when Uncle Fred and I had our difference you had justthrown me over--had just ordered me never to speak to you again?I couldn't very well ask you to marry me, could I, under thosecircumstances?"

"I spoke in a moment of irritation, " a very dignified Margaret pointedout; "you would have paid no attention whatever to it if you hadreally--cared. "

Billy laughed, rather sadly. "Oh, I cared right enough, " he said. "Istill care. The question is--do you?"

"No, " said Margaret, with decision, "I don't--not in the _least_. "

"Peggy, " Mr. Woods commanded, "look at me!"

"You have had your answer, I think, " Miss Hugonin indifferentlyobserved. 

Billy caught her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. "Peggy, do you--care?" he asked, softly. 

And Margaret looked into his honest-seeming eyes and, in a panic, knewthat her traitor lips were forming "yes. "

"That would be rather unfortunate, wouldn't it?" she asked, with asmile. "You see, it was only an hour ago I promised to marry Mr. Kennaston. "

"Kennaston!" Billy gasped. "You--you don't mean that you care for_him_, Peggy?"

"I really can't see why it should concern you, " said Margaret, sweetly, "but since you ask--I do. You couldn't expect me to remaininconsolable forever, you know. "

Then the room blurred before her eyes. She stood rigid, defiant. She was dimly aware that Billy was speaking, speaking from a greatdistance, it seemed, and then after a century or two his face cameback to her out of the whirl of things. And, though she did not knowit, they were smiling bravely at one another. 

"--and so, " Mr. Woods was stating, "I've been an even greater ass thanusual, and I hope you'll be very, very happy. "

[Illustration: "Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growingin his countenance. "]

"Thank you, " she returned, mechanically, "I--I hope so. "

After an interval, "Good-night, Peggy, " said Mr. Woods. 

"Oh--? Good-night, " said she, with a start. 

He turned to go. Then, "By Jove!" said he, grimly, "I've been so busymaking an ass of myself I'd forgotten all about more--more importantthings. "

Mr. Woods picked up the keys and, going to the desk, unlocked thecentre compartment with a jerk. Afterward he gave a sharp exclamation. He had found a paper in the secret drawer at the back which appearedto startle him. 

Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growing in hiscountenance. Then for a moment Margaret's golden head drew close tohis yellow curls and they read it through together. And in the mostmelodramatic and improbable fashion in the world they found it to bethe last will and testament of Frederick R. Woods. 

"But--but I don't understand, " was Miss Hugonin's awed comment. "It'sexactly like the other will, only--why, it's dated the seventeenthof June, the day before he died! And it's witnessed by Hodges andBurton--the butler and the first footman, you know--and they've neversaid anything about such a paper. And, then, why should he have madeanother will just like the first?"

Billy pondered. 

By and bye, "I think I can explain that, " he said, in a ratherpeculiar voice. "You see, Hodges and Burton witnessed all his papers, half the time without knowing what they were about. They would hardlyhave thought of this particular one after his death. And it isn'tquite the same will as the other; it leaves you practicallyeverything, but it doesn't appoint any trustees, as the other did, because this will was drawn up after you were of age. Moreover, itcontains these four bequests to colleges, to establish a Woods chairof ethnology, which the other will didn't provide for. Of course, itwould have been simpler merely to add a codicil to the first will, but Uncle Fred was always very methodical. I--I think he was probablygoing through the desk the night he died, destroying various papers. He must have taken the other will out to destroy it just--just beforehe died. Perhaps--perhaps--" Billy paused for a little and thenlaughed, unmirthfully. "It scarcely matters, " said he. "Here is thewill. It is undoubtedly genuine and undoubtedly the last he made. You'll have to have it probated, Peggy, and settle with the colleges. It--it won't make much of a hole in the Woods millions. "

There was a half-humorous bitterness in his voice that Margaret notedsilently. So (she thought) he had hoped for a moment that at the lastFrederick R. Woods had relented toward him. It grieved her, in a dullfashion, to see him so mercenary. It grieved her--though she wouldhave denied it emphatically--to see him so disappointed. Since hewanted the money so much, she would have liked for him to have had it, worthless as he was, for the sake of the boy he had been. 

"Thank you, " she said, coldly, as she took the paper; "I will give itto my father. He will do what is necessary. Good-night, Mr. Woods. "

Then she locked up the desk in a businesslike fashion and turned tohim, and held out her hand. 

"Good-night, Billy, " said this perfectly inconsistent young woman. "For a moment I thought Uncle Fred had altered his will in yourfavour. I almost wish he had. "

Billy smiled a little. 

"That would never have done, " he said, gravely, as he shookhands; "you forget what a sordid, and heartless, and generallygood-for-nothing chap I am, Peggy. It's much better as it is. "

Only the tiniest, the flimsiest fiction, her eyes craved of him. Evennow, at the eleventh hour, lie to me, Billy Woods, and, oh, how gladlyI will believe!

But he merely said "Good-night, Peggy, " and went out of the room. Hisbroad shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. 

Margaret was glad. Of course, she was glad. At last, she had told himexactly what she thought of him. Why shouldn't she be glad? She wasdelighted. 

So, by way of expressing this delight, she sat down at the desk andbegan to cry very softly. 

XIII

Having duly considered the emptiness of existence, the unworthiness ofmen, the dreary future that awaited her--though this did not troubleher greatly, as she confidently expected to die soon--and many othersuch dolorous topics, Miss Hugonin decided to retire for the night. She rose, filled with speculations as to the paltriness of life andthe probability of her eyes being red in the morning. 

"It will be all his fault if they are, " she consoled herself. "Doubtless he'll be very much pleased. After robbing me of all faithin humanity, I dare say the one thing needed to complete his happinessis to make me look like a fright. I hate him! After making memiserable, now, I suppose he'll go off and make some other womanmiserable. Oh, of course, he'll make love to the first woman he meetswho has any money. I'm sure she's welcome to him. I only pity anywoman who has to put up with _him_. No, I don't, " Margaret decided, after reflection; "I hate her, too!"

Miss Hugonin went to the door leading to the hallway and paused. Then--I grieve to relate it--she shook a little pink-tipped fist inthe air. 

"I detest you!" she commented, between her teeth; "oh, how _dare_ youmake me feel so ashamed of the way I've treated you!"

The query--as possibly you may have divined--was addressed to Mr. Woods. He was standing by the fireplace in the hallway, and his tallfigure was outlined sharply against the flame of the gas-logs thatburned there. His shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. 

Billy was reading a paper of some kind by the firelight, and the blackoutline of his face smiled grimly over it. Then he laughed and threwit into the fire. 

"Billy!" a voice observed--a voice that was honey and gold and velvetand all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world. 

Mr. Woods was aware of a light step, a swishing, sibilant, delightfulrustling--the caress of sound is the rustling of a well-groomedwoman's skirts--and of an afterthought of violets, of a merereminiscence of orris, all of which came toward him through thedimness of the hall. He started, noticeably. 

"Billy, " Miss Hugonin stated, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'mnot sure it isn't true, you know, but I'm sorry I said it. "

"Bless your heart!" said Billy; "don't you worry over that, Peggy. That's all right. Incidentally, the things you've said to me and aboutme aren't true, of course, but we won't discuss that just now. I--Ifancy we're both feeling a bit fagged. Go to bed, Peggy! We'll bothgo to bed, and the night will bring counsel, and we'll sleep off allunkindliness. Go to bed, little sister!--get all the beauty-sleep youaren't in the least in need of, and dream of how happy you're going tobe with the man you love. And--and in the morning I may have somethingto say to you. Good-night, dear. "

And this time he really went. And when he had come to the bend in thestairs his eyes turned back to hers, slowly and irresistibly, drawntoward them, as it seemed, just as the sunflower is drawn toward thesun, or the needle toward the pole, or, in fine, as the eyes of younggentlemen ordinarily are drawn toward the eyes of the one woman in theworld. Then he disappeared. 

The mummery of it vexed Margaret. There was no excuse for his lookingat her in that way. It irritated her. She was almost as angry with himfor doing it as she would have been for not doing it. 

Therefore, she bent an angry face toward the fire, her mouth poutingin a rather inviting fashion. Then it rounded slowly into a sanguineO, which of itself suggested osculation, but in reality stood for"observe!" For the paper Billy had thrown into the fire had fallenunder the gas-logs, and she remembered his guilty start. 

"After all, " said Margaret, "it's none of my business. "

So she eyed it wistfully. 

"It may be important, " she considerately remembered. "It ought not tobe left there. "

So she fished it out with a big paper-cutter. 

"But it can't be very important, " she dissented afterward, "or hewouldn't have thrown it away. "

So she looked at the superscripture on the back of it. 

Then she gave a little gasp and tore it open and read it by thefirelight. 

Miss Hugonin subsequently took credit to herself for not going intohysterics. And I think she had some reason to; for she found the papera duplicate of the one Billy had taken out of the secret drawer, withhis name set in the place of hers. At the last Frederick R. Woods hadrelented toward his nephew. 

Margaret laughed a little; then she cried a little; then she did bothtogether. Afterward she sat in the firelight, very puzzled and veryexcited and very penitent and very beautiful, and was happier than shehad ever been in her life. 

"He had it in his pocket, " her dear voice quavered; "he had it in hispocket, my brave, strong, beautiful Billy did, when he asked me tomarry him. It was King Cophetua wooing the beggar-maid--and the beggarwas an impudent, ungrateful, idiotic little _piece!_" Margaret hissed, in her most shrewish manner. "She ought to be spanked. She ought to godown on her knees to him in sackcloth, and tears, and ashes, and allsorts of penitential things. She will, too. Oh, it's such a beautifulworld--_such_ a beautiful world! Billy loves me--really! Billy's amillionaire, and I'm a pauper. Oh, I'm glad, glad, _glad!_"

She caressed the paper that had rendered the world such a goodly placeto live in--caressed it tenderly and rubbed her check against it. Thatwas Margaret's way of showing affection, you know; and I protest itmust have been very pleasant for the paper. The only wonder was thatthe ink it was written in didn't turn red with delight. 

Then she read it through again, for sheer enjoyment of thosebeautiful, incomprehensible words that disinherited her. How _lovely_of Uncle Fred! she thought. Of course, he'd forgiven Billy; whowouldn't? What beautiful language Uncle Fred used! quite prayer-booky, she termed it. Then she gasped. 

The will in Billy's favour was dated a week earlier than the one theyhad found in the secret drawer. It was worthless, mere waste paper. Atthe last Frederick R. Woods's pride had conquered his love. 

"Oh, the horrid old man!" Margaret wailed; "he's left me everything hehad! How _dare_ he disinherit Billy! I call it rank impertinence inhim. Oh, boy dear, dear, _dear_ boy!" Miss Hugonin crooned, in anecstacy of tenderness and woe. "He found this first will in one of theother drawers, and thought _he_ was the rich one, and came in a greatwhirl of joy to ask me to marry him, and I was horrid to him! Oh, whata mess I've made of it! I've called him a fortune-hunter, and I'vetold him I love another man, and he'll never, never ask me to marryhim now. And I love him, I worship him, I adore him! And if onlyI were poor--"

Ensued a silence. Margaret lifted the two wills, scrutinised themclosely, and then looked at the fire, interrogatively. 

"It's penal servitude for quite a number of years, " she said. "But, then, he really _couldn't_ tell any one, you know. No gentleman wouldallow a lady to be locked up in jail. And if he knew--if he knew Ididn't and couldn't consider him a fortune-hunter, I really believe hewould--"

Whatever she believed he would do, the probability of his doing itseemed highly agreeable to Miss Hugonin. She smiled at the fire in themost friendly fashion, and held out one of the folded papers to it. 

"Yes, " said Margaret, "I'm quite sure he will. "

There I think we may leave her. For I have dredged the dictionary, and I confess I have found no fitting words wherewith to picture thisinconsistent, impulsive, adorable young woman, dreaming brave dreamsin the firelight of her lover and of their united future. I shouldonly bungle it. You must imagine it for yourself. 

It is a pretty picture, is it not?--with its laughable side, perhaps;under the circumstances, whimsical, if you will; but very, verysacred. For she loved him with a clean heart, loved him infinitely. 

Let us smile at it--tenderly--and pass on. 

But upon my word, when I think of how unreasonably, how outrageouslyMargaret had behaved during the entire evening, I am tempted todepose her as our heroine. I begin to regret I had not selected AdèleHaggage. 

She would have done admirably. For, depend upon it, she, too, hadher trepidations, her white nights, her occult battles over Hugh VanOrden. Also, she was a pretty girl--if you care for brunettes--andaccomplished. She was versed in I forget how many foreign languages, both Continental and dead, and could discourse sensibly in any one ofthem. She was perfectly reasonable, perfectly consistent, perfectlyunimpulsive, and never expressed an opinion that was not countenancedby at least two competent authorities. I don't know a man living, prepared to dispute that Miss Haggage excelled Miss Hugonin in allthese desirable qualities. 

Yet with pleasing unanimity they went mad for Margaret and had thegreatest possible respect for Adèle. 

And, my dear Mrs. Grundy, I grant you cheerfully that this was allwrong. A sensible man, as you very justly observe, will seek in awoman something more enduring than mere personal attractions; he willvalue her for some sensible reason--say, for her wit, or her learning, or her skill in cookery, or her proficiency in Greek. A sensible manwill look for a sensible woman; he will not concern his sensible headover such trumperies as a pair of bright eyes, or a red lip or so, ora satisfactory suit of hair. These are fleeting vanities. 

However--

You have doubtless heard ere this, my dear madam, that had Cleopatra'snose been an inch shorter the destiny of the world would have beenchanged; had she been the woman you describe--perfectly reasonable, perfectly consistent, perfectly sensible in all she said anddid--confess, dear lady, wouldn't Antony have taken to his heels andhave fled from such a monster?

XIV

I regret to admit that Mr. Woods did not toss feverishly about his bedall through the silent watches of the night. He was very miserable, but he was also twenty-six. That is an age when the blind bow-goddeals no fatal wounds. It is an age to suffer poignantly, if you will;an age wherein to aspire to the dearest woman on earth, to write herhalting verses, to lose her, to affect the _clichés_ of cynicism, tohear the chimes at midnight--and after it all, to sleep like a top. 

So Billy slept. And kind Hypnos loosed a dream through the gates ofivory that lifted him to a delectable land where Peggy was nineteen, and had never heard of Kennaston, and was unbelievably sweet and dearand beautiful. But presently they and the Colonel put forth to sea--ona great carved writing-desk--fishing for sharks, which the Colonelsaid were very plentiful in those waters; and Frederick R. Woodsclimbed up out of the sea, and said Billy was a fool and must go tocollege; and Peggy said that was impossible, as seventeen hundred andfifty thousand children had to be given an education apiece, and theycouldn't spare one for Billy; and a missionary from Zambesi Land cameout of one of the secret drawers and said Billy must give him bothof his feet as he needed them for his working-girls' classes; andthereupon the sharks poked their heads out of the water and began, ina deafening chorus, to cry, "Feet, feet, feet!" And Billy then wokewith a start, and found it was only the birds chattering in the dawnoutside. 

Then he was miserable. 

He tossed, and groaned, and dozed, and smoked cigarettes until hecould stand it no longer. He got up and dressed, in sheer desperation, and went for a walk in the gardens. 

The day was clear as a new-minted coin. It was not yet wholly aired, not wholly free from the damp savour of night, but low in the east thesun was taking heart. A mile-long shadow footed it with Billy Woodsin his pacings through the amber-chequered gardens. Actaeon-like, hesurprised the world at its toilet, and its fleeting grace somewhatfortified his spirits. 

But his thoughts pestered him like gnats. The things he said to theroses it is not necessary to set down. 

XV

After a vituperative half-hour or so Mr. Woods was hungry. He cameback toward Selwoode; and upon the terrace in front of the house hefound Kathleen Saumarez. 

During the warm weather, one corner of the terrace had been converted, by means of gay red-and-white awnings, into a sort of living-room. There were chairs, tables, sofa-cushions, bowls of roses, and anynumber of bright-coloured rugs. Altogether, it was a cosy place, and the glowing hues of its furnishings were very becoming to Mrs. Saumarez, who sat there writing industriously. 

It was a thought embarrassing. They had avoided one anotheryesterday--rather obviously--both striving to put off a necessarilyawkward meeting. Now it had come. And now, somehow, their eyes met fora moment, and they laughed frankly, and the awkwardness was gone. 

"Kathleen, " said Mr. Woods, with conviction, "you're a dear. "

"You broke my heart, " said she, demurely, "but I'm going to forgiveyou. "

Mrs. Saumarez was not striving to be clever now. And, heavens (thoughtBilly), how much nicer she was like this! It wasn't the same woman:her thin cheeks flushed arbutus-like, and her rather metallic voicewas grown low and gentle. Billy brought memories with him, you see;and for the moment, she was Kathleen Eppes again--Kathleen Eppes inthe first flush of youth, eager, trustful, and joyous-hearted, as hehad known her long ago. Since then, the poor woman had eaten of thebread of dependence and had found it salt enough; she had paid for itdaily, enduring a thousand petty slights, a thousand petty insults, and smiling under them as only women can. But she had forgotten nowthat shrewd Kathleen Saumarez who must earn her livelihood as best shemight. She smiled frankly--a purely unprofessional smile. 

"I was sorry when I heard you were coming, " she said, irrelevantly, "but I'm glad now. "

Mr. Woods--I grieve to relate--was still holding her hand in his. There stirred in his pulses the thrill Kathleen Eppes had alwayswakened--a thrill of memory now, a mere wraith of emotion. He wasthinking of a certain pink-cheeked girl with crinkly black-brownhair and eyes that he had likened to chrysoberyls--and he wonderedwhimsically what had become of her. This was not she. This wasassuredly not Kathleen, for this woman had a large mouth--a humorousand kindly mouth it was true, but undeniably a large one--whereas, Kathleen's mouth had been quite perfect and rather diminutive thanotherwise. Hadn't he rhymed of it often enough to know?

They stood gazing at one another for a long time; and in the back ofBilly's brain lines of his old verses sang themselves to a sad littletune--the verses that reproved the idiocy of all other poets, who hadvery foolishly written their sonnets to other women: and yet, as thejingle pointed out, Had these poets ever strayed In thy path, they had not made Random rhymes of Arabella, Songs of Dolly, hymns of Stella, Lays of Lalage or Chloris-- Not of Daphne nor of Doris, Florimel nor Amaryllis, Nor of Phyllida nor Phyllis, Were their wanton melodies: But all of these-- All their melodies had been Of thee, Kathleen. 

Would they have been? Billy thought it improbable. The verses werevery silly; and, recalling the big, blundering boy who had writtenthem, Billy began to wonder--somewhat forlornly--whither he, too, had vanished. He and the girl he had gone mad for both seemed rathermythical--legendary as King Pepin. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Saumarez--and oh, she startled him; "I fancy they'reboth quite dead by now. Billy, " she cried, earnestly, "don't laughat them!--don't laugh at those dear, foolish children! I--somehow, Icouldn't bear that, Billy. "

"Kathleen, " said Mr. Woods, in admiration, "you're a witch. I wasn'tlaughing, though, my dear. I was developing quite a twilight mood overthem--a plaintive, old-lettery sort of mood, you know. "

She sighed a little. "Yes--I know. " Then her eyelids flickered in aparody of Kathleen's glance that Billy noted with a queer tenderness. "Come and talk to me, Billy, " she commanded. "I'm an early bird thismorning, and entitled to the very biggest and best-looking worm I canfind. You're only a worm, you know--we're all worms. Mr. Jukesburytold me so last night, making an exception in my favour, for itappears I'm an angel. He was amorously inclined last night, the tipsyold fraud! It's shameless, Billy, the amount of money he gets out ofMiss Hugonin--for the deserving poor. Do you know, I rather fancy heclasses himself under that head? And I grant you he's poor enough--butdeserving!" Mrs. Saumarez snapped her fingers eloquently. 

"Eh? Shark, eh?" queried Mr. Woods, in some discomfort. 

She nodded. "He is as bad as Sarah Haggage, " she informed him, "andeverybody knows what a bloodsucker she is. The Haggage is a disease, Billy, that all rich women are exposed to--'more easily caught thanthe pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. ' Depend upon it, Billy, those two will have every penny they can get out of youruncle's money. "

"Peggy's so generous, " he pleaded. "She wants to make everybodyhappy--bring about a general millenium, you know. "

"She pays dearly enough for her fancies, " said Mrs. Saumarez, in ahard voice. Then, after a little, she cried, suddenly: "Oh, Billy, Billy, it shames me to think of how we lie to her, and toady to her, and lead her on from one mad scheme to another!--all for the sake ofthe money we can pilfer incidentally! We're all arrant hypocrites, youknow; I'm no better than the others, Billy--not a bit better. Butmy husband left me so poor, and I had always been accustomed to thepretty things of life, and I couldn't--I couldn't give them up, Billy. I love them too dearly. So I lie, and toady, and write drivellingtalks about things I don't understand, for drivelling women tolisten to, and I still have the creature comforts of life. I pawn myself-respect for them--that's all. Such a little price to pay, isn'tit, Billy?"

She spoke in a sort of frenzy. I dare say that at the outset shewanted Mr. Woods to know the worst of her, knowing he could not failto discover it in time. Billy brought memories with him, you see; andthis shrewd, hard woman wanted, somehow, more than anything else inthe world, that he should think well of her. So she babbled out thewhole pitiful story, waiting in a kind of terror to see contempt anddisgust awaken in his eyes. 

But he merely said "I see--I see, " very slowly, and his eyes werekindly. He couldn't be angry with her, somehow; that pink-cheeked, crinkly haired girl stood between them and shielded her. He was onlyvery, very sorry. 

"And Kennaston?" he asked, after a little. 

Mrs. Saumarez flushed. "Mr. Kennaston is a man of great genius, " shesaid, quickly. "Of course, Miss Hugonin is glad to assist him inpublishing his books--it's an honour to her that he permits it. Theyhave to be published privately, you know, as the general public isn'tcapable of appreciating such dainty little masterpieces. Oh, don'tmake any mistake, Billy--Mr. Kennaston is a very wonderful and veryadmirable man. "

"H'm, yes; he struck me as being an unusually nice chap, " said Mr. Woods, untruthfully. "I dare say they'll be very happy. "

"Who?" Mrs. Saumarez demanded. 

"Why--er--I don't suppose they'll make any secret of it, " Billystammered, in tardy repentance of his hasty speaking. "Peggy told melast night she had accepted him. "

Mrs. Saumarez turned to rearrange a bowl of roses. She seemed to havesome difficulty over it. 

"Billy, " she spoke, inconsequently, and with averted head, "an honestman is the noblest work of God--and the rarest. "

Billy groaned. 

"Do you know, " said he, "I've just been telling the roses in thegardens yonder the same thing about women? I'm a misogynist thismorning. I've decided no woman is worthy of being loved. "

"That is quite true, " she assented, "but, on the other hand, no man isworthy of loving. "

Billy smiled. 

"I've likewise come to the conclusion, " said he, "that a man's love islike his hat, in that any peg will do to hang it on; also, in that theproper and best place for it is on his own head. Oh, I assure you, I vented any number of cheap cynicisms on the helpless roses! Andyet--will you believe it, Kathleen?--it doesn't seem to make me feel abit better--no, not a bit. "

"It's very like his hat, " she declared, "in that he has a new oneevery year. " Then she rested her hand on his, in a half-maternalfashion. "What's the matter, boy?" she asked, softly. "You're alwaysso fresh and wholesome. I don't like to see you like this. Betterleave phrase-making to us phrase-mongers. "

Her voice rang true--true, and compassionate, and tender, and all thata woman's voice should be. Billy could not but trust her. 

"I've been an ass, " said he, rather tragically. "Oh, not an unusualass, Kathleen--just the sort men are always making of themselves. Yousee, before I went to France, there was a girl I--cared for. And I leta quarrel come between us--a foolish, trifling, idle little quarrel, Kathleen, that we might have made up in a half-hour. But I was tooproud, you see. No, I wasn't proud, either, " Mr. Woods amended, bitterly; "I was simply pig-headed and mulish. So I went away. Andyesterday I saw her again and realised that I--still cared. That'sall, Kathleen. It isn't an unusual story. " And Mr. Woods laughed, mirthlessly, and took a turn on the terrace. 

Mrs. Saumarez was regarding him intently. Her cheeks were of a deeper, more attractive pink, and her breath came and went quickly. 

"I--I don't understand, " she said, in a rather queer voice. 

"Oh, it's simple enough, " Billy assured her. "You see, she--well, Ithink she would have married me once. Yes, she cared for me once. AndI quarreled with her--I, conceited young ass that I was, actuallypresumed to dictate to the dearest, sweetest, most lovable woman onearth, and tell her what she must do and what she mustn't. I!--goodLord, I, who wasn't worthy to sweep a crossing clean for her!--whowasn't worthy to breathe the same air with her!--who wasn't worthy toexist in the same world she honoured by living in! Oh, I _was_ an ass!But I've paid for it!--oh, yes, Kathleen, I've paid dearly for it, and I'll pay more dearly yet before I've done. I tried to avoid heryesterday--you must have seen that. And I couldn't--I give you myword, I could no more have kept away from her than I could have spreada pair of wings and flown away. She doesn't care a bit for me now; butI can no more give up loving her than I can give up eating my dinner. That isn't a pretty simile, Kathleen, but it expresses the way I feeltoward her. It isn't merely that I want her; it's more than that--oh, far more than that. I simply can't do without her. Don't youunderstand, Kathleen?" he asked, desperately. 

"Yes--I think I understand, " she said, when he had ended. "I--oh, Billy, I am almost sorry. It's dear of you--dear of you, Billy, tocare for me still, but--but I'm almost sorry you care so much. I'm notworth it, boy dear. And I--I really don't know what to say. You mustlet me think. "

Mr. Woods gave an inarticulate sound. The face she turned to himwas perplexed, half-sad, fond, a little pleased, and strangelycompassionate. It was Kathleen Eppes who sat beside him; the six yearswere as utterly forgotten as the name of Magdalen's first lover. Shewas a girl again, listening--with a heart that fluttered, I daresay--to the wild talk, the mad dithyrambics of a big, blundering boy. 

The ludicrous horror of it stunned Mr. Woods. 

He could no more have told her of her mistake than he could havestruck her in the face. 

"Kathleen--!" said he, vaguely. 

"Let me think!--ah, let me think, Billy!" she pleaded, in a flutter ofjoy and amazement. "Go away, boy dear!--Go away for a little andlet me think! I'm not an emotional woman, but I'm on the verge ofhysterics now, for--for several reasons. Go in to breakfast, Billy!I--I want to be alone. You've made me very proud and--and sorry, Ithink, and glad, and--and--oh, I don't know, boy dear. But please gonow--please!"

Billy went. 

In the living-hall he paused to inspect a picture with peculiarinterest. Since Kathleen cared for him (he thought, rather forlornly), he must perjure himself in as plausible a manner as might be possible;please God, having done what he had done, he would lie to her like agentleman and try to make her happy. 

A vision in incredible violet ruffles, coming down to breakfast, sawhim, and paused on the stairway, and flushed and laughed deliciously. 

Poor Billy stared at her; and his heart gave a great bound and thenappeared to stop for an indefinite time. 

"Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods, in his soul. "And I thought I was an asslast night! Why, last night, in comparison, I displayed intelligencethat was almost human! Oh, Peggy, Peggy! if I only dared tell you whatI think of you, I believe I would gladly die afterward--yes, I'm sureI would. You really haven't any right to be so beautiful!--it isn'tfair to us, Peggy!"

But the vision was peeping over the bannisters at him, and thevision's eyes were sparkling with a lucent mischief and a wonderful, half-hushed contralto was demanding of him:

 "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?"

And Billy's baritone answered her:

 "I've been to seek a wife--"

and broke off in a groan. 

"Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods. 

It was a ludicrous business, if you will. Indeed, it was vastlyhumorous--was it not?--this woman's thinking a man's love might by anychance endure through six whole years. But their love endures, yousee; and the silly creatures have a superstition among them that loveis a sacred thing, stronger than time, victorious over death itself. Let us laugh, then, at Kathleen Saumarez--those of us who have learnedthat love is only a tinkling cymbal and faith a sounding brass andfidelity an obsolete affectation: but for my part, I honour andthink better of the woman who through all her struggles with theworld--through all those sordid, grim, merciless, secret battles wherethe vanquished may not even cry for succour--I honour her, I say, forthat she had yet cherished the memory of that first love which is thebest and purest and most unselfish and most excellent thing in life. 

XVI

Breakfast Margaret enjoyed hugely. I regret to confess that the factthat every one of her guests was more or less miserable moved thishard-hearted young woman to untimely and excessive mirth. Only Mrs. Saumarez puzzled her, for she could think of no reason for that lady'smanifest agitation when Kathleen eventually joined the others. 

But for the rest, the hopeless glances that Hugh Van Orden cast towardher caused Adèle to flush, and Mrs. Haggage to become despondent andspeechless and astonishingly rigid; and Petheridge Jukesbury's vaguelyapologetic attitude toward the world struck Miss Hugonin as infinitelydiverting. Kennaston she pitied a little; but his bearing towardher ranged ludicrously from that of proprietorship to that ofsupplication, and, moreover, she was furious with him for havinghinted at various times that Billy was a fortune-hunter. 

Margaret was quite confident by this that she had never believedhim--"not really, you know"--having argued the point out at somelength the night before, and reaching her conclusion by a course ofreasoning peculiar to herself. 

Mr. Woods, as you may readily conceive, was sunk in the Slough ofDespond deeper than ever plummet sounded. Margaret thought this verynice of him; it was a delicate tribute to her that he ate nothing;and the fact that Hugh Van Orden and Petheridge Jukesbury--as shebelieved--acted in precisely the same way for precisely the samereason, merely demonstrated, of course, their overwhelming conceit andpresumption. 

So sitting in the great Eagle's shadow, she ate a quantity ofmarmalade--she was wont to begin the day in this ungodly Englishfashion--and gossiped like a brook trotting over sunlit pebbles. Shehad planned a pulverising surprise for the house-party; and in duetime, she intended to explode it, and subsequently Billy was toapologise for his conduct, and then they were to live happily everafterward. 

She had not yet decided what he was to apologise for; that was hisaffair. His conscience ought to have told him, by this, wherein he hadoffended; and if his conscience hadn't, why then, of course, he wouldhave to apologise for his lack of proper sensibility. 

After breakfast she went, according to her usual custom, to herfather's rooms, for, as I think I have told you, the old gentleman wasnever visible until noon. She had astonishing news for him. 

What time she divulged it, the others sat on the terrace, and Mr. Kennaston read to them, as he had promised, from his "Defense ofIgnorance. " It proved a welcome diversion to more than one of theparty. Mr. Woods, especially, esteemed it a godsend; it staved offmisfortune for at least a little; so he sat at Kathleen's side insilence, trying desperately to be happy, trying desperately not to seethe tiny wrinkles, the faint crow's feet Time had sketched in her faceas a memorandum of the work he meant to do shortly. 

Billy consoled himself with the reflection that he was very fond ofher; but, oh (he thought), what worship, what adoration he couldaccord this woman if she would only decline--positively--to haveanything whatever to do with him!

I think we ought not to miss hearing Mr. Kennaston's discourse. It isgenerally conceded that his style is wonderfully clever; and I haveno doubt that his detractors--who complain that his style is mereword-twisting, a mere inversion of the most ancient truisms--areactuated by the very basest jealousy. Let us listen, then, and be dulyedified as he reads in a low, sweet voice, and the birds twitter abouthim in the clear morning. 

"It has been for many years, " Mr. Kennaston began, "the custom ofpatriotic gentlemen in quest of office to point with pride to the factthat the schoolmaster is abroad in the land, in whose defense theystand pledged to draw their salaries and fight to the last gaspfor reelection. These lofty platitudes, while trying to the lungs, doubtless appeal to a certain class of minds. But, indeed, theschoolmaster is not abroad; he is domesticated in every village inAmerica, where each hamlet has its would-be Shakespeare, and eachwould-be Shakespeare has his 'Hamlet' by heart. Learning is rampant inthe land, and valuable information is pasted up in the streetcars sothat he who rides may read. 

"And Ignorance--beautiful, divine Ignorance--is forsaken by ageneration that clamours for the truth. And what value, pray, has thisTruth that we should lust after it?"

He glanced up, in an inquiring fashion. Mr. Jukesbury, meeting hiseye, smiled and shook his head and said "Fie, fie!" very placidly. 

To do him justice, he had not the least idea what Kennaston wastalking about. 

"I am aware, " the poet continued, with an air of generosity, "thatmany pleasant things have been said of it. In fact, our decade hasturned its back relentlessly upon the decayed, and we no longer readthe lament over the lost art of lying issued many magazines ago bya once prominent British author. Still, without advancing any Wildetheories, one may fairly claim that truth is a jewel--a jewel withmany facets, differing in appearance from each point of view. 

"And while 'Tell the truth and shame the Devil' is a very prettysentiment, it need not necessarily mean anything. The Devil, if therebe a personal devil--and it has been pointed out, with some show ofreason, that an impersonal one could scarcely carry out such enormouscontracts--would, in all probability, rather approve than otherwise ofindiscriminate truth-telling. Irritation is the root of all evil; andthere is nothing more irritating than to hear the truth about one'sself. It is bad enough, in all conscience, to be insulted, but thetruth of an insult is the barb that prevents its retraction. 'Truthhurts' has all the pathos of understatement. It not only hurts, butinfuriates. It has no more right to go naked in public than any oneelse. Indeed, it has less right; for truth-telling is natural tomankind--as is shown by its prevalence among the younger sort, such aschildren and cynics--and, as Shakespeare long ago forgot to tell us, atouch of nature makes the whole world embarrassed. "

At this point Mrs. Haggage sniffed. She considered he was growingimproper. She distrusted Nature. 

"Truth-telling, then, may safely be regarded as an unamiableindiscretion. In art, the bare truth must, in common gallantry, beawarded a print petticoat or one of canvas, as the case may be, tohide her nakedness; and in life, it is a disastrous virtue that wehave united to commend and avoid. Nor is the decision an unwise one;for man is a gregarious animal, knowing that friendship is, at best, but a feeble passion and therefore to be treated with the care due aninvalid. It is impossible to be quite candid in conversation with aman; and with a woman it is absolutely necessary that your speechshould be candied. 

"Truth, then, is the least desirable of acquaintances. 

"But even if one wished to know the truth, the desire could scarcelybe fulfilled. Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, a prominent lawyer ofElizabeth's time, who would have written Shakespeare's plays had hisother occupations not prevented it, quotes Pilate as inquiring, 'Whatis Truth?'--and then not staying for an answer. Pilate deserves allthe praise he has never received. Nothing is quite true. Even Truthlies at the bottom of a well and not infrequently in other places. Noassertion is one whit truer than its opposite. "

A mild buzz of protest rose about him. Kennaston smiled and cocked hishead on one side. 

"We have, for example, " he pointed out, "a large number of proverbs, the small coin of conversation, received everywhere, whose value noone disputes. They are rapped forth, like an oath, with an air ofsettling the question once and forever. Well! there is safety inquotations. But even the Devil can cite Shakespeare for his purpose. 'Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day' agrees ill with'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'; and it is somewhatdifficult to reconcile 'Take care of the pence, and the pounds willtake care of themselves' with the equally familiar 'Penny-wise, pound-foolish. ' Yet the sayings are equally untrue; any maxim is, perforce, a general statement, and therefore fallacious, and thereforeuniversally accepted. Art is long, and life is short, but theplatitudes concerning them are both insufferable and eternal. We mustremember that a general statement is merely a snap-shot at flyingtruth, an instantaneous photograph of a moving body. It may be the waythat a thing is; but it is never the way in which any one ever sawthat thing, or ever will. This is, of course, a general statement. 

"As to present events, then, it may be assumed that no one is eithercapable or desirous of speaking the truth; why, then, make sucha pother about it as to the past? There we have carried theinvestigation of truth to such an extreme that nowadays very few of usdare believe anything. Opinions are difficult to secure when a quarterof an hour in the library will prove either side of any question. Formerly, people had a few opinions, which, if erroneous, were atleast universal. Nero was not considered an immaculate man. The Floodwas currently believed to have caused the death of quite a number ofpersons. And George Washington, it was widely stated, once cut downa cherry-tree. But now all these comfortable illusions have beendestroyed by 'the least little men who spend their time and lose theirwits in chasing nimble and retiring truth, to the extreme perturbationand drying up of the moistures. '"

Kennaston looked up for a moment, and Billy Woods, who had countedseven wrinkles and was dropping into a forlorn doze, startedviolently. His interest then became abnormal. 

"There are, " Mr. Kennaston complained, rather reproachfully, "too manyinquiries, doubts, investigations, discoveries, and apologies. Thereare palliations of Tiberius, eulogies of Henry VIII. , rehabilitationsof Aaron Burr. Lucretia Borgia, it appears, was a grievouslymisunderstood woman, and Heliogabalus a most exemplary monarch; eventhe dog in the manger may have been a nervous animal in search ofrest and quiet. As for Shakespeare, he was an atheist, a syndicate, alawyer's clerk, an inferior writer, a Puritan, a scholar, a _nom deplume_, a doctor of medicine, a fool, a poacher, and another man ofthe same name. Information of this sort crops up on every side. Eventhe newspapers are infected; truth lurks in the patent-medicineadvertisements, and sometimes creeps stealthily into the veryeditorials. We must all learn the true facts of history, whether wewill or no; eventually, the writers of historical romance will notescape. 

"So the sad tale goes. Ignorance--beautiful, divine Ignorance--isforsaken by a generation that clamours for the truth. Theearnest-minded person has plucked Zeus out of Heaven, and driven theMaenad from the wood, and dragged Poseidon out of his deep-sea palace. The conclaves of Olympus, it appears, are merely nature-myths;the stately legends clustering about them turn out to be a ratherelaborate method of expressing the fact that it occasionally rains. The heroes who endured their angers and jests and tragic loves aredelicately veiled allusions to the sun--surely, a very harmless topicof conversation, even in Greece; and the monsters, 'Gorgons and Hydrasand Chimæras dire, ' their grisly offspring, their futile opponents, are but personified frosts. Mythology--the poet's necessity, thefertile mother of his inventions--has become a series of atmosphericphenomena, and the labours of Hercules prove to be a dozen weatherbulletins. 

"Is it any cause for wonder, that under this cheerless influence ourpoetry is either silent or unsold? The true poet must be ignorant, forinformation is the thief of rhyme. And it is only in dealing with--"

Kennaston paused. Margaret had appeared in the vestibule, and behindher stood her father, looking very grave. 

"We have made a most interesting discovery, " Miss Hugonin airilyannounced to the world at large. "It appears that Uncle Fred left allhis property to Mr. Woods here. We found the will only last night. I'msure you'll all be interested to learn I'm a pauper now, and intend tosupport myself by plain sewing. Any work of this nature you maychoose to favour me with, ladies and gentlemen, will receive my most_earnest_ attention. "

She dropped a courtesy. The scene appealed to her taste for thedramatic. 

Billy came toward her quickly. 

"Peggy, " he demanded of her, in the semi-privacy of the vestibule, "will you kindly elucidate the meaning of this da--this idioticfoolishness?"

"Why, this, " she explained, easily, and exhibited a folded paper. "Ifound it in the grate last night. "

He inspected it with large eyes. "That's absurd, " he said, at length. "You know perfectly well this will isn't worth the paper it's writtenon. "

"My dear sir, " she informed him, coldly, "you are vastly mistaken. Yousee, I've burned the other one. " She pushed by him. "Mr. Kennaston, are you ready for our walk? We'll finish the paper some other time. Wasn't it the strangest thing in the world--?" Her dear, deep, mellowvoice died away as she and Kennaston disappeared in the gardens. 

Billy gasped. 

But meanwhile, Colonel Hugonin had given the members of his daughter'shouse-party some inkling as to the present posture of affairs. Theywere gazing at Billy Woods rather curiously. He stood in the vestibuleof Selwoode, staring after Margaret Hugonin; but they stared at him, and over his curly head, sculptured above the door-way, they saw theEagle--the symbol of the crude, incalculable power of wealth. 

Mr. Woods stood in the vestibule of his own house. 

XVII

"By gad!" said Colonel Hugonin, very grimly, "anybody would thinkyou'd just lost a fortune instead of inheriting one! Wish you joy ofit, Billy. I ain't saying, you know, we shan't miss it, my daughterand I--no, begad, for it's a nice pot of money, and we'll miss itdamnably. But since somebody had to have it, I'd much rather it wasyou, my boy, than a set of infernal, hypocritical, philanthropicsharks, and I'm damn' glad Frederick has done the square thing byyou--yes, begad!"

The old gentleman was standing beside Mr. Woods in the vestibule ofSelwoode, some distance from the other members of the house-party, and was speaking in confidence. He was sincere; I don't say thatthe thought of facing the world at sixty-five with practicallyno resources save his half-pay--I think I have told you that theColonel's diversions had drunk up his wife's fortune and his own likea glass of water--I don't say that this thought moved him to hilarity. Over it, indeed, he pulled a frankly grave face. 

But he cared a deal for Billy; and even now there was balm--soothing, priceless balm--to be had of the reflection that this change inhis prospects affected materially the prospects of those cultured, broad-minded, philanthropic persons who had aforetime set his daughterto requiring of him a perusal of Herbert Spencer. 

Billy was pretty well aware how monetary matters stood with the oldwastrel; and the sincerity of the man affected him far more than themost disinterested sentiments would have done. Mr. Woods accordinglyshook hands, with entirely unnecessary violence. 

"You're a trump, that's what you are!" he declared; "oh, yes, you are, Colonel! You're an incorrigible, incurable old ace of trumps--thevery best there is in the pack--and it's entirely useless for you toattempt to conceal it. "

"Gad----!" said the Colonel. 

"And don't you worry about that will, " Mr. Woods advised. "I--I can'texplain things just now, but it's all right. You just wait--just waittill I've seen Peggy, " Billy urged, in desperation, "and I'll explaineverything. "

"By gad----!" said the Colonel. But Mr. Woods was half-way out of thevestibule. 

Mr. Woods was in an unenviable state of perturbation. 

He could not quite believe that Peggy had destroyed the will; thething out-Heroded Herod, out-Margareted Margaret. But if she had, it struck him as a high-handed proceeding, entailing certainvague penalties made and provided by the law to cover just suchcases--penalties of whose nature he was entirely ignorant and didn'tcare to think. Heavens! for all he knew, that angel might have letherself in for a jail sentence. 

Billy pictured that queen among women! that paragon! with her glorioushair cropped and her pink-tipped little hands set to beating hemp--hehad a shadowy notion that the lives of all female convicts weredevoted to this pursuit--and groaned in horror. 

"In the name of Heaven!" Mr. Woods demanded of his soul, "what_possible_ reason could she have had for this new insanity? And in thename of Heaven, why couldn't she have put off her _tête-à-tête_ withKennaston long enough to explain? And in the name of Heaven, what doesshe see to admire in that putty-faced, grimacing ass, any way! And inthe name of Heaven, what am I to say to this poor, old man here? Ican't explain that his daughter isn't in any danger of being poor, butmerely of being locked up in jail! And in the name of Heaven, howlong does that outrageous angel expect me to remain in this state ofsuspense!"

Billy groaned again and paced the vestibule. Then he retraced hissteps, shook hands with Colonel Hugonin once more, and, Kennaston orno Kennaston, set out to find her. 

XVIII

But when he came out upon the terrace, Sarah Ellen Haggage stoppedhim--stopped him with a queer blending of diffidence and resolve inher manner. 

The others, by this, had disappeared in various directions, puzzledand exceedingly uncertain what to do. Indeed, to congratulate Billyin the Colonel's presence would have been tactless; and, on the otherhand, to condole with the Colonel without seeming to affront thewealthy Mr. Woods was almost impossible. So they temporised andfled--all save Mrs. Haggage. 

She, alone, remained to view Mr. Woods with newly opened eyes; foras he paused impatiently--the sculptured Eagle above his head--sheperceived that he was a remarkably handsome and intelligent young man. Her motherly heart opened toward this lonely, wealthy orphan. 

"My dear Billy, " she cooed, with asthmatic gentleness, "as an old, old friend of your mother's, aren't you going to let me tell you howrejoiced Adèle and I are over your good fortune? It isn't polite, younaughty boy, for you to run away from your friends as soon as they'veheard this wonderful news. Ah, such news it was--such a manifestintervention of Providence! My heart has been fluttering, flutteringlike a little bird, Billy, ever since I heard it. "

In testimony to this fact, Mrs. Haggage clasped a stodgy hand to anexceedingly capacious bosom, and exhibited the whites of her eyesfreely. Her smile, however, remained unchanged and ample. 

"Er--ah--oh, yes! Very kind of you, I'm sure!" said Mr. Woods. 

"I never in my life saw Adèle so deeply affected by _anything_, " Mrs. Haggage continued, with a certain large archness. "The sweet childwas always so fond of you, you know, Billy. Ah, I remember distinctlyhearing her speak of you many and many a time when you were in thatdear, delightful, wicked Paris, and wonder when you would come backto your friends--not very grand and influential friends, Billy, butsincere, I trust, for all that. "

Mr. Woods said he had no doubt of it. 

"So many people, " she informed him, confidentially, "will pursue youwith adulation now that you are wealthy. Oh, yes, you will find thatwealth makes a great difference, Billy. But not with Adèle andme--no, dear boy, despise us if you will, but my child and I are notmercenary. Money makes no difference with us; we shall be the same toyou that we always were--sincerely interested in your true welfare, overjoyed at your present good fortune, prayerful as to your brilliantfuture, and delighted to have you drop in any evening to dinner. We donot consider money the chief blessing of life; no, don't tell me thatmost people are different, Billy, for I know it very well, and many isthe tear that thought has cost me. We live in a very mercenary world, my dear boy; but _our_ thoughts, at least, are set on higher things, and I trust we can afford to despise the merely temporal blessings oflife, and I entreat you to remember that our humble dwelling is alwaysopen to the son of my old, old friend, and that there is always a jugof good whiskey in the cupboard. "

Thus in the shadow of the Eagle babbled the woman whom--for all herabsurdities--Margaret had loved as a mother. 

Billy thanked her with an angry heart. 

"And this"--I give you the gist of his meditations--"this is Peggy'sdearest friend! Oh, Philanthropy, are thy protestations, then, allvoid and empty, and are thy noblest sentiments--every one of 'em--sofull of sound and rhetoric, so specious, so delectable--are these, then, but dicers' oaths!"

Aloud, "I'm rather surprised, you know, " he said, slowly, "that youtake it just this way, Mrs. Haggage. I should have thought you'd havebeen sorry on--on Miss Hugonin's account. It's awfully jolly of you, of course--oh, awfully jolly, and I appreciate it at its true worth, Iassure you. But it's a bit awkward, isn't it, that the poor girl willbe practically penniless? I really don't know whom she'll turn tonow. "

Then Billy, the diplomatist, received a surprise. 

"She'll come with me, of course, " said Mrs. Haggage. 

Mr. Woods made an--unfortunately--inaudible observation. 

"I beg your pardon?" she queried. Then, obtaining no response, shecontinued, with perfect simplicity: "Margaret's quite like a daughterto me, you know. Of course, she and the Colonel will come with us--atleast, until affairs are a bit more settled. Even afterward--well, wehave a large house, Billy, and I don't see that they'd be any betteroff anywhere else. "

Billy's emotions were complex. 

"You big-hearted old parasite, " his own heart was singing. "If youcould only keep that ring of truth that's in your voice for yourplatform utterances--why, in less than no time you could afford tofeed your Afro-Americans on nightingales' tongues and clothe everyworking-girl in the land in cloth of gold! You've been pilfering fromPeggy for years--pilfering right and left with both hands! But you'veloved her all the time, God bless you; and now the moment she's introuble you're ready to take both her and the Colonel--whom, by theway, you must very cordially detest--and share your pitiful, pilferedlittle crusts with 'em and--having two more mouths to feed--probablypilfer a little more outrageously in the future! You're asanctimonious old hypocrite, you are, and a pious fraud, and adelusion, and a snare, and you and Adèle have nefarious designs on meat this very moment, but I think I'd like to kiss you!"

Indeed, I believe Mr. Woods came very near doing so. She loved Peggy, you see; and he loved every one who loved her. 

But he compromised by shaking hands energetically, for a matter offive minutes, and entreating to be allowed to subscribe to some of herdeserving charitable enterprises--any one she might mention--and soleft the old lady a little bewildered, but very much pleased. 

She decided that for the future Adèle must not see so much of Mr. Van Orden. She began to fear that gentleman's views of life were notsufficiently serious. 

XIX

Billy went into the gardens in pursuit of Margaret. He was almosthappy now and felt vaguely ashamed of himself. Then he came uponKathleen Saumarez, who, indeed, was waiting for him there; and hisheart went down into his boots. 

He realised on a sudden that he was one of the richest men in America. It was a staggering thought. Also, Mr. Woods's views, at this moment, as to the advantages of wealth, might have been interesting. 

Kathleen stood silent for an instant, eyes downcast, face flushed. Shewas trembling. 

Then, "Billy, " she asked, almost inaudibly, "do--do you stillwant--your answer?"

The birds sang about them. Spring triumphed in the gardens. She lookedvery womanly and very pretty. 

To all appearances, it might easily have been a lover and his lass metin the springtide, shamefaced after last night's kissing. But Billy, somehow, lacked much of the elation and the perfect content and thedisposition to burst into melody that is currently supposed to seizeupon rustic swains at such moments. He merely wanted to know if atany time in the remote future his heart would be likely to resume thedischarge of its proper functions. It was standing still now. 

However, "Can you ask--dear?" His words, at least, lied gallantly. 

The poor woman looked up into Billy's face. After years of battlingwith the world, here for the asking was peace and luxury and wealthincalculable, and--as Kathleen thought--a love that had endured sincethey were boy and girl together. Yet she shrunk from him a little andclinched her hands before she spoke. 

"Yes, " Kathleen faltered, and afterward she shuddered. 

And here, if for the moment I may prefigure the Eagle as a sentientbeing, I can imagine his chuckle. 

"Please God, " thought poor Billy, "I will make her happy. Yes, pleaseGod, I can at least do that, since she cares for me. "

Then he kissed her. 

"My dear, " said he, aloud, "I'll try to make you happy. And--and youdon't mind, do you, if I leave you now?" queried this ardent lover. "You see, it's absolutely necessary I should see--see Miss Hugoninabout this will business. You don't mind very much, do you--darling?"Mr. Woods inquired of her, the last word being rather obviously anafterthought. 

"No, " said she. "Not if you must--dear. "

Billy went away, lugging a heart of lead in his breast. 

Kathleen stared after him and gave a hard, wringing motion of herhands. She had done what many women do daily; the thing is common andsensible and universally commended; but in her own eyes, the draggledtrollop of the pavements was neither better nor worse than she. 

At the entrance of the next walkway Billy encountered FelixKennaston--alone and in the most ebulliently mirthful of humours. 

XX

But we had left Mr. Kennaston, I think, in company with Miss Hugonin, at the precise moment she inquired of him whether it were not thestrangest thing in the world--referring thereby to the sudden mannerin which she had been disinherited. 

The poet laughed and assented. Afterward, turning north from the frontcourt, they descended past the shield-bearing griffins--and you maydepend upon it that each shield is adorned with a bas-relief of theEagle--that guard the broad stairway leading to the formal gardensof Selwoode. The gardens stretch northward to the confines of PeterBlagden's estate of Gridlington; and for my part--unless it were thatprimitive garden that Adam lost--I can imagine no goodlier place. 

On this particular forenoon, however, neither Miss Hugonin nor FelixKennaston had eyes for its comeliness; silently they braved thegriffins, and in silence they skirted the fish-pond--silver-crinklingin the May morning--and passed through cloistral ilex-shadowed walks, and amphitheatres of green velvet, and terraces ample and mellowin the sunlight, silently. The trees pelted them with blossoms;pedestaled in leafy recesses, Satyrs grinned at them apishly, and thearrows of divers pot-bellied Cupids threatened them, and Fauns pipedfor them ditties of no tone; the birds were about shrill avocationsoverhead, and everywhere the heatless, odourful air was a caress; butfor all this, Miss Hugonin and Mr. Kennaston were silent and veryfidgetty. 

Margaret was hatless--and the glory of the eminently sensible springsun appeared to centre in her hair--and violet-clad; and the gown, like most of her gowns, was all tiny tucks and frills and flounces, diapered with semi-transparencies--unsubstantial, foam-like, mereviolet froth. As she came starry-eyed through the gardens, theimpudent wind trifling with her hair, I protest she might have beensome lady of Oberon's court stolen out of Elfland to bedevil us poormortals, with only a moonbeam for the changeable heart of her, andfor raiment a violet shadow spirited from the under side of some big, fleecy cloud. 

They came presently through a trim, yew-hedged walkway to asummer-house covered with vines, into which Margaret peeped anddeclined to enter, on the ground that it was entirely too chillyand gloomy and _exactly_ like a mausoleum; but nearby they found asemi-circular marble bench about which a group of elm-trees made apleasant shadow splashed at just the proper intervals with sunlight. 

On this Margaret seated herself; and then pensively moved to the otherend of the bench, because a slanting sunbeam fell there. Since itwas absolutely necessary to blast Mr. Kennaston's dearest hopes, she thoughtfully endeavoured to distract his attention from his ownmiseries--as far as might be possible--by showing him how exactly likean aureole her hair was in the sunlight. Margaret always had a kindheart. 

Kennaston stood before her, smiling a little. He was the sort of manto appreciate the manoeuver. 

"My lady, " he asked, very softly, "haven't you any good news for me onthis wonderful morning?"

"Excellent news, " Margaret assented, with a cheerfulness that wasnot utterly free from trepidation. "I've decided not to marry you, beautiful, and I trust you're properly grateful. You see, you're verynice, of course, but I'm going to marry somebody else, and bigamy isa crime, you know; and, anyhow, I'm only a pauper, and you'd never beable to put up with my temper--now, beautiful, I'm quite sure youcouldn't, so there's not a bit of use in arguing it. Some day you'dend by strangling me, which would be horribly disagreeable for me, andthen they'd hang you for it, you know, and that would be equallydisagreeable for you. Fancy, though, what a good advertisement it wouldbe for your poems!"

[Illustration: "'My lady, ' he asked, very softly, 'haven't you anygood news for me on this wonderful morning?'"]

She was not looking at him now--oh, no, Margaret was far too busilyemployed getting the will (which she had carried all this time) intoan absurd little silver chain-bag hanging at her waist. She had notime to look at Felix Kennaston. There was such scant room in the bag;her purse took up so much space there was scarcely any left for thefolded paper; the affair really required her closest, undividedattention. Besides, she had not the least desire to look at Kennastonjust now. 

"Beautiful child, " he pleaded, "look at me!"

But she didn't. 

She felt that at that moment she could have looked at a gorgon, say, or a cockatrice, or any other trifle of that nature with infinitelygreater composure. The pause that followed Margaret accordinglydevoted to a scrutiny of his shoes and sincere regret that their ownerwas not a mercenary man who would be glad to be rid of her. 

"Beautiful child, " spoke the poet's voice, sadly, "you aren't--surely, you aren't saying this in mistaken kindness to me? Surely, you aren'tsaying this because of what has happened in regard to your moneyaffairs? Believe me, my dear, that makes no difference to me. Itis you I love--you, the woman of my heart--and not a certain, anddoubtless desirable, amount of metal disks and dirty paper. "

"Now I suppose you're going to be very noble and very nasty about it, "observed Miss Hugonin, resentfully. "That's my main objection toyou, you know, that you haven't any faults I can recognise and feelfamiliar and friendly with. "

"My dear, " he protested, "I assure you I am not intentionallydisagreeable. "

At that, she raised velvet eyes to his--with a visible effort, though--and smiled. 

"I know you far too well to think that, " she said, wistfully. "Iknow I'm not worthy of you. I'm tremendously fond of you, beautiful, but--but, you see, I love somebody else, " Margaret concluded, withadmirable candour. 

"Ah!" said he, in a rather curious voice. "The painter chap, eh?"

Then Margaret's face flamed in a wonderful glow of shame and happinessand pride that must have made the surrounding roses very hopelesslyjealous. A quaint mothering look, sacred, divine, Madonna-like, woke in her great eyes as she thought--remorsefully--ofhow unhappy Billy must be at that very moment and of how big he wasand of his general niceness; and she desired, very heartily, that thisfleshy young man would make his scene and have done with it. Who washe, forsooth, to keep her from Billy? She wished she had never heardof Felix Kennaston. 

_Souvent femme varie_, my brothers. 

However, "Yes, " said Margaret. . 

"You are a dear, " said Mr. Kennaston, with conviction in his voice. 

I dare say Margaret was surprised. 

But the poet had taken her hand and had kissed it reverently, and thensat down beside her, twisting one foot under him in a fashion he had. He was frankly grateful to her for refusing him; and, the mask ofaffectation slipped, she saw in him another man. 

"I am an out-and-out fraud, " he confessed, with the gayest of smiles. "I am not in love with you, and I am inexpressibly glad that you arenot in love with me. Oh, Margaret, Margaret--you don't mind if I callyou that, do you? I shall have to, in any event, because I like you sotremendously now that we are not going to be married--you have no ideawhat a night I spent. "

"I consider it most peculiar and unsympathetic of my hair not to haveturned gray. I thought you were going to have me, you see. "

Margaret was far to much astonished to be angry. 

"But last night!" she presently echoed, in candid surprise. "Why, lastnight you didn't know I was poor!"

He wagged a protesting forefinger. "That made no earthly difference, "he assured her. "Of course, it was the money--and in some degree themoon--that induced me to make love to you. I acted on the impulse ofthe moment; just for an instant, the novelty of doing a perfectlysensible thing--and marrying money is universally conceded to comeunder that head--appealed to me. So I did it. But all the time I wasin love with Kathleen Saumarez. Why, the moment I left you, I began torealise that not even you--and you are quite the most fascinating andgenerally adorable woman I ever knew, Margaret--I began to realise, Isay, that not even you could ever make me forget that fact. And Iwas very properly miserable. It is extremely queer, " Mr. Kennastoncontinued, after an interval of meditation, "but falling in loveappears to be the one utterly inexplicable, utterly reasonless thingone ever does in one's life. You can usually think of some more orless plausible palliation for embezzlement, say, or for robbing acathedral or even for committing suicide--but no man can ever explainhow he happened to fall in love. He simply did it. "

Margaret nodded sagely. She knew. 

"Now you, " Mr. Kennaston was pleased to say, "are infinitely morebeautiful, younger, more clever, and in every way more attractive thanKathleen. I recognise these things clearly, but it does not appear, somehow, to alter the fact that I am in love with her. I think I havebeen in love with her all my life. We were boy and girl together, Margaret, and--and I give you my word, " Kennaston cried, with hisboyish flush, "I worship her! I simply cannot explain the perfectlyunreasonable way in which I worship her!"

He was sincere. He loved Kathleen Saumarez as much as he was capableof loving any one--almost as much as he loved to dilate on his ownpeculiarities and emotions. 

Margaret's gaze was intent upon him. "Yet, " she marvelled, "you madelove to me very tropically. "

With unconcealed pride, Mr. Kennaston assented. "Didn't I?" he said. "I was in rather good form last night, I thought. "

"And you were actually prepared to marry me?" she asked--"even afteryou knew I was poor?"

"I couldn't very well back out, " he submitted, and then cockedhis head on one side. "You see, " he added, whimsically, "I wassufficiently a conceited ass to fancy you cared a little for me. So, of course, I was going to marry you and try to make you happy. But howdear--oh, how unutterably dear it was of you, Margaret, to declineto be made happy in any such fashion!" And Mr. Kennaston paused tochuckle and to regard her with genuine esteem and affection. 

But still her candid eyes weighed him, and transparently found himwanting. 

"You are thinking, perhaps, what an unutterable cad I have been?" hesuggested. 

"Yes--you are rather by way of being a cad, beautiful. But I can'thelp liking you, somehow. I dare say it's because you're honestwith me. Nobody--nobody, " Miss Hugonin lamented, a forlorn littlequiver in her voice, "_ever_ seemed to be honest with me except you, and now I know you weren't. Oh, beautiful, aren't I ever to have anyreal friends?" she pleaded, wistfully. 

Kennaston had meant a deal to her, you see; he had been the oneman she trusted. She had gloried in his fustian rhetoric, his glibartlessness, his airy scorn of money; and now all this proved merepinchbeck. On a sudden, too, there woke in some bycorner of her hearta queasy realisation of how near she had come to loving Kennaston. Thethought nauseated her. 

"My dear, " he answered, kindly, "you will have any number of friendsnow that you are poor. It was merely your money that kept you fromhaving any. You see, " Mr. Kennaston went on, with somewhat the air ofone climbing upon his favourite hobby, "money is the only thingthat counts nowadays. In America, the rich are necessarily our onlyaristocracy. It is quite natural. One cannot hope for an aristocracyof intellect, if only for the reason that not one person in a thousandhas any; and birth does not count for much. Of course, it is quitetrue that all of our remote ancestors came over with William theConqueror--I have sometimes thought that the number of steeragepassengers his ships would accommodate must have been little short ofmarvellous--but it is equally true that the grandfathers of most ofour leisure class were either deserving or dishonest persons--whoeither started life on a farm, and studied Euclid by the firelight anddid all the other priggish things they thought would look well in abiography, or else met with marked success in embezzlement. So money, after all, is our only standard; and when a woman is as rich as youwere yesterday she cannot hope for friends any more than the Queenof England can. You could have plenty of flatterers, toadies, sycophants--anything, in fine, but friends. "

"I don't believe it, " said Margaret, half angrily--"not a word of it. There _must_ be some honest people in the world who don't considerthat money is everything. You know there must be, beautiful!"

The poet laughed. "That, " said he, affably, "is poppycock. You arerepeating the sort of thing I said to you yesterday. I am honest now. The best of us, Margaret, cannot help being impressed by the power ofmoney. It is the greatest power in the world, and we cannot--cannotpossibly--look upon rich people as being quite like us. We musttoady to them a bit, Margaret, whether we want to or not. The Eagleintimidates us all. "

"I _hate_ him!" Miss Hugonin announced, with vehemence. 

Kennaston searched his pockets. After a moment he produced a dollarbill and showed her the Eagle on it. 

"There, " he said, gravely, "is the original of the Woods Eagle--theEagle that intimidates us all. Do you remember what Shakespeare--onealways harks back to Shakespeare to clinch an argument, because noteven our foremost actors have been able to conceal the fact that hewas, as somebody in Dickens acutely points out, 'a dayvilish cleverfellow'--do you remember. I say, what Shakespeare observes as to thisvery Eagle?"

Miss Hugonin shook her little head till it glittered in the sunlightlike a topaz. She cared no more for Shakespeare than the average womandoes, and she was never quite comfortable when he was alluded to. 

 "He says, " Mr. Kennaston quoted, solemnly: "The Eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing He can at pleasure still their melody. "

"That's nonsense, " said Margaret, calmly. "I haven't the _least_ ideawhat you're talking about, and I don't believe you have either. "

He waved the dollar bill with a heroical gesture. "Here, " he asserted, "is the Eagle. And by the little birds, I have not a doubt he meantcharity and independence and kindliness and truth and the rest of thestandard virtues. That is quite as plausible as the interpretation ofthe average commentator. The presence of money chills these littlebirds--ah, it is lamentable, no doubt, but it is true. "

"I don't believe it, " said Margaret--quite as if that settled thequestion. 

But now his hobby, rowelled by opposition, was spurred to loftierflights. 

"Ah, the power of these great fortunes America has bred is monstrous, "he suddenly cried. "And always they work for evil. If I were ever towrite a melodrama, Margaret, I could wish for no more thorough-pacedvillain than a large fortune. " Kennaston paused and laughed grimly. "We cringe to the Eagle!" said he. "Eh, well, why not? The Eagle isvery powerful and very cruel. In the South yonder, the Eagle haspenned over a million children in his factories, where day by day hedrains the youth and health and very life out of their tired bodies;in sweat-shops, men and women are toiling for the Eagle, giving theirlives for the pittance that he grudges them; in countless mines andmills, the Eagle is trading human lives for coal and flour; inWall Street yonder, the Eagle is juggling as he will with life'snecessities--thieving from the farmer, thieving from the consumer, thieving from the poor fools who try to play the Eagle's game, anddriving them at will to despair and ruin and death: look whither youmay, men die that the Eagle may grow fat. So the Eagle thrives, anddaily the rich grow richer and the poor grow poorer, and the end----"Kennaston paused, staring into vacancy. "Eh, well, " said he, with asmile and a snap of his fingers, "the end rests upon the knees ofthe gods. But there must need be an end some day. And meanwhile, youcannot blame us if we cringe to the Eagle that is master of the world. It is human nature to cringe to its master; and while human natureis not always an admirable thing, it is, I believe, rather widelydistributed. "

Margaret did not return the smile. Like any sensible woman, she nevertolerated opinions that differed from her own. 

So she waved his preachment aside. "You're trying to be eloquent, " washer observation, "and you've only succeeded in being very silly andtiresome. Go away, beautiful. You make me awfully tired, and I don'tcare for you in the least. Go and talk to Kathleen. I shall behere--on this very spot, " Margaret added, with commendable precisionand an unaccountable increase of colour, "if--if any one should happento ask. "

Then Kennaston rose and laughed merrily. 

"You are quite delicious, " he commented. "It will always be agrief and a puzzle to me that I am not mad for love of you. It isunreasonable of me, " he complained, sadly, and shook his head, "but Iprefer Kathleen. And I am quite certain that somebody will ask whereyou are. I shall describe to him the exact spot--"

Mr. Kennaston paused, with a slight air of apology. 

"If I were you, " he suggested, pleasantly, "I would move alittle--just a little--to the left. That will enable you to obtain toa fuller extent the benefit of the sunbeam which is falling--quiteby accident, of course--upon your hair. You are perfectly right, Margaret, in selecting that hedge as a background. Its sombre greensets you off to perfection. "

He went away chuckling. He felt that Margaret must think him a devilof a fellow. 

She didn't, though. 

"The _idea_ of his suspecting me of such unconscionable vanity!" shesaid, properly offended. Then, "Anyhow, a man has no business to knowabout such things, " she continued, with rising indignation. "I believeFelix Kennaston is as good a judge of chiffons as any woman. That'seffeminate, I think, and catty and absurd. I don't believe I everliked him--not really, that is. Now, what would Billy care aboutsunbeams and backgrounds, I'd like to know! He'd never even noticethem. Billy is a _man_. Why, that's just what father said yesterday!"Margaret cried, and afterward laughed happily. "I suppose old peopleare right sometimes--but, dear, dear, they're terribly unreasonable atothers!"

Having thus uttered the ancient, undying plaint of youth, Miss Hugoninmoved a matter of two inches to the left, and smiled, and waitedcontentedly. It was barely possible some one might come that way; andit is always a comfort to know that one is not exactly repulsive inappearance. 

Also, there was the spring about her; and, chief of all, there was aqueer fluttering in her heart that was yet not unpleasant. In fine, she was unreasonably happy for no reason at all. 

I believe the foolish poets call this feeling love and swear itis divine; however, they will say anything for the sake of anear-tickling jingle. And while it is true that scientists have anynumber of plausible and interesting explanations for this samefeeling, I am sorry to say I have forgotten them. 

I am compelled, then, to fall back upon those same unreliable, irresponsible rhymesters, and to insist with them that a maid waitingin the springtide for the man she loves is necessarily happy and veryrarely puzzles her head over the scientific reason for it. 

XXI

But ten minutes later she saw Mr. Woods in the distance stridingacross the sunlit terraces, and was seized with a conviction thattheir interview was likely to prove a stormy one. There was an ominousstiffness in his gait. 

"Oh, dear, dear!" Miss Hugonin wailed; "he's in a temper now, andhe'll probably be just as disagreeable as it's possible for any oneto be. I do wish men weren't so unreasonable! He looks exactly like abig, blue-eyed thunder-cloud just now--just now, when I'm sure he hasevery cause in the _world_ to be very much pleased--after allI've done for him. He makes me awfully tired. I think he's _veryungrateful_. I--I think I'm rather afraid. "

In fact, she was. Now that the meeting she had anticipated thesetwelve hours past was actually at hand, there woke in her breast anunreasoning panic. Miss Hugonin considered, and caught up her skirts, and whisked into the summer-house, and there sat down in the darkestcorner and devoutly wished Mr. Woods in Crim Tartary, or Jericho, or, in a word, any region other than the gardens of Selwoode. 

Billy came presently to the opening in the hedge and stared at thedeserted bench. He was undeniably in a temper. But, then, how becomingit was! thought someone. 

"Miss Hugonin!" he said, coldly. 

Evidently (thought someone) he intends to be just as nasty aspossible. 

"Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, after a little. 

Perhaps (thought someone) he won't be _very_ nasty. 

"Dear Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, in his most conciliatory tone. 

Someone rearranged her hair complacently. 

But there was no answer, save the irresponsible chattering of thebirds, and with a sigh Billy turned upon his heel. 

Then, by the oddest chance in the world, Margaret coughed. 

I dare say it was damp in the summer-house; or perhaps it was causedby some passing bronchial irritation; or perhaps, incredible as it mayseem, she coughed to show him where she was. But I scarcely think so, because Margaret insisted afterward--very positively, too--that shedidn't cough at all. 

XXII

"Well!" Mr. Woods observed, lengthening the word somewhat. 

In the intimate half-light of the summer-house, he loomed prodigiouslybig. He was gazing downward in careful consideration of three fattortoise-shell pins and a surprising quantity of gold hair, which waspractically all that he could see of Miss Hugonin's person; for thatyoung lady had suddenly become a limp mass of abashed violet ruffles, and had discovered new and irresistible attractions in the mosaicsabout her feet. 

Billy's arms were crossed on his breast and his right hand caressedhis chin meditatively. By and bye, "I wonder, now, " he reflected, aloud, "if you can give any reason--any possible reason--why youshouldn't be locked up in the nearest sanatorium?"

"You needn't be rude, you know, " a voice observed from theneighbourhood of the ruffles, "because there isn't anything you can doabout it. "

Mr. Woods ventured a series of inarticulate observations. "But why?"he concluded, desperately. "But why, Peggy?--in Heaven's name, what'sthe meaning of all this?"

She looked up. Billy was aware of two large blue stars; his heartleapt; and then he recalled a pair of gray-green eyes that hadregarded him in much the same fashion not long ago, and he groaned. 

"I was unfair to you last night, " she said, and the ring of her odd, deep voice, and the richness and sweetness of it, moved him to faintlonging, to a sick heart-hunger. It was tremulous, too, and verytender. "Yes, I was unutterably unfair, Billy. You asked me to marryyou when you thought I was a beggar, and--and Uncle Fred _ought_ tohave left you the money. It was on account of me that he didn't, youknow. I really owed it to you. And after the way I talked to you--solong as I had the money--I--and, anyhow, its very disagreeable andeccentric and _horrid_ of you to object to being rich!" Margaretconcluded, somewhat incoherently. 

She had not thought it would be like this. He seemed so stern. 

But, "Isn't that exactly like her?" Mr. Woods was demanding of hissoul. "She thinks she has been unfair to me--to me, whom she doesn'tcare a button for, mind you. So she hands over a fortune to make upfor it, simply because that's the first means that comes to hand! Now, isn't that perfectly unreasonable, and fantastic, and magnificent, andincredible?--in short, isn't that Peggy all over? Why, God bless her, her heart's bigger than a barn-door! Oh, it's no wonder that fellowKennaston was grinning just now when he sent me to her! He can affordto grin. "

Aloud, he stated, "You're an angel, Peggy that's what you are. I'vealways suspected it, and I'm glad to know it now for a fact. But inthis prosaic world not even angels are allowed to burn up wills forrecreation. Why, bless my soul, child, you--why, there's no tellingwhat trouble you might have gotten into!"

Miss Hugonin pouted. "You needn't be such a grandfather, " shesuggested, helpfully. 

"But it's a serious business, " he insisted. At this point Billy beganto object to her pouting as distracting one's mind from the subjectunder discussion. "It--why, it's----"

"It's what?" she pouted, even more rebelliously. 

"Crimson, " said Mr. Woods, considering--"oh, the very deepest, duskiest crimson such as you can't get in tubes. It's a colour wasnever mixed on any palette. It's--eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. "

"I think you ought to, " said Margaret, primly. Nevertheless, she hadbrightened considerably. 

"Of course, " Mr. Woods continued with a fine colour, "I can't take themoney. That's absurd. "

"Is it?" she queried, idly. "Now, I wonder how you're going to helpyourself?"

"Simplest thing in the world, " he assured her. "You see this match, don't you, Peggy? Well, now you're going to give me that paper I seein that bag-thing at your waist, and I'm going to burn it till it'sall nice, soft, feathery ashes that can't ever be probated. And thenthe first will, which is practically the same as the last, will beallowed to stand, and I'll tell your father all about the affair, because he ought to know, and you'll have to settle with thosecolleges. And in that way, " Mr. Woods submitted, "Uncle Fred's lastwishes will be carried out just as he expressed them, and thereneedn't be any trouble--none at all. So give me the will, Peggy?"

It is curious what a trivial matter love makes of felony. 

Margaret's heart sank. 

However, "Yes?" said she, encouragingly; "and what do you intend doingafterward?--"

"I--I shall probably live abroad, " said Billy. "Cheaper, you know. "

[Illustration: "Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't be such agrandfather, ' she suggested, helpfully"]

And here (he thought) was an excellent, an undreamed-of opportunity toinform her of his engagement. He had much better tell her now and havedone. Mr. Woods opened his mouth and looked at Margaret, and closedit. Again she was pouting in a fashion that distracted one's mind. 

"That would be most unattractive, " said Miss Hugonin, calmly. "You'revery stupid, Billy, to think of living abroad. Billy, I think you'realmost as stupid as I am. I've been very stupid, Billy. I thought Iliked Mr. Kennaston. I don't, Billy--not that way. I've just told himso. I'm not--I'm not engaged to anybody now, Billy. But wasn't itstupid of me to make such a mistake, Billy?"

That was a very interesting mosaic there in the summer-house. 

"I don't understand, " said Mr. Woods. His voice shook, and his handslifted a little toward her and trembled. 

Poor Billy dared not understand. Her eyes downcast, her foot tappingthe floor gently, Margaret was all one blush. She, too, was tremblinga little, and she was a little afraid and quite unutterably happy; andoutwardly she was very much the tiny lady of Oberon's court, very muchthe coquette quintessentialised. 

It is pitiable that our proud Margaret should come to such a pass. Ah, the men that you have flouted and scorned and bedeviled and mocked at, Margaret--could they see you now, I think the basest of them couldnot but pity and worship you. This man is bound in honour to anotherwoman; yet a little, and his lips will open--very dry, parched lipsthey are now--and he will tell you, and your pride will drive you mad, and your heart come near to breaking. 

"Don't you understand--oh, you silly Billy!" She was peeping at himmeltingly from under her lashes. 

"I--I'm imagining vain things, " said Mr. Woods. "I--oh, Peggy, Peggy, I think I must be going mad!"

He stared hungrily at the pink, startled face that lifted toward his. Ah, no, no, it could not be possible, this thing he had imagined for amoment. He had misunderstood. 

And now just for a little (thought poor Billy) let my eyes drink inthose dear felicities of colour and curve, and meet just for a littlethe splendour of those eyes that have the April in them, and rest justfor a little upon that sanguine, close-grained, petulant mouth; andthen I will tell her, and then I think that I must die. 

"Peggy----" he began, in a flattish voice. 

"They have evidently gone, " said the voice of Mr. Kennaston; "yes, those beautiful, happy young people have foolishly deserted the veryprettiest spot in the gardens. Let us sit here, Kathleen. "

"But I'm not an eavesdropper, " Mr. Woods protested, half angrily. 

I fear Margaret was not properly impressed. 

"Please, Billy, " she pleaded, in a shrill whisper, "please let'slisten. He's going to propose to her now, and you've no idea howfunny he is when he proposes. Oh, don't be so pokey, Billy--do let'slisten!"

But Mr. Woods had risen with a strange celerity and was about to leavethe summer-house. 

Margaret pouted. Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston were seated nottwenty feet from the summer-house, on the bench which Miss Hugonin hadjust left. And when that unprincipled young woman finally rose to herfeet, it must be confessed that it was with a toss of the head andwith the reflection that while to listen wasn't honourable, it wouldat least be very amusing. I grieve to admit it, but with Billy'sscruples she hadn't the slightest sympathy. 

Then Kennaston cried, suddenly: "Why, you're mad, Kathleen! Woodswants to marry _you!_ Why, he's heels over head in love with MissHugonin!"

Miss Hugonin turned to Mr. Woods with a little intake of the breath. 

No, I shall not attempt to tell you what Billy saw in her countenance. Timanthes-like, I drape before it the vines of the summer-house. Fora brief space I think we had best betake ourselves outside, leaving Margaret in a very pitiable state of anger, and shame, andhumiliation, and heartbreak--leaving poor Billy with a heart thatached, seeing the horror of him in her face. 

XXIII

Mrs. Saumarez laughed bitterly. 

"No, " she said, "Billy cared for me, you know, a long time ago. Andthis morning he told me he still cared. Billy doesn't pretend to bea clever man, you see, and so he can afford to practice some of thebrute virtues, such as constancy and fidelity. "

There was a challenging flame in her eyes, but Kennaston let the stabpass unnoticed. To do him justice, he was thinking less of himself, just now, than of how this news would affect Margaret; and his facewas very grave and strangely tender, for in his own fashion he lovedMargaret. 

"It's nasty, very nasty, " he said, at length, in a voice that waspuzzled. "Yet I could have sworn yesterday----" Kennaston paused andlaughed lightly. "She was an heiress yesterday, and to-day she isnobody. And Mr. Woods, being wealthy, can afford to gratify thevirtues you commend so highly and, with a fidelity that is mostedifying, return again to his old love. And she welcomes him--and theWoods millions--with open arms. It is quite affecting, is it not, Kathleen?"

"You needn't be disagreeable, " she observed. 

"My dear Kathleen, I assure you I am not angry. I am merely a littlesorry for human nature. I could have sworn Woods was honest. Butrogues all, rogues all, Kathleen! Money rules us in the end; and nowthe parable is fulfilled, and Love the prodigal returns to make merryover the calf of gold. Confess, " Mr. Kennaston queried, with a smile, "is it not strange an all-wise Creator should have been at pains tofashion this brave world about us for little men and women such aswe to lie and pilfer in? Was it worth while, think you, to arch thefirmament above our rogueries, and light the ageless stars as candlesto display our antics? Let us be frank, Kathleen, and confess thatlife is but a trivial farce ignobly played in a very stately temple. "And Mr. Kennaston laughed again. 

"Let us be frank!" Kathleen cried, with a little catch in her voice. "Why, it isn't in you to be frank, Felix Kennaston! Your life isnothing but a succession of poses--shallow, foolish poses meantto hoodwink the world and at times yourself. For you do hoodwinkyourself, don't you, Felix?" she asked, eagerly, and gave him no timeto answer. She feared, you see, lest his answer might dilapidate theone fortress she had been able to build about his honour. 

"And now, " she went on, quickly, "you're trying to make me think you adevil of a fellow, aren't you? And you're hinting that I've acceptedBilly because of his money, aren't you? Well, it is true that Iwouldn't marry him if he were poor. But he's very far from being poor. And he cares for me. And I am fond of him. And so I shall marry himand make him as good a wife as I can. So there!"

Mrs. Saumarez faced him with an uneasy defiance. He was smiling oddly. 

"I have heard it rumoured in many foolish tales and jingling verses, "said Kennaston, after a little, "that a thing called love exists inthe world. And I have also heard, Kathleen, that it sometimes entersinto the question of marriage. It appears that I was misinformed. "

"No, " she answered, slowly, "there is a thing called love. I thinkwomen are none the better for knowing it. To a woman, it means to takesome man--some utterly commonplace man, perhaps--perhaps, only an idle_poseur_ such as you are, Felix--and to set him up on a pedestal, andto bow down and worship him; and to protest loudly, both to the worldand to herself, that in spite of all appearances her idol reallyhasn't feet of clay, or that, at any rate, it is the very nicest clayin the world. For a time she deceives herself, Felix. Then the idoltopples from the pedestal and is broken, and she sees that it is allclay, Felix--clay through and through--and her heart breaks with it. "

Kennaston bowed his head. "It is true, " said he; "that is the love ofwomen. "

"To a man, " she went on, dully, "it means to take some woman--thenearest woman who isn't actually deformed--and to make pretty speechesto her and to make her love him. And after a while--" Kathleenshrugged her shoulders drearily. "Why, after a while, " said she, "hegrows tired and looks for some other woman. "

"It is true, " said Kennaston--"yes, very true that some men love inthat fashion. "

There ensued a silence. It was a long silence, and under the tensionof it Kathleen's composure snapped like a cord that has been stretchedto the breaking point. 

"Yes, yes, yes!" she cried, suddenly; "that is how I have loved youand that is how you've loved me, Felix Kennaston! Ah, Billy told mewhat happened last night! And that--that was why I--" Mrs. Saumarezpaused and regarded him curiously. "You don't make a very noblefigure, just now, do you?" she asked, with careful deliberation. "Youwere ready to sell yourself for Miss Hugonin's money, weren't you? Andnow you must take her without the money. Poor Felix! Ah, you poor, petty liar, who've over-reached yourself so utterly!" And againKathleen began to laugh, but somewhat shrilly, somewhat hysterically. 

"You are wrong, " he said, with a flush. "It is true that I asked MissHugonin to marry me. But she--very wisely, I dare say--declined. "

"Ah!" Kathleen said, slowly. Then--and it will not do to inquire tooclosely into her logic--she spoke with considerable sharpness: "She'sa conceited little cat! I never in all my life knew a girl to be quiteso conceited as she is. Positively, I don't believe she thinks there'sa man breathing who's good enough for her!"

Kennaston grinned. "Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" he said; "you are simplydelicious. "

And Mrs. Saumarez coloured prettily and tried to look severe andcould not, for the simple reason that, while she knew Kennaston to beflippant and weak and unstable as water and generally worthless, yetfor some occult cause she loved him as tenderly as though he had beena paragon of all the manly virtues. And I dare say that for many of usit is by a very kindly provision of Nature that all women are createdcapable of doing this illogical thing and that most of them do itdaily. 

"It is true, " the poet said, at length, "that I have played no heroicpart. And I don't question, Kathleen, that I am all you think me. Yet, such as I am, I love you. And such as I am, you love me, and it is Ithat you are going to marry, and not that Woods person. "

"He's worth ten of you!" she cried, scornfully. 

"Twenty of me, perhaps, " Mr. Kennaston assented, "but that isn't thequestion. You don't love him, Kathleen. You are about to marry him forhis money. You are about to do what I thought to do yesterday. But youwon't, Kathleen. You know that I need you, my dear, and--unreasonablyenough, God knows--you love me. "

Mrs. Saumarez regarded him intently for a considerable space, andduring that space the Eagle warred in her heart with the one foehe can never conquer. Love had a worthless ally; but Love foughtstaunchly. 

By and bye, "Yes, " she said, and her voice was almost sullen; "I loveyou. I ought to love Billy, but I don't. I shall ask him to release mefrom my engagement. And yes, I will marry you if you like. "

He raised her hand to his lips. "You are an angel, " Mr. Kennaston waspleased to say. 

"No, " Mrs. Saumarez dissented, rather forlornly; "I'm simply a fool. Otherwise, I wouldn't be about to marry you, knowing you as I do forwhat you are--knowing that I haven't one chance in a hundred of anyhappiness. "

"My dear, " he said, and his voice was earnest, "you know at least thatwhat there is of good in me is at its best with you. "

"Yes, yes!" Kathleen cried, quickly. "That is so, isn't it, Felix?And you do care for me, don't you? Felix, are you sure you care forme--quite sure? And are you quite certain, Felix, that you never caredso much for any one else?"

Mr. Kennaston was quite certain. He proceeded to explain his feelingstoward her at some length. 

Kathleen listened with downcast eyes and almost cheated herself intothe belief that the man she loved was all that he should be. But atthe bottom of her heart she knew he wasn't. 

I think we may fairly pity her. 

Kennaston and Mrs. Saumarez chatted very amicably for some tenminutes. At the end of that period, the twelve forty-five expressbellowing faintly in the distance recalled the fact that the morningmail was in, and thereupon, in the very best of humours, they setout for the house. I grieve to admit it, but Kathleen had utterlyforgotten Billy by this, and was no more thinking of him than she wasof the Man in the Iron Mask. 

She was with Kennaston, you see; and her thoughts, and glances, andlips, and adoration were all given to his pleasuring, just as her lifewould have been if its loss could have saved him from a toothache. Hestrutted a little, and was a little grateful to her, and--to dohim justice--received the tribute she accorded him with perfectsatisfaction and equanimity. 

XXIV

Margaret came out of the summer-house, Billy Woods followed her, in avery moist state of perturbation. 

"Peggy----" said Mr. Woods. 

But Miss Hugonin was laughing. Clear as a bird-call, she poured forthher rippling mimicry of mirth. They train women well in these matters. To Margaret, just now, her heart seemed dead within her. Her lover wasproved unworthy. Her pride was shattered. She had loved this clumsyliar yonder, had given up a fortune for him, dared all for him, had(as the phrase runs) flung herself at his head. The shame of it was aphysical sickness, a nausea. But now, in this jumble of miseries, inthis breaking-up of the earth and the void heavens that surged abouther and would not be mastered, the girl laughed; and her laughter wascare-free and half-languid like that of a child who is thinking ofsomething else. Ah, yes, they train women well in these matters. 

At length Margaret said, in high, crisp accents: "Pardon me, but Ican't help being amused, Mr. Woods, by the way in which hard luckdogs your footsteps. I think Fate must have some grudge against you, Mr. Woods. "

"Peggy----" said Mr. Woods. 

"Pardon me, " she interrupted him, her masculine little chin high inthe air, "but I wish you wouldn't call me that. It was well enoughwhen we were boy and girl together, Mr. Woods. But you've developedsince--ah, yes, you've developed into such a splendid actor, such aconsummate liar, such a clever scoundrel, Mr. Woods, that I scarcelyrecognise you now. "

And there was not a spark of anger in the very darkest corner ofBilly's big, brave heart, but only pity--pity all through and through, that sent little icy ticklings up and down his spine and turned hisbreathing to great sobs. For she had turned full face to him and hecould see the look in her eyes. 

I think he has never forgotten it. Years after the memory of it wouldcome upon him suddenly and set hot drenching waves of shame andremorse surging about his body--remorse unutterable that he ever hurthis Peggy so deeply. For they were tragic eyes. Beneath them hertwitching mouth smiled bravely, but the mirth of her eyes wasmonstrous. It was the mirth of a beaten woman, of a woman who hasknown the last extreme of shame and misery and has learned to laugh atit. Even now Billy Woods cannot quite forget. 

"Peggy, " said he, brokenly, "ah, dear, dear Peggy, listen to me!"

"Why, have you thought of a plausible lie so soon?" she queried, sweetly. "Dear me, Mr. Woods, what is the use of explaining things? Itis very simple. You wanted to marry me last night because I was rich. And when I declined the honour, you went back to your old love. Oh, it's very simple, Mr. Woods! It's a pity, though--isn't it?--that allyour promptness went for nothing. Why, dear me, you actually managedto propose before breakfast, didn't you? I should have thought thatsuch eagerness would have made an impression on Kathleen--oh, a mostfavourable impression. Too bad it hasn't!"

"Listen!" said Billy. "Ah, you're forcing me to talk like a cad, Peggy, but I can't see you suffer--I can't! Kathleen misunderstoodwhat I said to her. I--I didn't mean to propose to her, Peggy. It wasa mistake, I tell you. It's you I love--just you. And when I asked youto marry me last night--why, I thought the money was mine, Peggy. I'd never have asked you if I hadn't thought that. I--ah, you don'tbelieve me, you don't believe me, Peggy, and before God, I'm tellingyou the simple truth! Why, I hadn't ever seen that last will, Peggy!It was locked up in that centre place in the desk, you remember. Why--why, you yourself had the keys to it, Peggy. Surely, youremember, dear?" And Billy's voice shook and skipped whole octaves ashe pleaded with her, for he knew she did not believe him and he couldnot endure the horror of her eyes. 

But Margaret shook her head; and as aforetime the twitching lipscontinued to laugh beneath those tragic eyes. Ah, poor little lady ofElfland! poor little Undine, with a soul wakened to suffering!

"Clumsy, very clumsy!" she rebuked him. "I see that you are accustomedto prepare your lies in advance, Mr. Woods. As an extemporaneous liaryou are very clumsy. Men don't propose by mistake except in farces. And while we are speaking of farces, don't you think it time to dropthat one of your not knowing about that last will?"

"The farce!" Billy stammered. "You--why, you saw me when I found it!"

"Ah, yes, I saw you when you pretended to find it. I saw you when youpretended to unlock that centre place. But now, of course, I know itnever was locked. I'm very careless about locking things, Mr. Woods. Ah, yes, that gave you a beautiful opportunity, didn't it? So, whenyou were rummaging through my desk--without my permission, by the way, but that's a detail--you found both wills and concocted your littlecomedy? That was very clever. Oh, you think you're awfully smooth, don't you, Billy Woods? But if you had been a bit more daring, don'tyou see, you could have suppressed the last one and taken the moneywithout being encumbered by me? That was rather clumsy of you, wasn'tit?" Suave, gentle, sweet as honey was the speech of Margaret as shelifted her face to his, but her eyes were tragedies. 

"Ah!" said Billy. "Ah--yes--you think--that. " He was very careful inarticulating his words, was Billy, and afterward he nodded his headgravely. The universe had somehow suffered an airy dissolution likethat of Prospero's masque--Selwoode and its gardens, the great globeitself, "the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemntemples" were all as vanished wraiths. There was only Peggy left--Peggy with that unimaginable misery in her eyes that he must driveaway somehow. If that was what she thought, there was no way for himto prove it wasn't so. 

"Why, dear me, Mr. Woods, " she retorted, carelessly, "what else couldI think?"

Here Mr. Woods blundered. 

"Ah, think what you will, Peggy!" he cried, his big voice cracking andsobbing and resonant with pain. "Ah, my dear, think what you will, butdon't grieve for it, Peggy! Why, if I'm all you say I am, that's noreason you should suffer for it! Ah, don't, Peggy! In God's name, don't! I can't bear it, dear, " he pleaded with her, helplessly. 

Billy was suffering, too. But her sorrow was the chief of his, andwhat stung him now to impotent anger was that she must suffer and hebe unable to help her--for, ah, how willingly, how gladly, he wouldhave borne all poor Peggy's woes upon his own broad shoulders. 

But none the less, he had lost an invaluable opportunity to hold histongue. 

"Suffer! I suffer!" she mocked him, languidly; and then, like abanjo-string, the tension snapped, and she gave a long, angry gasp, and her wrath flamed. 

"Upon my word, you're the most conceited man I ever knew in my life!You think I'm in love with you! With you! Billy Woods, I wouldn't wipemy feet on you if you were the last man left on earth! I hate you, Iloathe you, I detest you, I despise you! Do you hear me?--I hate you. What do I care if you _are_ a snob, and a cad, and a fortune-hunter, and a forger, and--well, I don't care! Perhaps you haven't everforged anything yet, but I'm quite sure you would if you ever got anopportunity. You'd be delighted to do it. Yes, you would--you're justthe sort of man who _revels_ in crime. I love you! Why, that's thebest joke I've heard for a long time. I'm only sorry for you, BillyWoods--_sorry_ because Kathleen has thrown you over--sorry, do youunderstand? Yes, since you're so fond of skinny women, I think it's agreat pity she wouldn't have you. Don't talk to me!--she _is_ skinny. I guess I know. She's as skinny as a beanpole. She's skinnier than Iever imagined it possible for anybody--_anybody_--to be. And shepads and rouges till I think it's disgusting, and not half--not_one-half_--of her hair belongs to her, and that half is dyed. But, of course, if you like that sort of thing, there's no accounting fortastes, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for you, even though personally I_don't_ care for skinny women. I hate 'em! And I hate you, too, BillyWoods!"

She stamped her foot, did Margaret. You must bear with her, for herheart is breaking now, and if she has become a termagant it is becauseher shamed pride has driven her mad. Bear with her, then, a littlelonger. 

Billy tried to bear with her, for in part he understood. 

"Peggy, " said he, very gently, "you're wrong. "

"Yes, I dare say!" she snapped at him. 

"We won't discuss Kathleen, if you please. But you're wrong about thewill. I've told you the whole truth about that, but I don't blame youfor not believing me, Peggy--ah, no, not I. There seems to be a curseupon Uncle Fred's money. It brings out the worst of all of us. It haschanged even you, Peggy--and not for the better, Peggy. You've becomedistrustful. You--ah, well, we won't discuss that now. Give me thewill, my dear, and I'll burn it before your eyes. That ought to showyou, Peggy, that you're wrong. " Billy was very white-lipped as heended, for the Woods temper is a short one. 

But she had an arrow left for him. "Give it to you! And do you thinkI'd trust you with it, Billy Woods?"

"Peggy!--ah, Peggy, I hadn't deserved that. Be just, at least, to me, "poor Billy begged of her. 

Which was an absurd thing to ask of an angry woman. 

"Yes, I _do_ know what you'd do with it! You'd take it right off andhave it probated or executed or whatever it is they do to wills, andturn me straight out in the gutter. That's just what you're _longing_to do this very moment. Oh, I know, Billy Woods--I know what a temperyou've got, and I know you're keeping quiet now simply because youknow that's the most exasperating thing you can possibly do. Iwouldn't have such a disposition as you've got for the world. You'veabsolutely _no_ control over your temper--not a bit of it. You're_vile_, Billy Woods! Oh, I _hate_ you! Yes, you've made me cry, and Isuppose you're very proud of yourself. _Aren't_ you proud? Don't standstaring at me like a stuck pig, but answer me when I talk to you!Aren't you _proud_ of making me cry? Aren't you? Ah, don't talk tome--don't talk to _me_, I tell you! I don't wish to hear a word you'vegot to say. I _hate_ you. And you shan't have the money, that's flat. "

"I don't want it, " said Billy. "I've been trying to tell you for thelast, half-hour I don't want it. In God's name, why can't you talklike a sensible woman, Peggy?" I am afraid that Mr. Woods, too, wasbeginning to lose his temper. 

"That's right--swear at me! It only needed that. You do want themoney, and when you say you don't you're lying--lying--_lying_, do youunderstand? You all want my money. Oh, dear, _dear!_" Margaret wailed, and her great voice was shaken to its depths and its sobbing was thelong, hopeless sobbing of a violin, as she flung back her tear-stainedface, and clenched her little hands tight at her sides; "why _can't_you let me alone? You're all after my money--you, and Mr. Kennaston, and Mr. Jukesbury, and all of you! Why _can't_ you let me alone? Eversince I've had it you've hunted me as if I'd been a wild beast. Godhelp me, I haven't had a moment's peace, a moment's rest, a, moment'squiet, since Uncle Fred died. They all want my money--everybody wantsmy money! Oh, Billy, Billy, why _can't_ they let me alone?"

"Peggy----" said he. 

But she interrupted him. "Don't talk to _me_, Billy Woods! Don't you_dare_ talk to me. I told you I didn't wish to hear a word you had tosay, didn't I? Yes, you all want my money. And you shan't have it. It's mine. Uncle Fred left it to me. It's mine, I tell you. I've gotthe greatest thing in the world--money! And I'll keep it. Ah, I hateyou all--every one of you--but I'll make you cringe to me. I'll makeyou _all_ cringe, do you hear, because I've got the money you're readyto sell your paltry souls for! Oh, I'll make you cringe most of all, Billy Woods! I'm rich, do you hear?--rich--_rich_! Wouldn't you beglad to marry the rich Margaret Hugonin, Billy? Ah, haven't youschemed hard for that? You'd be glad to do it, wouldn't you? You'dgive your dirty little soul for that, wouldn't you, Billy? Ah, what acur you are! Well, some day perhaps I'll buy you just as I would anyother cur. Wouldn't you be glad if I did, Billy? Beg for it, Billy!Beg, sir! Beg!" And Margaret flung back her head again, and laughedshrilly, and held up her hand before him as one holds a lump of sugarbefore a pug-dog. 

In Selwoode I can fancy how the Eagle screamed his triumph. 

But Billy's face was ashen. 

"Before God!" he said, between his teeth, "loving you as I do, Iwouldn't marry you now for all the wealth in the world! The money hasruined you--ruined you, Peggy. "

For a little she stared at him. By and bye, "I dare say it has, " shesaid, in a strangely sober tone. "I've been scolding like a fishwife. I beg your pardon, Mr. Woods--not for what I've said, because I meantevery _word_ of it, but I beg your pardon for saying it. Don't comewith me, please. "

Blindly she turned from him. Her shoulders had the droop of an oldwoman's. Margaret was wearied now, weary with the weariness of death. 

For a while Mr. Woods stared after the tired little figure thattrudged straight onward in the sunlight, stumbling as she went. Then apleached walk swallowed her, and Mr. Woods groaned. 

"Oh, Peggy, Peggy!" he said, in bottomless compassion; "oh, my poorlittle Peggy! How changed you are!"

Afterward Mr. Woods sank down upon the bench and buried his face inhis hands. He sat there for a long time. I don't believe he thoughtof anything very clearly. His mind was a turgid chaos of misery; andabout him the birds shrilled and quavered and carolled till the airwas vibrant with their trilling. One might have thought they choiredin honour of the Eagle's triumph, in mockery of poor Billy. 

Then Mr. Woods raised his head with a queer, alert look. Surely he hadheard a voice--the dearest of all voices. 

"Billy!" it wailed; "oh, Billy, _Billy_!"

XXV

For at the height of this particularly mischancy posture of affairsthe meddlesome Fates had elected to dispatch Cock-eye Flinks to serveas our _deus ex machina_. And just as in the comedy the police turnup in the nick of time to fetch Tartuffe to prison, or in the tragedyFriar John manages to be detained on his journey to Mantua and thusbring about that lamentable business in the tomb of the Capulets, soMr. Flinks now happens inopportunely to arrive upon our lesser stage. 

Faithfully to narrate how Cock-eye Flinks chanced to be at Selwoodewere a task of magnitude. That gentleman travelled very quietly; andfor the most part, he journeyed incognito under a variety of aliasessuggested partly by a fertile imagination and in part by prudentialmotives. For his notions of proprietary rights were deplorably vague, and his acquaintance with the police, in consequence, extensive. Andfinally, that he was now at Selwoode was not in the least his fault, but all the doing of an N. & O. Brakesman, who had in unculturedargument, reinforced by a coupling-pin, persuaded Mr. Flinks todisembark from the northern freight on the night previous. 

Mr. Flinks, then, sat leaning against a tree in the gardens ofSelwoode, some thirty feet from the wall that stands between Selwoodeand Gridlington, and nursed his pride and foot, both injured in thathigh debate of last evening, and with a jackknife rounded off the topof a substantial staff designed to alleviate his present lameness. Meanwhile, he tempered his solitude with music, whistling melodiouslythe air of a song that pertained to the sacredness of home and of awhite-haired mother. 

Subsequently to Cock-eye Flinks (as the playbill has it), enter avision in violet ruffles. 

Wide-eyed, she came upon him in her misery, steadily trudging towardan unknown goal. I think he startled her a bit. Indeed, it must beadmitted that Mr. Flinks, while a man of undoubted talent in hisparticular line of business, was, like many of your great geniuses, inoutward aspect unprepossessing and misleading; for whereas he lookedlike a very shiftless and very dirty tramp, he was as a matter of factas vile a rascal as ever pawned a swinish soul for whiskey. 

"What are you doing here?" said Margaret, sharply. "Don't you knowthis is private property?"

To his feet rose Cock-eye Flinks. "Lady, " said he, with humbleness, "you wouldn't be hard on a poor workingman, would you? It ain't myfault I'm here, lady--at least, it ain't rightly my fault. I justclimbed over the wall to rest a minute--just a minute, lady, in theshade of these beautiful trees. I ain't a-hurting nobody by that, lady, I hope. "

"Well, you had no business to do it, " Miss Hugonin pointed out, "andyou can just climb right back. " Then she regarded him more intently, and her face softened somewhat. "What's the matter with your foot?"she demanded. 

"Brakesman, " said Mr. Flinks, briefly. "Threw me off a train. Hestruck me cruel hard, he did, and me a poor workingman trying to makemy way to New York, lady, where my poor old mother's dying, lady, andme out of a job. Ah, it's a hard, hard world, lady--and me her onlyson--and he struck me cruel, cruel hard, he did, but I forgive him forit, lady. Ah, lady, you're so beautiful I know you're got a kind, goodheart, lady. Can't you do something for a poor workingman, lady, witha poor dying mother--and a poor, sick wife, " Mr. Flinks added as adolorous afterthought; and drew nearer to her and held out one handappealingly. 

Petheridge Jukesbury had at divers times pointed out to her the evilsof promiscuous charity, and these dicta Margaret parroted gliblyenough, to do her justice, so long as there was no immediate questionof dispensing alms. But for all that the next whining beggar wouldmove her tender heart, his glib inventions playing upon it like afiddle, and she would give as recklessly as though there were nosuch things in the whole wide world as soup-kitchens and organisedcharities and common-sense. "Because, you know, " she would afterwardsalve her conscience, "I _couldn't_ be sure he didn't need it, whereasI was _quite_ sure I didn't. "

Now she wavered for a moment. "You didn't say you had a wife before, "she suggested. 

"An invalid, " sighed Mr. Flinks--"a helpless invalid, lady. And sixsmall children probably crying for bread at this very moment. Ah, lady, think what my feelings must be to hear 'em cry in vain--thinkwhat I must suffer to know that I summoned them cherubs out of Heaveninto this here hard, hard world, lady, and now can't do by 'emproperly!" And Cock-eye Flinks brushed away a tear which I, for one, am inclined to regard as a particularly ambitious flight of hisimagination. 

Promptly Margaret opened the bag at her waist and took out her purse. "Don't!" she pleaded. "Please don't! I--I'm upset already. Take this, and please--oh, _please_, don't spend it in getting drunk or gamblingor anything horrid, " Miss Hugonin implored him. "You all do, and it'sso selfish of you and so discouraging. "

Mr. Flinks eyed the purse hungrily. Such a fat purse! thought Cock-eyePlinks. And there ain't nobody within a mile of here, neither. You arenot to imagine that Mr. Flinks was totally abandoned; his vices wereparochial, restrained for the most part by a lively apprehension ofthe law. But now the spell of the Eagle was strong upon him. 

"Lady, " said Mr. Flinks, twisting in his grimy hand the bill she hadgiven him--and there, too, the Eagle flaunted in his vigour andheartened him, "lady, that ain't much for you to give. Can't you do alittle better than that by a poor workingman, lady?"

A very unpleasant-looking person, Mr. Cock-eye Flinks. Oh, apeculiarly unpleasant-looking person to be a model son and a lovinghusband and a tender father. Margaret was filled with a vague alarm. 

But she was brave, was Margaret. "No, " said she, very decidedly, "Ishan't give you another cent. So you climb right over that wall and gostraight back where you belong. "

The methods of Mr. Flinks, I regret to say, were somewhat more crudethan those of Mesdames Haggage and Saumarez and Messieurs Kennastonand Jukesbury. 

"Cheese it!" said Mr. Flinks, and flung away his staff and drew verynear to her. "Gimme that money, do you hear!"

"Don't you dare touch me!" she panted; "ah, don't you _dare_!"

"Aw, hell!" said Mr. Flinks, disgustedly, and his dirty hands wereupon her, and his foul breath reeked in her face. 

In her hour of need Margaret's heart spoke. 

"Billy!" she wailed; "oh, Billy, _Billy_!"

 * * * * *

He came to her--just as he would have scaled Heaven to come to her, just as he would have come to her in the nethermost pit of Hell if shehad called. Ah, yes, Billy Woods came to her now in her peril, andI don't think that Mr. Flinks particularly relished the look uponBilly's face as he ran through the gardens, for Billy was furiouslymoved. 

Cock-eye Flinks glanced back at the wall behind him. Ten feet high, and the fellow ain't far off. Cock-eye Flinks caught up his staff, andas Billy closed upon him, struck him full on the head. Again and againhe struck him. It was a sickening business. 

Billy had stopped short. For an instant he stood swaying on his feet, a puzzled face showing under the trickling blood. Then he flung outhis hands a little, and they flapped loosely at the wrists, likewet clothes hung in the wind to dry, and Billy seemed to crumple upsuddenly, and slid down upon the grass in an untidy heap. 

"Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Flinks. He drew back and stared stupidly at thatsprawling flesh which just now had been a man, and was seized withuncontrollable shuddering. "Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Flinks, very quietly. 

And Margaret went mad. The earth and the sky dissolved in manyfloating specks and then went red--red like that heap yonder. Theveneer of civilisation peeled, fell from her like snow from a shakengarment. The primal beast woke and flicked aside the centuries' work. She was the Cave-woman who had seen the death of her mate--the brutewho had been robbed of her mate. 

"Damn you! _Damn_ you!" she screamed, her voice high, flat, quiteunhuman; "ah, God in Heaven damn you!" With inarticulate bestial criesshe fell upon the man who had killed Billy, and her violet fripperiesfluttered, her impotent little hands beat at him, tore at him. She wasfearless, shameless, insane. She only knew that Billy was dead. 

With an oath the man flung her from him and turned on his heel. Shefell to coaxing the heap in the grass to tell her that he forgaveher--to open his eyes--to stop bloodying her dress--to come toluncheon. . . 

A fly settled on Billy's face and came in his zig-zag course to thered stream trickling from his nostrils, and stopped short. She brushedthe carrion thing away, but it crawled back drunkenly. She touched itwith her finger, and the fly would not move. On a sudden, every nervein her body began to shake and jerk like a flag snapping in the wind. 

XXVI

Some ten minutes afterward, as the members of the house-party satchatting on the terrace before Selwoode, there came among them a madwoman in violet trappings that were splotched with blood. 

"Did you know that Billy was dead?" she queried, smilingly. "Oh, yes, a man killed Billy just now. Wasn't it too bad? Billy was such a niceboy, you know. I--I think it's very sad. I think it's the saddestthing I ever knew of in my life. "

Kathleen Saumarez was the first to reach her. But she drew backquickly. 

"No, ah, no!" she said, with a little shudder. "You didn't love Billy. He loved you, and you didn't love him. Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen, how_could_ you help loving Billy? He was such a nice boy. I--I'm rathersorry he's dead. "

Then she stood silent, picking at her dress thoughtfully and stillsmiling. Afterward, for the first and only time in history, MissHugonin fainted--fainted with an anxious smile. 

Petheridge Jukesbury caught her as she fell, and began to blubber likea whipped schoolboy as he stood there holding her in his arms. 

XXVII

But Billy was not dead. There was still a feeble, jerky fluttering inhis big chest when Colonel Hugonin found him. His heart still moved, but under the Colonel's hand its stirrings were vague and aimless asthose of a captive butterfly. 

The Colonel had seen dead men and dying men before this; and as hebent over the boy he loved he gave a convulsive sob, and afterwardburied his face in his hands. 

Then--of all unlikely persons in the world--it was PetheridgeJukesbury who rose to meet the occasion. 

His suavity and blandness forgotten in the presence of death, hemounted with confident alacrity to heights of greatness. Masterfully, he overrode them all. He poured brandy between Billy's teeth. Then heordered the ladies off to bed, and recommended to Mr. Kennaston--whenthat gentleman spoke of a clergyman--a far more startling destination. 

For, "It is far from my intention, " said Mr. 

Jukesbury, "to appear lacking in respect to the cloth, but--er--justat present I am inclined to think we are in somewhat greater need of amattress and a doctor and--ah--the exercise of a little common-sense. The gentleman is--er--let us hope, in no immediate danger. "

"How dare you suggest such a thing, sir?" thundered PetheridgeJukesbury. "Didn't you see that poor girl's face? I tell you I'll bedamned if he dies, sir!"

And I fancy the recording angel heard him, and against a list of wordycheats registered that oath to his credit. 

It was Petheridge Jukesbury, then, who stalked into Mrs. Haggage'sapartments and appropriated her mattress as the first at hand, andafterward waddled through the gardens bearing it on his fat shoulders, and still later lifted Billy upon it as gently as a woman could have. But it was the hatless Colonel on his favourite Black Bess ("Damn yourmotor-cars!" the Colonel was wont to say; "I consider my appearancesufficiently unprepossessing already, sir, without my arriving inHeaven in fragments and stinking of gasoline!") who in Fairhaven town, some quarter of an hour afterward, leaped Dr. Jeal's garden fence, andsubsequently bundled the doctor into his gig; and again yet later itwas the Colonel who stood fuming upon the terrace with Dr. Jeal on hisway to Selwoode indeed, but still some four miles from the mansiontoward which he was urging his staid horse at its liveliest gait. 

Kennaston tried to soothe him. But the Colonel clamoured to theheavens. Kennaston he qualified in various ways. And as for Dr. Jeal, he would hold him responsible--"personally, sir"--for the consequencesof his dawdling in this fashion--"Damme, sir, like a damn' snail witha wooden leg!"

"I am afraid, " said Kennaston, gravely, "that the doctor will be ofvery little use when he does arrive. "

There was that in his face which made the Colonel pause in hisobjurgations. 

"Sir, " said the Colonel, "what--do--you--mean?" He found articulationsomewhat difficult. 

"In your absence, " Kennaston answered, "Mr. Jukesbury, who itappears knows something of medicine, has subjected Mr. Woods to anexamination. It--it would be unkind to deceive you----"

"Come to the point, sir, " the Colonel interrupted him. "What--doyou--mean?"

"I mean, " said Felix Kennaston, sadly, "that--he is afraid--Mr. Woodswill never recover consciousness. "

Colonel Hugonin stared at him. The skin of his flabby, wrinkled oldthroat was working convulsively. 

Then, "You're wrong, sir, " the Colonel said. "Billy _shan't_ die. DamnJukesbury! Damn all doctors, too, sir! I put my trust in my God, sir, and not in a box of damn' sugar-pills, sir. And I tell you, sir, _thatboy is not going to die_. "

Afterward he turned and went into Selwoode defiantly. 

XXVIII

In the living-hall the Colonel found Margaret, white as paper, withpurple lips that timidly smiled at him. 

"Why ain't you in bed?" the old gentleman demanded, with as great anaffectation of sternness as he could muster. To say the truth, it wasnot much; for Colonel Hugonin, for all his blustering optimism, wassadly shaken now. 

"Attractive, " said Margaret, "I was, but I couldn't stay there. My--mybrain won't stop working, you see, " she complained, wearily. "There'sa thin little whisper in the back of it that keeps telling me aboutBilly, and what a liar he is, and what nice eyes he has, and howpoor Billy is dead. It keeps telling me that, over and over again, attractive. It's such a tiresome, silly little whisper. But he isdead, isn't he? Didn't Mr. Kennaston tell me just now that he wasdead?--or was it the whisper, attractive?"

The Colonel coughed. "Kennaston--er--Kennaston's a fool, " he declared, helplessly. "Always said he was a fool. We'll have Jeal in presently. "

"No--I remember now--Mr. Kennaston said Billy would die very soon. Youdon't like people to disagree with you, do you, attractive? Of course, he will die, for the man hit him very, _very_ hard. I'm sorry Billy isgoing to die, though, even if he is such a liar!"

"Don't!" said the Colonel, hoarsely; "don't, daughter! I don't knowwhat there is between you and Billy, but you're wrong. Oh, you're veryhopelessly wrong! Billy's the finest boy I know. "

Margaret shook her head in dissent. 

"No, he's a very contemptible liar, " she said, disinterestedly, "andthat is what makes it so queer that I should care for him more than Ido for anything else in the world. Yes, it's very queer. "

Then Margaret went into the room opening into the living-hall, whereBilly Woods lay unconscious, pallid, breathing stertorously. And theColonel stared after her. 

"Oh, my God, my God!" groaned the poor Colonel; "why couldn't it havebeen I? Why couldn't it have been I that ain't wanted any longer?She'd never have grieved like that for me!"

And indeed, I don't think she would have. 

For to Margaret there had come, as, God willing, there comes to everyclean-souled woman, the time to put away all childish things, and allchildish memories, and all childish ties, if need be, to follow oneman only, and cleave to him, and know his life and hers to be knit uptogether, past severance, in a love that death itself may not affrightnor slay. 

XXIX

She sat silent in one corner of the darkened room. It was the bedroomthat Frederick R. Woods formerly occupied--on the ground floor ofSelwoode, opening into the living-hall--to which they had carriedBilly. 

Jukesbury had done what he could. In the bed lay Billy Woods, swathedin hot blankets, with bottles of hot water set to his feet. Jukesburyhad washed his face clean of that awful red, and had wrapped bandagesof cracked ice about his head and propped it high with pillows. Itwas little short of marvellous to see the pursy old hypocrite goingcat-footed about the room on his stealthy ministrations, replenishingthe bandages, forcing spirits of ammonia between Billy's teeth, fighting deftly and confidently with death. 

Billy still breathed. 

The Colonel came and went uneasily. The clock on the mantel ticked. Margaret brooded in a silence that was only accentuated by thathorrible wheezing, gurgling, tremulous breathing in the bed yonder. Would the doctor never come!

She was curiously conscious of her absolute lack of emotion. 

But always the interminable thin whispering in the back of her headwent on and on. "Oh, if he had only died four years ago! Oh, if he hadonly died the dear, clean-minded, honest boy I used to know! When thatnoise stops he will be dead. And then, perhaps, I shall be able tocry. Oh, if he had only died four years ago!"

And then _da capo_. On and on ran the interminable thin whispering asMargaret waited for death to come to Billy. Billy looked so old now, under his many bandages. Surely he must be very, very near death. 

Suddenly, as Jukesbury wrapped new bandages about his forehead, Billyopened his eyes and, without further movement, smiled placidly up athim. 

"Hello, Jukesbury, " said Billy Woods, "where's my armour?"

Jukesbury, too, smiled. "The man is bringing it downstairs now, " heanswered, quietly. 

"Because, " Billy went on, fretfully, "I don't propose to miss theTrojan war. The princes orgulous with high blood chafed, you know, areall going to be there, and I don't propose to miss it. "

Behind his fat back, Petheridge Jukesbury waved a cautioning hand atMargaret, who had risen from her chair. 

"But it is very absurd, " Billy murmured, in the mere ghost of a voice, "because men don't propose by mistake except in farces. Somebody toldme that, but I can't remember who, because I am a misogynist. That isa Greek word, and I would explain it to Peggy, if she would only giveme a chance, but she can't because she has those seventeen hundredand fifty thousand children to look after. There must be some way toexplain to her, though, because where there's a will there is alwaysa way, and there were three wills. Uncle Fred should not have left somany wills--who would have thought the old man had so much ink in him?But I will be a very great painter, Uncle Fred, and make her sorry forthe way she has treated me, and _then_ Kathleen will understand I wastalking about Peggy. "

His voice died away, and Margaret sat with wide eyes listening for itagain. Would the doctor never come!

Billy was smiling and picking at the sheets. 

"But Peggy is so rich, " the faint voice presently complained--"sobeastly rich! There is gold in her hair, and if you will look veryclosely you will see that her lashes were pure gold until she dippedthem in the ink-pot. Besides, she expects me to sit up and beg forlumps of sugar, and I _never_ take sugar in my coffee. And Peggydoesn't drink coffee at all, so I think it is very unfair, especiallyas Teddy Anstruther drinks like a fish and she is going to marry him. Peggy, why won't you marry me? You know I've always loved you, Peggy, and now I can tell you so because Uncle Fred has left me all hismoney. You think a great deal about money, Peggy. You said it was thegreatest thing in the world. And it must be, because it is the onlything--the _only_ thing, Peggy--that has been strong enough to keepus apart. A part is never greater than the whole, Peggy, but I willexplain about that when you open that desk. There are sharks in it. Aren't there, Peggy?--_aren't_ there?"

His voice had risen to a querulous tone. Gently the fat old manrestrained him. 

"Yes, " said Petheridge Jukesbury; "dear me, yes. Why, dear me, ofcourse. "

But his warning hand held Margaret back--Margaret, who stood with bigtears trickling down her cheeks. 

"Dearer than life itself, " Billy assented, wearily, "but before God, loving you as I do, I wouldn't marry you now for all the wealth in theworld. I forget why, but all the world is a stage, you know, and theydon't use stages now, but only railroads. Is that why you rail at meso, Peggy? That is a joke. You ought to laugh at my jokes, because Ilove you, but I can't ever, ever tell you so because you are rich. Arich man cannot pass through a needle's eye. Oh, Peggy, Peggy, I loveyour eyes, but they're so _big_, Peggy!"

So Billy Woods lay still and babbled ceaselessly. But through all hisirrelevant talk, as you may see a tributary stream pulse unsulliedin a muddied river, ran the thought of Peggy--of Peggy, and of hercruelty, and of her beauty, and of the money that stood between them. 

And Margaret, who could never have believed him in his senses, listened and knew that in his delirium, the rudder of his thoughtssnapped, he could not but speak truth. As she crouched in the cornerof the room, her face buried in an arm-chair, her gold hair halfloosened, her shoulders monotonously heaving, she wept gently, inaudibly, almost happily. 

Almost happily. Billy was dying, but she knew now, past any doubting, that he loved her. The dear, clean-minded, honest boy had comeback to her, and she could love him now without shame, and there wasonly herself to be loathed. 

[Illustration: "Regarded them with alert eyes. "]

Then the door opened. Then, with Colonel Hugonin, came Martin Jeal--awisp of a man like a November leaf--and regarded them from under hisshaggy white hair with alert eyes. 

"Hey, what's this?" said Dr. Jeal. "Eh, yes! Eh--yes!" he meditated, slowly. "Most irregular. You must let us have the room, Miss Hugonin. "

In the hall she waited. Hope! ah, of course, there was no hope! thethin little whisper told her. 

By and bye, though--after centuries of waiting--the three men cameinto the hall. 

"Miss Hugonin, " said Dr. Jeal, with a strange kindness in his voice, "I don't think we shall need you again. I am happy to tell you, though, that the patient is doing nicely--very nicely indeed. "

Margaret clutched his arm. "You--you mean----"

"I mean, " said Dr. Jeal, "that there is no fracture. A slightconcussion of the brain, madam, and--so far as I can see--no signs ofinflammation. Barring accidents, I think we'll have that young man outof bed in a week. Thanks, " he added, "to Mr. --er--Jukesbury here whoseprompt action was, under Heaven, undoubtedly the means of staving offmeningitis and probably--indeed, more than probably--the meansof saving Mr. Woods's life. It was splendid, sir, splendid! Nodoctor--why, God bless my soul!"

For Miss Hugonin had thrown her arms about Petheridge Jukesbury's neckand had kissed him vigorously. 

"You beautiful child!" said Miss Hugonin. 

"Er--Jukesbury, " said the Colonel, mysteriously, "there's a littlecognac in the cellar that--er--" The Colonel jerked his thumb acrossthe hallway with the air of a conspirator. "Eh?" said the Colonel. 

"Why--er--yes, " said Mr. Jukesbury. "Why--ah--yes, I think I might. "

They went across the hall together. The Colonel's hand restedfraternally on Petheridge Jukesbury's shoulder. 

XXX

The next day there was a general exodus from Selwoode, and Margaret'ssatellites dispersed upon their divers ways. Selwoode, as theyunderstood it, was no longer hers; and they knew Billy Woods wellenough to recognise that from Selwoode's new master there were nodesirable pickings to be had such as the philanthropic crew hadfattened on these four years past. So there came to them, one and all, urgent telegrams or insistent letters or some equally unanswerabledemand for their presence elsewhere, such as are usually prevalentamong our guests in very dull or very troublous times. 

Miss Hugonin smiled a little bitterly. She considered that the scaleshad fallen from her eyes, and flattered herself that she was by way ofbecoming a bit of a misanthrope; also, I believe, there was a noteconcerning the hollowness of life and the worthlessness of society ingeneral. In a word, Margaret fell back upon the extreme cynicism andworld-weariness of twenty-three, and assured herself that she despisedeverybody, whereas, as a matter of fact, she never in her lifesucceeded in disliking anything except mice and piano-practice, and, for a very little while, Billy Woods; and this for the very excellentreason that the gods had fashioned her solely to the end that shemight love all mankind, and in return be loved by humanity in generaland adored by that portion of it which inhabits trousers. 

But, "The rats always desert a sinking ship, " said Miss Hugonin, withthe air of one delivering a particularly original sentiment. "Theymake me awfully tired, and I don't care for them in the least. ButPetheridge Jukesbury is a _dear_, and I may be poor now, but I _did_try to do good with the money when I had it, and _anyhow_, Billy isgoing to get well. "

And, after all, that was the one thing that really mattered, though ofcourse Billy would always despise her. He would be quite right, too, the girl thought humbly. 

But the conventionalities of life are more powerful than even youthfulcynicism and youthful heart-break. Prior to devoting herself to aloveless life and the commonplaces of the stoic's tub, Miss Hugoninwas compelled by the barest decency to bid her guests Godspeed. 

And Adèle Haggage kissed her for the first time in her life. She hadbeen a little awed by Miss Hugonin, the famous heiress--a littlejealous of her, I dare say, on account of Hugh Van Orden--but now shekissed her very heartily in farewell, and said, "Don't forget you areto come to us as soon as _possible_, " and was beyond any questionperfectly sincere in saying it. 

And Hugh Van Orden almost dragged Margaret under the main stairway, and, far from showing any marked abhorrence to her in her presentstate of destitution, implored her with tears in his eyes to marry himat once, and to bring the Colonel to live with them for the rest ofhis natural existence. 

For, "It's damned impertinent of me, of course, " Mr. Van Orden readilyconceded, "and I suppose I ought to beg your pardon for mentioning it, but I _do_ love you to a perfectly unlimited extent. It's playing thevery deuce with my polo, Miss Hugonin, and as for my appetite--why, if you won't have me, " cried Hugh, in desperation, "I--I really, youknow, I don't believe I'll _ever_ be able to eat anything!"

When Margaret refused him--for the sixth time, I think--I won't swearthat she didn't kiss him under the dark stairway. And if she did, hewas a nice boy, and he deserved it. 

And as for Sarah Ellen Haggage, that unreverend old parasite broughther a blank cheque signed with her name, and mentioned quite a goodlysum as the extent to which Margaret might go for necessary expenses. 

"For you'll need it, " she said, and rubbed her nose reflectively. "Moving is the very deuce for wasting money, because so many littlethings keep cropping up. Now, remember, a quarter is quite enough togive _any_ man for moving a trunk. And there's no earthly sense inyour taking a cab, Margaret--the street-car will bring you within ablock of our door. These little trifles count, dear. And don't letCélestine pack your things, because she's abominably careless. LetMarie do it--and don't tip her. Give her an old hat. And if I wereyou, I would certainly consult a lawyer about the legality of thatidiotic will. I remember distinctly hearing that Mr. Woods was veryeccentric in his last days, and I haven't a doubt he was raving madwhen, he left all his money to a great, strapping, long-legged youngfellow, who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Gettingbetter, is he? Well, I suppose I'm glad to hear it, but he'd muchbetter have stayed in Paris--where, I remember distinctly hearing, heled the most dissipated and immoral life, my dear--instead of comingover here and upsetting everything. " And again Mrs. Haggage rubbed hernose--indignantly. 

"He _didn't_!" said Margaret. "And I _can't_ take your money, beautiful! And I don't see how we can possibly come to stay with you. "

"Don't you argue with me!" Mrs. Haggage exhorted her. "I'm not in anytemper to be argued with. I've spent the morning sewing biasstripes in a bias skirt--something which from a moral-ruining andresolution-overthrowing standpoint simply knocks the spots off Job. You'll take that money, and you'll come to me as soon as you can, and--God bless you, my dear!"

And again Margaret was kissed. Altogether, it was a very osculatorymorning for Miss Hugonin. 

Mr. Jukesbury's adieus, however, were more formal; and--I am sorry tosay it--the old fellow went away wondering if the rich Mr. Woods mightnot conceivably be very grateful to the man who had saved his life andevince his gratitude in some agreeable and substantial form. 

Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston, also, were somewhat unenthusiastic intheir parting. Kennaston could not feel quite at ease with Margaret, brazen it as he might with devil-may-carish flippancy; and Kathleenhad by this an inkling as to how matters stood between Margaret andBilly, and was somewhat puzzled thereat, and loved the former inconsequence no more than any Christian female is compelled to love thewoman who, either unconsciously or with deliberation, purloins herancient lover. A woman rarely forgives the man who has ceased to carefor her; and rarelier still can she pardon the woman who has daredsucceed her in his affections. 

And besides, they were utterly engrossed with one another, and utterlyhappy, and utterly selfish with the immemorial selfishness of lovers, who cannot for a moment conceive that the whole world is not somehowbenefited by their happiness and does not await with breathlessinterest the outcome of their bickerings with the blind bow-god, andfrom this providential delusion derive a meritorious and comfortableglow. So Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston parted from Margaret withkindness, it is true, but not without awkwardness. 

And that was the man that almost she had loved! thought Margaret, asshe gazed on the whirl of dust left by their carriage-wheels. Gonewith a few perfunctory words of sympathy!

And for my part, I think that the base Indian who threw a pearl awayworth more than all his tribe was, in comparison with Felix Kennaston, a shrewd and long-headed man. If you had given _me_ his chances, Margaret . . . But this, however, is highly digressive. 

The Colonel, standing beside her, used language that was unrefined. His aspirations as to the future of Mr. Kennaston and Mr. Jukesbury, it appeared, were both lurid and unfriendly. 

"But why, attractive?" queried his daughter. 

"May they be qualified with such and such adjectives!" desired theColonel, fervently. "They tried to lend me money--wouldn't hear ofmy not taking it! In case of necessity. ' Bah!" said the Colonel, andshook his fist after the retreating carriages. "May they be qualifiedwith such and such adjectives!"

How happily she laughed! "And you're swearing at them!" she pouted. "Oh, my dear, my dear, how hard you are on all my little friends!"

"Of course I am, " said the Colonel, stoutly. "They've deprived me ofthe pleasure of despising 'em. It was worth double the money, I tellyou! I never objected to any men quite so much. And now they've goneand behaved decently with the deliberate purpose of annoying me! Oh!"cried the Colonel, and shook an immaculate, withered old hand towardthe spring sky, "may they be qualified with such and such adjectives!"

And that, so far as we are concerned, was the end of Margaret'ssatellites. 

My dear Mrs. Grundy, may one point the somewhat obvious moral? I thankyou, madam, for your long-suffering kindness. Permit me, then, tovault toward my moral over the shoulders of a greater man. 

Among the papers left by one Charles Dickens--a novelist who isobsolete now because he "wallows naked in the pathetic" and wasfrequently guilty of a very vulgar sort of humour that actually madepeople laugh, which, as we now know, is not the purpose of humour--anovelist who incessantly "caricatured Nature" and by these inartisticand underhand methods created characters that are more real to us thanthe folk we jostle in the street and (God knows!) far more vital andworthy of attention than the folk who "cannot read Dickens"--you willfind, I say, a note of an idea which he never afterward developed, running to this effect: "Full length portrait of his lordship, surrounded by worshippers. Sensible men enough, agreeable men enough, independent men enough in a certain way; but the moment they beginto circle round my lord, and to shine with a borrowed light fromhis lordship, heaven and earth, how mean and subservient! What acompetition and outbidding of each other in servility!"

And this, with "my lord" and "his lordship" erased to make way for theword "money, " is my moral. The folk who have just left Selwoode werehonest enough as honesty goes nowadays; kindly as any of us darebe who have our own way to make among very stalwart and determinedrivals; generous as any man may venture to be in a world wherethe first of every month finds the butcher and the baker and thecandlestick-maker rapping at the door with their little bills: butthey cringed to money. It was very wrong of them, my dear lady, and inextenuation I can only plead that they could no more help cringing tomoney than you or I can help it. 

This is very crude and very cynical, but unfortunately it is true. 

We always cringe to money; which is humiliating. And the sun alwaysrises at an hour when sensible people are abed and have not the leastneed for its services; which is foolish. And what you and I, my dearmadam, are to do about rectifying either one of these vexatiouscircumstances, I am sure I don't know. 

We can, at least, be honest. Let us, then, console ourselves at willwith moral observations concerning the number of pockets in a shroudand the difficulty of a rich man's entering into the kingdom ofHeaven; but with an humble and reverent heart, let us admit that, inthe world we know, money rules. Its presence awes us. And if we arequite candid we must concede that we very unfeignedly envy and admirethe rich; we must grant that money confers a certain distinction on aman, be he the veriest ass that ever heehawed a platitude, and that wecannot but treat him accordingly, you and I. 

You are friendly, of course, with your poor cousins; you are delightedto have them drop in to dinner, and liberal enough with the claretwhen they do; but when the magnate comes, there is a magnum ofchampagne, and an extra lamp in the drawing-room, and--I blush towrite it--a far more agreeable hostess at the head of the table. Divesis such good company, you see. And speaking for my own sex, I defy anyhonest fellow to lay his hand upon his waistcoat and swear that itdoesn't give him a distinct thrill of pleasure to be seen in publicwith a millionaire. Daily we truckle in the Eagle's shadow--the shadowthat lay so heavily across Selwoode. With the Eagle himself and withthe Eagle's work in the world--the grim, implacable, ruthless workthat hourly he goes about--our little comedy has naught to do;Schlemihl-like, we deal but in shadows. Even the shadow of the Eagleis a terrible thing--a shadow that, as Felix Kennaston has told you, chills faith, and charity, and independence, and kindliness, andtruth, and--alas--even common honesty. 

But this is both cynical and digressive. 

XXXI

Dr. Jeal, better than his word, had Billy Woods out of bed in fivedays. To Billy they were very long and very dreary days, and toMargaret very long and penitential ones. But Colonel Hugonin enjoyedthem thoroughly; for, as he feelingly and frequently observed, it isan immense consolation to any man to reflect that his home no longercontains "more damn' foolishness to the square inch than any otherhouse in the United States. "

On all sides they sought for Cock-eye Flinks. But they never foundhim, and to this day they have never found him. The Fates havingplayed their pawn, swept it from the board, and Cock-eye Flinksdisappeared in Clotho's capacious pocket. 

All this time the young people saw nothing of one another. On thispoint Jeal was adamantean. 

"In a sick-room, " he vehemently declared, "a woman is well enough, but_the_ woman is the devil and all. I've told that young man plainly, sir, that he doesn't see your daughter till he gets well--and, byGeorge, sir, he'll get well now just in order to see her. Nature isthe only doctor who ever cures anybody, Colonel; we humans, forall our pill-boxes and lancets, can only prompt her--and devilishdemoralising advice we generally give her, too, " he added, with achuckle. 

"Peggy!"

This was the first observation of Mr. Woods when he came to hissenses. He swore feebly when Peggy was denied to him. He pleaded. Hescolded. He even threatened, as a last resort, to get out of bed andgo in immediate search of her; and in return, Jeal told him veryaffably that it was far less difficult to manage a patient in astraight-jacket than one out of it, and that personally nothing wouldplease him so much as a plausible pretext for clapping Mr. Woods intoone of 'em. Jeal had his own methods in dealing with the fractious. 

Then Billy clamoured for Colonel Hugonin, and subsequently the Colonelcame in some bewilderment to his daughter's rooms. 

"Billy says that will ain't to be probated, " he informed her, testily. "I'm to make sure it ain't probated till he gets well. You're to giveme your word you'll do nothing further in the matter till Billy getswell. That's his message, and I'd like to know what the devil thisinfernal nonsense means. I ain't a Fenian nor yet a Guy Fawkes, daughter, and in consequence I'm free to confess I don't care for allthis damn mystery and shilly-shallying. But that's the message. "

Miss Hugonin debated with herself. "That I will do nothing further inthe matter till Billy gets well, " she repeated, reflectively. "Yes, Isuppose I'll have to promise it, but you can tell him for me that Iconsider he is _horrid_, and just as obstinate and selfish as he can_possibly_ be. Can you remember that, attractive?"

"Yes, thank you, " said the Colonel. "I can remember it, but I ain'tgoing to. Nice sort of message to send a sick man, ain't it? I don'tknow what's gotten into you, Margaret--no, begad, I don't! I thinkyou're possessed of seventeen devils. And now, " the old gentlemandemanded, after an awkward pause, "are you or are you not going totell me what all this mystery is about?"

"I can't, " Miss Hugonin protested. "It--it's a secret, attractive. "

"It ain't, " said the Colonel, flatly--"it's some more damnfoolishness. " And he went away in a fret and using language. 

XXXII

Left to herself, Miss Hugonin meditated. 

Miss Hugonin was in her kimono. 

And oh, Madame Chrysastheme! oh, Madame Butterfly! Oh, Mimosa San, andPitti Sing, and Yum Yum, and all ye vaunted beauties of Japan! if youcould have seen her in that garb! Poor little ladies of the Orient, how hopelessly you would have wrung your henna-stained fingers! Poorlittle Ichabods of the East, whose glory departed irretrievably whenshe adopted this garment, I tremble to think of the heart-burnings andpalpitations and hari-karis that would have ensued. 

It was pink--the pink of her cheeks to a shade. And scattered about itwere birds, and butterflies, and snaky, emaciated dragons, with backslike saw-teeth, and prodigious fangs, and claws, and very curly tails, such as they breed in Nankeen plates and used to breed on packages offire-crackers--all done in gold, the gold of her hair. Moreover, onemight catch a glimpse of her neck--which was a manifest favour of thegods--and about it mysterious, lacy white things intermingling withdivers tiny blue ribbons. I saw her in it once--by accident. 

And now I fancy, as she stood rigid with indignation, her cheeksflushed, it must have been a heady spectacle to note how theirshell-pink repeated the pink of her fantastic garment like a chromaticecho; and how her sunny hair, a thought loosened, a shade dishevelled, clung heavily about her face, a golden snare for eye and heart; andhow her own eyes, enormous, cerulean--twin sapphires such as in theold days might have ransomed a brace of emperors--grew wistful like achild's who has been punished and does not know exactly why; and howher petulant mouth quivered and the long black lashes, golden at theroots, quivered, too--ah, yes, it must have been a heady spectacle. 

"_Now_, " she announced, "I see plainly what he intends doing. He isgoing to destroy that will, and burden me once more with a large andinfluential fortune. I don't want it, and I won't take it, and hemight just as well understand that in the very beginning. I don't careif Uncle Fred did leave it to me--I didn't ask him to, did I? Besides, he was a very foolish old man--if he had left the money to Billy_everything_ would have been all right. That's always the way--mydolls are invariably stuffed with sawdust, and I _never_ have a deargazelle to glad me with his dappled hide, but when he comes to know mewell he falls upon the buttered side--or something to that effect. Ihate poetry, anyhow--it's so mushy!"

And this from the Miss Hugonin who a week ago was interested in theFrench _decadents_ and partial to folk-songs from the Romaic! I thinkwe may fairly deduce that the reign of Felix Kennaston is over. Theking is dead; and Margaret's thoughts and affections and her verydreams have fallen loyally to crying, Long live the king--his MajestyBilly the First. 

"Oh!" said Margaret, with an indignant gasp, what time her eyebrowsgesticulated, "I think Billy Woods is a meddlesome _piece_!--that'swhat I think! Does he suppose that after waiting all this time for theonly man in the world who can keep me interested for four hours ona stretch and send my pulse up to a hundred and make me feel thosethrilly thrills I've always longed for--does he suppose that nowI'm going to pay any attention to his silly notions about wills andthings? He's abominably selfish! I shan't!"

Margaret moved across the room, shimmering, rustling, glittering likea fairy in a pantomime. Then, to consider matters at greater ease, shecurled up on a divan in much the attitude of a tiny Cleopatra ridingat anchor on a carpeted Cydnus. 

"Billy thinks I want the money--bless his boots! He thinks I'm astuck-up, grasping, purse-proud little pig, and he has every rightto think so after the way I talked to him, though he ought to haverealised I was in a temper about Kathleen Saumarez and have paid noattention to what I said. And he actually attempted to reason withme! If he'd had _any_ consideration for my feelings, he'd have simplysmacked me and made me behave--however, he's a man, and all men areselfish, and _she's_ a skinny old thing, and I _never_ had any use forher. Bother her lectures! I never understood a word of them, and Idon't believe she does, either. Women's clubs are _all_ silly, and Ithink the women who belong to them are _all_ bold-faced jigs! Ifthey had any sense, they'd stay at home and take care of the babies, instead of messing with philanthropy, and education, and theosophy, and anything else that they can't make head or tail of. And they callthat being cultured! Culture!--I hate the word! I don't want to becultured--I want to be happy. "

This, you will observe, was, in effect, a sweeping recantation ofevery ideal Margaret had ever boasted. But Love is a canny pedagogue, and of late he had instructed Miss Hugonin in a variety of matters. 

"Before God, loving you as I do, I wouldn't marry you for all thewealth in the world, " she repeated, with a little shiver. "Even in hisdelirium he said that. But I _know_ now that he loves me. And I knowthat I adore him. And if this were a sensible world, I'd walk right inthere and explain things and ask him to marry me, and then it wouldn'tmatter in the least who had the money. But I can't, because itwouldn't be proper. Bother propriety!--but bothering it doesn't doany good. As long as I have the money, Billy will never come near me, because of the idiotic way I talked to him. And he's bent on my takingthe money simply because it happens to belong to me. I consider thata very silly reason. I'll _make_ Billy Woods take the money, andI'll make him see that I'm _not_ a little pig, and that I trust himimplicitly. And I think I'm quite justified in using a little--we'llcall it diplomacy--because otherwise he'd go back to France or someother objectionable place, and we'd both be _very_ unhappy. "

Margaret began to laugh softly. "I've given him my word that I'lldo nothing further in the matter till he gets well. And I won't. _But_----"

Miss Hugonin rose from the divan with a gesture of sweeping back herhair. And then--oh, treachery of tortoise-shell! oh, the villainy ofthose little gold hair-pins!--the fat twisted coils tumbled looseand slowly unravelled themselves, and her pink-and-white face, half-eclipsed, showed a delectable wedge between big, odourful, crinkly, ponderous masses of hair. It clung about her, a heavy cloak, all shimmering gold like the path of sunset over the June sea. AndMargaret, looking at herself in the mirror, laughed, and appearedperfectly content with what she saw there. 

"But, " said she, "if the Fates are kind to me--and I sometimes thinkI _have_ a pull with the gods--I'll make you happy, Billy Woods, inspite of yourself. "

The mirror flashed back a smile. Margaret was strangely interested inthe mirror. 

"She has ringlets in her hair, " sang Margaret happily--a low, half-hushed little song. She held up a strand of it to demonstratethis fact. 

"There's a dimple in her chin"--and, indeed, there was. And a dimplein either cheek, too. 

For a long time afterward she continued to smile at the mirror. I amafraid Kathleen Saumarez was right. She was a vain little cat, wasMargaret. 

But, barring a rearrangement of the cosmic scheme, I dare say maidswill continue to delight in their own comeliness so long as mirrorsspeak truth. Let us, then, leave Miss Hugonin to this innocentdiversion. The staidest of us are conscious of a brisk elation atsight of a pretty face; and surely no considerate person will deny itsowner a portion of the pleasure that daily she accords the beggar atthe street-corner. 

XXXIII

We are credibly informed that Time travels in divers paces with diverspersons--the statement being made by a lady who may be considered tospeak with some authority, having triumphantly withstood the ravagesof Chronos for a matter of three centuries. But I doubt if even theinsolent sweet wit of Rosalind could have devised a fitting simile forTime's gait at Selwoode those five days that Billy lay abed. Margaretcould not but marvel at the flourishing proportion attained by thehours in those sunlit spring days; and at dinner, say, her thoughtsharking back to luncheon, recalled it by a vigorous effort as anaffair of the dim yester-years--a mere blurred memory, faint and vagueas a Druidical tenet or a Merovingian squabble. 

But the time passed for all that; and eventually--it was just beforedusk--she came, with Martin Jeal's permission, into the room whereBilly was. And beside the big open fireplace, where a wood firechattered companionably, sat a very pallid Billy, a rather thin Billy, with a great many bandages about his head. 

You may depend upon it, Margaret was not looking her worst thatafternoon. By actual count, Célestine had done her hair six timesbefore reaching an acceptable result. 

And, "Yes, Célestine, you may get out that pale yellow dress. No, beautiful, the one with the black satin stripes on the bodice--becauseI don't want my hair cast completely in the shade, do I? Now, let mesee--black feather, gloves, large pompadour, _and_ a sweet smile. No, I don't want a fan--that's a Lydia Languish trade-mark. And _two_ silkskirts rustling like the deadest leaves imaginable. Yes, I think thatwill do. And if you can't hook up my dress without pecking and peckingat me like that, I'll probably go stark, _staring_ crazy, Célestine, and then you'll be sorry. No, it isn't a bit tight--are you perfectlycertain there's no powder behind my ears, Célestine? Now, _please_ tryto fasten the collar without pulling all my hair down. Ye-es, I thinkthat will do, Célestine. Well, it's very nice of you to say so, but Idon't believe I much fancy myself in yellow, after all. "

Equipped and armed for conquest, then, she came into the room with avery tolerable affectation of unconcern. Altogether, it was a quiteeffective entrance. 

"I've been for a little drive, Billy, " she mendaciously informed him. "That's how you happen to have the opportunity of seeing me in all mynice new store-clothes. Aren't you pleased, Billy? No, don't you dareget up!" Margaret stood across the room, peeling off her gloves andregarding him on the whole with disapproval. "They've been starvingyou, " she pensively reflected. "As soon as that Jeal person goes away, I shall have six little beefsteaks cooked and see to it personallythat you eat every one of them. And I'll cook a cherry pie--quick asa cat can wink her eye--won't I, Billy? That Jeal person is a decidednuisance, " said Miss Hugonin, as she stabbed her hat rather viciouslywith two hat-pins and then laid it aside on a table. 

Billy Woods was looking up at her forlornly. It hurt her to see thelove and sorrow in his face. But oh, how avidly his soul drank in themodulations of that longed-for voice--a voice that was honey and goldand velvet and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world. 

"Peggy, " said he, plunging at the heart of things, "where's thatwill?"

Miss Hugonin kicked forward a little foot-stool to the other side ofthe fire, and sat down and complacently smoothed out her skirts. 

"I knew it!" said she. "I never saw such a one-idea'd person in mylife. I knew that would be the very first thing you would ask for, Billy Woods, because you're such an obstinate, stiffnecked _donkey_. Very well!"--and Margaret tossed her head--"here's Uncle Fred's will, then, and you can do _exactly_ as you like with it, and _now_ I hopeyou're satisfied!" And Margaret handed him the long envelope which layin her lap. 

Mr. Woods promptly opened it. 

"That, " Miss Hugonin commented, "is what I term very unladylikebehaviour on your part. "

"You evidently don't trust me, Billy Woods. Very well! I don't care!Read it carefully--very carefully, and make quite sure I haven't beendabbling in forgery of late--besides, it's so good for your eyes, youknow, after being hit over the head, " Margaret suggested, cheerfully. 

Billy chuckled. "That's true, " said he, "but I know Uncle Fred's fistwell enough without having to read it all. Candidly, Peggy, I _had_ tolook at it, because I--well, I didn't quite trust you, Peggy. Andnow we're going to burn this interesting paper, you and I. " "Wait!"Margaret cried. "Ah, wait, just a moment, Billy!"

He glanced up at her in surprise, the paper still poised in his hand. 

She sat with head drooped forward, her masculine little chin thrustout eagerly, her candid eyes transparently appraising him. 

"Why are you going to burn it, Billy?"

"Why?" Mr. Woods, repeated, thoughtfully. "Well, for a variety ofreasons. First is, that Uncle Fred really did leave his money to you, and burning this is the only way of making sure you get it. Why, Ithought you wanted me to burn it! Last time I saw you--"

"I was in a temper, " said Margaret, haughtily. "You ought to have seenthat. "

"Yes, I--er--noticed it, " Mr. Woods admitted, with some dryness; "butit wasn't only temper. You've grown accustomed to the money. You'dmiss it now--miss the pleasure it gives you, miss the power it givesyou. You'd never be content to go back to the old life now. Why, Peggy, you yourself told me you thought money the greatest thing inthe world! It has changed you, Peggy, this--ah, well!" said Billy, "wewon't talk about that. I'm going to burn it because that's the onlyhonourable thing to do. Ready, Peggy?"

"It may be honourable, but it's _extremely_ silly, " Margarettemporised, "and for my part, I'm very, very glad God had run out of asense of honour when He created the woman. "

"Phrases don't alter matters. Ready, Peggy?"

"Ah, no, phrases don't alter matters!" she assented, with a quick liftof speech. "You're going to destroy that will, Billy Woods, simplybecause you think I'm a horrid, mercenary, selfish _pig_. You think Icouldn't give up the money--you think I couldn't be happy without it. Well, you have every right to think so, after the way I've behaved. But why not tell me that is the real reason?"

Billy raised his hand in protest. "I--I think you might miss it, " heconceded. "Yes, I think you would miss it. "

"Listen!" said Margaret, quickly. "The money is yours now--by my act. You say you--care for me. If I am the sort of woman you think me--Idon't say I am, and I don't say I'm not--but thinking me that sort ofwoman, don't you think I'd--I'd marry you for the asking if you keptthe money? Don't you think you're losing every chance of me by burningthat will? Oh, I'm not standing on conventionalities now! Don't youthink that, Billy?"

She was tempting him to the uttermost; and her heart was sick withfear lest he might yield. This was the Eagle's last battle; andrecreant Love fought with the Eagle against poor Billy, who had onlyhis honour to help him. 

Margaret's face was pale as she bent toward him, her lips parted alittle, her eyes glinting eerily in the firelight. The room was darknow save in the small radius of its amber glow; beyond that wasdarkness where panels and brasses blinked. 

"Yes, " said Billy, gravely--"forgive me if I'm wrong, dear, but--Ido think that. But you see you don't care for me, Peggy. In thesummer-house I thought for a moment--ah, well, you've shown in ahundred ways that you don't care--and I wouldn't have you come to me, not caring. So I'm going to burn the paper, dear. "

Margaret bowed her head. Had she ever known happiness before?

"It is not very flattering to me, " she said, "but it shows thatyou--care--a great deal. You care enough to--let me go. Ah--yes. Youmay burn it now, Billy. "

And promptly he tossed it into the flames. For a moment it layunharmed; then the edges caught and crackled and blazed, and theirheads drew near together as they watched it burn. 

There (thought Billy) is the end! Ah, ropes, daggers, and poisons!there is the end! Oh, Peggy. Peggy, if you could only have loved me!if only this accursed money hadn't spoiled you so utterly! Billy wasquite properly miserable over it. 

But he raised his head with a smile. "And now, " said he--and notwithout a little, little bitterness; "if I have any right to adviseyou, Peggy, I--I think I'd be more careful in the future as to how Iused the money. You've tried to do good with it, I know. But everygood cause has its parasites. Don't trust entirely to the Haggages andJukesburys, Peggy, and--and don't desert the good ship Philanthropybecause there are a few barnacles on it, dear. "

"You make me awfully tired, " Miss Hugonin observed, as she rose to herfeet. "How do you suppose I'm going to do anything for Philanthropy orany other cause when I haven't a penny in the world? You see, you'vejust burned the last will Uncle Fred ever made--the one that lefteverything to me. The one in your favour was probated or proved orwhatever they call it a week ago. " I think Billy was surprised. 

She stood over him, sharply outlined against the darkness, claspingher hands tightly just under her chin, ludicrously suggestive of apre-Raphaelitish saint. In the firelight her hair was an aureole; andher gown, yellow with multitudinous tiny arabesques of black velvet, echoed the glow of her hair to a shade. The dancing flames made of hera flickering little yellow wraith. And oh, the quaint tenderness ofher eyes!--oh, the hint of faint, nameless perfume she diffused! thusran the meditations of Billy's dizzied brain. 

"Listen! I told you I burned the other will. I started to burn it. ButI was afraid to, because I didn't know what they could do to me if Idid. So I put it away in my little handkerchief-box--and if you'd hada _grain_ of sense you'd have noticed the orris on it. And you made mepromise not to take any steps in the matter till you got well. I knewyou would. So I had already sent that second will--sent it before Ipromised you--to Hunston Wyke--he's my lawyer now, you know--and I'veheard from him, and he has probated it. "

Billy was making various irrelevant sounds. 

"And I brought that other will to you, and if you didn't choose toexamine it more carefully I'm sure it wasn't my fault. I kept my wordlike a perfect gentleman and took no step _whatever_ in the matter. I didn't say a word when before my eyes you stripped me of my entireworldly possessions--you know I didn't. You burned it up yourself, Billy Woods--of your own free will and accord--and now Selwoode andall that detestable money belongs to _you_, and I'm sure I'd like toknow what you are going to do about it. So _there_!"

Margaret faced him defiantly. Billy was in a state of considerableperturbation. 

"Why have you done this?" he asked, slowly. But a lucentsomething--half fear, half gladness--was wakening in Billy's eyes. 

And her eyes answered him. But her tongue was far less veracious. 

"Because you thought I was a _pig_! Because you couldn't makeallowances for a girl who for four years has seen nothing but moneyand money-worshippers and the power of money! Because I wantedyour--your respect, Billy. And you thought I couldn't give it up! Verywell!" Miss Hugonin waved her hand airily toward the hearth. "Now Ihope you know better. _Don't you dare get up, Billy Woods!_"

But I think nothing short of brute force could have kept Mr. Woodsfrom her. 

"Peggy, " he babbled--"ah, forgive me if I'm a presumptuous ass--butwas it because you knew I couldn't ask you to marry me so long as youhad the money?"

She dallied with her bliss. Margaret was on the other side of thetable. 

"Why--why, of course it wasn't!" she panted. "What nonsense!"

"Look at me, Peggy!"

"I don't want to! You look like a fright with your head all tied up. "

"Peggy . . . This exercise is bad for an invalid. "

"I--oh, please sit down! _Please_, Billy! It is bad for you. "

"Not until you tell me----"

"But I _don't!_. . . Oh, you make me _awfully_ tired. "

"Peggy, don't you dare stamp your foot at me!. . . Peggy!"

"_Please_ sit down! Now . . . Well, there's my hand, stupid, if you_will_ be silly. Now sit down here--so, with your head leaned back onthis nice little cushion because it's good for your poor head--andI'll sit on this nice little footstool and be quite, quite honest. No, you must lean back--I don't care if you can't see me, I'd much ratheryou couldn't. Well, the truth is--no, you _must_ lean back--the truthis--I've loved you all my life, Billy Woods, and--no, not _yet_, Billy--and if you hadn't been the stupidest beautiful in the universeyou'd have seen it long ago. You--you needn't--lean back--any longer, Billy . . . Oh, Billy, why _didn't_ you shave?"

"She _is_ skinny, isn't she, Billy?"

"Now, Peggy, you mustn't abuse Kathleen. She's a friend of mine. "

"Well, I know she's a friend of yours, but that doesn't prevent herbeing skinny, does it?"

"Now, Peggy--"

"Please, Billy! _Please_ say she's skinny!"

"Er--well, she's a bit thin, perhaps. "

"You angel!"

"And you're quite sure you've forgiven me for doubting you?"

"And you've forgiven _me?_"

"Bless you, Peggy, I never doubted you! I've been too busy lovingyou. "

"It seems to me as if it had been--_always_. "

"Why, didn't we love one another in Carthage, Peggy?"

"I think it was in Babylon, Billy. "

"And will love one another----?"

"Forever and ever, dear. You've been to seek a wife, Billy boy. "

"And oh, the dimple in her chin. . . "

 * * * * *

Ah, well! There was a deal of foolish prattle there in thefirelight--delectable prattle, irresponsible as the chattering ofbirds after a storm. And I fancy that the Eagle's shadow is liftedfrom Selwoode, now that Love has taken up his abode there. 

THE END