THE IRRATIONAL KNOT

BY BERNARD SHAW BEING

THE SECOND NOVELOF HIS NONAGE

1905

PREFACE

TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF 1905

This novel was written in the year 1880, only a few years after I hadexported myself from Dublin to London in a condition of extreme rawnessand inexperience concerning the specifically English side of the lifewith which the book pretends to deal. Everybody wrote novels then. Itwas my second attempt; and it shared the fate of my first. That is tosay, nobody would publish it, though I tried all the London publishersand some American ones. And I should not greatly blame them if I couldfeel sure that it was the book's faults and not its qualities thatrepelled them. 

I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time the rejected MS. Became Mrs. Annie Besant's excuse for lending me her ever helping handby publishing it as a serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers. That was how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is outof my power now to stand between it and the American public: all I cando is to rescue it from unauthorized mutilations and make the best of ajejune job. 

At present, of course, I am not the author of The Irrational Knot. Physiologists inform us that the substance of our bodies (andconsequently of our souls) is shed and renewed at such a rate that nopart of us lasts longer than eight years: I am therefore not now in anyatom of me the person who wrote The Irrational Knot in 1880. The lastof that author perished in 1888; and two of his successors have sincejoined the majority. Fourth of his line, I cannot be expected to takeany very lively interest in the novels of my literary great-grandfather. Even my personal recollections of him are becoming vague and overlaidwith those most misleading of all traditions, the traditions founded onthe lies a man tells, and at last comes to believe, about himself _to_himself. Certain things, however, I remember very well. For instance, Iam significantly clear as to the price of the paper on which I wrote TheIrrational Knot. It was cheap--a white demy of unpretentious quality--sothat sixpennorth lasted a long time. My daily allowance of compositionwas five pages of this demy in quarto; and I held my natural lazinesssternly to that task day in, day out, to the end. I remember also thatBizet's Carmen being then new in London, I used it as a safety-valve formy romantic impulses. When I was tired of the sordid realism ofWhatshisname (I have sent my only copy of The Irrational Knot to theprinters, and cannot remember the name of my hero) I went to the pianoand forgot him in the glamorous society of Carmen and her crimsontoreador and yellow dragoon. Not that Bizet's music could infatuate meas it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on greater masters, I thought less ofhim than he deserved; but the Carmen music was--in places--exquisite ofits kind, and could enchant a man like me, romantic enough to have cometo the end of romance before I began to create in art for myself. 

When I say that _I_ did and felt these things, I mean, of course, thatthe predecessor whose name I bear did and felt them. The I of to-day is(? am) cool towards Carmen; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not takethe slightest interest in him (? me). And now enough of this jugglingwith past and present Shaws. The grammatical complications of being afirst person and several extinct third persons at the same moment are sofrightful that I must return to the ordinary misusage, and ask thereader to make the necessary corrections in his or her own mind. 

This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and ignorance. Take forexample the profession of my hero, an Irish-American electricalengineer. That was by no means a flight of fancy. For you must notsuppose, because I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn anhonest living. I began trying to commit that sin against my nature whenI was fifteen, and persevered, from youthful timidity and diffidence, until I was twenty-three. My last attempt was in 1879, when a companywas formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by Mr. ThomasAlva Edison--a much too ingenious invention as it proved, being nothingless than a telephone of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowedyour most private communications all over the house instead ofwhispering them with some sort of discretion. This was not what theBritish stockbroker wanted; so the company was soon merged in theNational Telephone Company, after making a place for itself in thehistory of literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me with ajob. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it crowded the basementof a huge pile of offices in Queen Victoria Street with Americanartificers. These deluded and romantic men gave me a glimpse of theskilled proletariat of the United States. They sang obsolete sentimentalsongs with genuine emotion; and their language was frightful even to anIrishman. They worked with a ferocious energy which was out of allproportion to the actual result achieved. Indomitably resolved to asserttheir republican manhood by taking no orders from a tall-hattedEnglishman whose stiff politeness covered his conviction that they were, relatively to himself, inferior and common persons, they insisted onbeing slave-driven with genuine American oaths by a genuine free andequal American foreman. They utterly despised the artfully slow Britishworkman who did as little for his wages as he possibly could; neverhurried himself; and had a deep reverence for anyone whose pocket couldbe tapped by respectful behavior. Need I add that they werecontemptuously wondered at by this same British workman as a parcel ofoutlandish adult boys, who sweated themselves for their employer'sbenefit instead of looking after their own interests? They adored Mr. Edison as the greatest man of all time in every possible department ofscience, art and philosophy, and execrated Mr. Graham Bell, the inventorof the rival telephone, as his Satanic adversary; but each of them had(or pretended to have) on the brink of completion, an improvement on thetelephone, usually a new transmitter. They were free-souled creatures, excellent company: sensitive, cheerful, and profane; liars, braggarts, and hustlers; with an air of making slow old England hum which neverleft them even when, as often happened, they were wrestling withdifficulties of their own making, or struggling in no-thoroughfares fromwhich they had to be retrieved like strayed sheep by Englishmen withoutimagination enough to go wrong. 

In this environment I remained for some months. As I was interested inphysics and had read Tyndall and Helmholtz, besides having learntsomething in Ireland through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of Mr. Graham Bell who was also a chemist and physicist, I was, I believe, theonly person in the entire establishment who knew the current scientificexplanation of telephony; and as I soon struck up a friendship with ourofficial lecturer, a Colchester man whose strong point waspre-scientific agriculture, I often discharged his duties for him in amanner which, I am persuaded, laid the foundation of Mr. Edison's Londonreputation: my sole reward being my boyish delight in the half-concealedincredulity of our visitors (who were convinced by the hoarselystartling utterances of the telephone that the speaker, alleged by me tobe twenty miles away, was really using a speaking-trumpet in the nextroom), and their obvious uncertainty, when the demonstration was over, as to whether they ought to tip me or not: a question they eitherdecided in the negative or never decided at all; for I never gotanything. 

So much for my electrical engineer! To get him into contact withfashionable society before he became famous was also a problem easilysolved. I knew of three English peers who actually preferred physicallaboratories to stables, and scientific experts to gamekeepers: in fact, one of the experts was a friend of mine. And I knew from personalexperience that if science brings men of all ranks into contact, art, especially music, does the same for men and women. An electrician whocan play an accompaniment can go anywhere and know anybody. As far asmere access and acquaintance go there are no class barriers for him. Mydifficulty was not to get my hero into society, but to give any sort ofplausibility to my picture of society when I got him into it. I lackedthe touch of the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader willprobably find to his cost, the classical tradition which makes all thepersons in a novel, except the comically vernacular ones, or thespeakers of phonetically spelt dialect, utter themselves in the formalphrases and studied syntax of eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, Iwrote in the style of Scott and Dickens; and as fashionable society thenspoke and behaved, as it still does, in no style at all, mytranscriptions of Oxford and Mayfair may nowadays suggest anunaccountable and ludicrous ignorance of a very superficial andaccessible code of manners. I was not, however, so ignorant as mighthave been inferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financialcondition. 

I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; for in my teens Istruggled for life in the office of an Irish gentleman who acted as landagent and private banker for many persons of distinction. Now it ispossible for a London author to dine out in the highest circles fortwenty years without learning as much about the human frailties of hishosts as the family solicitor or (in Ireland) the family land agentlearns in twenty days; and some of this knowledge inevitably reaches hisclerks, especially the clerk who keeps the cash, which was my particulardepartment. He learns, if capable of the lesson, that the aristocraticprofession has as few geniuses as any other profession; so that if youwant a peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you must fill itup with many common persons, and even with some deplorably mean ones. For "service is no inheritance" either in the kitchen or the House ofLords; and the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The AdmirableCrichton, where the butler is the man of quality, and his master, theEarl, the man of rank, is no fantasy, but a quite common occurrence, andindeed to some extent an inevitable one, because the English areextremely particular in selecting their butlers, whilst they do notselect their barons at all, taking them as the accident of birth sendsthem. The consequences include much ironic comedy. For instance, we havein England a curious belief in first rate people, meaning all the peoplewe do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable secondratenessof the people we do know, besides saving the credit of aristocracy as aninstitution. The unmet aristocrat is devoutly believed in; but he isalways round the corner, never at hand. That _the_ smart set exists;that there is above and beyond that smart set a class so blue of bloodand exquisite in nature that it looks down even on the King with haughtycondescension; that scepticism on these points is one of the stigmata ofplebeian baseness: all these imaginings are so common here that theyconstitute the real popular sociology of England as much as an unlimitedcredulity as to vaccination constitutes the real popular science ofEngland. It is, of course, a timid superstition. A British peer orpeeress who happens by chance to be genuinely noble is just as isolatedat court as Goethe would have been among all the other grandsons ofpublicans, if they had formed a distinct class in Frankfurt or Weimar. This I knew very well when I wrote my novels; and if, as I suspect, Ifailed to create a convincingly verisimilar atmosphere of aristocracy, it was not because I had any illusions or ignorances as to the commonhumanity of the peerage, and not because I gave literary style to itsconversation, but because, as I had never had any money, I was foolishlyindifferent to it, and so, having blinded myself to its enormousimportance, necessarily missed the point of view, and with it the wholemoral basis, of the class which rightly values money, and plenty of it, as the first condition of a bearable life. 

Money is indeed the most important thing in the world; and all sound andsuccessful personal and national morality should have this fact for itsbasis. Every teacher or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is anenemy of life. Money controls morality; and what makes the United Statesof America look so foolish even in foolish Europe is that they arealways in a state of flurried concern and violent interference withmorality, whereas they throw their money into the street to be scrambledfor, and presently find that their cash reserves are not in their ownhands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires who, bewildered by theirluck, and unspeakably incapable of making any truly economic use of it, endeavor to "do good" with it by letting themselves be fleeced byphilanthropic committee men, building contractors, librarians andprofessors, in the name of education, science, art and what not; so thatsensible people exhale relievedly when the pious millionaire dies, andhis heirs, demoralized by being brought up on his outrageous income, begin the socially beneficent work of scattering his fortune through thechannels of the trades that flourish by riotous living. 

This, as I have said, I did not then understand; for I knew money onlyby the want of it. Ireland is a poor country; and my father was a poorman in a poor country. By this I do not mean that he was hungry andhomeless, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. My friend Mr. JamesHuneker, a man of gorgeous imagination and incorrigible romanticism, hasdescribed me to the American public as a peasant lad who has raisedhimself, as all American presidents are assumed to have raisedthemselves, from the humblest departments of manual labor to theloftiest eminence. James flatters me. Had I been born a peasant, Ishould now be a tramp. My notion of my father's income is even vaguerthan his own was--and that is saying a good deal--but he always had anincome of at least three figures (four, if you count in dollars insteadof pounds); and what made him poor was that he conceived himself as bornto a social position which even in Ireland could have been maintained indignified comfort only on twice or thrice what he had. And he married onthat assumption. Fortunately for me, social opportunity is not always tobe measured by income. There is an important economic factor, firstanalyzed by an American economist (General Walker), and called rent ofability. Now this rent, when the ability is of the artistic or politicalsort, is often paid in kind. For example, a London possessor of suchability may, with barely enough money to maintain a furnished bedroomand a single presentable suit of clothes, see everything worth seeingthat a millionaire can see, and know everybody worth knowing that he canknow. Long before I reached this point myself, a very triflingaccomplishment gave me glimpses of the sort of fashionable life apeasant never sees. Thus I remember one evening during the novel-writingperiod when nobody would pay a farthing for a stroke of my pen, walkingalong Sloane Street in that blessed shield of literary shabbiness, evening dress. A man accosted me with an eloquent appeal for help, ending with the assurance that he had not a penny in the world. Ireplied, with exact truth, "Neither have I. " He thanked me civilly, andwent away, apparently not in the least surprised, leaving me to askmyself why I did not turn beggar too, since I felt sure that a man whodid it as well as he, must be in comfortable circumstances. 

Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the same costume, I wasturning from Piccadilly into Bond Street, when a lady of the pavement, out of luck that evening so far, confided to me that the last bus forBrompton had passed, and that she should be grateful to any gentlemanwho would give her a lift in a hansom. My old-fashioned Irish gallantryhad not then been worn off by age and England: besides, as a novelistwho could find no publisher, I was touched by the similarity of ourtrades and predicaments. I excused myself very politely on the groundthat my wife (invented for the occasion) was waiting for me at home, andthat I felt sure so attractive a lady would have no difficulty infinding another escort. Unfortunately this speech made so favorable animpression on her that she immediately took my arm and declared herwillingness to go anywhere with me, on the flattering ground that I wasa perfect gentleman. In vain did I try to persuade her that in coming upBond Street and deserting Piccadilly, she was throwing away her lastchance of a hansom: she attached herself so devotedly to me that I couldnot without actual violence shake her off. At last I made a stand at theend of Old Bond Street. I took out my purse; opened it; and held itupside down. Her countenance fell, poor girl! She turned on her heelwith a melancholy flirt of her skirt, and vanished. 

Now on both these occasions I had been in the company of people whospent at least as much in a week as I did in a year. Why was I, apenniless and unknown young man, admitted there? Simply because, thoughI was an execrable pianist, and never improved until the happyinvention of the pianola made a Paderewski of me, I could play a simpleaccompaniment at sight more congenially to a singer than most amateurs. It is true that the musical side of London society, with its streak ofBohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign ways andprofessional manners, is far less typically English than the sportingside or the political side or the Philistine side; so much so, indeed, that people may and do pass their lives in it without ever discoveringwhat English plutocracy in the mass is really like: still, if you wanderin it nocturnally for a fitful year or so as I did, with empty pocketsand an utter impossibility of approaching it by daylight (owing to thedeplorable decay of the morning wardrobe), you have something moreactual to go on than the hallucinations of a peasant lad setting hisfoot manfully on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I never climbedany ladder: I have achieved eminence by sheer gravitation; and I herebywarn all peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example intoregarding their present servitude as a practicable first step to acelebrity so dazzling that its subject cannot even suppress his own badnovels. 

Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational Knot as a personneither belonging to the world I describe nor wholly ignorant of it, andon certain points quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A wholeworld of art which did not exist for it lay open to me. I was familiarwith the greatest in that world: mighty poets, painters, and musicianswere my intimates. I found the world of artificial greatness founded onconvention and money so repugnant and contemptible by comparison that Ihad no sympathetic understanding of it. People are fond of blamingvalets because no man is a hero to his valet. But it is equally truethat no man is a valet to his hero; and the hero, consequently, is aptto blunder very ludicrously about valets, through judging them from anirrelevant standard of heroism: heroism, remember, having its faults aswell as its qualities. I, always on the heroic plane imaginatively, hadtwo disgusting faults which I did not recognize as faults because Icould not help them. I was poor and (by day) shabby. I thereforetolerated the gross error that poverty, though an inconvenience and atrial, is not a sin and a disgrace; and I stood for my self-respect onthe things I had: probity, ability, knowledge of art, laboriousness, andwhatever else came cheaply to me. Because I could walk into HamptonCourt Palace and the National Gallery (on free days) and enjoy Mantegnaand Michael Angelo whilst millionaires were yawning miserably over ineptgluttonies; because I could suffer more by hearing a movement ofBeethoven's Ninth Symphony taken at a wrong tempo than a duchess bylosing a diamond necklace, I was indifferent to the repulsive fact thatif I had fallen in love with the duchess I did not possess a morningsuit in which I could reasonably have expected her to touch me with thefurthest protended pair of tongs; and I did not see that to remedy thisI should have been prepared to wade through seas of other people'sblood. Indeed it is this perception which constitutes an aristocracynowadays. It is the secret of all our governing classes, which consistfinally of people who, though perfectly prepared to be generous, humane, cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and personally charming in thesecond instance, are unalterably resolved, in the first, to have moneyenough for a handsome and delicate life, and will, in pursuit of thatmoney, batter in the doors of their fellow men, sell them up, sweat themin fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang, imprison, sink, burn and destroy themin the name of law and order. And this shews their fundamental sanityand rightmindedness; for a sufficient income is indispensable to thepractice of virtue; and the man who will let any unselfish considerationstand between him and its attainment is a weakling, a dupe and apredestined slave. If I could convince our impecunious mobs of this, theworld would be reformed before the end of the week; for the sluggardswho are content to be wealthy without working and the dastards who arecontent to work without being wealthy, together with all thepseudo-moralists and ethicists and cowardice mongers generally, would beexterminated without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement of life andennoblement of humanity. We might even make some beginnings ofcivilization under such happy circumstances. 

In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt this lesson;consequently I did not understand the British peerage, just as I did notunderstand that glorious and beautiful phenomenon, the "heartless" richAmerican woman, who so thoroughly and admirably understands thatconscience is a luxury, and should be indulged in only when the vitalneeds of life have been abundantly satisfied. The instinct which has ledthe British peerage to fortify itself by American alliances is healthyand well inspired. Thanks to it, we shall still have a few people tomaintain the tradition of a handsome, free, proud, costly life, whilstthe craven mass of us are keeping up our starveling pretence that it ismore important to be good than to be rich, and piously cheating, robbing, and murdering one another by doing our duty as policemen, soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen, tradesmen, and curates, at the command of those who know that the golden grapes are _not_ sour. Why, good heavens! we shall all pretend that this straightforward truthof mine is mere Swiftian satire, because it would require a littlecourage to take it seriously and either act on it or make me drink thehemlock for uttering it. 

There was the less excuse for my blindness because I was at that verymoment laying the foundations of my high fortune by the most ruthlessdisregard of all the quack duties which lead the peasant lad of fictionto the White House, and harness the real peasant boy to the plough untilhe is finally swept, as rubbish, into the workhouse. I was an ablebodiedand ableminded young man in the strength of my youth; and my family, then heavily embarrassed, needed my help urgently. That I should havechosen to be a burden to them instead was, according to all theconventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. Well, without a blush Iembraced the monstrosity. I did not throw myself into the struggle forlife: I threw my mother into it. I was not a staff to my father's oldage: I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live just longenough to read a review of one of these silly novels written in anobscure journal by a personal friend of my own (now eminent inliterature as Mr. John Mackinnon Robertson) prefiguring me to someextent as a considerable author. I think, myself, that this was ahandsome reward, far better worth having than a nice pension from adutiful son struggling slavishly for his parent's bread in some sordidtrade. Handsome or not, it was the only return he ever had for thelittle pension he contrived to export from Ireland for his family. Mymother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at the art of musicwhich she had followed in her prime freely for love. I only helped tospend it. People wondered at my heartlessness: one young and romanticlady had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignantly with me, "forthe which" as Pepys said of the shipwright's wife who refused hisadvances, "I did respect her. " Callous as Comus to moral babble, Isteadily wrote my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at mymother's expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that I will notsuffer James Huneker or any romanticist to pass me off as a peasant boyqualifying for a chapter in Smiles's Self Help, or a good son supportinga helpless mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist leaning withthe full weight of his hungry body on an energetic and capable woman. No, James: such lies are not only unnecessary, but fearfully depressingand fundamentally immoral, besides being hardly fair to the supposedpeasant lad's parents. My mother worked for my living instead ofpreaching that it was my duty to work for hers: therefore take off yourhat to her, and blush. [A]

It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The Irrational Knot. I donot recommend him to; but it is possible that the same mysterious forcewhich drove me through the labor of writing it may have had some purposewhich will sustain others through the labor of reading it, and evenreward them with some ghastly enjoyment of it. For my own part I cannotstand it. It is to me only one of the heaps of spoiled material thatall apprenticeship involves. I consent to its publication because Iremember that British colonel who called on Beethoven when the elderlycomposer was working at his posthumous quartets, and offered him acommission for a work in the style of his jejune septet. Beethoven drovethe Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I think that was uncivil. There is a time for the septet, and a time for the posthumous quartets. It is true that if a man called on me now and asked me to writesomething like The Irrational Knot I should have to exercise greatself-control. But there are people who read Man and Superman, and thentell me (actually to my face) that I have never done anything so good asCashel Byron's Profession. After this, there may be a public for evenThe Irrational Knot; so let it go. 

LONDON, _May_ 26, 1905. 

[Footnote A: James, having read the above in proof, now protests henever called me a peasant lad: that being a decoration by thesub-editor. The expression he used was "a poor lad. " This is what Jamescalls tact. After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, wellaerated, about a peasant lad. But a mere poor lad! really, James, _really_--!!!]

P. S. --Since writing the above I have looked through the proof-sheets ofthis book, and found, with some access of respect for my youth, that itis a fiction of the first order. By this I do not mean that it is amasterpiece in that order, or even a pleasant example of it, but simplythat, such as it is, it is one of those fictions in which the moralityis original and not readymade. Now this quality is the true diagnosticof the first order in literature, and indeed in all the arts, includingthe art of life. It is, for example, the distinction that setsShakespear's Hamlet above his other plays, and that sets Ibsen's work asa whole above Shakespear's work as a whole. Shakespear's morality is amere reach-me-down; and because Hamlet does not feel comfortable in it, and struggles against the misfit, he suggests something better, futileas his struggle is, and incompetent as Shakespear shews himself in hiseffort to think out the revolt of his feeling against readymademorality. Ibsen's morality is original all through: he knows well thatthe men in the street have no use for principles, because they canneither understand nor apply them; and that what they can understand andapply are arbitrary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive andinhuman, but at least definite rules enabling the common stupid man toknow where he stands and what he may do and not do without getting intotrouble. Now to all writers of the first order, these rules, and theneed for them produced by the moral and intellectual incompetence of theordinary human animal, are no more invariably beneficial and respectablethan the sunlight which ripens the wheat in Sussex and leaves the desertdeadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the ploughman's child rosy in themorning and striking the ploughman brainsick or dead in the afternoon;no more inspired (and no less) than the religion of the Andamanislanders; as much in need of frequent throwing away and replacement asthe community's boots. By writers of the second order the readymademorality is accepted as the basis of all moral judgment and criticism ofthe characters they portray, even when their genius forces them torepresent their most attractive heroes and heroines as violating thereadymade code in all directions. Far be it from me to pretend that thefirst order is more readable than the second! Shakespear, Scott, Dickens, Dumas _père_ are not, to say the least, less readable thanEuripides and Ibsen. Nor is the first order always more constructive;for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and Larochefoucauld did not get further inpositive philosophy than Ruskin and Carlyle, though they could snuffRuskin's Seven Lamps with their fingers without flinching. Still, thefirst order remains the first order and the second the second for allthat: no man who shuts his eyes and opens his mouth when religion andmorality are offered to him on a long spoon can share the sameParnassian bench with those who make an original contribution toreligion and morality, were it only a criticism. 

Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a stranger after 25years, I am proud to find that its morality is not readymade. Thedrunken prima donna of a bygone type of musical burlesque is notdepicted as an immoral person, but as a person with a morality of herown, no worse in its way than the morality of her highly respectablewine merchant in _its_ way. The sociology of the successful inventor ishis own sociology too; and it is by his originality in this respect thathe passes irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices that are setup to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, amiable, benevolent, andanxious to please and behave well, but hopelessly secondhand in hermorals and nicenesses, and consequently without any real moral force nowthat the threat of hell has lost its terrors for her, is left destituteamong the failures which are so puzzling to thoughtless people. "Icannot understand why she is so unlucky: she is such a nice woman!":that is the formula. As if people with any force in them ever werealtogether nice!

And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit of mine, andinvite you to note that the final chapter, so remote from Scott andDickens and so close to Ibsen, was written years before Ibsen came tomy knowledge, thus proving that the revolt of the Life Force againstreadymade morality in the nineteenth century was not the work of aNorwegian microbe, but would have worked itself into expression inEnglish literature had Norway never existed. In fact, when Miss Lord'stranslation of A Doll's House appeared in the eighteen-eighties, and soexcited some of my Socialist friends that they got up a private readingof it in which I was cast for the part of Krogstad, its novelty as amorally original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it staggeredEurope. I had made a morally original study of a marriage myself, andmade it, too, without any melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, andsuicides, though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At allevents, I chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing-room (ourgreen-room) whilst Eleanor Marx, as Nora, brought Helmer to book at theother side of the folding doors. Indeed I concerned myself very littleabout Ibsen until, later on, William Archer translated Peer Gynt to me_viva voce_, when the magic of the great poet opened my eyes in a flashto the importance of the social philosopher. 

I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be regarded as an earlyattempt on the part of the Life Force to write A Doll's House in Englishby the instrumentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And though Isay it that should not, the choice was not such a bad shot for a stupidinstinctive force that has to work and become conscious of itself bymeans of human brains. If we could only realize that though the LifeForce supplies us with its own purpose, it has no other brains to workwith than those it has painfully and imperfectly evolved in our heads, the peoples of the earth would learn some pity for their gods; and weshould have a religion that would not be contradicted at every turn bythe thing that is giving the lie to the thing that ought to be. 

WELWYN, _Sunday, June_ 25, 1905. 

BOOK I

THE IRRATIONAL KNOT

CHAPTER I

At seven o'clock on a fine evening in April the gas had just beenlighted in a room on the first floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth. Aman, recently washed and brushed, stood on the hearthrug before a pierglass, arranging a white necktie, part of his evening dress. He wasabout thirty, well grown, and fully developed muscularly. There was nocloud of vice or trouble upon him: he was concentrated and calm, makingno tentative movements of any sort (even a white tie did not puzzle himinto fumbling), but acting with a certainty of aim and consequenteconomy of force, dreadful to the irresolute. His face was brown, buthis auburn hair classed him as a fair man. 

The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was dusty and untidy. The paint and wall paper had not been renewed for years; nor did thepianette, which stood near the fireplace, seem to have been closedduring that time; for the interior was dusty, and the inner end of everykey begrimed. On a table between the windows were some tea things, witha heap of milliner's materials, and a brass candlestick which had beenpushed back to make room for a partially unfolded cloth. There was asecond table near the door, crowded with coils, batteries, agalvanometer, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece waslittered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton ware whichornamented it were filled with accounts, scraps of twine, buttons, andrusty keys. 

A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had beenaudible for some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and ahandsome young woman entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes, an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. She wasincompletely attired in a petticoat that did not hide her ankles, andstays of bright red silk with white laces and seams. Quite unconcernedat the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it tothe mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the glass. He, without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked atit earnestly for a moment, and said, "Have you got a pin about you?"

"There is one in the pincushion on my table, " she said; "but I thinkit's a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to. " Then, casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, andadded, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close imitation ofa violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin. On hisreturn she suddenly became curious, and said, "Where are you goingto-night, if one may ask?"

"I am going out. "

She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the mirror, saying, "Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive. "

"I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert atWandsworth. "

"Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?"

"No. She lives in Park Lane. "

"Oh! I beg her pardon. " The man made no comment on this; and she, afterlooking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest, continued, "How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know _you_, pray?"

"Why not?"

A long pause ensued. Then she said: "Stuff!", but without conviction. Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned hiswaistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet ofpink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once; openedit; stared incredulously at it; and said, "Pink paper, and scallopededges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess!Ahem! 'Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert will be givenat the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by theCountess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen. Miss Elinor McQuinch'--what a name! 'Miss Marian Lind'--who's MissMarian Lind?"

"How should I know?"

"I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would mostlikely be intimate with her. 'Mrs. Leith Fairfax. ' There is a Mrs. LeithFairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who arethe gentlemen? 'Mr. Marmaduke Lind'--brother to Miss Marian, I suppose. 'Mr. Edward Conolly'--save the mark! they must have been rather hard upfor gentlemen when they put _you_ down as one. The Conolly family islooking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether. 'Tickets will bedistributed to the families of working men by the Rev. GeorgeLind'--pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you. 'Alimited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn over. Part I. Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by JuliusBaker. Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker(aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)'. Good Lord! 'Song: Rosesoftly blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind. ' I wonder whether she cansing! 'Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin'--what rot! As if workingpeople cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see. 'Song:The Valley: Gounod. ' Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho! Here'ssomething sensible at last. 'Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr. MarmadukeLind, accompanied by himself on the banjo. '

 Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum-- 'And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned; An' him dead long ago, long ago. An' he had no hair on the top of his head In the place where the wool ought to grow, '

Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double _encore_; and no one will take theleast notice of you or the others. 'Recitation. The Faithful Soul. Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax. ' Well, this certainly is a blessedattempt to amuse Wandsworth. _Another_ reading by the Rev. ----"

Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the programdeftly from his sister's fingers, and left the room. She, after damninghim very heartily, returned to the glass, and continued dressing, taking her tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when she sentfor a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre, Soho. 

Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to acommittee room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He wasgreeted by a clean shaven young clergyman who protested that he was gladto see him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked himbriefly, and went without further ceremony to the table, and was aboutto place his hat and overcoat on a heap of similar garments, when, observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he immediatelycrossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing anunderbred effect of being more prudent and observant than the rest. Thenhe looked at his program, and calculated how soon his turn to sing wouldcome. Then he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le Vallonready to his hand upon the table. Having made these arrangements with aself-possession that quite disconcerted the clergyman, he turned toexamine the rest of the company. 

His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young lady with lightbrown hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat near the fire. Beside her, on alower chair, was a small, lean, and very restless young woman with keendark eyes staring defiantly from a worn face. These two were attended bya jovial young gentleman with curly auburn hair, who was twanging abanjo, and occasionally provoking an exclamation of annoyance from therestless girl by requesting her opinion of his progress in tuning theinstrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and handsome. He seemedunused to his present circumstances, and contemptuous, not of thecompany nor the object for which they were assembled, but in theabstract, as if habitual contempt were part of his nature. 

The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform an elderlyprofessor in a shabby frock coat, followed by three well-washedchildren, each of whom carried a concertina, now returned and sat downbeside a middle-aged lady, who made herself conspicuous by using a goldframed eyeglass so as to convey an impression that she was anexceedingly keen observer. 

"It is fortunate that the evening is so fine, " said the clergyman toher. 

"Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind?"

"My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. Ishall be so handicapped by the inevitable comparison of my elocutionwith yours, that I am glad the weather is favorable to me, though thecomparison is not. "

"No, " said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. "I am not in the least anorator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. Oh! I hope I have not brokenmy glasses. " They had slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly pickedthem up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers. 

"No harm done, madam, " said he, with a certain elocutionary correctness, and rather in the strong voice of the workshop than the subdued one ofthe drawing-room, handing the glasses to her ceremoniously as he spoke. 

"Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed. "

Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other group. 

"Who is that?" whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergyman. 

"Some young man who attracted the attention of the Countess by hissinging. He is only a workman. "

"Indeed! Where did she hear him sing?"

"In her son's laboratory, I believe. He came there to put up someelectrical machinery, and sang into a telephone for their amusement. Youknow how fond Lord Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he is agenius as an electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than the Countess, who thought of getting him to sing for us. "

"How very interesting! I saw that he was clever when he spoke to me. There is so much in trifles--in byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner ofpicking up my glass had his entire history in it. You will also see itin the solid development of his head. That young man deserves to beencouraged. "

"You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It would not be well toencourage him too much, however. You must recollect that he is not usedto society. Injudicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forgethis real place in it. "

"I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read human nature as Ido. You know that I am an expert. I see men as he sees a telegraphinstrument, quite uninfluenced by personal feeling. "

"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful above all thingsand des--at least I should say--er. That is, you will admit that thefinest perception may err in its estimate of the inscrutable work of theAlmighty. "

"Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are _so_ shallow! Iassure you there is nothing at all inscrutable about them to a trainedanalyst of character. It may be a gift, perhaps; but people's minds areto me only little machines made up of superficial motives. "

"I say, " said the young gentleman with the banjo, interrupting them:"have you got a copy of 'Rose softly blooming' there?"

"I!" said Mrs. Fairfax. "No, certainly not. "

"Then it's all up with the concert. We have forgotten Marian's music;and there is nothing for Nelly--I beg pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch--toplay from. She is above playing by ear. "

"I _cannot_ play by ear, " said the restless young lady, angrily. 

"If you will sing 'Coal black Rose' instead, Marian, I can accompany youon the banjo, and back you up in the chorus. The Wandsworthers--if theysurvive the concertinas--will applaud the change as one man. "

"It is so unkind to joke about it, " said the beautiful young lady. "Whatshall I do? If somebody will vamp an accompaniment, I can get on verywell without any music. But if I try to play for myself I shall breakdown. "

Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the clergyman. 

"That young man wants to speak to you, " whispered Mrs. Fairfax. 

"Oh, indeed. Thank you, " said the Rev. Mr. Lind, stiffly. "I suppose Ihad better see what he requires. "

"I suppose you had, " said Mrs. Fairfax, with some impatience. 

"I dont wish to intrude where I have no business, " said Conolly quietlyto the clergyman; "but I can play that lady's accompaniment, if she willallow me. "

The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this time--he did notknow why--to demur. "I am sure she will not object, " he said, pretendingto be relieved by the offer. "Your services will be most acceptable. Excuse me for one moment, whilst I inform Miss Lind. "

He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower tone, "I think Ihave succeeded in arranging the matter, Marian. That man says he willplay for you. "

"I hope he _can_ play, " said Marian doubtfully. "Who is he?"

"It is Conolly. Jasper's man. "

Miss Lind's eyes lighted. "Is that he?" she whispered, glancingcuriously across the room at him. "Bring him and introduce him to us. "

"Is that necessary?" said the tall man, without lowering his voicesufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing him. The clergymanhesitated. 

"It is quite necessary: I do not know what he must think of us already, "said Marian, ashamed, and looking apprehensively at Conolly. He wasstaring with a policemanlike expression at the tall man, who, after avain attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. The Rev. Mr. Lind then led the electrician forward, and avoided a formal presentationby saying with a simper: "Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate usfrom all our difficulties. "

Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook handsgood-naturedly, and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo. Justthen a faint sound of clapping was followed by the return of the quartetparty, upon which Miss Lind rose and moved hesitatingly toward theplatform. The tall man offered his hand. 

"Nonsense, Sholto, " said she, laughing. "They will expect you to dosomething if you appear with me. "

"Allow _me_, Marian, " said the clergyman, as the tall man, offended, bowed and stood aside. She, pretending not to notice her brother, turnedtoward Conolly, who at once passed the Rev. George, and led her to theplatform. 

"The original key?" he enquired, as they mounted the steps. 

"I dont know, " she said, alarmed. 

For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, "What is the highest noteyou can sing?"

"I can sing A sometimes--only when I am alone. I dare not attempt itbefore people. "

Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was a commonplace amateur. He had been contrasting her with his sister, greatly to thedisparagement of his home life; and he was disappointed to find the ladybreak down where the actress would have succeeded so well. Consolinghimself with the reflexion that if Miss Lind could not rap out a B flatlike Susanna, neither could she rap out an oath, he played theaccompaniment much better than Marian sang the song. Meanwhile, MissMcQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated herself for herinferior skill. 

"Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Franklin, " observedMarmaduke to her. 

"Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can donothing, " she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergymanwas nervously striving to converse. 

"Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?" said Mrs. Fairfax, coming tothe clergyman's rescue. 

"I do not care for music, " said Douglas. "I lack the maudlin dispositionin which the taste usually thrives. "

Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and theconversation dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received around of respectful but not enthusiastic applause. 

"Thank you, Mr. Conolly, " she said, as she left the platform. "I amafraid that Spohr's music is too good for the people here. Dont youthink so?"

"Not a bit of it, " replied Conolly. "There is nothing so very particularin Spohr. But he requires very good singing--better than he is worth. "

Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside MissMcQuinch, feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that nogentleman would have made. 

"Now then, Nelly, " said Marmaduke: "the parson is going to call time. Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up. "

"Do not be so boisterous, Duke, " said Marian. "It is bad enough to haveto face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand. "

"Marian, " said Marmaduke, "if you think Nelly will hammer a love ofmusic into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their livingby hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition. Bang! There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let ushope its trembling limbs wont come through the floor. "

"Really, Marmaduke, " said Marian, impatiently, "you are excessivelyfoolish. You are like a boy fresh from school. "

Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered whistle, and pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift of drollerywhich made it difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics, and Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she found Douglasbending over her and saying, in a low voice:

"You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it willgive you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made forwhatever else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get yourcloak and call a cab. "

Marian laughed. "Thank you, Sholto, " she said; "but I assure you I amquite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so uncomfortableas you think I ought to be. "

"I am glad you are happy, " said Douglas in his former cold tone. "Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment thanotherwise. "

"I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourselfto the circumstances, and be agreeable?"

"I am not conscious of being disagreeable. "

"I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy ofevery one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know musthurt you. "

"To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely indifferent, Marian. To that of your old friends I am accustomed. I am not in themood to be lectured on my behavior at present; besides, the subject ishardly worth pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shallgratify you by withdrawing?"

"Yes, " said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking steadily at him. Then, controlling her voice with an effort, she added, "Do not try againto browbeat me into telling you a falsehood, Sholto. "

Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could answer, Miss McQuinchreappeared. 

"Well, Nelly, " said Marmaduke: "is there any piano left?"

"Not much, " she replied, with a sullen laugh. "I never played worse inmy life. "

"Wrong notes? or deficiency in the sacred fire?"

"Both. "

"I believe your song comes next, " said the clergyman to Conolly, who hadbeen standing apart, listening to Miss McQuinch's performance. 

"Who is to accompany me, sir?"

"Oh--ah--Miss McQuinch will, I am sure, " replied the Rev. Mr. Lind, smiling nervously. Conolly looked grave. The young lady referred toclosed her lips; frowned; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled. 

"Perhaps you would rather play your own accompaniment, " said theclergyman, weakly. 

Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, "I can do only one thing ata time, sir. "

"Oh, they are not very critical: they are only workmen, " said theclergyman, and then reddened deeply as Marmaduke gave him a veryperceptible nudge. 

"I'll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman myself, " saidConolly. "I had rather leave the song out than accompany myself. "

"Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind, " said MissMcQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; "but I have disgracedmyself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the songif I played the accompaniment. "

"I think you might try, Nell, " said Marmaduke, reproachfully. 

"I might, " retorted Miss McQuinch; "but I wont. "

"If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a shindy, "said Marmaduke. 

Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. "I am a very indifferentplayer, " she said; "but since no better is to be had, I will venture--ifMr. Conolly will trust me. "

Conolly bowed. 

"If you would rather not, " said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, "Iwill try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong. "

"I think Miss McQuinch had better play, " said Douglas. 

Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to theplatform with her without further ado. She was not a sympatheticaccompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it. She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lessonin courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next accompanied"Rose, softly blooming. " She was a little taken aback on finding that henot only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge, an accomplished singer. 

"Really, " she said as they left the platform, "you sing mostbeautifully. "

"One would hardly have expected it, " he said, with a smile. 

Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did notreturn the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without takingany further notice of him. 

"I congratulate you, " said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking athim, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of interest. "Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod's music!"

He assented politely with a movement of his head. 

"I know nothing at all about music, " said Mrs. Fairfax. 

"Very few people do. "

"I mean technically, of course, " she said, not quite pleased. 

"Of course. "

A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the firstverse of "Uncle Ned. "

"_Do_ come and listen, Nelly, " said Marian, returning to the door. Mrs. Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too. 

"Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?" said Marian in a lowvoice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain. 

"Not particularly, " said Miss McQuinch. 

"Sholto, " said Marian, "come and share our vulgar joy. We want you tojoin in the chorus. "

"Thank you, " said Douglas, "I fear I am too indifferent a vocalist to dojustice to the occasion. "

"Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong, " said Miss McQuinch. 

"Hush, " said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should retort. "There is the chorus. Shall we really join?"

Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sangwith him. Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at oneanother, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few wordsin a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture ofimpatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conollyto keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thriceencored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was beingcongratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending toignore Marmaduke's success. 

"I hope, Miss McQuinch, " he said in a low tone, "that you will be ableto relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she dislikeshaving to play accompaniments for strangers. "

"How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!" said Miss McQuinch, with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, sofiercely did he return it. 

When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and wasbuttoning his overcoat. 

"Really going at last, Sholto?" said Marian. Douglas bowed. 

"I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man, " said Marmaduke. "Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying to hear herrecite. " This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon theplatform. 

"Good night, " said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far hewas offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation. 

"Until to-morrow, farewell, " he said, approaching Marian, who gave himher hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. Heleft the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform torecite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes. 

"Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your nextsong?" said Conolly, sitting down near Marian. 

"Thank you, " said Marian, shrinking a little: "I think Miss McQuinchknows it by heart. " Then, still anxious to be affable to the workman, she added, "Lord Jasper says you are a great musician. "

"No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my amusement. "

"You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?"

"I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means ofturning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it comesto anything. "

"You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I'm afraid I dontknow what an electro-motor means. "

"I ought not to have mentioned it, " said Conolly. "It is so constantlyin my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to preventmyself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever. "

"But I like to hear you talk about it, " said Marian. "I always try tomake people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me bytrying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much--or aslittle--as they. "

"Well, then, " said Conolly, "an electro-motor is only an engine fordriving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is worked byelectricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now thatsteam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the electricengine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper, will makehis fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am driving at. "

Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was notinterested in the least. "Indeed!" she said. "How interesting that mustbe! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and tosing so exquisitely?"

"I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irishsailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music masterbrought him out in opera as a _buffo_. When he had roared his voiceaway, he went into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and lookedmore Italian than most genuine natives. He had no voice; so he becamefirst accompanist, then chorus master, and finally trainer for theoperatic stage. He speculated in an American tour; married out there;lost all his money; and came over to England, when I was only twelve, toresume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in America, and wasapprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench there forsix years. "

"I suppose your father taught you to sing. "

"No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capitalman to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; butonly the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching. He would have finished my career as a singer in two months if he hadtroubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing. "

"I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father orelse be silent about him. "

"Why?"

"Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I canunderstand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up;but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:"(Conolly's eyes had opened a little wider) "I am lecturing you, withoutthe least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind. "

"Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would neverget on if every practical man were to stand by his father's mistakes. However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is thefirst opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and Isuppose I have abused it. "

Marian laughed. "We had better stop apologizing to one another, " shesaid. "What about the accompaniments to our next songs?"

Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about Marianand Conolly. 

"I say, Nelly, " he whispered, "Marian and that young man seem to begetting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, andhe seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?"

"Jealous! Why should I be?"

"Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, butbecause you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you areby. "

"I wish you would go away. "

"Why? Dont you like me?"

"I _loathe_ you. Now, perhaps you understand me. "

"That's a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow, " said Marmaduke, roused. "I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglasdoes, by not speaking to you for a week. "

"I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me atall. "

"Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer onspeaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorrywhen you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me. "

"So I do, " said Elinor, stubbornly. 

"Very good, " said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then theconcertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared withrefreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him indispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda watera sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making smalltalk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew. 

"Well, Nelly, " said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch, and speaking in a low voice, "what do you think of Jasper's workman?"

"Not much, " replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. "He is veryconceited, and very coarse. "

"Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with hisunconventionality. I thought him rather amusing. "

"I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to peopleof that sort. "

"Then you consider him vulgar, " said Marian, disappointed. 

"N--no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He couldnt be that. "

"Sherry and soda, Marian?" said Marmaduke, approaching. 

"No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something. "

"As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her tothe care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on teetotalgrounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shillingsherry. "

"Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda water. "

"Do nothing of the sort, " said Miss McQuinch. 

Marmaduke bowed and retired. 

"What is the matter between you and Duke now?" said Marian. 

"Nothing. I told him I loathed him. "

"Oh! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. How _can_ you saythings you dont mean?"

"I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto's mean conceit, George'shypocrisy, that man's vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax's affectation, yourinsufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those concertina people, I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybodyand everybody. "

"Nonsense, Nelly! You are only in the blues. "

"_Only_ in the blues!" said Miss McQuinch sarcastically. "Yes. That isall. "

"Take some sherry. It will brighten you up. "

"Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present moroseness. "

"But you are not morose, Nelly. "

"Oh, stuff, Marian! Dont throw away your amiability on me. Here comesyour new friend with refreshments. I wonder was he ever a waiter? Helooks exactly like one. "

After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax grew loquacious underthe influence of sherry, but presently a reaction set in, and she beganto yawn. Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before, and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid littleattention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received withthe respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read acomic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode toMazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a quartet by Onslow. The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who sat nearthe door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them. 

"The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction likethat!" she said. "What do people of their class care about Onslow'squartets?"

"Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratifiedby such an entertainment?" said Conolly, with some warmth. No one hadsufficient spirit left to reply. 

At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close. Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, sang "Tom Bowling. " The audienceawoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On hisreturn to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate ofBowling, and indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly atConolly through a film of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the peoplealso were so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with roars ofmerriment forced him to sing three songs, in the choruses of which theyjoined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them go home, as Mr. Lindhad given them all the songs he knew. 

"I suppose you will not come with us, Duke, " said Marian, when all wasover, and they were preparing to leave. "We can drop you at yourchambers if you like; but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. LeithFairfax, George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful. "

Marmaduke looked at his watch. "By Jove!" he cried, "it is only ten. Iforgot how early we began to-night. No thank you, Marian: I am not goingyour way; but you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta ta!"

They all went out together; and the ladies, followed by the clergyman, entered their carriage and drove away, leaving Marmaduke and Conollystanding on the pavement. Having shared the success of the concert, each felt well disposed to the other. 

"What direction are you going in?" said Marmaduke. 

"Westminster Bridge or thereabouts, " replied Conolly. "This place israther out of the way. "

"Have you anything particular to do before you turn in for the night?"

"Nothing at all. "

"Then I'll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a hansom, and driveoff to the Bijou. We shall just be in time to see Lalage Virtue in theburlesque; and--look here! I'll introduce you to her: youre just thesort of chap she would like to know. Eh?"

Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laughing. Marmaduke, whohad set him down as a cool, undemonstrative man, was surprised at hishilarity for a moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were bothlaughing a hansom appeared, and Conolly, recovering himself, hailed thedriver. 

"We shall get on together, I see, " said Marmaduke, jumping into the cab. "Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, Soho, and drive as fast as you can afford tofor half a sovereign. "

"Right you are, sir, " replied the driver, whipping his horse. 

The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly; but his companion persistedfor some time in describing the burlesque to which they were going, andparticularly the attractions of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacteda principal character therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love. When they alighted at the theatre Marmaduke payed the cabman, andConolly took advantage of this to enter the theatre and purchase twostall tickets, an arrangement which Lind, suddenly recollecting his newfriend's position, disapproved of, but found it useless to protestagainst. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage Virtue, who was atthat moment singing within; and he went to his stall with his eyesturned to the stage, treading on toes and stumbling as children commonlydo when they walk in one direction and look in another. An attendant, who seemed to know him, proffered a glass for hire. He took it, andleveled it at Mademoiselle Lalage, who was singing some trivial coupletsmuch better than they deserved. Catching sight of him presently, shegreeted him with a flash of her dark eye that made him writhe as thoughhis heart had received a fillip from a ponderable missile. She did notspare these roguish glances. They darted everywhere; and Conolly, looking about him to note their effect, saw rows of callow young faceswith parted lips and an expression which seemed to have been caught andfixed at the climax of a blissful chuckle. There were few women in thestalls, and the silly young faces were relieved only by stupid old ones. 

The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marmaduke placed his glass onhis knees, and, clapping his hands vigorously, turned to his companionwith a triumphant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a repetitionof the air. But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheekflushed, and his brow lowered. 

"You dont seem used to this sort of thing, " said Lind, somewhatdisgusted. 

"It was well sung, " replied Conolly "--better than most of theseblackguards know. "

"Then why dont you clap?"

"Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That sort of thing, from a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say 'thank you' for. "

Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggishfellow after all. But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalagecharmed away this disagreeable impression. She warbled in an amorousduet, and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her head; wavinga gilt goblet; and, without the least appearance of effort, working hardto captivate those who were to be won by bold smiles and arch glances. She displayed her person less freely than her colleagues, being, notmore modest, but more skilful in the art of seduction. The slang thatserved for dialogue in her part was delivered in all sorts ofintonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock tragic. Marmaduke was delighted. 

"What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady, " hesaid, as her exit released his attention. "With all her go, she is nevera bit vulgar. Off the stage she is just the same. Not a spark ofaffectation about her. It is all natural. "

"You know her, then?" said Conolly. 

"I should think I do, " replied Marmaduke, energetically. "You have noidea what a rattling sort she is. "

"To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she gives--as arattling sort--a heightened charm to the order, the refinement, the--thebeauty of the home life which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing sucha subject, Mr. Lind; but would you bring your cousin--the lady who sangto-night at the concert--to see this performance?"

"I would if she asked me to, " said Marmaduke, somewhat taken aback. 

"No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked you?"

"Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor such angels asyou--as some fellows think. Miss Lind's notion is to see everything. Andyet she is a thoroughly nice woman too. It is the same with Lalagethere. She is not squeamish, and she is full of fun; but she knows aswell as anybody how to pull up a man who doesnt behave himself. "

"And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable awoman as your cousin?"

"Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of comparingthem if you hadnt started the idea. Marian's way is not the other one'sway, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look here. I'llintroduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to make a partyfor you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe's. "

"Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?"

"Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you see, that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but itdepends on the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. Bythe bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalageis as correct in her morals as a bishop's wife. I just tell you, becausesome fellows seem to think that a woman who goes on the stage leaves herpropriety behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather thought somyself once. Not that you wont find loose women there as well asanywhere else, if you want to. But dont take it for granted, that'sall. "

"Well, " said Conolly, "you may introduce me, and we can consider thesupper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained yourown introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she;and if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly formpromiscuous acquaintanceships. "

"A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. Shesaved my life. "

"Saved your life! That sounds romantic. "

"There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being alivenow to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I wasbrought behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We werepainting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were notparticularly sober either; and I was very green at that time, and made afool of myself about Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in themiddle of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and everything, and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew turned up, and we gotchatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow came in with abag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick--you know--takingthe end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into themouth without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and Iwas just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me adrive in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in mythroat. I began to choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they werepushing me about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girlsbeginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me to swallow theconfounded thing, I was getting black in the face, and my head wasbursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a near thing, I tellyou. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a stunningthump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my palate. Igasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my throat still. Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth wide;and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was Lalage who did thiswhile the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont remember what followed. Ithought I had fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and talkedthe most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the choking made mehysterical. However, I distinctly recollect the stage manager bullyingthe girls, and turning us all out. I was very angry with myself forbeing childish, as they told me I had been; and when I got back toCambridge I actually took to reading. A few months afterward I madeanother trip to town, and went behind the scenes again. She recognizedme, and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I improvedthe acquaintance; and now I know her pretty well. "

"You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concertwould have been equally useful in such an emergency?"

"I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet isover, we are annoying people by talking. "

"You are right, " replied Conolly. "Aha! Here is Miss Lalage again. "

Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smilefrom the actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance wastravelling toward him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested byConolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind, puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciouslyat Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, andcontinued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen herdisplay before. 

Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-enteredit by the stage door. 

"Queer place, isnt it?" said Lind. 

Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingylabyrinth of old-fashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. Shewas much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry. 

"Well?" she said quarrelsomely. 

Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, butto Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified. 

"I have come to see you act at last, " said Conolly. 

"You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall, although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your moneylike a fool. "

"I must admit, my dear, " said Conolly, "that I could have spent it tomuch greater advantage. "

"Indeed! and you!" she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening colorbetrayed his growing mortification: "what is the matter with _you_?"

"I have played a trick on your friend, " said Conolly. "He suggested thisvisit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us. Finding us onterms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally surprised. "

"As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs, " saidMarmaduke to Lalage, "I need not apologize for not knowing your husband. But I regret----"

The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. "Why, you silly oldthing!" she exclaimed, "he is no more my husband than you are!"

"Oh!" said Marmaduke. "Indeed!"

"I am her brother, " said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile. 

"Why, " said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, "what elsedid you think?"

"Hush, " said Conolly, "we are talking too much in this crowd. You hadbetter change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to donext. "

"You can settle what you please, " she replied. "I am going home. "

"Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together, " said Conolly, observingher curiously. 

Susanna looked quickly at them. 

"Who is Mr. Lind?" she said. 

"Your friend, of course, " said Conolly, with an answering flash ofintelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly. "Mr. Marmaduke Lind. "

Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain. 

"I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper, " he said toSusanna. 

"Did you?" she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him andwent to her dressing-room. 

"Well, Mr. Lind, " said Conolly, "what do you think of MademoiselleLalage now?"

"I think her annoyance is very natural, " said Marmaduke, gloomily. "Nodoubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very muchmistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her. "

"It is no part of my duty to take care of her, " said Conolly, seriously. "She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouragedto suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself. "

"It doesnt matter now, " said Marmaduke; "for I intend never to speak toher again. "

Conolly laughed. "However that may turn out, " he said, "we are evidentlynot in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone the supperto some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susannareturns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night. "

"I dont want any reconciliation. "

"Of course not; I had forgotten, " replied Conolly, placably. "Then Isuppose you will go before she has finished dressing. "

"I shall go now, " said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and turningaway. 

"Good-night, " said Conolly. 

"Good-night, " muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared. 

Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He thenwent for a cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came down, frowning. She got into the hansom without a word. 

"Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?" he said, as they drove away. 

"Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather payfour shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be halfsuffocated. "

"I thought the appearance of----"

"There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say goingover these stones. "

When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he, after walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly tohimself, began to sing the couplets from the burlesque. 

"Are you aware, " she inquired, "that it is half past twelve, and thatthe people of the house are trying to sleep. "

"True, " said he, desisting. "By the bye, I, too, have had my triumphsthis evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, whowas so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. Heloves you to distraction, poor devil!"

"Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?"

"Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again. "

"Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?"

"Didnt you know?"

"No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening. Theyoung villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp. "

"Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire thatsnaps at every one who presumes to talk to her. "

"His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are theylike? Are they swells?"

"Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and ayoung woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking. There was abrother of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow namedDouglas, who made rather a fool of himself. I could not make him outexactly. "

"Did they snub you?"

"I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you intimate with many of ouryoung nobility under assumed names?"

"Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find out. "

"Good-night! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the verysweetest of Susannas to-night. "

"Oh, _good_-night. "

"By the bye, " said Conolly, returning, "this must be the Mr. Duke Lindwho is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil's sister. "

"I am sure it matters very little whom he marries. "

"If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfectfrankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, hemay find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal. Good-night. "

CHAPTER II

Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father, the fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr. ReginaldHarrington Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in lifeexcept that of getting through it as easily as possible; and this heunderstood so little how to achieve that he suffered himself to bemarried at the age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner's heiress. She bore him three children, and then eloped with a professor ofspiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of her fourth confinement, inthe course of which she caught scarlet fever and died. Her childsurvived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in the usualmanner. Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had beenintroduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends, some one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, hefelt sure, have taken the place of the foreign charlatan she haddisgraced him by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste byentering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity of newjewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an income of nearly seventhousand pounds a year. After this, he became so welcome in society thathe could have boasted with truth at the end of any July that there werefew marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward in London who hadnot been submitted to his inspection with a view to matrimony. Butfinding it easy to delegate the care of his children to schoolprincipals and hospitable friends, he concluded that he had nothing togain and much comfort to lose by adding a stepmother to hisestablishment; and, after some time, it became the custom to say of Mr. Lind that the memory of his first wife kept him single. Thus, whilst hissons were drifting to manhood through Harrow and Cambridge, and hisdaughter passing from one relative's house to another's on a continualround of visits, sharing such private tuition as the cousins with whomshe happened to be staying happened to be receiving just then, he livedat his club and pursued the usual routine of a gentleman-bachelor inLondon. 

In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, entered thearmy, and went to India with his regiment. His brother George, lessstolid, weaker, and more studious, preferred the Church. Marian, theyoungest, from being constantly in the position of a guest, had earlyacquired habits of self-control and consideration for others, andescaped the effects, good and evil, of the subjection in which childrenare held by the direct authority of their parents. 

Of the numerous domestic circles of her father's kin, that with whichshe was the least familiar, because it was the poorest, had sprung fromthe marriage of one of her father's sisters with a Wiltshire gentlemannamed Hardy McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farming, anda love of hunting. In the estimation of the peasantry, who would notassociate lands, horses, and a carriage, with want of money, he was arich man; but Mrs. McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on theirincome, and had worn many lines into her face by constantly and vainlywishing that she could afford to give a ball every season, to get a newcarriage, and to appear at church with her daughters in new dressesoftener than twice a year. Her two eldest girls were plump and pleasant, good riders and hearty eaters; and she had reasonable hopes of marryingthem to prosperous country gentlemen. 

Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her troubles. At anearly age it was her practice, once a week or thereabouts, to disappearin the forenoon; be searched anxiously for all day; and return with atorn frock and dirty face at about six o'clock in the afternoon. She wasstubborn, rebellious, and passionate under reproof or chastisement:governesses had left the house because of her; and from one school shehad run away, from another eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses. Himshe deserted in a fit of jealousy, quarter of an hour after her escapefrom school. The only one of her tastes that conduced to the peace ofthe house was for reading; and even this made her mother uneasy; for thebooks she liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch's opinion, for thebookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could obtain by asking, suchas Lamb's Tales from Shakespear, and The Pilgrim's Progress. The ArabianNights Entertainments were sternly refused her; so she read them bystealth; and from that day there was always a collection of books, borrowed from friends, or filched from the upper shelf in the library, beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of looking there for them; and evenif they had, they might have paused to reflect on the consequences ofbetraying her. Her eldest sister having given her a small workbox on hereleventh birthday, had the present thrown at her head two days later forreporting to her parents that Nelly's fondness for sitting in a certainsecluded summer-house was due to her desire to read Lord Byron's poetryunobserved. Miss Lydia's forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, thoughbitterly remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, butshattered every brittle article in the room to which she was confinedfor her contumacy. The vicar, on being consulted, recommended that sheshould be well whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch, but he gave his wife leave to use her discretion in the matter. Themother thought that the child ought to be beaten into submission; butshe was afraid to undertake the task, and only uttered a threat, whichwas received with stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next day whenElinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, rage, and suspense, became dangerously ill. When she recovered, her parents were moreindulgent to her, and were gratified by finding her former passionateresistance replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinorbegan to write fiction. The beginning of a novel, and many incoherentverses imitated from Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt byher father. This outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make herresentment felt, for she no longer cared to break glass and china. Shefeared even to remonstrate lest she should humiliate herself by burstinginto tears, as, since her illness, she had been prone to do in the leastagitation. So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of herparents except when they addressed questions to her. Her father wouldneither complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his hastydestruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he wouldburn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he tookcare to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles offoolscap, and snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretlydisobeying him. Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and thelife of the family was embittered by their consciousness of it. It neveroccurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent mother to her two eldestdaughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of the youngest thana turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their relationsnever shook her faith in their "naturalness. " Like her husband and thevicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their parentsfit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents' tyranny, as she feltit to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in afalse position towards her. 

One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken ahouse in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently withhis daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: "I knewthere was something the matter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. Itmust be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am veryglad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like abachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. Iwish we could have afforded to ask her down here oftener. "

"Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly, " said Lydia, who hadbeen examining the envelope. 

"To Nelly!" said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. "I think she should have invitedone of you first. "

"Perhaps it is not an invitation, " said Jane. 

"What else is it likely to be, child?" said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as shethought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, sheadded, "After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. Sheneeds change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of herto be always late like this. "

Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face pale;her eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in wispsover her forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin andgold lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and gregarious, they enjoyed the reputation of being pretty and affectionate. They hadthriven in the soil that had starved Elinor. 

"There's a letter for you from Marian, " said Mrs. McQuinch. 

"Thanks, " said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her pocket. She liked Marian's letters, and kept them to read in her hours ofsolitude. 

"What does she say?" said Mrs. McQuinch. 

"I have not looked, " replied Elinor. 

"Well, " said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, "I wish you _would_ look. Iwant to know whether she says anything about this letter from your uncleReginald. "

Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, and read it. Suddenly she set her face to hide some emotion from her family. 

"Marian wants me to go and stay with her, " she said. "They have taken ahouse. "

"Poor Marian!" said Jane. "And will you go?"

"I will, " said Elinor. "Have you any objection?"

"Oh dear, no, " said Jane, smoothly. 

"I suppose you will be glad to get away from your home, " said Mrs. McQuinch, incontinently. 

"Very glad, " said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, looked at her over hisnewspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was huffed. 

"I dont know what you are to do for clothes, " she said, "unless Lydiaand Jane are content to wear their last winter's dresses again thisyear. "

The faces of the young ladies elongated. "That's nonsense, mamma, " saidLydia. "We cant wear those brown reps again. " Women wore reps in thosedays. 

"You need not be alarmed, " said Elinor. "I dont want any clothes. I cango as I am. "

"You dont know what you are talking about, child, " said Mrs. McQuinch. 

"A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald's drawing-room with thatdress on!" said Lydia. 

"And your hair in that state!" added Jane. 

"You should remember that there are others to be considered besidesyourself, " said Lydia. "How would _you_ like _your_ guests to look likescarecrows?"

"How could you expect Marian to go about with you, or into the Park? Isuppose----"

"Here, here!" said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his paper. "Let us have nomore of this. What else do you need in the Park than a riding habit? Youhave that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better get inLondon, where you will get the proper things for your money. "

"Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London milliner four pricesfor things she can get quite as good down here. "

"I tell you I dont want anything, " said Elinor impatiently. "It will betime enough to begrudge me some decent clothes when I ask for them. "

"I dont begrudge----"

Mrs. McQuinch's husband interrupted her. "Thats enough, now, everybody. It's settled that she is to go, as she wants to. I will get her what isnecessary. Give me another egg, and talk about something else. "

Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Terrace. Marian had spenta month of her childhood in Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor anexacting friend, always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous andsulky for days if one of her sisters, or any other little girl, engagedher cousin's attention long. On the other hand, Elinor's attachment wasidolatrous in its intensity; and as Marian was sweet-tempered, and moreapt to fear that she had disregarded Elinor's feelings than to takeoffence at her waywardness, their friendship endured after they wereparted. Their promises of correspondence were redeemed by Elinor withvery long letters at uncertain intervals, and by Marian with shorterepistles notifying all her important movements. Marian, often calledupon to defend her cousin from the charge of being a little shrew, wasled to dwell upon her better qualities. Elinor found in Marian what shehad never found at her own home, a friend, and in her uncle's house arefuge from that of her father, which she hated. She had been Marian'scompanion for four years when the concert took place at Wandsworth. 

Next day they were together in the drawing-room at Westbourne Terrace:Marian writing, Elinor at the pianoforte, working at some technicalstudies, to which she had been incited by the shortcoming of herperformance on the previous night. She stopped on hearing a bell ring. 

"What o'clock is it?" she said, after listening a moment. "Surely it istoo early for a visit. "

"It is only half past two, " replied Marian. "I hope it is not anybody. Ihave not half finished my correspondence. "

"If you please, Miss, " said a maid, entering, "Mr. Douglas wants to seeyou, and he wont come up. "

"I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him in the hall, " saidElinor. 

"He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most particular, " saidthe maid. 

"Tell him I will come down, " said Marian. 

"He heard me practising, " said Elinor, "that is why he would not comeup. I am in disgrace, I suppose. "

"Nonsense, Nelly! But indeed I have no doubt he has come to complain ofour conduct, since he insists on seeing me alone. "

Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian's guileless eyes, but resumedher technical studies without saying anything. Marian went to thedining-room, where she found Douglas standing near the window, tall andhandsome, frock coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness thatestablished a sort of relationship between him and the sideboard, thecondition of which did credit to Marian's influence over her housemaids. He looked intently at her as she bade him good morning. 

"I am afraid I am rather early, " he said, half stiffly, halfapologetically. 

"Not at all, " said Marian. 

"I have come to say something which I do not care to keep unsaid longerthan I can help; so I thought it better to come when I could hope tofind you alone. I hope I have not disturbed you. I have somethingrather important to say. "

"You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, Sholto. But I believeyou delight in stiffness and ceremony. Will you not come upstairs?"

"I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to apologize to you forwhat passed last night. "

"Pray dont, Sholto: it doesnt matter. I am afraid we were rude to you. "

"Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before made an apology toany human being; and I should not do so now without a painful convictionthat I forgot what I owed to myself. "

"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself--I mean for never havingapologized before. I am quite sure you have not got through life withouthaving done at least one or two things that required an apology. "

"I am sorry you hold that opinion of me. "

"How is Brutus's paw?"

"Brutus!"

"Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax callsa display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk aboutanything you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is. "

"His paw is nearly healed. "

"I'm so glad--poor old dear!"

"You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother's dog, Marian?"

"I supposed not, " said Marian, with a smile. "But now that you have madeyour apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there. "

"I have something else to say--to you alone, Marian. I entreat you tolisten to it seriously. " Marian looked as grave as she could. "Iconfess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before youenter upon another London season, through which I cannot be at yourside, I would obtain from you some assurance of the nature of yourregard for me. I do not wish to harass you with jealous importunity. Youhave given me the most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different fromthat which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and gentleman insociety; but of late it has seemed to me that you maintain as littlereserve toward other men as toward me. I am not thinking of Marmaduke:he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working man who sang atthe concert last night was received--I do not say intentionally--with acordiality which might have tempted a more humbly disposed person thanhe seemed to be to forget----" Here Douglas, seeing Marian's bearingchange suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes, always pleading forpeace like those of a good angel, were now full of reproach; and hermouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that she was at heart anobstinate woman. 

"Sholto, " she said, "I dont know what to say to you. If this isjealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is alecture, seriously intended, it is--it is really most insulting. Whatdo you mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Ofcourse I think of you very differently from the chance acquaintances Imake in society. It would be strange if I did not, having known you solong and been your mother's guest so often. But you talk almost as if Ihad been making love to you. "

"No, " said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speakingangrily and naturally; "but you talk as though I had not been makinglove to _you_. "

"If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it. "

"Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you mustbe the most innocent. "

"Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between usthat justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now. "

"Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledgethem, it would be useless to cite them. "

"All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another, " shesaid, after a pause. 

He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angrydetermination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:

"But I shall know better in future. "

"True, " said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a step. "You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the assurance Iseek?"

"What assurance?"

Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently. 

"You expect me to know everything by intuition, " she said. 

"Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do youlove me?"

"No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not--in the wayyou mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all goton so pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and myfather. And now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray letus agree to forget all about it, and remain friends as before. "

"You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall notembarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman capableof appreciating a man's passion, even if you should be unable to respondto it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet aware of thedeeper life that underlies the ice of conventionality. "

"That is a very good metaphor for your own case, " said Marian, interrupting him. "Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling. One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only anadditional inducement to keep on the surface. "

"Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiableto the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treacheryfor me?"

"No, no, " she said, angelic again. "You have taken me up wrongly. I didnot mean to taunt you. "

"You conceal your meaning as skilfully as--according to you--I haveconcealed mine. Good-morning. "

"Are you going already?"

"Do you care one bit for me, Marian?"

"I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends. "

"I do not want to be _one_ of your friends. Will you be my wife?"

"Sholto!"

"Will you be my wife?"

"No. I----"

"Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning. "

The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had atemper. She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door closebehind him. Then she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where MissMcQuinch was still practising. 

"Oh, Nelly, " she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, andcovering her face with her hands. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" She opened herfingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stagebusiness, said, impatiently:

"Well?"

"Do you know what Sholto came for?"

"To propose to you. "

"Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest. He _has_ proposed. "

"When will the wedding be?"

"Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or whatthe meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspectthat he was--what shall I say?--_courting_ me?"

"I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I fullyexpected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile himselfto a wife who was not afraid of him. "

"And you never told me. "

"I thought you saw it for yourself; particularly as you encouraged him. "

"There! The very thing he has been accusing me of! He said I had givenhim unequivocal tokens--yes, unequivocal tokens--that I was madly inlove with him. "

"What did you say?--if I may ask. "

"I tried to explain things to him; but he persisted in asking me would Ibe his wife; and when I refused he would not listen to anything else, and went off in a rage. "

"Yes, I can imagine Sholto's feelings on discovering that he hadhumbled himself in vain. Why did you refuse him?"

"Why! Fancy being Sholto's wife! I would as soon think of marryingMarmaduke. But I cannot forget what he said about my flirting with him. Nelly: will you promise to tell me whenever you think I am behaving in away that might lead anybody on to--like Sholto, you know?"

"Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of themselves, you cannot preventthem. Hush! I hear someone coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I think. "

"Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He generally comes up threesteps at a time. "

"Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont speak to me. "

Marmaduke entered listlessly. "Good morning, Marian, " he said, sittingdown on an uncomfortable chair. "Good morrow, Nell. "

Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted him snappishly. 

"Is there anything the matter, Duke?" said Marian. "Are you ill?"

"No, I'm all right. Rather busy: thats all. "

"Busy!" said Elinor. "There must be something even more unusual thanthat, when you are too low spirited to keep up a quarrel with me. Whydont you sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after yourmanner?"

"Anything for a quiet life, " he replied, moving to the ottoman. 

"You must be hungry, " said Marian, puzzled by his obedience. "Let me getyou something. "

"No, thank you, " said Marmaduke. "I couldnt eat. Just had lunch. Ivecome to pack up a few things of mine that you have here. "

"We have your banjo. "

"Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in the fire, for all Icare. I want some clothes I left behind me when we had the theatricals. "

"Are you leaving London?"

"Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I think I ought to gohome for a while. My mother wants me to. "

Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, conveyed the mostentire scepticism as to his solicitude about his mother. She then turnedto the piano calmly, observing, "You have probably eaten something thatdisagrees with you. "

"What a shame!" said Marian. "Come, Duke: I have plenty of good news foryou. Nelly and I are invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and therewill be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole place toourselves. "

"Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile, " said Marmaduke, gloomily. 

"Well, " said Miss McQuinch, "here is some better news for you. Constance--_Lady_ Constance--will be in town next week. "

Marmaduke muttered something. 

"I beg your pardon?" said Elinor, quickly. 

"I didnt say anything. "

"I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say 'Hang Lady Constance!'. "

"Oh, Marmaduke!" cried Marian, affectedly. "How dare you speak so ofyour betrothed, sir?"

"Who says she is my betrothed?" he said, turning on her angrily. 

"Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it. "

"She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask her, " he said, subsiding. "I'm not betrothed to her; and I dont intend to become so ina hurry, if I can help it. But you neednt tell your father I said so. Itmight get round to my governor; and then there would be a row. "

"You _must_ marry her some day, you know, " said Elinor, maliciously. 

"_Must_ I? I shant marry at all. I've had enough of women. "

"Indeed? Perhaps they have had enough of you. " Marmaduke reddened. "Youseem to have exhausted the joys of this world since the concert lastnight. Are you jealous of Mr. Conolly's success?"

"Your by-play when you found how early it was at the end of the concertwas not lost on us, " said Marian demurely. "You were going somewhere, were you not?"

"Since you are so jolly curious, " said Marmaduke, unreasonably annoyed, "I went to the theatre with Connolly; and my by-play, as you call it, simply meant my delight at finding that we could get rid of you in timeto enjoy the evening. "

"With Conolly!" said Marian, interested. What kind of man is he?"

"He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself. "

"Yes. But is he well educated, and--and so forth?"

"Dont know, I'm sure. We didnt talk about mathematics and classics. "

"Well; but--do you like him?"

"I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or the other, " saidMarmaduke, rising and walking away to the window. His cousins, astonished, exchanged looks. 

"Very well, Marmaduke, " said Marian softly, after a pause: "I wont teaseyou any more. Dont be angry. "

"You havnt teased me, " said he, coming back somewhat shamefacedly fromthe window. "I feel savage to-day, though there is no reason why Ishould not be as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some Chopin, just to soothe me. I should like to hear that polonaise again. "

"I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word, " saidElinor. "But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not sofond of Chopin as you and I. "

Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman, with delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky lightbrown hair curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly. His hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and small thumbs. 

"How do you do, sir?" said Marmaduke, blushing. 

"Thank you: I am better than I have been. "

Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as ifpressed for time. "I must be off now, " he said, rising. "I was justgoing when you came in. "

"So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from yourfather this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life. "

"I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir. "

"You have very good opportunities--very exceptional opportunities. HasMarian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next week?"

"Yes: we told him, " said Marian. 

"He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us, " addedElinor. 

Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as hewas, of the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled too, except Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his countenancelike the Man in the Iron Mask. "It is quite true, my boy, " said theuncle, kindly. "But before she arrives, I should like to have a talkwith you. When can you come to breakfast with me?"

"Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad. "

"Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too soon?"

"Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir. "

"Good evening to you. "

When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering whichway to go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to spend theafternoon with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killingtime. On one point he was determined. There was a rehearsal that day atthe Bijou Theatre; and thither, at least, he would not go. He drove toCharing Cross, and drifted back to Leicester Square. He turned away fromthe theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he thought he wouldreturn as far as the Criterion, and drink. Finally he arrived at thestage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether the rehearsal wasover. 

"Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh tilthe stage is wanted for to-night, " said the janitor. "I'd as lief youdwait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and heaint in the best o' tempers. I'll send word up. "

Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping andsinging began. 

"Thats the new procession, " continued the doorkeeper. "Sixteen hextrastook on for it. It's Miss Virtue's chance for lunch, sir: you wont havelong to wait now. "

Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmadukestarted, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry, and in haste, hurried towards the door. 

"Come! Come on, " she said impatiently to him, as she went out. "Go andget a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to getback sharp. Do be qu----there goes a hansom. Hi!" She whistled shrilly, and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to arestaurant in Regent Street. 

"I am absolutely starving, " she said as they drove off. "I have been insince eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band forhalf-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad. "

"Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properlyfor next day?"

"Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal. It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you. "

"I have no doubt you did. "

"This horse thinks he's at a funeral. What o'clock is it?"

"It's only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time. "

When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized thetables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorouselderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a billof fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waitersharply. 

"Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be athick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its doneto a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some springcabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne--the decentest youhave. And be quick. "

"And what for you, sir?" said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke. 

"Never mind him, " interrupted Susanna. "Go and attend to me. "

The waiter bowed and retired. 

"Old stick-in-the-mud!" muttered Miss Lalage. "Is it half-past fouryet?"

"No. It's only quarter past. There's lots of time. "

Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak, the vegetables, and the pint of champagne--less a glassful taken by hercompanion--had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, andconsumed two ices. 

"Have an ice to finish up with?" he said. 

"No. I cant work on sweets, " she replied. "But I am beginning to feelalive again and comfortable. Whats the time?"

"Confound the time!" said Marmaduke. "It's twenty minutes to five. "

"Well, I'll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of anhour yet. "

"Thank heaven!" said Marmaduke. "I was afraid I should not be able toget a word with you. "

"That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind. What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?"

"It's the name of a cousin of mine, " said Marmaduke, attempting todismiss the subject with a laugh. 

"It may be your cousin's name; but it's not yours. By the bye, is thatthe cousin youre engaged to?"

"What cousin? I'm not engaged to anybody. "

"That's a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, MasterMarmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do _you_want?"

It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on thetable. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket. 

"Just wait a minute, please, " said Susanna. The waiter retired. 

"Now then, " she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, "let us haveno more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay thatbill or am I?"

"I am, of course. "

"There is no of course in it--not yet, anyhow. What are you hangingabout the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think. "

Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, andsaid, "Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother lastnight. But upon my soul I had no idea--"

"That's not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. Whenyou came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I madefriends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies aboutyourself, and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give thatup or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage door again if you onlywant to amuse yourself like other lounging cads about town. "

"What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad abouttown?" said Marmaduke angrily. 

"I hope youre not going to make a row here in public. "

"No; but I have you where _you_ cant make a row; and I intend to have itout with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me HeavenI'll never speak to you again!"

"It is you who are quarrelling. "

"Very well, " said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter weredecided. "Waiter. "

"I am going to pay. "

"So you can--for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strangemen, nor pay for their ices. "

Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glancedangrily at her; and muttered, "I never thought you were that sort ofwoman. "

"What sort of woman?" demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the otheroccupants of the room turn and stare. 

"Never mind, " said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw himlooking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came. Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money, changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Findingnothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain, glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth. 

"There, " said Susanna, putting down a sovereign. 

Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin andthanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, "You must let me settlewith you for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket ofanother waistcoat. "

"You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night orany other night. I am done with you. " And she rose and left therestaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he wentout, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face insearch of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a littledistance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her. 

"Look here, Lalage, " he said, keeping up with her as she walked: "thisis all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean, orwhat you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable. "

No answer. 

"I can stand a good deal from you; but it's too much to be kept at yourheels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. _Lalage_. " She took nonotice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features, whichwere distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street. When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her. 

"If you wont stop and talk to me, " he said, "I'll make you. If anybodyinterferes with me I'll smash him into jelly. It would serve you rightif I did the same to you. "

He put his hand on her arm; and she instantly turned and struck himacross the face, knocking off his hat. He, who a moment before had beenexcited, red, and almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in amoment; and a cabman drew up close to the kerb with a calm convictionthat his hansom would be wanted presently. 

"How dare you put your hand on me, you coward?" she exclaimed, withremarkable crispness of utterance and energy of style. "Who are you? Idont know you. Where are the police?" She paused for a reply; and abracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped on the pavement, and was officiously picked up and handed to her by a battered old womanwho shewed in every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman turning atbay against Man. Susanna looked at the broken bracelet, and tears ofvexation sprang to her eyes. "Look at what youve done!" she cried, holding out the bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape which haddrawn blood on her right wrist. "For two pins I'd knock your head off!"

Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly very angry, vacillated for a moment between his conflicting impulses to knock herdown and to fly to the utmost ends of the earth. If he had been tenyears older he would probably have knocked her down: as it was, hesigned to the cabman, who gathered up the reins and held them clear ofhis fare's damaged hat with the gratification of a man whose judgment ina delicate matter had just been signally confirmed by events. 

As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which was pulled up, amid a shout from the crowd, just in time to prevent an accident. Then, holding on to the rail and standing on the step, she addressed herselfto the cabman, and, sacrificing all propriety of language to intensityof vituperation, demanded whether he wanted to run his cab over her bodyand kill her. He, with undisturbed foresight, answered not a word, butagain shifted the reins so as to make way for her bonnet. Acknowledgingthe attention with one more epithet, she seated herself in the cab, fromwhich Marmaduke at once indignantly rose to escape. But the hardiestGrasmere wrestler, stooping under the hood of a hansom, could not resista vigorous pull at his coat tails; and Marmaduke was presently back inhis seat again, with Susanna clinging to him and half sobbing:

"Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?" Then, with a suspiciouslysudden recovery of energy, she screamed "Bijou Theatre. Drive on, willyou" up at the cabman, who was looking down through the trapdoor. Thehorse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, she was fawning onMarmaduke's arm again, saying, "Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob. Icant bear it. I have enough trouble without your turning on me. "

He was young and green, and too much confused by this time to feel surethat he had not been the aggressor. But he did, on the whole, the wisestthing--folded his arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning. 

"Say something to me, " she said, shaking his arm. "I have nothing tosay, " he replied. "I shall leave town for home to-night. I cant shew myface again after this. "

"Home, " she said, in her former contemptuous tone, flinging his armaway. "That means your cousin Constance. "

"Who told you about her?"

"Never mind. You are engaged to her. "

"You lie!"

Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, wondering whether he wasdeceiving her or not. "Look me in the face, Bob, " she said. If he hadcomplied, she would not have believed him. But he treated the challengewith supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, obeying his maleinstinct, which taught him that the woman, with all the advantages onher side, would nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she camecaressingly to his shoulder again, and said:

"Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?"

"Damn it all, " he exclaimed, violently, "there is nothing to tell! I amnot engaged to her: on my oath I am not. My people at home talk about amatch between us as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dontcare for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford to saythat I wont marry her, because I am too hard up to quarrel with thegovernor, who has set his heart on it. You see, the way I amcircumstanced----"

"Oh, bother your circumstances! Look here, Bob, I dont want you tointroduce me to your swell relations; it is not worth _my_ while towaste time on people who cant earn their own living. And never mind yourgovernor: we can get on without him. If you are hard up for money, andhe is stingy, you had better get it from me than from the Jews. "

"I couldnt do that, " said Marmaduke, touched. "In fact, I am well enoughoff. By the bye, I must not forget to pay you for that lunch. But if Iever am hard up, I will come to you. Will that do?"

"Of course: that is what I meant. Confound it, here we are already. Youmustnt come in, you would only be in the way. Come to-night after theburlesque, if you like. Youre not angry with me, are you?"

Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she had released somespring, all his love for her suddenly surged up within him and got thebetter of him. "Wait--listen, " he said, in a voice half choked withtenderness. "Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall beruined if I marry you openly. Let us be married quietly, and keep itdark until I am more independent. "

"Married! Catch me at it--if you can. No, dear boy, I am very fond ofyou, and you are one of the right sort to make me the offer; but I wontlet you put a collar round _my_ neck. Matrimony is all very fine forwomen who have no better way of supporting themselves, but it wouldntsuit me. Dont look so dazed. What difference does it make to _you_?"

"But----" He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her. 

"Get out, you great goose!" she said, and suddenly sprang out of thehansom and darted into the theatre. 

He sat gaping after her, horrified--genuinely horrified. 

CHAPTER III

The Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with no sort of turn for being anobleman. He could not bring himself to behave as if he was anybody inparticular; and though this passed for perfect breeding whenever he bychance appeared in his place in society, on the magisterial bench, or inthe House of Lords, it prevented him from making the most of theearldom, and was a standing grievance with his relatives, many of whomwere the most impudent and uppish people on the face of the earth. Hewas, if he had only known it, a born republican, with no natural beliefin earls at all; but as he was rather too modest to indulge hisconsciousness with broad generalizations of this kind, all he knew aboutthe matter was that he was sensible of being a bad hand at hishereditary trade of territorial aristocrat. At a very early age he haddisgraced himself by asking his mother whether he might be a watchmakerwhen he grew up, and his feeble sense on that occasion of theimpropriety of an earl being anything whatsoever except an earl hadgiven his mother an imperious contempt for him which afterward gotcuriously mixed with a salutary dread of his moral superiority to her, which was considerable. His aspiration to become a watchmaker was anearly symptom of his extraordinary turn for mechanics. An apprenticeshipof six years at the bench would have made an educated workman of him: asit was, he pottered at every mechanical pursuit as a gentleman amateurin a laboratory and workshop which he had got built for himself in hispark. In this magazine of toys--for such it virtually was at first--hesatisfied his itchings to play with tools and machines. He was nosportsman; but if he saw in a shop window the most trumpery patentimprovement in a breechloader, he would go in and buy it; and as to anew repeating rifle or liquefied gas gun, he would travel to St. Petersburg to see it. He wrote very little; but he had sixteen differenttypewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an American agent, who had alsopledged himself that the other fifteen were miserable impostures. Areally ingenious bicycle or tricycle always found in him a readypurchaser; and he had patented a roller skate and a railway brake. Whenthe electric chair for dental operations was invented, he sacrificed atooth to satisfy his curiosity as to its operation. He could not playbrass instruments to any musical purpose; but his collection of doubleslide trombones, bombardons with patent compensating pistons, commatrumpets, and the like, would have equipped a small military band;whilst his newly tempered harmonium with fifty-three notes to eachoctave, and his pianos with simplified keyboards that nobody could playon, were the despair of all musical amateurs who came to stay at TowersCottage, as his place was called. He would buy the most expensive andelaborate lathe, and spend a month trying to make a true billiard ballat it. At the end of that time he would have to send for a professionalhand, who would cornet the ball with apparently miraculous skill in afew seconds. He got on better with chemistry and photography; but atlast he settled down to electrical engineering, and, giving up the ideaof doing everything with his own half-trained hand, kept a skilled manalways in his laboratory to help him out. 

All along there had been a certain love of the marvelous at the bottomof his fancy for inventions. Therefore, though he did not in the leastbelieve in ghosts, he would "investigate" spiritualism, and part withinnumerable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, and even ofturbaned rascals from the East, who would boldly offer at midnight tobring him out into the back yard and there and then raise the devil forhim. And just as his tendency was to magnify the success and utility ofhis patent purchases, so he would lend himself more or less to grossimpostures simply because they interested him. This confirmed hisreputation for being a bit of a crank; and as he had in addition all therestlessness and eccentricity of the active spirits of his class, arising from the fact that no matter what he busied himself with, itnever really mattered whether he accomplished it or not, he remained anunsatisfied and (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory specimenof a true man in a false position. 

Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage to Carbury Towers, which had been burnt down, to the great relief of its noble owners, inthe reign of William IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudormansion, with tall chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom windows, hadsince served the family as a very sufficient residence, needing a muchsmaller staff of servants than the Towers, and accommodating fewervisitors. At first it had been assumed on all hands that the stay at theCottage was but a temporary one, pending the re-erection of the Towerson a scale of baronial magnificence; but this tradition, having passedthrough its primal stage of being a standing excuse with the eldersinto that of being a standing joke with the children, had naturallylapsed as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now too largefor the family; for the Earl was still unmarried, and all his sistershad contracted splendid alliances except the youngest, Lady ConstanceCarbury, a maiden of twenty-two, with a thin face and slight angularfigure, who was still on her mother's hands. The illustrious matchesmade by her sisters had, in fact, been secured by extravagant dowering, which had left nothing for poor Lady Constance except a miserable threehundred pounds a year, at which paltry figure no man had as yet offeredto take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually assumed that MarmadukeLind ardently desired the hand of his cousin; and Constance herselfsupported tacitly this view; but the Earl was apt to become restive whenit was put forward, though he altogether declined to improve hissister's pecuniary position, having already speculated quite heavilyenough in brothers-in-law. 

In the August following the Wandsworth concert Lord Carbury began totake his electrical laboratory with such intensified seriousness that heflatly refused to entertain any visitors until the 12th, and held fastto his determination in spite of his mother's threat to leave the house, alleging, with a laugh, that he had got hold of a discovery with moneyin it at last. But he felt at such a disadvantage after this incrediblestatement that he hastened to explain that his objection to visitors didnot apply to relatives who would be sufficiently at home at TowersCottage to require no attention from him. Under the terms of thiscapitulation Marian, as universal favorite, was invited; and since therewas no getting Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too, inspite of the Countess's strong dislike for her, a sentiment which sherequited with a pungent mixture of detestation and contempt. Marian'sbrother, the Reverend George Lind, promised to come down in a day ortwo; and Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply. 

The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened at six o'clock by awagon rumbling past the window of her room with a sound quite differentfrom that made by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped out atit, and saw that is was laden with packages of irregular shape, which, judging by some strange-looking metal rods that projected through thecovering, she took to be apparatus for Lord Jasper's laboratory. Fromthe wagon, with its patiently trudging horse and dull driver, she liftedher eyes to the lawn, where the patches of wet shadow beneath the cedarsrefreshed the sunlit grass around them. It looked too fine a morning tospend in bed. Had Marian been able to taste and smell the fragrantcountry air she would not have hesitated a moment. But she had beenaccustomed to believe that fresh air was unhealthy at night, and thoughnothing would have induced her to wash in dirty water, she thoughtnothing of breathing dirty air; and so the window was shut and the roomclose. Still, the window did not exclude the loud singing of the birdsor the sunlight. She ventured to open it a little, not without a senseof imprudence. Twenty minutes later she was dressed. 

She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was stale and dreary. Thedining-room, which she tried next, made her hungry. The arrival of aservant with a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of theway of the household work. She felt half sorry for getting up, and wentout on the lawn to recover her spirits. There she heard a man's voicetrolling a stave somewhere in the direction of the laboratory. Thinkingthat it might be Lord Carbury, and that, if so, he would probably notwait until half past nine to break his fast, she ran gaily off round thesouthwest corner of the Cottage to a terrace, from which there wasaccess through a great double window, now wide open, to a loftyapartment roofed with glass. 

At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back tothe window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a smallround block with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished witha neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was lifting andreplacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely watched the dial of aninstrument that resembled a small clock. A large straw hat concealed hishead, and protected it from the rays that were streaming through theglass roof and open window. The apparent triviality of his occupation, and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She stole into thelaboratory, came close behind him, and said:

"Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself, I----"

She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head thatwas not Lord Carbury's. The man, who had cowered with surprise at hertouch and voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation ofhis galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at her. 

"I _beg_ your pardon, " said Marian, blushing vigorously. "I thought itwas Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely. I----"

"Not at all, " said the man. "I quite understand. I was not playingcribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as youcertainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat. "

"Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work. " She looked athis face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then, with another blush, she put out her hand and said, "How do you do, Mr. Conolly. I did not recognize you at first. "

He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. "What awonderful place!" she said, looking round, with a view to making herselfagreeable by taking an interest in everything. "Wont you explain it allto me? To begin with, what is electricity?"

Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. "I dontknow anything about that, " he said; "I am only a workman. Perhaps LordCarbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it. "

Marian looked incredulously at him. "I am sure you are joking, " shesaid. "Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. Isuppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silkfor?"

"Ah, " said Conolly, relaxing. "Come now, I can tell you that easilyenough. I dont know what it _is_, but I know what it does, and I can laytraps to catch it. Here now, for instance----"

And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children'sLecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, whowas accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interesthim by her comments and questions, but she found that they had a mostdiscouraging effect on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last reducedhim to silence, of which she availed herself to remark, with greatearnestness, that science was a very wonderful thing. 

"How do you know?" he said, a little bluntly. 

"I am sure it must be, " she replied, brightening; for she thought he hadnow made a rather foolish remark. "Is Lord Carbury a very cleverscientist?"

Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was notaltogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, hereplied:

"He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has greatmeans at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock companyat his back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method ofworking: not so good, considering the means at his disposal. "

"What would you do if you had his means?"

Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he coulddo a great many things. 

"And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reachof money. "

"Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I'm aninventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the mostexpensive thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end ofmoney. Time is money; so it costs both ways. "

"Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?"

"I have already discovered something. "

"Oh! What is it?"

"That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to aninvention. "

"You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?"

"In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds. "

"Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting fivehundred pounds. "

Conolly laughed. "To be sure, " said he. "What is five hundred pounds?"

"A mere nothing--considering the importance of the object. You reallyought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. Ihave known people spend as much in one day on the most worthlessthings. "

"There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me tobegin?"

"First, " said Marian, with determination, "make up your mind to spendthe money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolvenot to grudge even twice as much to science. "

"That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money. What next?"

"Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it. "

"Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know;but I should like to settle it before we go any further. "

"But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquaintedwith your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which ofcourse I dont. "

"If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set aboutgetting it?--if I may ask. "

"What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father forit, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort. "

"That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and notrustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some otherway. "

"Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am sureLord Carbury would lend it to you. "

Conolly shook his head. "It doesnt do for a man in my position to startborrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in LordCarbury's, " he said. "We are working a little together already on one ofmy ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am afraid Imust ask you for another suggestion. "

"Save up all your money until you have enough. "

"That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionallyfortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on makingfrom seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on theaverage. "

"Ah, " said Marian, despondingly, "you would have to wait more than twoyears to save five hundred pounds. "

"And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime. "

"True, " said Marian. "Of course, I see that it is impossible for you tosave anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of sucha sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments tomake, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring. "

Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened. 

Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking, whilst Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder. 

"Mr. Conolly, " she said at last, "I cannot absolutely promise you; but Ithink I can get you five hundred pounds. " Conolly stopped polishing thecylinder, and stared at her. "If I have not enough, I am sure we couldmake the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to investmy money; and if you make some great invention, like the telegraph orsteam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend memoney when _I_ want it. "

Conolly blushed. "Thank you, Miss Lind, " said he, "thank you very muchindeed. I--It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so readyto begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. Myestimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it isnot want of time and perseverance more than of money that is the realobstacle. However, I will--I will--a----Have you any idea of the valueof money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling of it?"

"Of course, " said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction ofshaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. "I keephouse at home, and do all sorts of business things. "

Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again asif he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and lookedunintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was adelightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intensedisappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from whatwas unaccountably like a happy dream. 

Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of aletter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke'shandwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, whereshe found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian's waist in asummer-house. She sat down opposite them, at a rough oak table. 

"A letter, Nelly!" said Marian. "A letter! A letter from Marmaduke! Ihave extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it carefully, pray. "

"Has he proposed?" said Elinor, taking it. 

Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:

 My dear Constance:

 I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it here. What a pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleasant day looking at the pictures. I send you the silk you wanted, and had great trouble hunting through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not that I mind the trouble, but just to let you see my devotion to you. I have no more to say at present, as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the clan. 

 Yours ever, DUKE. 

 P. S. --How do Nelly and your mother get along together?

Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, andConstance went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly atMarian. 

"Nelly, " returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, "you have stabbedpoor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never proposedto her. That is why she has gone out. "

"Yes, " said Elinor, "it was brutal. But I thought, as you made such afuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least. Itcant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all. "

"What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him towrite--considering how careless he is usually?"

"Hm! Did he match the silk properly?". 

"To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how hebotched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year. "

"That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how heridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore thatnothing would ever induce him to enter it again?"

"He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spentyesterday there. "

"Not exactly. He says '_we_ spent a pleasant day looking at thepictures. ' Who is '_we_'?"

"Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?"

"I was just thinking could it be the person who has matched the silk sowell. The same woman, I mean. "

"Oh, Nelly!"

"Oh, Marian! Do you suppose Marmaduke would spend an afternoon at theLouvre with a man, who could just as well go by himself? Do men matchsilks?"

"Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better than a woman. Really, Nell, you have an odious imagination. "

"Yes--when my imagination is started on an odious track. Nothing willpersuade me that Marmaduke cares a straw for Constance. He does not wantto marry her, though he is too great a coward to own it. "

"Why do you say so? I grant you he is unceremonious and careless. But heis the same to everybody. "

"Yes: to everybody _we_ know. What is the use of straining after anamiable view of things, Marian, when a cynical view is most likely to bethe true one. "

"There is no harm in giving people credit for being good. "

"Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is most often the case. It sets us wrong practically, and holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is anoble and warmhearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all Ican say is that it is not worth while to be noble or lovable. Ifamiability consists in maintaining that black is white, it is a qualityanyone may acquire by telling a lie and sticking to it. "

"But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it seems to me that asregards white, you are color blind. Where I see white, you see black;and----hush! Here is Constance. "

"Yes, " whispered Elinor: "she comes back quickly enough when it occursto her that we are talking about her. "

Instead of simply asking why Constance should not behave in this verynatural manner if she chose to, Marian was about to defend Constancewarmly by denying all motive to her return, when that event took placeand stopped the discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a considerable partof their lives in bandying their likes and dislikes under the impressionthat they were arguing important points of character and conduct. 

They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marmaduke's letter; so theyalleged correspondence of their own, and left her to herself. 

Lady Constance went to her brother's study, where there was acomfortable writing-table. She began to write without hesitation, andher pen gabbled rapidly until she had covered two sheets of paper, when, instead of taking a fresh sheet, she wrote across the linesalready written. After signing the letter, she read it through, andadded two postscripts. Then she remembered something she had forgottento say; but there was no more room on her two sheets, and she wasreluctant to use a third, which might, in a letter to France, involveextra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother entered. 

"Am I in your way?" she said. "I shall have done in a moment. "

"No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letterfrom Marmaduke this morning. Has he anything particular to say?"

"Nothing very particular. He is in Paris. "

"Indeed? Are you writing to him?"

"Yes, " said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone. "Why not?"

"Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a scamp. "

"Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare say. "

"I am not much reassured by those who do know about him. "

"And who may they be? The only person you know who has seen much of himis Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs. "

"Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmadukeincluded. You should talk to Nelly about him. "

"I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you on. "

"I am afraid Nelly's opinion is worth more than Marians. "

"_Her_ opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion is. She is burstingwith jealousy of me. "

"Jealousy!"

"What else? Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and sheis madly in love with him. "

"This is quite a new light upon the affair. Constance, are you sure youare not romancing?"

"Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. She taunted me thismorning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a formalproposal. It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian. "

"I can hardly believe it: I should not have supposed, from what I haveobserved, that she cared about him. "

You should not have supposed it from what she _said_: is that what youmean? I dont care whether you believe it or not. "

"Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimoniousabout Elinor. She is more to be pitied than blamed. "

"Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish andmake me wretched, " said Constance, beginning to cry. Whereupon LordCarbury immediately left the room. 

CHAPTER IV

Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at TowersCottage to receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming. Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him onthe platform. 

"How are you, my dear fellow?" cried the clergyman, shaking the earl'shand. "Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a fly. Mostkind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how is_she_?"

"All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will seeto them. "

"Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter--oh, thankyou, I am sure; the brown one with G. L. On it--and that small greenmetal box too, if you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how areyou, Jasper, if I may call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will becareful of the box. No, not a word to him, I beg: it does not matter atall. What a charming little trap! What air! Happy man, Jasper! Thesefields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which myprofession leads me. "

"Jump in. "

"Thank you. And how is Marian?"

"Quite well, thank you. _Everybody_ is quite well. The girls are at atennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired meparticularly to apologize. "

"Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves?What a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is likea--like a message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive. "

"Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think ofher?"

"A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, evenin my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But Ihave to content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my owncalling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate likeyou can. Have you any one at the hall now, besides the girls?"

"No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid. "

"Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied andthankful under all circumstances. "

"We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor havebegun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for anhour to work and study, as they call it. "

"Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature mostimproving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you. "

"I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my assistant'spupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her already. With alittle direction, she can put a machine together as well as I can. "

"I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?"

"Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is veryamusing. "

"Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinorhas not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity. "

"No doubt she will be. Most of us are. "

"And dear Constance? Does she study?"

"No. "

"Ahem! A--have you----? That is St. Mildred's yonder, is it not?"

"It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixtypounds. I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose. But you were going to say something else. "

"No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming down, I understand. "

"I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had justreturned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been backfor some time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, atthe last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as he likes now. I wishhe would say definitely that he doesnt intend to come, instead ofshilly-shallying from week to week. Hallo, Prentice, have the ladiesreturned yet?" This was addressed to the keeper of the gate-lodge, atwhich they had now arrived. He replied that the ladies were stillabsent. 

"Then, " said Lord Carbury, "we had better get down and stroll across thelawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?"

"Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!How--"

"We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing atpresent? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. Ican understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July, but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I canimagine. "

"I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intendedto speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, hastaken a house at West Kensington. "

"A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he donethat for?"

"I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. Ithink he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I askedhim about it, he certainly implied--in fact, I grieve to say he left meunder the impression that he had taken the house with a view to marryingdear Constance, and settling down. I expressed some surprise at hisgoing so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any furtherexplanation, and so the matter dropped. " The Rev. George paused, andthen continued in a lower tone, "Not long afterward I met him at a verylate hour. He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke tome with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this houseof his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the terribletruth about his occupation of it. He assured me that she--meaning, Ipresume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there--was exceptionallyattractive; and I have since discovered that she is connected with thetheatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you how dreadful allthis is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I havefortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty totell you of it. "

"The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is tootame for him. He does not care a d----"

"Jasper, my dear fellow, gently, " said the clergyman, pressing his arm. 

"Pshaw!" said the Earl, "I dont care. I think Constance is well out ofit. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the carriage. "

"Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving herhand. " The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished hislow-crowned soft felt hat. 

During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horseswith an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he atesedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his motherand the girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He wasdelighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to seethe Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennisparty that day had been a pleasant one. The Earl listened withimpatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted thedining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leavingMarian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room. 

"You will not mind my staying, I hope, George, " she said, as she resumedher seat. 

"A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source, " said the Rev. George. "Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!"

"Thank you, no, " said the Countess. "I never take wine. " Her tone wasinconclusive, as if she intended to take something else. 

"Will you take brandy-and-soda?" said her son, rather brusquely. 

Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: "A verylittle, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine, " she continued tothe clergyman. "I am the slave of my medical man in all matters relatingto my unfortunate digestion. "

"Mother, " said Jasper, "George has brought us a nice piece of newsconcerning your pet Marmaduke. "

The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass. 

"I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly, " saidthe Countess, a little troubled. "I trust there is nothing unpleasantthe matter. "

"Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at WestKensington, that is all. "

"What! Married!"

"Unhappily, " said the Rev. George, "no, not married. "

"Oh!" said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief. "It is veryshocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men _will_ do thesethings. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke's case, for he reallycannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complicationusually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do notlet it come to Constance's ears. It is not a proper subject for a girl. "

"Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like Marmaduke, "said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret. "However, it will betime enough to trouble about that when there is any sign of his havingthe slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my part I dontbelieve, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in thebusiness. This last move of his proves it--to my satisfaction, at anyrate. "

Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with anevident sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before theclergyman. "I beg you will control yourself, Jasper, " she said. "I donot like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very greatresponsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take theworld as I find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorabletendencies must be allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of yourlaboratory, contemplate an ideal state of things that we all, I am sure, long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have never enquired intoMarmaduke's private life, and I think you ought not to have done so. Icould not disguise from myself the possibility of his having enteredinto some such relations as those you have alluded to. "

Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech, strolled casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to hersympathetic guest. 

"I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessaryfor us to keep this matter to ourselves. "

The Rev. George said, gravely, "I do not indeed see what blessing canrest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. Itis for Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience. "

"Quite so, " said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to inviteher absent son's attention to this confirmation of her judgment. "Is itnot absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off thematch?"

"I can sympathize with Jasper's feeling, I trust. It is natural for acandid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions needcharitable construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed toprevent our forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that thealliance with your pure and lovely daughter may not be the meansspecially ordained to rescue him from his present condition. "

"I think it very possible, " drawled the Countess, looking at him, nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately consideredhis priggish, underbred cant. "Besides, such things are recognized, though of course they are not spoken of. No lady could with commondecency pretend to know that such connexions are possible, much lessassign one of them as a reason for breaking off an engagement. "

"Pardon me, " said the Rev. George; "but can these worldly considerationsadd anything to the approval of our consciences? I think not. We willkeep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then, whatever the world may think, all will surely come right in the end. "

"Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businessesalways do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes--as if there wereanything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into thedrawing-room, George. "

They went into the drawing-room and found it deserted. The ladies werein the veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself fora nap. George went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sungo down, were now watching the deepening gloom among the trees thatskirted the lawn. Marian proposed that they should walk through theplantation whilst there was still a little light left, and the clergymanreadily assented. He rather repented of this when they got into the deepgloom under the trees, and Elinor began to tell stories about adders, wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could possibly make anervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was quiterelieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them and heardthe voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through thedarkness. 

"Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly, " said theRev. George, formally, when they met. "I am glad to see you. "

"Thank you, " said Conolly. "If you ladies have thin shoes on as usual, we had better come out of this. "

"As we ladies happen to have our boots on, " said Marian, "we shall stayas long as we like. "

Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow, they walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. LordJasper followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last. 

"Does that young man--Mr. Conolly--live at the Hall?" was the Rev. George's first remark to Constance. 

"No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter's farm. "

"Ha! Then he is very well off here. "

"A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as thoughhe were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own businessbest. "

"I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon anyencouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, Ifear, that will greatly interfere with his prospects. "

"He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to berepublican. But it is Jasper's fault. He spoils him. He once wanted tohave him in the drawing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments; butmamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively obstinate, and though he did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of going overto Rose Cottage and spending his evenings there singing and playing. Everybody about the place used to notice it. Mamma was greatlydisgusted. "

"Do you find him unpleasant--personally, I mean?"

"I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presenceis unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so Iwish, on that account alone, that he would go. "

"I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much aspossible. "

"Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes adifference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into thelaboratory when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him befamiliar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and he isinsufferably conceited. However, if she wants to learn electricity, Isuppose she must put up with him. He is no worse, after all, than therest of the people one has to learn things from. They are allimpossible. "

"It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science. "

"I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasperto do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until heshuts up that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertaina great deal more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we arealtogether in Jasper's hands for such matters. I think he is veryfoolish. "

"Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; butit is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as afool. No doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called tothe same pursuits. "

"If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their mindsto the duties of their position, whether they are called to them ornot. "

The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related tohim usually received his admonitions, changed the subject. 

Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, hadfallen far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be introuble. At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:

"Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait untilFriday?"

"To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?"

Marian hesitated painfully. 

"Do not mind giving me plenty of bother, " he said. "I am so accustomedto superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and asfragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggagewould be a mere amusement for me. "

"Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking--Are you likely tosee my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?"

"N--no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing. "

"Oh! I thought you knew him. "

"I met him at that concert. "

"But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least, I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatretogether. "

"So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I havenever seen him since. "

"Oh, indeed! I quite mistook. "

"If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will. It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?It will be no trouble to me. "

"No, oh no. I wanted--it was something that could only be told to himindirectly by an intimate friend--by some one with influence over him. More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, itcannot be helped. "

Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so insilence. Then he said: "If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by aperson who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that Ican; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty. "

Marian looked at him in some surprise. "I hardly know what I ought todo, " she said, doubtfully. 

"Then do nothing, " said Conolly bluntly. "Or, if you want anything saidto this gentleman, write to him yourself. "

"But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to writeto him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be toldsomething that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems sounfeeling to sit down quietly and say, 'It is not my business tointerfere, ' when the mischief might so easily be prevented. "

"I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of otherpeople's happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know yourcousin's address, you say?"

"No. I thought you did. "

Conolly shook his head. "Who does know it?" he said. 

"My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask himagain. "

"Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be, since you think you ought not to write to him?"

"I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I wouldnot hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feelsure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter whichconcerns other people only. "

"Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it. "

"But--"

"But what?"

"After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief. If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once--he hasbeen invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week--it wouldbe sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses. And he can set everything right by coming down now. "

"Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for thepresent?"

"No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescuehim from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person inLondon from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew--I_wish_ you knew. "

"Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let usunderstand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry LadyConstance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Marian, "you are wrong. He does not. "

"Anyhow, " continued Conolly, "he acts with a certain degree ofindifference toward her--keeps away at present, for instance. I inferthat the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of hisremissness. "

"Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, youare mistaken as to Marmaduke's character. He is easily led away, andvery careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women;but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with LadyConstance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient ofcompany in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebodyhas taken advantage of this part of his character to establish a greatascendency over him. I"--here Marian became nervous, and controlled hervoice with difficulty--"I saw this person once in a theatre; and I canimagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, sohandsome, and--and so utterly abominable. I was angry with Duke forbringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry with mebecause I said she made me shudder. "

"Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another, "said Conolly, with a certain sternness. "However, I can understand yourhaving that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that Ihope to find out his address for you. "

"But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it issomewhere in West Kensington. "

Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled astep, frightened. 

"Since when, pray?"

"Very lately, I think. I do not know. "

They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regrettingthat she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terribledarkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passedbetween them until they came out into the moonlight close to theveranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat. 

"Permit me to leave you now, " he said, with an artificial politenessworthy of Douglas himself. "Good-night. "

"Good-night, " faltered Marian. 

He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she foundJasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawing-room. 

"Hallo!" said Jasper, "where is Conolly? I want to say a word to himbefore he goes. "

"He has just gone, " said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasperimmediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousinsalone together. 

"Well, Marian, " said Elinor, "do you know that you have taken more thanquarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, andthat you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson callsher, has been making some kind remarks about it. "

"Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could gostraight to bed without seeing anybody. "

"Why? What is the matter?"

"I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I am disgusted withmyself; and I think Conolly is mad. "

"Mad!"

"On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad, " said Lord Jasper, returningat this moment out of breath and laughing. 

Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian. 

"He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field whenI caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started offand cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furiousrate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying someuncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance ahornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that. "

"You had better not, " said Elinor, sceptically. "Let us go in; and praydo not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go tobed. "

"You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache, " hereplied, in the same incredulous tone. "It has come on rather suddenly, has it not?"

When they went into the drawing-room they found that Constance hadawakened her mother, and had already given her an account of their walk. Jasper added a description of what he had just witnessed. "I have notlaughed so much for a long time, " he said, in conclusion. "He is usuallysuch a steady sort of fellow. "

"I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman, " saidthe Countess. "How you could have left Marian in his care even for amoment I am at a loss to conceive. "

"He was not drunk, indeed, " said Marian. 

"Certainly not, " said Jasper, rather indignantly. "I was walking withhim for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian. Have you also a headache?"

"I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out. "

Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according toa nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her kneesdoubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventurevery earnestly. 

"Dont understand him at all, I confess, " said Elinor, when Marian hadrelated what had passed in the plantation. "Wasnt it rather rash to makea confidant of him in such a delicate matter?"

"That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known thatI only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above falsedelicacy. "

"I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only haveit from Mrs. Leith Fairfax's letter; and she is perhaps the greatestliar in the world. "

"Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She wouldnever venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke. "

"In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of usingher tongue or pen. "

"It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust, was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, ofcourse, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like totell her. "

"Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman wouldtalk to on such a subject, " said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with herheel. 

"Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something likethat before other people, out of sheer habit. "

"Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regrettingwhat cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionalityalong with the self-respect of sincerity. By the bye, do you rememberthat Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family council afterdinner? You may be sure that George has told them everything. "

"What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless. Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told himbefore dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared itwas true, and refused to give me the address. "

"And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility restswith George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only justbeen telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. MasterGeorgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter. Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings abouthimself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his effortsto be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite. "

"I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that hisduty to the Church requires him to behave as he does. "

"Then he is a donkey, which is worse. "

"I wish he were more natural in his manner. "

"He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: 'it is theirnature to. ' Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same. "

"How do you mean?"

"Never mind. Good-night. "

CHAPTER V

A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, andcommunicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood atthis time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite sidewere pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These, without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbadeany feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to SusannaConolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind. 

One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside eachwas a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hungerwas satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized theuppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burstit open. 

"Hm, " she said. "First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again tomake the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he mustbe not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look atthe _Times_, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet. "

"I should think so, by Jupiter, " said Marmaduke, patiently interruptinghis meal to open the newspaper. 

"Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. 'The latest Parisiansuccess. _La petite Maison du Roi. _ Music by M. De Jongleur. Mr. Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs ofM. De Jongleur's opera bouffe _La petite Maison du Roi_, entitled KingLewis on the lewis'--what the deuce does that mean?"

"On the loose, of course. "

"But it is spelt l-e-w----oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece ofidiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast hasa separate line of large print. Here you are: 'Lalage Virtue as MadameDubarry'----"

"Is that at the top?"

"Yes. "

"Before Rose Stella?"

"Yes. Why!--I didnt notice it before--you are down fifteen times!Every alternate space has your name over again. 'Lalage Virtue as MadameDubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. FelixSumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as _la belle Jeanneton_. 'By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or fivehundred years before Madame Dubarry was born. "

"Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last linewith a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I amdown fifteen times. "

"I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, ofcourse. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting throughthe champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not countingwhat we pay for when we dine in town. "

"Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfullylow without it. "

"All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injureyour health, I dont care. Here's a letter of yours put among mine bymistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth. "

"It's from Ned, " said Susanna, turning pale. "He must be coming home, or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?"

"What does he say?" said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. "'_Backat 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N. C. _' Short and sweet! Well, he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he knows theaddress, which of course he doesnt. "

"He knows nothing. His note shews that. What _will_ he do when he findsme gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them tosend on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her owninformation. There is no mistake about it, " said Susanna, rising andwalking to the window: "I am in a regular funk about him. I have half amind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder outgradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before hediscovers anything. "

"Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you--and a goodjob too. "

"I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know forcertain that he would. "

"He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time youhave been on the stage. "

"There's nothing wrong in being on the stage. There's nothing wrong inbeing here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care aboutNed, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him; andhe has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes: hewill not get much satisfaction from me. " Susanna sat down again, anddrank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate. 

"Dont think any more about it, " said Marmaduke. "He wont come. "

"Oh, let him, if he likes, " said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke did notquite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that Conollywould have the good sense to keep away. 

"Look here, Bob, " said she, when they had finished breakfast. "Let us gosomewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up the river. "

"All right, " said Marmaduke, with alacrity. "Whatever you please. Howshall we go?"

"Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settlewhat to do afterward. Can you come now?"

"Yes, whenever you are ready. "

"Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself withthat blessed old lawn-mower until I come. "

"Yes, I think I will, " said Marmaduke, seriously. "That plot near thegate wants a trimming badly. "

"What a silly old chap you are, Bob!" she said, stopping to kiss him oneach cheek as she left the room. 

Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since hisdomestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plotnear the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a fewturns with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, andsaw Conolly standing so close to him that he started backward, and madea vague movement as if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused bythe mowing, said quietly: "That machine wants oiling: the clatterprevented you from hearing me come. I have just returned from CarburyTowers. Miss Lind is staying there; and she has asked me to give you amessage. "

This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly wasignorant of Susanna's proceedings, but he had not sufficient effronteryto welcome him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared athim. 

"I am afraid I have startled you, " Conolly went on, politely. "I foundthe gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste of timeto ring the bell. You have a charming little place here. "

"Yes, it's a pretty little place, isnt it?" said Marmaduke. "A--wont youcome in and have a--excuse my bringing you round this way, will you? Mysnuggery is at the back of the house. "

"Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of businessto do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go. "

"At any rate, come into the shade, " said Marmaduke, glancing uneasilytoward the windows of the house. "This open place is enough to give ussunstroke. "

Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they satdown on a bench. 

"Is there anything up?" said Marmaduke, much oppressed. 

"Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?"

"Oh, certainly. Fire away!"

"Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and LadyConstance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way menfeel bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters ofyour own?"

Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly's face. 

"It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtshiptoo cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, theCountess being strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted toyou. "

"Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?"

"This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the earsof the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to knowwhat use a bachelor can have for such an establishment. "

"But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. Itwas taken for another person. "

"Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss Lindthinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel withyour family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once. "

"But I cant go away just now. There are reasons. "

"Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasonsfor wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed mycommission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied. "

"Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of townto give me the straight tip, " said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospectof getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. "It is verygood of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Parkis, isnt it? How will the shooting be?"

"First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself. " They hadrisen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate. 

"Shall I see you down there--if I go?"

"Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get myluggage, in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper. "

"I hope so, " said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, heproffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily, "Good-bye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible. "

Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: "Good-bye, Mr. Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask--how is Susanna?"

Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Beforehe recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to Hampton, emerged from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Conolly, still wearing the cordial expression with which he had shakenMarmaduke's hand, looked at her, then at her protector, and then at heragain. 

"I have been admiring the villa, Susanna, " said he, after an emphaticsilence. "It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind myhurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. Lind. "

Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid hisguest good-bye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minutewatching him as he strode away. 

"What does _he_ care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!" criedSusanna, passionately. 

"He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of, " said Marmaduke. "Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George, Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across. "

"What brought him here?" she demanded, vehemently. 

"That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a fewdays. "

"And what am I to do here alone? Are _you_ going to leave me too?"

"Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you canmanage to get on without me for a few days. "

"I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go home. "

"Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford toquarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable. "

"What do I care about your people, or about you either?"

"Very well, then, " said Marmaduke, offended, "you can go home if youlike. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I dont. "

"Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do youflatter yourself that I am dependent on you?"

"Hold your tongue, " said Marmaduke, fiercely. "Dont you turn on me inthat fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine. "

"You have ruined me, " said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, andbeginning to cry. 

"Oh, upon my soul, this is too much, " said Marmaduke, with disgust. "Getup out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed! Will youget up?"

"No!" screamed Susanna. 

"Then stay where you are and be damned, " retorted Marmaduke, turning onhis heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maidcarrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet. 

"Missis is looking for you, sir, " said the maid. 

"All right, " said Marmaduke, "I have seen her. Listen to me. I am goingto the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps, and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address fromthe card in the strap of my valise. "

"Yes, sir, " said the maid. "Any message for missis?"

"No, " said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went outagain. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and waswalking toward the house. 

"I am going to Carbury, " he said. "I dont know when I shall be back. "

She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him. 

CHAPTER VI

Three days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon with a letter in hishand. Marian had not yet come in; and the Rev. George was absent, hisplace being filled by Marmaduke. 

"Good news for you and Constance, mother. "

"Indeed?" said the Countess, smiling. 

"Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to collect his traps andleave you forever. "

"Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly's importance. Intelligenceof his movements can hardly be news--good or bad--either to me or toConstance. "

"I am glad he is going, " said Constance, "for Jasper's sake. "

"Thank you, " replied Jasper. "I thought you would be. He will be a greatloss to me. "

"Nonsense!" said the Countess. "If another workman is needed, anothercan easily be had. "

"If I can be of any assistance to you, old man, " said Marmaduke, "makewhat use of me you like. I picked up something about the businessyesterday. "

"Yes, " said Elinor. "While you were away, Jasper, he went to thelaboratory with Constance, and fired off a brass cannon with your newpile until he had used up all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels ofthe door. That is what he calls picking up something about thebusiness. "

"Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the power ofelectricity, " said Marmaduke. "Is there, Conny?"

"It's very wonderful; but I hate shots. "

"Where is Marian?" said Lady Carbury. 

"I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden, " said Elinor. "Shewas reading. "

"She must have forgotten the hour, " said the Countess. "She has beenmoping, I think, for the last few days. I hope she is not unwell. Butshe would never stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send forher. "

"I'll go, " said Marmaduke, eagerly. 

"No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I will send a servant. "

"I will fetch her here in half the time that any servant will. PoorMarian, why shouldnt she have her lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy. "

"What a restless, extraordinary creature he is!" said Lady Carbury, displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left the room. "The idea of a manleaving the table in that way!"

"I suspect he has his reasons, " said Elinor. 

"I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do, " said Constance, pettishly. "I see nothing extraordinary in it. "

Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer-house in the fruit garden. She looked at him in lazy surprise as he seated himself opposite to herat the table. 

"This is the first chance I've had of talking to you privately since Icame down, " he said. "I believe you have been keeping out of my way onpurpose. "

"Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances as possible oftalking to some one else in private; so I gave you as many as I could. "

"Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly considerate in that respect:thank you all awfully. But I mean to have it out with you, Miss Marian, now that I have caught you alone. "

"With me! Oh, dear! What have I done?"

"What have you done? I'll tell you what youve done. Why did you sendConolly, of all men in the world, to tell me that I was in disgracehere?"

"There was no one else, Marmaduke. "

"Well, suppose there wasn't! Suppose there had been no one else alive onthe earth except you, and I, and he, and Constance, and Su--andConstance! how could you have offered him such a job?"

"Why not? Was there any special reason--"

"Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell you that a meetingbetween him and me must be particularly awkward for both of us?"

"No. At least I--. Marmaduke: I think you must fancy that I told himmore than I did. I did not know where you were; and as he was going toLondon, and I thought you knew him well, and I had no other means ofwarning you, I had to make use of him. Jasper will tell you howthoroughly trustworthy he is. But all I said--and I really could not sayless--was that I was afraid you were in bad company, or under badinfluence, or something like that; and that I only wanted you to comedown here at once. "

"Oh! Indeed! That was _all_, was it? Merely that I was in bad company. "

"I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; and I believed it atthe time. I hope it's not true, Marmaduke. If it is not, I beg yourpardon with all my heart. "

Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and then said, with theemphasis of a man baffled by utter unreason: "Well, I _am_ damned!" atwhich breach of good manners she winced. "Hang me if I understand you, Marian, " he continued, more mildly. "Of course it's not true. Badinfluence is all bosh. But it was a queer thing to say to his face. Heknew very well you meant his sister. Hallo! what's the matter? Are yougoing to faint?"

"No, I--Never mind me. "

"Never mind you!" said Marmaduke. "What are you looking like that for?"

"Because--it is nothing: I only blushed. Dont be stupid, Duke. "

"Blushed! Why dont you blush red, like other people, and not green?Shall I get you something?"

"No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me? How could you be soheartless as to leave us all in the dark when we were talking about youbefore him every day! Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest aboutit. What do you mean by his sister? I never knew he had one. Who is she?What happened? I mean when you saw him?"

"Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. He just walked in; bademe good morning; admired the place; and told me he came with a messagefrom you that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as cool asyou please. He didnt seem to mind. "

"And he warned you, in spite of all. "

"More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He's rather sweet on you, isnt he?"

"Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself?"

"Deuce a bit. But I'm in trouble; and I want you to stand by me. Lookhere, Marian, you have no nonsense about you, I know. I may tell youfrankly how I am situated, maynt I?"

Marian looked at him apprehensively, and said nothing. 

"You see you will only mix up matters worse than before unless you knowthe truth. Besides, I offered to marry her: upon my soul I did; but sherefused. Her real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck. "

"Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right. "

"I suppose it's not right, as you say. But what am I to do? I must tellyou; or you will go on making mischief with Constance. "

"As if I would tell her! I promise that she shall never know from me. Isthat enough?"

"No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care whether she findsme out or not. I want her to understand thoroughly, once and for ever, that I wont marry her. "

"Marmaduke!"

"Not if I were fifty Marmadukes!"

"Then you will break her heart. "

"Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has one. Whether or no, Iam not going to have her forced on me by the Countess or any one else. The truth is, Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this match. Constance can't complain. "

"No, not aloud. "

"Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her. "

"Very well, Marmaduke: there is no use now in blaming Auntie or excusingyourself. If you have made up your mind, there is an end. "

"But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian. Why, I haveeverything to lose by giving her up. There is her money, and I suppose Imust prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could bedropped quietly. Eh?"

"And is that what you want me to manage for you?"

"Well--. Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have been badly used in thisaffair. They forced it on me. I did all I could to keep out of it. Shewas thrown at my head. Besides, I once really used to think I couldsettle down with her comfortably some day. I only found out what aninsipid little fool she was when I had a woman of sense to compare herwith. "

"Dont say hard things about her. I think you might have a littleforbearance towards her under the circumstances. "

"Hm! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been sticking to me for thelast few days like a barnacle. Our respectable young ladies think a lotof themselves, but--except you and Nelly--I dont know a woman in societywho has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in herlittle finger nail. I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheekto expect men to talk to you, much less marry you. "

"Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than brains. "

"I should like to know what it is. If it is something that ladies haveand Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense. If it'srespectability, that depends on what you consider respectable. IfConny's respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu--"

"Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this. Letus think of poor Constance. How is she to be told the truth?"

"Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as soon as I can; andthe affair will drop somehow or another. She will forget all about me. "

"Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and absence could make herforget you, you would have been forgotten before this. "

"Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose Imeant anything. "

"I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect andyour attentions, Duke. The more you try to excuse yourself, the moreinexcusable your conduct appears. I do not know how to advise you. IfConstance is told, you may some day forget all about your presentinfatuation; and then a mass of mischief and misery will have been madefor nothing. If she is not told, you will be keeping up a crueldeception and wasting her chances of----but she will never care foranybody else. "

"Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the present. But mind! nospeculating on my changing my intentions. I wont marry her. "

"I wish you hadnt told me about it. "

"Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, that you onlywanted to make us all happy; but you nursed this match and kept it inConstance's mind as much as you could. Besides--though it was not yourfault--that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to explain. Dontbe downcast: I am not blaming you a bit. "

"It seems to me that the worst view of things is always the true one inthis world. Nelly and Jasper were right about you. "

"Aha! So _they_ saw what I felt. You cant say I did not make myintentions plain enough to every unbiassed person. The Countess wasdetermined to get Constance off her hands; Constance was determined tohave me; and you were determined to stick up for your own notions oflove and honeysuckles. "

"I was determined to stick up for _you_, Marmaduke. "

"Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for me in your own way. But what I want to shew is, that only three people believed that I wasin earnest; and those three were prejudiced. "

"I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived all the rest of theworld, instead. No doubt I was wrong, very wrong. I am very sorry. "

"Pshaw! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some day. Hush, I hearthe garden gate opening. It is Constance, come to spy what I am doinghere with you. She is as jealous as a crocodile--very nearly made ascene yesterday because I played with Nelly against her at tennis. Ihave to drive her to Bushy Copse this afternoon, confound it!"

"And _will_ you, after what you have just confessed?"

"I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming this evening topack up his traps and go; and I want to be out of the way when he isabout. "

"This evening!"

"Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I were so put out by thecool way he carried on when he called, that we had a regular quarrelafter he went; and we haven't made it up yet. "

"Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Constance. "

"So you are here, " said Constance, gaily, but with a quick glance atthem. "That is a pretty way to bring your cousin in to luncheon, sir. "

"We got chatting about you, my ownest, " said Marmaduke; "and the subjectwas so sweet, and the moments were so fleet, that we talked for quite anhour on the strict q. T. Eh, Marian?"

"As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma is very angry with youboth. "

"Always ready to make allowances for her, provided she sends you tolecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear your hat properly?" He arranged herhat as he spoke. Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered. "Nowyoure all that fancy painted you: youre lovely, youre divine. Are youready for Bushy Copse?"

Constance replied by singing:

 "Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said; sir, she said; sir, she said; Oh! yes if you ple--ease, kind sir, she said. "

"Then come along. After your ladyship, " he said, taking her elbows as ifthey were the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pushing her out before himthrough the narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the threshold heturned for a moment; met Marian's reproachful eyes with a wink; grinned;and disappeared. 

For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the summer-house, thinking of the mistake she had made. Then she returned to the Cottage, where she found Miss McQuinch writing in the library, and related to herall that had passed in the summer-house. Elinor listened, seated in arocking-chair, restlessly clapping her protended ankles together. Whenshe heard of Conolly's relationship to Susanna, she kept still for afew moments, looking with widely opened eyes at Marian. Then, with asharp laugh, she said:

"Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another of that woman'sretainers. I never dreamt of his being her brother. "

Marian was horror stricken. "You thought--! Oh, Nelly, what puts suchthings into your head?"

"So would you have thought it if you had the least gumption aboutpeople. However, I was wrong; and I'm glad of it. However, I was rightabout Marmaduke. I told you so, over and over and over again. "

"I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest. "

"No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you, until the event proves me to be right. "

"I am afraid it will kill Constance. "

"_Dont_, Marian!" cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent swing. 

"I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is. "

"Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serveher right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believeshe knows in her soul that he does not care about her. Why else shouldshe be jealous of me, of you, and of everybody?"

"It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl, both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment. "

"I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dontpity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve itrichly, but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference?When we went to see that woman last June I envied her. There she was, clever, independent, successful, holding her own in the world, earningher living, fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectablenonentities sat pretending to despise her--as if we were not waitinguntil some man in want of a female slave should offer us our board andlodging and the privilege of his lordly name with 'Missis' before it forour lifelong services. You may make up as many little bread-and-butterromances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to give me any sensiblereason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a little inanething like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable womanlike that without binding himself at all. "

"Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things. "

"No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented inthat station to which it has pleased God to call me. "

"Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell! I am just as wicked as you;for I am very glad she refused; though I cant conceive why she did it. "

"Perhaps, " said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, "she refused becauseshe had too much good sense: aye, and too much common decency to accept. It is all very well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to resort toprostitution----"

"Oh, Nelly!"

"--I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home and an income. Somebody said openly in Parliament the other day that marriage was thetrue profession of women. So it is a profession; and except that it is aharder bargain for both parties, and that society countenances it, Idont see how it differs from what we--bless our virtuousindignation!--stigmatize as prostitution. _I_ dont mean ever to bemarried, I can tell you, Marian. I would rather die than sell myselfforever to a man, and stand in a church before a lot of people whilstGeorge or somebody read out that cynically plain-spoken marriage serviceover me. "

"Stop Nelly! Pray stop! If you thought for a moment you would never saysuch awful things. "

"I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is a mistake. "

"Yes; but that is very different to what you are saying now. "

"I cannot see----"

"Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and itmakes me very uncomfortable. "

"I'll take it out in work, " said Nelly calmly, returning to hermanuscript. "I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All themore reason why I should have another try at earning my own living. WhenI become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I please. For the present I am your obedient, humble servant. "

At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, andsoothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience. She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing thatMiss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed, went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and natureheaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought ofreturning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired, through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, inwhich the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling herluxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind. She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not seewho was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly. Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among thetrees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might passby without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, lookingso resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watchedhim. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of thepath ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held herbreath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right, where she was. 

"Good-evening, Miss Lind, " he said respectfully, raising his hat. 

"Good-evening, " said she, trembling. 

"You are not looking quite well. "

"I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had tosit down. I shall be rested presently. "

Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. "This is my lastvisit to Carbury Towers, " he said. "No doubt you know that I am goingfor good. "

"Yes, " said Marian. "I--I am greatly obliged to you for all the painsyou have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. Isuppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably. "

"No, " said Conolly, unceremoniously, "you have not wasted my time: Inever let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not tomyself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving youlessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests onme. "

"They were very pleasant. "

He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Thenhe said, carelessly, "Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?"

Marian reddened and felt giddy. 

"I want to avoid meeting him, " continued Conolly; "and I thought perhapsyou might know enough of his movements this evening to help me to do so. It does not matter much; but I have a reason. "

Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; butshe repressed it, and said:

"Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure youdid not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake. "

"Why!" said Conolly, with some indignation, "who has told you since?"

"Marmaduke, " said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of thequestioner. "He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I knew. "

"Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was rightenough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because itexplains my behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit forthe moment. "

"You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if Itell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come toyou. "

"What misfortune?"

Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in silent distress. 

"To be sure, " he interposed, quickly. "I know; but you had put it allout of my head. I am much obliged to you. Not that I am much concernedabout it. You will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of myorder, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who think it pious toconsider their near relatives as if they were outside the natural courseof things. I never was a good son or a good brother or a good patriot inthe sense of thinking that my mother and my sister and my native countrywere better than other people's because I happened to belong to them. Iknew what would happen some day, though, as usual, my foreknowledge didnot save me from a little emotion when the event came to pass. Besides, to tell you the truth, I dont feel it as a misfortune. You know what mysister's profession is. You told me how you felt when you saw her act. Now, tell me fairly, and without stopping to think of whether youranswer will hurt me, would you consent to know her in private even ifyou had heard nothing to her disadvantage? Would you invite her to yourhouse, or go to a party at which all the other women were like her?Would you introduce young ladies to her, as you would introduce them toMiss McQuinch? Dont stop to imagine exceptional circumstances whichmight justify you in doing these things; but tell me yes or no, _would_you?"

"You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an opportunity ofdoing them. "

"By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Honestly, then, what hasSusanna to lose by disregarding your rules of behavior? Even if, bymarrying, she conciliated the notions of your class, she would only givesome man the right to ill-treat her and spend her earnings, withoutgetting anything in return--and remember there is a special danger ofthat on the stage, for several reasons. She would not really conciliateyou by marrying, for you wouldnt associate with her a bit the morebecause of her marriage certificate. Of course I am putting herself-respect out of the question, that being a matter between herselfand her conscience, with which we have no concern. Believe me, neitheractresses nor any other class will trouble themselves about the opinionof a society in which they are allowed to have neither part nor lot. Perhaps I am wrong to talk about such matters to you; but you aretrained to feel all the worst that can be felt for my sister; and I feelbound to let you know that there is something to be said in her defence. I have no right to blame her, as she has done me no harm. The only wayin which her conduct can influence my prospects will be through herbeing an undesirable sister-in-law in case I should want to marry. "

"If the person you choose hesitate on that account, you can let her gowithout regret, " said Marian. "She will not be worthy of your regard. "

"I am not so sure of that, " said Conolly, laughing. "You see, Miss Lind, if that invention of mine succeeds, I may become a noted man; and it isfashionable nowadays for society to patronize geniuses who hit on a newillustration of what people call the marvels of science. I am ambitious. As a celebrity, I might win the affections of a duchess. Who knows?"

"I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do not know many of them, as I am a comparatively humble person; but I am sure you would not likethem. "

"Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would not like me. "

"On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society that I think youwould have a better chance than most men. "

"Do you think my manners would pass? I learnt to dance and bow before Iwas twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and Iused to mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father's operacompany, not to mention the fashionable people I have read about innovels. "

"You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that your manners giveyou the least real concern. "

"And you think that I may aspire in time--if I am successful inpublic--to the hand of a lady?"

"Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry alady, if you wish to?"

"I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after all. "

"I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?"

"It wants ten minutes of seven. "

"Oh!" cried Marian, rising. "Miss McQuinch is probably wondering whetherI am drowned or lost. I must get back to the Hall as fast as I can. Theyhave returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure they areasking about me. "

Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from thecottage to the laboratory. 

"This is my way, Miss Lind, " said he. "I am going to the laboratory. Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch. I shall notsee her again, as I must return to town by the last train to-night. "

"And are you not coming back--not at all, I mean?"

"Not at all. "

"Oh!" said Marian slowly. 

"Good bye, Miss Lind. "

He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, putout her hand. He took it for the first time; looked at her for a momentgravely; and left her. 

Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them lookedback at the other as they went their several ways. 

BOOK II

CHAPTER VII

In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter's visit to CarburyTowers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in ManchesterSquare and found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto's mother was a widow ladyolder than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who wouldhave looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty ofmoney, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference fromattendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a fairshew of being a dignified and interesting old lady. When he was seated, her first action was to take a new photograph from a little table at herside, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his recognition of itwith a shew of natural pride and affection which was amateurish incomparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which hervisitor took it and pretended to admire it. 

"Capital. Capital, " said Mr. Lind. "He must give us one. "

"You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?" said Mrs. Douglas. 

"Certainly not: it is an improvement, " said Mr. Lind, decisively. "Youare glad to have him back again with you, I dare say. Ah yes, yes" (Mrs. Douglas's eyes had answered for her). "Did he tell you that he met me? Isaw him on Wednesday last for the first time since his return to London. How long was he away?"

"Two years, " she replied, with slow emphasis, as if such an absencewere hardly credible. "Two long years. He has been staying in Paris, inVenice, in Florence: a month here, a week there, dissatisfiedeverywhere. He would have been almost as happy with me at home. And howis Marian?"

"Well, " said Mr. Lind, smiling, "I believe she is still disengaged; andshe professes to be fancy free. She is fond of saying, generally, thatshe will never marry, and so forth. That is the new fashion with youngwomen--if saying what they dont mean can be called a new fashion. "

"Marian is sure to get married, " said Mrs. Douglas. "She must have hadoffers already. There are few parents who have not cause to envy you. "

"We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. Douglas. Sholto is ahighly distinguished young man. I wish I had started in life with halfhis advantages. I thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attachedto Marian. "

"You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive his being a plaingentleman? A little bird whispered to me that you desired a title forMarian. "

"My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with titles, understandtheir true value. I should be very sorry to see Marian lose, by anunsuitable alliance, the social position I have been able to give her. Ishould set my face resolutely against such an alliance. But few Englishtitles can boast a pedigree comparable with Sholto's. The name ofDouglas is historic--far more so than that of Lind, which is not evenEnglish except by naturalization. Besides, Sholto's talents are veryremarkable. He will certainly adopt a political career; and, with hisopportunities and abilities, a peerage is anything but a remotecontingency. "

"Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There is not a charge onhis property. I think that even Marian, good as she is, and lovely asshe is, will not easily find a better match. But I am well known to be alittle crazy about my dear boy. That is because I know him so muchbetter than anyone else does. Now let us talk about other matters. Letme see. Oh yes, I got a prospectus of some company from the city theother day; and whose name should there be upon the list of directors butReginald Harrington Lind's! And Lord Carbury's, too! Pray, is the entirefamily going into business?"

"Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially sound one; and--"

"Fancy _you_ talking about commercial soundness!"

"True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no longer unusual for menin my position to take an active part in the direction of commerce. Wehave duties as well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few shareschiefly on the recommendation of Jasper and of my own stockbroker. Ithink there can be no doubt that Jasper and Mr. Conolly have made a veryremarkable discovery, and one which must prove highly remunerative andbeneficial. "

"What is the discovery? I did not quite understand the prospectus. "

"Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor. "

"Yes, I know that. "

"And it--it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot explain itscientifically to you: you would not understand me. But it is, in short, a method of driving machinery by electricity at a less cost than bysteam. It is connected in principle with the conservation of energy andother technical matters. You must come and see the machinery at worksome day. "

"I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was a common workingman?"

"Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly educated. He speaksFrench and Italian fluently, and is a remarkable musician. Altogether aman of very superior attainments, and by no means deficient in culture. "

"Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort about him; but LadyCarbury gave him a very different character. She assured me that he wassprung from the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal oftrouble to teach him his proper place. Still, we know that she is notvery particular as to what she says when she dislikes people. Yet sheought to know; for he was Jasper's laboratory servant--at least so shesaid. "

"Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded him in that light. TheCountess disapproves of Jasper's scientific pursuits, and sets her faceagainst all who encourage him in them. However, I really know nothingabout Mr. Conolly's antecedents. His manner when he appears at our boardmeetings is quiet and not unpleasant. Marian, it appears, met him atTowers Cottage the year before last, and had some scientific lessonsfrom him. He was quite unknown then. It was rather a curiouscoincidence. I did not know of it until about a month ago, when he reada paper at the Society of Arts on his invention. I attended the meetingwith Marian; and when it was over, I introduced him to her, and wassurprised to learn that they knew one another already. He told meafterward that Marian had shewn an unusual degree of cleverness instudying electricity, and that she greatly interested him at the time. "

"No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even great discoverers, whenthey are young, are only human. "

"Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some ability or she would neverhave elicited a remark from him. He is full of his business. "

"And what is the latest news of the family scamp?"

"Do you mean my Reginald?"

"Dear me, no! What a shame to call poor Reggy a scamp! I mean youngMarmaduke, of course. Is it true that he has a daughter now?"

"Oh yes. Perfectly true. "

"The reprobate! And he was always such a pleasant fellow. "

"Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a fortnight ago, Marianand Elinor went to Putney to a private view at Mr. Scott's studio. Ontheir way back they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, ratherunnecessarily, I think, entered into conversation with him. He beggedthem to come to Hammersmith in his boat, saying that he had somethingthere to shew them. Elinor, it appears, had the sense to ask whether itwas anything they ought not to see; but he replied on his honor that itwas something perfectly innocent, and promised that they should bedelighted with it. So they foolishly consented, and went with him toHammersmith, where they left the river and walked some distance withhim. He left them in a road somewhere in West Kensington, and came backafter about fifteen minutes with a little girl. He actually presentedher to Marian and Elinor as a member of the family whom they, as amatter of course, would like to know. "

"Well, _such_ a thing to do! And what happened?"

"Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the prettiness of theunhappy child. She gravely informed me that she forgave Marmadukeeverything when she saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn adisposition to defend him----"

"She is full of perversity, and always was. "

"----and this incident did not damage his credit with _her_. However, after the little waif had been sufficiently petted and praised togratify Master Marmaduke's paternal feelings, they came home, and, instead of holding their tongues, began to tell all our people what adear little child Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it oughtnot to be made to suffer for his follies. In fact, I think they wouldhave adopted it, if I had allowed them. "

"That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will serve her very wellwhen she goes to heaven; but they will get her into scrapes in thiswicked world if you do not take care of her. "

"I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of cynicism in Elinor'scharacter which would otherwise be most disagreeable to me. It is oftenuseful in correcting Marian's extravagances. Unfortunately, the incidentat Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. It happens thatmy sister Julia is interested in a Home for foundling girls--asemi-private place, where a dozen children are trained as domesticservants. "

"Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and pretty; but theyreally treat the poor girls as if they ought to be thankful forpermission to exist. Their dresses are so ugly!"

"Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much sought after, andare very difficult to get. Julia is a patroness. Marian told her aboutthis child of Marmaduke's; and it happened that a vacancy had justoccurred at the Home in consequence of one of the girls dying ofmelancholia and spinal affection. Julia, who has perhaps more piety thantact, wrote to Marmaduke offering to present his daughter, andexpatiating on the advantages of the Home to the poor little lost one. In her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she entrusted the letter toGeorge, who undertook to deliver it, and further Julia's project bypersonal persuasion. George described the interview to me, and shewedme, I am sorry to say, how much downright ferocity may exist beneath anapparently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like Marmaduke's. "

"Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, he might have knownthat the motive of the offer was a kind one. "

"Refused! A gentleman can always refuse an offer with dignity. Marmadukewas outrageous. George--a clergyman--owed his escape from actualviolence to the interference of the woman, and to a timelyrepresentation that he had undertaken to bear the message in order tosoften any angry feelings that it might give rise to. Marmadukerepeatedly applied foul language to his aunt and to her offer; andGeorge with great difficulty dissuaded him from writing a most offensiveletter to her. Julia was so hurt by this that she complained toDora--Marmaduke's mother--who had up to that time been kept in ignoranceof his doings; and now it is hard to say where the mischief will end. Dora is overwhelmed by the revelation of the life her son is leading. Marmaduke has consequently forfeited his father's countenance, whichhad to be extended to him so far as to allow of his occasionalappearance at home, in order to keep Dora in the dark. Now that she isenlightened, of course there is an end of all that, and he is forbiddenthe house. "

"What a lot of mischief! Dear me!"

"So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the river with Marmaduke, as she should have done, all this would not have occurred. She will notsee it in that light, but lays all the blame on her aunt Julia, whoseoffer fell somewhat short of her own notions of providing for thechild's future. "

"How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? I suppose his fatherhas stopped his allowance. "

"No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to make his solicitorwrite to that effect to Marmaduke, who had the consummate impudence toreply that he should in that case be compelled to provide for himself bycontracting a marriage of which he could not expect his family toapprove. Still, he added, if the family chose to sever their connexionwith him, they could not expect him to consult their feelings in hisfuture disposal of himself. In plain English, he threatened to marrythis woman if his income was cut off. He carried his point, too; for noalteration has been made in his allowance. Indeed, as he has money ofhis own, and as part of the property is entailed, it would be easier toirritate him uselessly than to subject him to any material deprivation. "

"The young scamp! I wonder he was clever enough to take advantage likethat. "

"He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I suspect he is under shrewdguidance. "

"Have you ever seen the--the guidance?"

"Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of coursefamiliar with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her. They are in all the shop windows. "

"Yes. I think I have noticed them. "

"And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit. "

"Why dont you come oftener?"

"I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as Iused. "

"I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat withone another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?"

"Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

CHAPTER VIII

On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:

 "Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W. 

 "DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this communication to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I am about to ask you to do me a favor. If you asked me to do anything for you, then, no matter how much my judgment might protest against my compliance, I could not without pain to myself refuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that your heart would plead on my behalf against your head in this fashion; but, on the other hand--the wish is father to the thought here--I have no right to assume that it would not. Therefore, to spare you all influences except the fair ones of your own interest and inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will please put the usual construction on the word 'proposal. ' What I desire is your consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I beg you to do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter without reading further. If you think, on the contrary, that we could achieve a future as pleasant as our past association has been--to me at least, here is what, as I think, you have to consider. 

 "You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing inducement to change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in every way to have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in changing it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please. 

 "What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of the society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that would compensate you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my income at present does not amount to much more than fifteen hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me if it were not that your own inheritance is sufficient, as I have ascertained, to provide for you in case of my early death. You know how my sister is situated; how your family are likely to feel toward me on her account and my own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time to what is fashionably supposed to be pleasure. On the other hand, as I am bidding for a consent and not for a refusal, I hope you will not take my disadvantages for more, or my advantages for less, than they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you often said that you would never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as we neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in marriage, perhaps we might, if you would be a little forbearing with me, succeed in proving that we have greatly underrated them. As for the prudence of the step, I have seen and practised too much prudence to believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a world of accidents. If there were a science of life as there is one of mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks; but as it is, we must--together or apart--take our chance: cautiousness and recklessness divide the great stock of regrets pretty equally. 

 "Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my own good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your friends, and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you have only seen on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by reminding you that no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages, except as to the approval of your friends, of which the value is for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, and would if I understood them well enough to do it accurately. 

 "However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a love letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in particular, must be clearly understood between us. You are too earnest to consider an allusion to religious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly what you believe; but I have gathered from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is called the Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in any other way than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism. I will not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre; and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against me and my comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had never set itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself against the Church; but what is done is done: you will find me irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable. 

 "I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four o'clock, as I do not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary; but if you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me. 

 "I am, dear Miss Lind, "Yours sincerely, "EDWARD CONOLLY. "

This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations setforth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just whatshe should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaintearnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as shethought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. Shewished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She wasafraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupiedherself during the forenoon with her household duties, with somepianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuadeherself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient offurther delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, andre-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she readit again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and shewould have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. LeithFairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House. 

"It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy, " said Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. "I have been there at the pressview, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, ofcourse, I am expected to be there. "

"If I were in your place, " said Elinor, "I----"

"Last night, " continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, "I wasnot in bed until half-past two o'clock. On the night before, I was upuntil five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all. "

"Why do you do such things?" said Marian. 

"My dear, I _must_. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesdayat three o'clock, and said he must have an article on the mangoexperiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. Forhis paper, the _Fortnightly Naturalist_, you know. 'My dear JohnMetcalf, ' I said, 'I dont know what a mango is. ' 'No more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, ' said he: 'I think it's something that blooms only oncein a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have thearticle. Nobody else can do it. ' I told him it was impossible. My Londonletter for the _Hari Kari_ was not even begun; and the last post tocatch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I hadan article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had beenshining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. 'If you were togo down on your knees, ' I said, 'I could not find time to read up the_flora_ of the West Indies and finish an article before morning. ' Hewent down on his knees. 'Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax, ' said he, 'I am goingto stay here until you promise. ' What could I do but promise and get ridof him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf toldme yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society forNaturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest livingauthority on the subject, has got the credit of having written myarticle. "

"How flattered he must feel!" said Elinor. 

"What article had you to write for papa?" said Marian. 

"On the electro-motor--the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to theCity on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and veryinteresting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able tofollow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember himas a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four yearsago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a concertonce. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making upward offifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect theirreceipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in the_Dynamic Statistician_ next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas since hecame back from the continent?"

"No. "

"I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Whyhas he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?"

"What old quarrel?"

"I always understood that he went abroad on your account. "

"I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not cometo see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that hisretirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional. "

"Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind tothe poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy. "

"I hope not, " said Marian, quickly. 

"Why?"

"I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be verydisagreeable. "

"A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! Whatperverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an_éclaircissement_. "

"I advise you not to, " said Elinor. "If you succeed, no one will admitthat you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame you. "

"But there is nothing to be _éclairci_, " said Marian. We are talkingnonsense, which is silly----"

"And French, which is vulgar, " interposed Miss McQuinch, delivering theremark like a pistol shot at Mrs. Fairfax, who had been trying to conveyby facial expression that she pitied the folly of Elinor's advice, andwas scandalized by her presumption in offering it. "It is time to startfor the Academy. "

When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fairfax put on her goldrimmed spectacles, and led the way up the stairs like one havingimportant business in a place to which others came for pleasure. Whenthey had passed the turnstiles, Elinor halted, and said:

"There is no sort of reason for our pushing through this crowd in a gangof three. Besides, I want to look at the pictures, and not after you tosee which way you go. I shall meet you here at six o'clock, sharp. Good-bye. "

"What an extraordinary girl!" said Mrs. Fairfax, as Elinor opened hercatalogue at the end, and suddenly disappeared to the right amongst thecrowd. 

"She always does so, " said Marian; "and I think she is quite right. Twopeople cannot make their way about as easily as one; and they never wantto see the same pictures. "

"But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young girl walking about byherself. "

"Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people--all sensiblewomen do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, whether you are by yourself ornot? And what does it matter if----"

Here Mrs. Fairfax's attention was diverted by the approach of one of hernumerous acquaintances. Marian, after a moment's indecision, slippedaway and began her tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly through thefirst in order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried to look at thepictures; but as she now for the first time realized that she might meetConolly at any moment, doubt as to what answer she should give himseized her; and she felt a strong impulse to fly. The pictures wereunintelligible to her: she kept her face turned to the inharmonious shewof paint and gilding only because she shrank from looking at the peopleabout. Whenever she stood still, and any man approached and remainednear her, she contemplated the wall fixedly, and did not dare to lookround or even to stir until he moved away, lest he should be Conolly. When she passed from the second room to the large one, she felt asthough she were making a tremendous plunge; and indeed the catastropheoccurred before she had accomplished the movement, for she came suddenlyface to face with him in the doorway. He did not flinch: he raised hishat, and prepared to pass on. She involuntarily put out her hand inremonstrance. He took it as a gift at once; and she, confused, saidanxiously: "We must not stand in the doorway. The people cannot passus, " as if her action had meant nothing more than an attempt to draw himout of the way. Then, perceiving the absurdity of this pretence, she wasquite lost for a moment. When she recovered her self-possession theywere standing together in the less thronged space near a bust of theQueen; and Conolly was saying:

"I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen a single picture. "

"Nor I, " she said timidly, looking down at her catalogue. "Shall we tryto see some now?"

He opened his catalogue; and they turned together toward the picturesand were soon discussing them sedulously, as if they wished to shut outthe subject of the very recent crisis in their affairs, which wasnevertheless constantly present in their minds. Marian was saluted bymany acquaintances. At each encounter she made an effort to appearunconcerned, and suffered immediately afterward from a suspicion thatthe effort had defeated its own object, as such efforts often do. Conolly had something to say about most of the pictures: generally anunanswerable objection to some historical or technical inaccuracy, whichsometimes convinced her, and always impressed her with a confiding senseof ignorance in herself and infallible judgment in him. 

"I think we have done enough for one day, " she said at last. "Thewatercolors and the sculpture must wait until next time. "

"We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must be tired. "

"I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some other room. Mrs. Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. Douglas--a gentleman whom I knowand would rather not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth. "

"Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow since. "

"That is he. Let us go to the room where the drawings are: we shall havea better chance of a seat there. I have not seen Sholto for two years;and our last meeting was rather a stormy one. "

"What happened?"

Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She missed the reticenceof a gentleman. Then she reproached herself for not understanding thathis frank curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, andanswered: "He proposed to me. "

Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in search of a vacantseat. They found one in the little room where the architects' drawingslanguish. They were silent for some time. 

Then he began, seriously: "Is it too soon to call you by your own name?'Miss Lind' is distant; but 'Marian' might shock you if it came tooconfidently without preparation. "

"Whichever you please. "

"Whichever I please!"

"That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches that are sheercoquetry when you analyze them, come to our lips and escape even when weare most anxious to be straightforward. "

"In the same way, " said Conolly, "the most enlightened men often expressthemselves in a purely conventional manner on subjects on which theyhave the deepest convictions. " This sententious utterance had the effectof extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Marian being unableto think of a worthy rejoinder. At last she said:

"What is your name?"

"Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In America, Ed. With, ofcourse, the diminutives Neddy, Teddy, and Eddy. "

"I think I should prefer Ned. "

"I prefer Ned myself. "

"Have you any other name?"

"Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued with twoChristian names, I do not know. No one would have believed in the motorif they had known that my name was Sebastian. "

"Sebastian!"

"Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebastiano Conolly. My fatherused to spell his name Conollj whilst he was out of Italy. I havefrustrated the bounty of my godfathers by suppressing all but thesensible Edward Conolly. "

There was a pause. Then Marian spoke. 

"Do you intend to make our--our engagement known at once?"

"I have considered the point; and as you are the person likely to beinconvenienced by its publication, I am bound to let you conceal it forthe present, if you wish to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner thebetter. You will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret; and asfor me, every time your father greets me cordially in the City I shallfeel mean. However, you can watch for your opportunity. Let me know atonce when the cat comes out of the bag. "

"I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell at once. "

"Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until we are married youwill be worried by remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and what not; sothat we cannot possibly make that interval too short. "

"We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will not object to that?"

"Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch. "

"You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are accustomed to go abouttogether, especially to picture galleries. We can come to the Academy asoften as we like; and you can come as often as you like, can you not?"

"Opening day, for instance. "

"Yes, if you wish. "

"Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I would willingly behere when the doors open in the morning; but my business will not doitself while I am philandering and making you tired of me before yourtime. The consciousness of having done a day's work is necessary to mycomplete happiness. "

"I, too, have my day's work to do, silly as it is. I have to housekeep, to receive visitors, to write notes about nothing, and to think of thefuture. We can say half-past four or any later hour that may suit you. "

"Agreed. And now, Marian----"

"Dont let me disturb you, " said Miss McQuinch, at his elbow, to Marian;"but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be here with Sholto Douglas presently; andI thought you might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him. How doyou do, Mr. Conolly?"

"I must see him sooner or later, " said Marian, rising. "Better face himat once and get it over. I will go back by myself and meet them. " Then, with a smile at Conolly, she went out through the door leading to thewater-color gallery. 

"Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, Mr. Conolly, " saidMiss McQuinch, glancing at him. 

"No, " said Conolly. "Do you think you could face the Academy again onMonday at half-past four?"

"Why?"

"Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour. "

"Marian!"

"Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. At present it is asecret. But it was to be mentioned to you. "

"It will not be a secret very long if you allow people to overhear youcalling her by her Christian name in the middle of the Academy, as youdid me just now, " said Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolutenot to appear so. 

"Did you overhear us? I should have been more careful. You do not seemsurprised. "

"Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at Marian'sconsenting. "

"Thank you. "

"I did not mean it in that way at all, " said Elinor resentfully. "Ithink you have been very fortunate, as I suppose you would have marriedsomebody in any case. I believe you are able to appreciate her. That's acompliment. "

"Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will ever forgive me forsupplanting the hero Marian deserves?"

"If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have despised you, Ithink: at least, I should if you had missed it with your eyes open. I amso far prejudiced in your favor that I think Marian would not like youunless you were good. I have known her to pity people who deserved to bestrangled; but I never knew her to be attracted by any unworthy personexcept myself; and even I have my good points. You need not troubleyourself to agree with me: you could not do less, in common politeness. As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the vestibule until theothers are ready to go home. In the meantime you can tell me all theparticulars you care to trust me with. Marian will tell me the rest whenwe go home. "

"That is an undeserved stab, " said Conolly. 

"Never mind: I am always stabbing people. I suppose I like it, " sheadded, as they went together to the vestibule. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting her time. She hadcome upon Douglas in the large room, and had recognized him by hisstature and proud bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard hehad allowed to grow during his stay abroad. 

"I have been very anxious to see you, " said she, forcing a conversationupon him, though he had saluted her formally, and had evidently intendedto pass on without speaking. "If your time were not too valuable to bedevoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have asked you to call onme. Dont deprecate my forbearance. You are Somebody in the literaryworld now. "

"Indeed? I was not aware that I had done anything to raise me fromobscurity. "

"I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else very modest. Has noone told you about the effect your book produced here?"

"I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never enquire after theeffect of my work. I have lived in comparative seclusion; and I scarcelyknow what collection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by describingas a book. "

"I mean your 'Note on three pictures in last year's _Salon_, ' with thesonnets, and the fragment from your unfinished drama. Is it finished, may I ask?"

"It is not finished. I shall never finish it now. "

"I will tell you--between ourselves--that I heard one of the foremostcritics of the age say, in the presence of a great poet (whom we bothknow), that it was such another fragment as the Venus of Milo, 'whoselost arms, ' said he, 'we should fear to see, lest they should beunworthy of her. ' 'You are right, ' said the poet: 'I, for one, shouldshudder to see the fragment completed. ' That is a positive fact. Butlook at some of the sonnets! Burgraves says that his collection ofEnglish sonnets is incomplete because it does not contain your'Clytemnestra, ' which he had not seen when his book went to press. Youstand in the very forefront of literature--far higher than I, whoam--dont tell anybody--five years older than you. "

"You are very good. I do not value any distinction of the sort. I writesometimes because, I suppose, the things that are in me must come out, whether I will or not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite wellI hope?"

"Very far from it. I am never well; but since I never have a moment'srest from work, I must bear with it. People expect me to think, when Ihave hardly time to eat. "

"If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am truly sorry thatyour health remains so bad. "

"Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy cynicism, Mr. Douglas? Why should you, who are young, distinguished, gifted, andalready famous, envy me for having no leisure to think?"

"You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate insensibility to theadmiration of the crowd, " said Douglas, coldly. "I am, nevertheless, flattered by the interest you take in my affairs. "

"You need not be, Mr. Douglas, " said Mrs. Fairfax, earnestly, fearingthat he would presently succeed in rebuffing her. "I think you are muchbetter off than you deserve. You may despise your reputation as much asyou like: that only affects yourself. But when a beautiful girl pays youthe compliment of almost dying of love for you, I think you ought to buya wedding-ring and jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote corners ofthe continent. "

"And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so honored me?"

"You must know, unless you are blind. "

"Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not the case. I beg you tobelieve that I do _not_ know. "

"Not know! What moles men are! Poor Marian!"

"Oblige me by taking this seat, " said Douglas, sternly, pointing to onejust vacated. "I shall not detain you many minutes, " he added, sittingdown beside her. "May I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of whomyou spoke just now?"

"Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a friend, and that I trustto you not to mention the effort I am making to clear up themisunderstanding which causes her so much unhappiness. "

"Are you then in Miss Lind's confidence? Did she ask you to tell methis?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Douglas?"

"I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend you, Mrs. LeithFairfax. Does your question imply a negative?"

"Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell! you must be dreaming. Do youthink, even if Marian were capable of making an advance, that _I_ wouldconsent to act as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!"

"I confess I do not understand these matters; and you must bear with myineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains any sentiment for me but one ofmistrust and aversion, her behavior is singularly misleading. "

"Mistrust! Aversion! I tell you she is in love with you. "

"But you have not, you admit, her authority for saying so, whereas I_have_ her authority for the contrary. "

"You do not understand girls. You are mistaken. "

"Possibly; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set aside my ownjudgment in deference to your low estimate of it. "

"Very well, " said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding a little to hispersistent stiffness: "be it so. Many men would be glad to beg what youwill not be bribed to accept. "

"No doubt. I trust that when they so humble themselves they may notencounter a flippant repulse. "

"If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard for you. "

He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his gloves as if about torise. 

"Pray what is that large picture which is skied over there to theright?" said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, during which she had feignedto examine her catalogue. "I cannot see the number at this distance. "

"Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that senseless and cruelcaprice which your sex seem to consider becoming to them; or has shechanged her mind in my absence?"

"Oh! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what you have to complainof in her conduct. Mind, she has never breathed a word to me on thesubject. I am quite ignorant of the details of your difference with her. But she has confessed to me that she is very sorry for what passed--I amabusing her confidence by telling you so--and I am a woman, with eyesand brains, and know what the poor girl feels well enough. I will tellyou nothing more: I have no right to; and Marian would be indignant ifshe knew how much I have said already. But I know what I should do wereI in your place. "

"Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?"

Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actuallyproposed to Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with asmile which was assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressedincredulity at the idea of his being refused again. 

"Are you sure?" he began, speaking courteously to her for the firsttime. "May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this subject?I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might expose meto humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee--any--"

"Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you awritten undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that mightencourage you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But ifyou need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish theprospect of success. Doubtless it has already struck her that since youfound absence from her very bearable for two years, and have avoidedmeeting her on your return, her society cannot be very important to yourhappiness. "

"But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away toenjoy myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth. "

"Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you havepunished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew atardy magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in atthe door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?"

"Yes. "

"Then let us get up and speak to her. Come. "

"You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her myword that I will not intrude upon her again. "

"Dont be so foolish. "

Douglas's face clouded. "You are privileged to say so, " he said. 

"Not at all, " said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. "But when I think ofMarian, I feel like an old woman, and venture to remonstrate with allthe presumption of age. I beg your pardon. "

He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fairfax again gave tongue. 

"Where have you been?" she cried. "You vanished from my side like asprite. I have been searching for you ever since. "

"I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am so glad you havecome back, Sholto. I think you might have made time to pay us a visitbefore this. You look so strong and well! Your beard is a greatimprovement. Have you met Nelly?"

"I think we saw her at some distance, " said Douglas. "I have not beenspeaking to her. "

"How did you enjoy yourself while you were away?"

"As best I could. "

"You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What o'clock is it?Remember that we have to meet Nelly at the turnstiles at six. "

"It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind. "

"Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I think. "

As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered behind them. 

"Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous as ever, Marian?"he said. 

"Quite, " she replied. "To-day especially so. I am very happy to-day. "

"May I ask why?"

"Something has happened. I will tell you what it is some day perhaps, but not now. Something that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The dreamhas been hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I neverventured to teach myself exactly what it was until to-day. "

"Realized here? in the Academy?"

"It was foreshadowed--promised, at home this morning; but it wasrealized here. "

"Did you know beforehand that I was coming?"

"Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely behere. "

"And you are happy?"

"So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, whoare the very last person--as you will admit when everything isexplained--to whom I should unlock my lips on the subject. "

"And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?"

"I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be moreastonished than gratified. "

"I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair ofthe heart?"

"Now you are beginning to ask questions. "

"Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my longabsence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to yourhappiness, you do me a great injustice. "

"Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went away. "

"I will forget that if you wish me to. "

"I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?"

"Most assuredly. "

"Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great dealbetter than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which ourminds are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope. "

"I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?"

"He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then. He has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if youwant to see him in the morning you had better go to the club. I willwrite to him to-night if you like; so that he can write to you and makean appointment. "

"Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I havebeen for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet Iknew all the time that you were an angel. "

Marian laughed. "I suppose that under our good understanding I must letyou say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before yourenthusiasm evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra. "

"I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness afterward. "

"Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. LeithFairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!"

Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look round for her. "My dear, "she said: "it is past six. We must go. Elinor may be waiting for us. "

They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs. Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to oneanother by Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descendedthe stairs, they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conollywent aside to get their umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered thebuilding, and halted in surprise at finding himself among so manyacquaintances. 

"Hallo!" he cried, seizing Douglas's hand, and attracting the attentionof the bystanders by his boisterous tone. "Here you are again, old man!Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George toldme you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last Thursday; butshe pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh?Very much in the old style, I suppose?"

"Thank you, " said Douglas. "I trust your people are quite well. "

"Hang me if I know!" said Marmaduke. "I have not troubled them much oflate. How d'ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?"Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly. 

"Dont roar so, Marmaduke, " said Marian. "Everybody is looking at you. "

"Everybody is welcome, " said Marmaduke, loudly. "Douglas: you must comeand see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all ofyou. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I shouldenjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all properand right. Let us have a regular party. "

Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiouslyfor Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door. 

"Here, Marmaduke, " she said, offering him her hand. "Good-bye. You arein one of your outrageous humors this afternoon. "

"What am I doing?" he replied. "I am behaving myself perfectly. Let ussettle about the party before we go. "

"Good evening, Mr. Lind, " said Conolly, coming up to them with theumbrellas. "This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. "

"Good evening, " said Marmaduke, subsiding. "I----Well, you are all off, are you?"

"Quite time for us, I think, " said Elinor. "Good-bye. "

Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out withConolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke. 

"First rate, " said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; "and beginning totalk like one o'clock. Oh yes, I tell you!" He shook Elinor's hand atsuch length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she was much relievedwhen a servant in livery interrupted him. 

"Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes, " said the man. 

Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the restoutside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an opencarriage, in which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicateartificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dressattracted their attention. Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly waswatching her as she looked at the woman in the carriage. She was aboutto say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged her. Then sheunderstood too, and looked solemnly at Susanna. Susanna, observing her, stared insolently in return, and Marian averted her head like a guiltyperson and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not speak until theyrejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly. 

"How do you propose to go home?" said Douglas. 

"Walk to St. James's Street, where the carriage is waiting at the club;take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park, " saidElinor. 

"I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me, " saidDouglas. 

Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they disappeared, when he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his sister's carriage. 

"Well, Susanna, " said he. "How are you?"

"Oh, there's nothing the matter with me, " she replied carelessly, hereyes filling with tears, nevertheless. 

"I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past. "

"Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket. "

"What is its name?" he said more gravely. 

"Lucy. "

"Is it quite well?"

"I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill. "

Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner inwhich he had used to talk with his sister. "Tired of it already?" hesaid. "Poor little wretch!"

"It is very well off, " she retorted, angrily: "a precious deal betterthan I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father, heavenknows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work. "

"You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You arequite famous. "

"Yes, " she said, bitterly. "We are both celebrities. Rather differentfrom old times. "

"We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let ushope all that is over now. "

"Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?"

"Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch. "

"I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea tobless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are agreat man, why dont you marry a swell?"

"I intend to do so. "

"The Lord help her then!"

"Amen. Good-bye. "

"Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho, " she added, to the coachman, settlingherself fretfully on the cushions. 

CHAPTER IX

On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr. Lind's club. He had spent the greater part of the previous nightcomposing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St. James's Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an accountof his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions, both gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as theirhaving put up at the same hotel or travelled by the same line ofrailway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed that they shouldretire to the smoking-room. 

"I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alonehere, " said Douglas. 

"Certainly, " said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation ofbeing appealed to as a parent. "Certainly, Sholto. "

"What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probablysurprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and wasonly prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which havehappily since lost their significance. When I tell you that mycommunication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess itsnature. "

"Indeed!" said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. "Well, Sholto, if it be so, you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her marriagewill entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a fewregrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She mustleave me some day. I have no right to complain. "

"We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian's natureto form many ties, but to break none. "

"She is an amiable girl, my--my darling child. Does she know anything ofthis?"

"I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasureof getting her own final consent, which I would not press for untilarmed with your sanction. "

Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked asif he believed perfectly in Douglas's respect for his parental claims. "Quite right, " he said, "quite right. You have my best wishes. I haveno doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a fewaffairs to be settled--a few contingencies to be providedfor--children--accidents--and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arisebetween us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged. "

"I propose a very simple method of arranging them. You are a man ofhonor, and more conversant with business than I. Give me yourinstructions. My lawyer shall have them within half an hour. "

"That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. But I mustconsider before giving you an answer. You have thrown upon me the dutyof studying your position as well as Marian's; and I must neither abuseyour generosity nor neglect her interest. "

"You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the conditions as settled, since I leave them entirely in your hands. "

"My own means have been seriously crippled by the extravagance ofReginald. Indeed both my boys have cost me much money. I had not, likeyou, the good fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of ayounger son: there was very little left for me. I will treat Marian asliberally as I can; but I fear I cannot do anything for her that willbear comparison with your munificence. "

"Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to be solely responsiblefor her welfare. "

"Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: I will give her something, please God. "

"As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your satisfactionafterward. Do you intend returning to Westbourne Terrace soon?"

"I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you would care to comewith me, I can shew you the Company's place there, and the working ofthe motor. It is well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to theTerrace and dine with us. After dinner you can talk to Marian. "

Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria Street, to a buildingwhich had on each doorpost a brass shield inscribed THE CONOLLYELECTRO-MOTOR COMPANY OF LONDON, LIMITED. At the offices, on the firstfloor, they were received obsequiously and informed that Mr. Conolly waswithin. They then went to a door on which appeared the name of theinventor, and entered a handsomely furnished office containing severalworking models of machinery, and a writing-table, from his seat at whichConolly rose to salute his visitors. 

"Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. Douglas?"

"Oh!" said Mr. Lind. "You two are acquainted. I did not know that. "

"Yes, " said Conolly, "I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Douglas at theAcademy yesterday evening. "

"Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were there. Well, can we seethe wonders of the place, Mr. Conolly; or do we disturb you?"

"Not at all, " replied Conolly, turning to one of the models, andbeginning his showman's lecture with disquieting promptitude. "Hitherto, as you are no doubt aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept electricity, as amotive power, out of the field; because it is much less expensive. Eveninduced magnetic currents, the cheapest known form of electric energy, can be obtained only by the use of steam power. You generate steam bythe combustion of coal: electricity, without steam, can only begenerated by the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper than metal:consider the vast amount of coal consumed in smelting metals. Still, electricity is a much greater force than steam: it's stronger, so tospeak. Sixpennorth of electricity would do more work than sixpennorth ofsteam if only you could catch it and hold it without waste. Up to thepresent the waste has been so enormous in electric engines as comparedwith steam engines that steam has held its own in spite of its inferiorstrength. What I have invented is, to put it shortly, an electric enginein which there is hardly any waste; and we can now pump water, turnmill-stones, draw railway trains, and lift elevators, at a saving, infuel and labor, of nearly seventy per cent, of the cost of steam. And, "added Conolly, glancing at Douglas, "as a motor of six-horsepower can bemade to weigh less than thirty pounds, including fuel, flying is nowperfectly feasible. "

"What!" said Douglas, incredulously. "Does not all trustworthy evidenceprove that flying is a dream?"

"So it did; because a combination of great power with little weight, such as an eagle, for instance, possesses, could not formerly berealized in a machine. The lightest known four-horse-power steam engineweighs nearly fifty pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing thirtypounds will give rather more than six-horse-power, or, in other words, will produce a wing power competent to overcome much more than its owngravity. If the Aeronautical Society does not, within the next fewyears, make a machine capable of carrying passengers through the air toNew York in less than two days, I will make one myself. "

"Very wonderful, indeed, " said Douglas, politely, looking askance athim. 

"No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I assure you. We shallpresently be conveyed to the top of this building by my motor. Here youhave a model locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine: allof which, as you see, I can set to work. However, this is mere show. Youmust always bear in mind that the novelty is not in the working of thesemachines, but the smallness of the cost of working. "

Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, understandingnone of the contrivances until they were explained, and not alwaysunderstanding them even then. It was disagreeable to be instructed byConolly--to feel that there were matters of which Conolly kneweverything and he nothing. If he could have but shaped a pertinentquestion or two, enough to prove that he was quite capable of thesubject if he chose to turn his attention to it, he could have acceptedConolly's information on the machinery as indifferently as that of apoliceman on the shortest way to some place that it was no part of agentleman's routine to frequent. As it was, he took refuge in hishabitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition should be prolonged on hisaccount, took care to shew no more interest in it than was barelynecessary to satisfy Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returnedwestward together in a hansom. 

"He is a Yankee, I suppose, '" said Douglas, as if ingenuity were a lowhabit that must be tolerated in an American. 

"Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of thing. Curious turnof mind the mechanical instinct is!"

"It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is generally subject to thedelusion that it has a monopoly of utility. Your mechanic hates art;pelts it with lumps of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath allthe hard and ugly facts of existence. On the other hand, your artistinstinctively hates machinery. I fear I am an artist. "

"I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. Look at the steamengine, the electric telegraph, the--the other inventions of thecentury. How could we get on without them?"

"Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our mechanicalcontrivances seem to serve us; but they are really mastering us, crowding and crushing the beauty out of our lives, and making commercethe only god. "

"I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radicalism have madealarming strides under the influence of our modern civilization. But theconvenience of steam conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if wecould now dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a moderateLiberal, do I care to advocate any retrogression, even in the directionof ancient Greece. "

Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. Lind, as of awell-mannered man who had never learned anything, and had forgotten allthat he had been taught. He did not attempt to argue, but merely said, coldly: "I can only say that I wish Fate had made me an Athenian insteadof an Englishman of the nineteenth century. "

Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if not Athens, better, but was in too tolerant a humor to say so. Little more passed betweenthe two until they reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and hercousin were dressing for dinner. When Marian came down, her beauty soaffected Douglas that his voice was low and his manner troubled as hegreeted her. He took her in to dinner, and sat in silence beside her, heedless alike of his host's commonplaces and Miss McQuinch'sacridities. 

Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine that evening, andallowed his guest to go upstairs alone. Douglas hoped that Elinor wouldbe equally considerate, but, to his disappointment, he found her byherself in the drawing-room. She hastened to explain. 

"Marian is looking for some music. She will be back directly. "

He sat down and took an album from the table, saying: "Have you many newfaces here?"

"Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. It is the old onesthat are really interesting. "

"I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is capital. Ah! this ofyou is an old friend. "

"Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance on the opposite page?"

"She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious as possible. Whatdress is that? Is it a uniform?"

"Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Douglas tell you?"

"I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage hospital or somethingof that kind, did she not?"

"She left it because one of the doctors offended her. He was ratherdreadful. He said that in two months she had contributed more to themortality among the patients than he had in two years, and told herflatly that she had been trained for the drawing-room and ought to staythere. She was glad enough to have an excuse for leaving; for she washeartily sick of making a fool of herself. "

"Indeed! Where is she now?"

"Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That's Mr. Conolly theinventor, there under Jasper. "

"So I perceive. Clever head, rather! A plain, hard nature, with nodepths in it. Is that his wife, with the Swiss bonnet?"

"His wife! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter of a guide atChamounix, who nursed Marian when she sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly isnot married. "

"I thought men of his stamp always married early. "

"No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very good position. "

"He owes that to the diseased craving of modern women for notoriety ofany sort. What an admirable photograph of Marian! I never saw it before. It is really most charming. When was it taken?"

"Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it--thinks it toocoquettish. "

"Then perhaps she will give it to me. "

"She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have caught her at a softmoment to-night. "

"I cannot find that duet anywhere, " said Marian, entering. "What! upalready, Sholto? Where is papa?"

"I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just been asking MissMcQuinch whether she thought you would give me a copy of this carte. "

"That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people persist in admiring it. It always looks to me as if it belonged to an assortment of popularbeauties at one shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you maytake that if you wish. "

"Thank you, " said Douglas, drawing it from the book. 

"I think you have a copy of every photograph I have had taken in mylife, " she said, sitting down near him, and taking the album. "I haveseveral of yours, too. You must get one taken soon for me; I have notgot you with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which AuntDora gave me on my eighth birthday; and the first picture in it is you, dressed in flannels, holding a bat, and looking very stern as captain ofyour eleven at Eton. I used to stand in great awe of you then. Do youremember telling me once that 'Zanoni' was a splendid book, and that Iought to read it?"

"Pshaw! No. I must have been a young fool. But it seems that I had thegrace even then to desire your sympathy. "

"I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wiltshire, where Nellykept a select library of fiction concealed underneath her mattress; andI believed every word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactlylike Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had never seen you. "

"Things like that make deep impressions on children, " said Elinor, thoughtfully. "You were a Zanoni in my imagination for years before Isaw you. When we first met you treated me insufferably. If you had knownhow my childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, you might havevouchsafed me some more consideration, and I might have gone onbelieving you a demigod to the end of the chapter. I have hardlyforgiven you yet for disenchanting me. "

"I am sorry, " said Douglas sarcastically. "I must have been sadlylacking in impressiveness. But on the other hand I recollect that youdid not disappoint me in the least. You fully bore out the expectationsI had been led to form of you. "

"I have no doubt I did, " said Elinor. "Yet I protest that my reputationwas as unjust as yours. However, I have outlived my sensitiveness tothis injustice, and have even contracted a bad habit of pretending toact up to it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you surethat duet is not on the sofa in my room?"

"Oh, the sofa! I looked only in the green case. "

"I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a few minutes. "

Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was confused when he was alonewith Marian. He strolled to the window, outside which the roof of theporch had been converted into a summer retreat by a tent of pink-stripedcanvass. "The tent is up already, " he said. "I noticed it as we camein. "

"Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry out this littletable, and put the lamp on it. There is just room for three chairs. "

"We need not crowd ourselves with the table, " he said. "There will belight enough. We only want to talk. "

"Very well, " said Marian, rising. "Will you give me that woolen thingthat is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl. " He placed it on hershoulders, and they went out. 

"I will sit in this corner, " said Marian. "You are too big for thecampstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here. Whenthe crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow, the view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug inhiding here and watching it. " Douglas smiled, and seated himself as shesuggested, near her, with his shoulder against the stone balustrade. 

"Marian, " said he, after a pause: "you remember what passed between usat the Academy yesterday?"

"You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes. "

"Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, norhappiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it. I wish you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph ofmine in your album. "

"But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We werealways good friends until you quarrelled and ran away. "

"That was not my fault, Marian. "

"Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now. "

"You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only amemory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on yourfather this morning?"

"It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?"

"Good Heavens, Marian!" he said, rising, "what spirit of woman or spiritof mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?"

"I really thought that was the reason--besides, of course, your desireto make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after yourreturn. "

"Marian!" he said, still remonstrantly. 

She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized theexpression in his face. 

"You know as well as I, " he continued, "that I went to seek his consentto our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant werewritten on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me thispretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is delighted. Nowmay I make a guess at that happy secret you told me of yesterday, andpromised I should know one day?"

"Stop! Wait, " said Marian, very pale. "I must tell you that secretmyself. "

"Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to bewhispered to me alone. "

"Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to dowith you. " Douglas drew back a little way. 

"I am engaged to be married. "

"What do you mean?" he said sternly, advancing a step and looking downmenacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair. 

"I have said what I mean, " replied Marian with dignity. But she rosequickly as soon as she had spoken, and got past him into thedrawing-room. He followed her; and she turned and faced him in themiddle of the room, paler than before. 

"You are engaged to _me_, " he said. 

"I am not, " she replied. 

"That is a lie!" he exclaimed, struggling in his rage to break throughthe strong habit of self-control. "It is a damnable lie; but it is themost cruel way of getting rid of me, and therefore the one mostcongenial to your heartlessness. "

"Sholto, " said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: "you should notspeak to me like that. "

"I say, " he cried fiercely, "that it is a lie!"

"Whats the matter?" said Elinor, coming hastily into the room. 

"Sholto has lost his temper, " said Marian, firmly, her indignationgetting the better of her fear now that she was no longer alone withhim. 

"It is a lie, " repeated Douglas, unable to shape a new sentence. Elinorand Marian looked at one another in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered. 

"Gently, pray, " said he. "You can be heard all through the house. Marian: what is the matter?"

She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a few efforts, inspeaking intelligibly. "Your daughter, " he said, "with the assistance ofher friend Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of directassurance on her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me toher feet a second time, after I had unfortunately wounded her vanity bybreaking her chains for two years. "

"That is utterly false, " interrupted Marian, with excitement. 

"I say, " said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a more determinedmanner, "that she set Mrs. Leith Fairfax on me with a tale of love andregret for my absence. She herself with her own lips deliberatelyinvited me to seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write methe invitation I received from you this morning. She told me that myreturn realized a dream that had been haunting her for two years. Shebegged me to forgive her the past, and to write her a sonnet, of whichshe said she was at least more worthy than Clytemnestra, and of which Isay she is at best less worthy than Cressida. " He took a paper from hispocket as he spoke; and, with a theatrical gesture, tore it intofragments. 

"This is very extraordinary, " said Mr. Lind irresolutely. "Is it somefoolish quarrel, or what is the matter? Pray let us have no moreunpleasantness. "

"You need fear none from me, " said Douglas. "I do not propose tocontinue my acquaintance with Miss Lind. "

"Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have refused him, " saidMarian. "He has lost his temper and insulted me. I think you ought totell him to go away. "

"Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about this?"

"What I have told you, " said Douglas, "I confirm _on my honor_, whichyou can weigh against the pretences of a twice perjured woman. "

"Sholto!"

"I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. I regret that youwere not in a position this morning to warn me of your daughter'snotable secret. "

"If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will hold yourtongue, " interposed Elinor, sharply. 

"Papa, " said Marian: "I became engaged yesterday to Mr. Conolly. I toldMr. Douglas this in order to save him from making me a proposal. That isthe reason he has forgotten himself. I had not intended to tell you sosuddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to. "

"Engaged to Mr. Conolly!" cried Mr. Lind. "I begin to fearthat----Enga----" He took breath, and continued, to Marian: "I forbidyou to entertain any such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothingto be gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is some girlishabsurdity--some--some--some--"

"I apologize for having doubted the truth of the excuse, " said Douglas;"but I see that I have failed to gauge Miss Lind's peculiar taste. I begyou to understand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at an end. I do notaspire to the position of Mr. Conolly's rival. "

"You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly's unsuccessful rival;and you fill it with a very bad grace, " said Elinor. 

"Pray be silent, Elinor, " said Mr. Lind. "This matter does not concernyou. Marian: go to your room for the present. I shall speak to youafterwards. "

Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. "I wish I were under _his_protection now, " she said, looking reproachfully at Douglas as shecrossed the room. 

"What can you expect from a father but hostility?" said Elinor, bitterly. "You are a coward, like all your sex, " she added, turning toDouglas. Then she suddenly opened the door, and passed out through itwith Marian, whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrankinto a corner of the landing, and the page hastily dragged the cookdown to the kitchen. 

The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were for some momentsquite at a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after a preliminary cough or two, said:"Sholto: I cannot describe to you how shocked I am by what I have justheard. I am deeply disappointed in Marian. I trusted her implicitly; butof course I now see that I have been wrong in allowing her so muchliberty. Evidently a great deal has been going on of which I had not anysuspicion. "

Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; but his rage, naturally peevish and thin in quality, was subsiding, though it surgedback on him at intervals. But now that he no longer desired to speakpassionately, he would not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly Mr. Lind broke out with a fury that astonished him, preoccupied as he was. 

"This--this fellow must have had opportunities of thrusting himself intoher society of which I knew nothing. I thought she barely knew him. Andif I had known, could I have suspected her of intriguing with anill-bred adventurer! Yes, I might: my experience ought to have warned methat the taint was in her blood. Her mother did the same thing--left theposition I had given her to run away with a charlatan, disgracing mewithout the shadow of an excuse or reason except her own innate love forwhat was low. I thought Marian had escaped that. I was proud ofher--placed un--unbounded confidence in her. "

"She has struck me a blow, " said Douglas, "the infernal treachery----. "He checked himself, and after a moment resumed in his ordinary formalmanner. "I must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at present todiscuss what has passed. Any conventional expressions of regret wouldbe----Good-night. "

He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, did not attempt todetain him or even return his bow, but stood biting his lips with afrown of discomfiture and menace. When he was alone, he paced the roomseveral times. Then he procured some writing materials and sat downbefore them. He wrote nothing, but, after sitting for some time, he wentupstairs. Passing Marian's room he listened. The sharp voice andrestless movements of his niece were the only sounds he heard. Theyseemed to frighten him; for he stole on quickly to his own room, andwent to bed. Even there he could hear a shrill note of conversationoccasionally from the opposite room, where Marian was sitting on a sofa, trying to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on her since herescape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, seated on the corner of a drawerwhich projected from the dressing-table, talked incessantly in her mostacrid tones. 

"Henceforth, " she said, "Uncle Reginald is welcome to my heartiestdetestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse tohate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part--like a trueparent--against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to haveput out of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall beeven with him for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: Ihate people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful either, onlyincapable of any enduring sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas! Thehero, the Newdigate poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he iswhen a little disappointment rubs his varnish off! I am glad I calledhim a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well satisfied with myselfaltogether: at last I have come out of a scene without having forgottenthe right thing to say. You never see people in all their selfishnessuntil they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your loving suitor, Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father, Reginald Lind!"

"I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the room, "said Marian. "It was Sholto's place to have gone, not mine. "

"Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from 'papa' to'my father, ' judiciously sided with the stronger and richer party. "

"Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. Ifeel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose itis because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement. "

"Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; andnow you see how right you were. "

"Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me. "

"What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little betteracquainted with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house forhim and make yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your boardand lodging and education. The police would not have allowed him toleave you to the parish. Besides, he was proud of having a nice, prettydaughter to dispose of. You were quite welcome to be happy so long asyou did not do anything except what he approved of. But the moment youclaim your independence as a grown woman, the moment you attempt todispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of you! Bah! _I_might have been _my_ father's pet, if I had been a nonentity. As it was, he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was only a helplesslittle devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart's content. UncleReginald will try to do exactly the same to-morrow, he will come andbully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!"

"If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have, perhaps I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning onme to-night. Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to havecome to my assistance. "

"Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you hadasked him. But then, James is not your father. "

"It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I willnever expose myself to a repetition of it. "

"Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, thoughparental love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact. "

"I will get married. "

"Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved tomarry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. Butthere must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn intothe first church you meet, and be married off-hand. "

"Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded, Nelly. "

"Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better forbeing wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?"

"I dont know. "

"She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you rememberher hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt thatshe has told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good astold you the same about him. "

"Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing. "

"Isnt she? We shall see. "

"I dont know what to think, " said Marian, despondently. "I used tobelieve that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but itseems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness andfalsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could breakout in that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, thecoachman, lost his temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto wasexactly like that; not a bit more refined or dignified. "

"Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. Wecan do nothing to-night, but fret, and wish for to-morrow. Better get tosleep. Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I gotwell broken in to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald going tohis room some time ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I feel thebetter for the excitement. "

"Very well. To bed be it, " said Marian. But she did not sleep at all aswell as Nelly. 

CHAPTER X

Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went tohis club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in QueenVictoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there, and said to one of the clerks:

"Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he isdisengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. Ido not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so. "

"Yes, sir, " said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, andsaid: "Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as tocome to his room, sir. "

"I told you to ask him to come here, " said Mr. Lind. 

"Well, thats what he said, sir, " said the clerk, speaking in officialBoard School English. "Shloy gow to him and tell him again?"

"No, no: it does not matter, " said Mr. Lind, and walked out through theoffice. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed itwhen he had passed through. 

"Ow, oy sy!" cried the clerk. "This is fawn, this is. "

"Wots the row?" said another clerk. 

"Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into theboard-room. 'Aw right, ' says Conly, 'awsk him to cam in eah to me. ' Youshould 'a seen the owld josser's feaches wnoy towld im. 'Oyd zoyred jouto sy e was to cam in eah to me. ' 'Shloy gow and tell him again?' Isays, as cool as ennything. 'Now, ' says he, 'Oil gow myself. ' Thets wotAw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owverim. "

Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly's room; returned his greeting by adignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold "Thankyou, " the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially, checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lostcountenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited. 

"Ahem!" said Mr. Lind. "I have to speak to you with--with referenceto--to a--a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It wouldbe painful and unnecessary--quite unnecessary, to go into particulars. "

Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began tofeel very angry, but this helped him to the point. 

"I merely wish--that is, I quite wish you to understand that anyintimacy that may have arisen between you and--and a member of my familymust--must, in short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is--Imay tell you--engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; andtherefore--you understand. "

"Mr. Lind, " said Conolly, decisively: "your daughter is engaged to me. "

Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, "I beg you will notrepeat that, either here or elsewhere. "

"Pray be seated, " said Conolly courteously. 

"I have nothing more to say, sir. "

Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to waitfor his visitor to go. 

"We understand one another, I presume, " said Mr. Lind, dubiously. 

"Not quite, I think, " said Conolly, relenting. "I should suggest ourdiscussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorableopportunity--if you will be so good. "

Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, "I am quite willing tolisten to you. "

"Thank you, " said Conolly. "Will you tell me what your objections are tomy engagement with your daughter?"

"I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the worldwould have rendered an explanation superfluous. "

"They havnt, " said Conolly. 

Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. "Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you Ihave no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished tospare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what Ithink you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from thepoint of view of English society our positions are different; andtherefore an engagement between you and any member of my family isunsuitable, and--in short--out of the question, however advantageous itmight be to you. That is all. "

Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back inhis chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head, appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, bututterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said, weighing his words carefully:

"Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, iscertainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant, dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in apublic house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact ofher having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to anysuch description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me insome ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty inpurchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I expect toincrease largely in the course of some years. Do you not underrate yourdaughter's personal qualities when you assume that it was her positionthat induced me to seek her hand?"

"I am quite aware of my daughter's personal advantages. They areadditional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage. "

"Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent?I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a longlived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widelyknown than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywheretreated with a certain degree of consideration, which an alliance withyour daughter will not diminish. "

"In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescendingto marry into it?"

"I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so Ileave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you mustnot condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light inorder to reconcile you to an inevitable fact. "

"What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?"

"My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place. "

"But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me inthe matter?"

"Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sakeof Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we mustdispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply--by making Marian'shome unbearable to her--precipitate the wedding. " Conolly, under theinfluence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so faras to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor. 

"Do you know to whom you are speaking?" said Mr. Lind, driven by rageand a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion. 

"I am speaking, " said Conolly with a smile, "to my futurefather-in-law. "

"I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as youshall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language tome. "

"If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictlybusiness considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insiston his resigning. "

Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily, without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: "I hopeyou will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether youhave sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; buthowever that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself inmy place. If you had an only daughter----"

"Excuse my interrupting you, " said Conolly, gently; "but that will notadvance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I ampledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shallrelease her instantly. "

"You will bind yourself to do that?"

"I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me thanyou have to prevent her. "

"I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly, that it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect aunion with you must have on her social position. You have made the mostof your celebrity and your prospects. She may be dazzled for the moment;but her good sense will come to the rescue yet, I am convinced. "

"I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit ofher childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice--you mustallow me to call it so: it is really nothing more--she will keep herword to me. "

Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marianduring her childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence. "It seems to me, sir, " he said, suddenly thinking of a new form ofreproach, "that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more orless than a Radical. "

"Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen, " said Conolly. 

"I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast ofyour power over her. "

"I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how Istand. If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at once. "

Mr. Kind rose. "I know quite as much as I care to know, " he said. "Idistinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr. Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither mycountenance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I haddestined for her. I recommend the latter point to your attention. "

"I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with whatshe possesses in her own right. "

"Oh! You have ascertained _that_, have you?"

"I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entirepecuniary independence of me. "

"Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her forthe sake of securing her income?"

"I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, ofcourse, to have full credit for my frankness. "

Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to thedoor. 

"I am a gentleman, " he said, pausing there for a moment, "and tooold-fashioned to discuss the obligations of good breeding with aRadical. If I had believed you capable of the cynical impudence withwhich you have just met my remonstrances, I should have spared myselfthis meeting. Good-morning. "

"Good-morning, " said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he sprangup and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and occasionallyuttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself bythis exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note. 

 "The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen Victoria Street, E. C. 

 "This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh from an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath, defeated, but of opinion that he deserved no better for arguing with a Radical. I thought it better to put forth my strength at once so as to save future trouble. I send this post haste in order that you may be warned in case he should go straight home and scold you. I hope he will not annoy you much. --E. C. "

Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this letter, Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and then toWestbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies weretogether in the drawing-room. Some minutes later, Marian, discussingConolly's letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant, who informedher that her father desired to see her in his study. 

"Now for it, Marian!" said Nelly, when the servant was gone. "Rememberthat you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a parentasserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental. Leave that to him: he will be full of a father's anguish on discoveringthat his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own. Besides, Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you inrevenge. "

"I wish I were not so nervous, " said Marian. "I am not really afraid, but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly. "

"I wish I were in your place, " said Elinor. "I feel like a charger atthe sound of the trumpet. "

"I am glad, for poor papa's sake, that you are not, " said Marian, goingout. 

She knocked at the study door; and her father's voice, as he bade hercome in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind thewriting-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She, unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but thatwhich the position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trainedher to impose on herself, was rather roused than awed by thismagisterial arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual grace ofmanner, and looked at him with her brows knitted. It was one of the raremoments in which she reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse to bidher not dare look so at him almost got the better of him. However, hebegan prudently with a carefully premeditated speech. 

"It is my duty, Marian, " he said gravely, "to speak of the statementyou made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which tookplace then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible. But the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge hascost me a sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reasonwith you now quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you willremember that I am older and have far more experience of the world thanyou, and that I am a better judge of your interests than you yourselfcan possibly be. Ahem! I have been this morning to the City, where I sawMr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the true nature ofhis conduct toward me--and, I may add, toward you--in working his wayclandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not describe to youwhat passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person withwhom you could not hope for a day's happiness. Even apart from hishabits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and, Ifear, his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded womanof any class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to judge ofhis character when I tell you that he informed me of his having takencare, before making any advances to you, to ascertain how much money youhad. He boasted in the coarsest terms of his complete influence overyou, evidently without a suspicion of the impression of venality andindelicacy which his words were calculated to make on me. Besides, Marian, I am sure you would not like to contract a marriage which wouldgive me the greatest pain; which would offend my family; and which wouldhave the effect of shutting you out from all good society. "

"You are mistaken in him, papa. "

"I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for amoment before he could substantiate this pretence of having somethingmore to say. ] I have quite made up my mind, from personal observation ofMr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance between you is out ofthe question. I, in short, refuse to allow anything of the kind toproceed; and I must ask you to respect my wishes in the matter. There isanother subject which I will take this opportunity of mentioning; but asI have no desire to force your inclinations, I shall not press you for adeclaration of your feelings at present. Sholto Douglas----"

"I do not want to hear _anything_ about Sholto Douglas, " said Marian, rising. 

"I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say. "

"On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry eversince you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto insulted me, as if I were the aggressor. "

"Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me. "

"It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going onwith this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitternessbetween us; and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first timelast night. We shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised tomarry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if I wishedto. "

"A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And--listento me, if you please--I have obtained Mr. Conolly's express assurancethat if you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should. "

"Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it. "

"But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite free. "

"Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faithwith him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you sawhim. "

"What!" said Mr. Lind, rising also. 

"Dont let us quarrel, papa, " said Marian, appealingly. "Why may I notmarry whom I please?"

"Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained frominfluencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totallydifferent question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing yourself. "

"Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor, and can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. Whatobjection have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto. "

"Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is outof the question for you to ally yourself with a--a member of theproletariat, however skilful he may be in his handicraft. "

"What _is_ a gentleman, papa?"

"A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who hasthat peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by intercoursewith the best society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hopeyou do not put these questions from a desire to argue with me. "

"I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguingwhen one is not convinced. "

"Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you willnot take any step calculated to inflict pain on me--at least an act ofselfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me. 

"That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no goodreason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet youaccuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both. "

"I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by myage, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, myauthority as a parent, that both your honor and happiness will besecured by your obeying me, and forfeited by following your ownheadstrong inclinations. "

Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her fingersand looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly; rallied; andsaid: "I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am notconvinced. "

"Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?"

"I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I--"

"That is enough, " said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy himselfwith the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protestagainst this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of theroom, closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciouslyterrifying her father, who had calculated on a slam. 

"Well, " said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the drawing-room:"have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated a father'sheart?"

"He is thoroughly unfair, " said Marian. "However, it all comes to this:he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there will be nomore peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do inthe meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here. "

"Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking tous; and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me:we neednt mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting hisnose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I havesurvived weeks of it without a single sympathizer, and been none theworse, except, perhaps, in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable atfirst: then he will come down to wounded affection; and he will end bygiving in. "

"No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. If people cannotremain friends they should separate at once. I will not sleep in thishouse to-night. "

"Hurrah!" cried Miss McQuinch. "That will be beginning the war withspirit. If I were in your place, I would stay and fight it out at closequarters. I would make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imaginewhat life in this house would be. But your plan is the best--if youreally mean it. "

"Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly?"

"Hm! I am afraid none of the family would make us very comfortable underthe circumstances, except Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke to goto West Kensington; only it would tell as much against us and Ned asagainst the Roman father. I have it! We will go to Mrs. Toplis's in St. Mary's Terrace: my mother always stays there when she is in town. Mrs. Toplis knows us: if she has a room to spare she will give it to uswithout making any bother. "

"Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now?"

"If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like to put on my hatand change my boots. We will have to come back and pack up when we havesettled about the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should like tohave a nightdress, at least. Have you any money?"

"I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, I shall not take. Ihave thirty pounds of my own. "

"And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly seventeen. Say fiftyin round numbers. That will keep us going very comfortably for a month. "

"Ridiculous! It will last longer than that. Oh!"

"Well?"

"We mustnt go, after all. I forgot _you_. "

"What of me?"

"Where will you go when I am married? You cant live by yourself; andpapa may not welcome you back if you take my part against him. "

"He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference to me. I can gohome if the worst comes to the worst. It does not matter: my presentluxurious existence must come to an end some time or another, whether wego to Mrs. Toplis's or not. "

"I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with me, if I askhim. "

"No, poor fellow! He wont object--at first; but he might not like it. You have no right to inflict me on him. No: I stick to my resolution onthat point. Send for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and Mrs. Toplis will be more impressed if we come in state than if we trudgeafoot. "

"Hush, " said Marian, who was standing near the window. "Here is George, with a face full of importance. "

"Uncle Reginald has written to him, " said Elinor. 

"Then the sooner we go, the better, " said Marian. 

"I do not care to have the whole argument over again with George. "

As they passed through the hall on their way out they met the clergyman. 

"Well, George, " said Elinor, "how are the heathen getting on inBelgravia? You look lively. "

"Are you going out, Marian, " he said, solemnly, disregarding hiscousin's banter. 

"We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some errant members of thefamily, " said Elinor. "May we give you as a reference?"

"Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, Marian. When willyou return?"

"I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You will have plenty ofopportunities, in any case. "

"Will you walk into the study, please, sir, " said the parlormaid. 

The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an hour. When he cameout, he left the house, and travelled by omnibus to Westbourne Grove, whence he walked to a house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr. Conolly, and, learning that he had just come in, sent up a card. He waspresently ushered into a comfortable room, with a pleasant view of thegarden. A meal of tea, wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table. Conolly greeted his visitor cordially, and rang for another cup. TheRev. George silently noted that his host dined in the middle of the dayand had tea in the evening. Afraid though as he was of Conolly, he feltstrengthened in his mission by these habits, quite out of the questionfor Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a little; but he talkedabout the electro-motor in spite of himself until the cloth was removed, when Conolly placed two easy chairs opposite one another at the window;put a box of cigarets on a little table close at hand; and invited hisvisitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to come to business, the cigaret was declined solemnly. So Conolly, having settled himself inan easy attitude, waited for the clergyman to begin. The Rev. Georgeseemed at a loss. 

"Has your father spoken to you about an interview he had with me thismorning?" said Conolly, good-naturedly helping him out. 

"Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit. "

"What does he say?"

"I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to you. But I fear hemay not have exhibited that self-control in speaking to you which Ifully admit you have as much right to expect as anyone else. "

"It does not matter. I can quite understand his feeling. "

"It does matter--pardon me. We should be sorry to appear wanting inconsideration for you. "

"That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight before us. We needmake no show of consideration for one another. I have shown none towardyour family. "

"But I assure you our only desire is to arrange everything in a friendlyspirit. "

"No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain thing which you areequally bent on preventing, no very friendly spirit is possible exceptone of us surrender unconditionally. "

"Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt I shall be able toconvince you that this romantic project of my sister's is out of thequestion. Your ambition--if I may say so without offence--very naturallyleads you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-interest is notour safest guide in this life. "

"It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going to argue thequestion, and your arguments are to prevail, they must be addressed tomy self-interest. "

"I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly. "

"Well, waive the point for the present: I am open to conviction. Youknow what my mind is. I have not changed it since I saw your father thismorning. You think I am wrong?"

"Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you are wrong. I----"

"Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like. "

"I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me urge upon you firstthe fact that you are causing a daughter to disobey her father. Now thatis an awful fact. May I--appealing to that righteousness in which I amsure you are not naturally deficient--ask you whether you have reflectedon that fact?"

"It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father forcing hisdaughter's inclinations. However, awful is hardly the word for theoccasion. Let us come to business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your sisterbecause I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have you any othermotive than aristocratic exclusiveness?"

"Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. We are willing totreat you with every possible consideration. "

"Then why object?"

"Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We cannot believe that itwould be furthered by an unsuitable match. I am now speaking to youfrankly as a man of the world. "

"As a man of the world you know that she has a right to choose forherself. You see, our points of view are different. On Sundays, forinstance, you preach to a highly privileged audience at your church inBelgravia; whilst I lounge here over my breakfast, reading _Reynold'sNewspaper_. I have not many social prejudices. Although a workman, Idont look on every gentleman as a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruitsof my labor only to pursue a career of vice. I will even admit thatthere are gentlemen who deserve to be respected more than the workmenwho have neglected all their opportunities--slender as they are--ofcultivating themselves a little. You, on the other hand, know that anhonest man's the noblest work of God; that nature's gentlemen are theonly real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more than coronets, and simplefaith than Norman blood, and so forth. But when your approval of thesebenevolent claptraps is brought to such a practical test as the marriageof your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough that they do notestablish the suitability of personal intercourse between members ofdifferent classes. That being so, let us put our respective philosophiesof society out of the question, and argue on the facts of thisparticular case. What qualifications do you consider essential in asatisfactory brother-in-law?"

"I am not bound to answer that; but, primarily, I should consider itnecessary to my sister's happiness that her husband should belong to thesame rank as she. "

"You see you are changing your ground. I am not in the same rank--afteryour sense--as she; but a moment ago you objected to the match solelyon the ground of unsuitability. "

"Where is the difference?" said the clergyman, with some warmth. "I havenot changed my ground at all. It is the difference in rank thatconstitutes the unsuitability. 

"Let us see, then, how far you are right--how far suitability is aquestion of rank. A gentleman may be, and frequently is, a drunkard, agambler, a libertine, or all three combined. "

"Stay, Mr. Conolly! You show how little you understand the only truesignificance----"

"One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain away the term gentlemaninto man of honor, honest man, or some other quite different thing. Letme put a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street workingfor thirty shillings a week, who is the honestest man I know. He is assteady as a rock; supports all his wife's family without complaining;and denies himself beer to buy books for his son, because he himself hasexperienced what it is to be without education. But he is not agentleman. "

"Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman. "

"Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his name with a requestfor an interview. You wont know his name; and the first question youwill put to your servant is 'What sort of person is he?' Suppose theservant knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion of the meaning ofthe word, replies 'He is a gentleman!' On the strength of that you willorder him to be shewn in; and the moment you see him you will feel angrywith your servant for deceiving you completely as to the sort of man youwere to expect by using the word gentleman in what you call its truesense. Or reverse the case. Suppose the caller is your cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, and your high-principled servant by mistaking the nameor how not, causes you to ask the same question with respect to him. Theanswer will be that Mr. Marmaduke--being a scamp--is not a gentleman. You would be just as completely deceived as in the other case. No, Mr. Lind, you might as well say that this workman of mine is a true lord ora true prince as a true gentleman. A gentleman may be a rogue; and aknifegrinder may be a philosopher and philanthropist. But they dontchange their ranks for all that. "

The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, "Even admitting thispeculiar view of yours, Mr. Conolly, does it not tell strongly againstyourself in the present instance?"

"No; and I will presently shew you why not. When we digressed as to themeaning of the word gentleman, we were considering the matter ofsuitability. I was saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or, briefly, a scoundrel. A scoundrel would be a very unsuitable husband forMarian--I perceive I annoy you by calling her by her name. "

"N--no. Oh, no. It does not matter. "

"Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suitability. The onlygentlemanliness she needs in a husband is ordinary good address, presentable manners, sense enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms insociety, and so forth. Marian is satisfied with me on these points; andher approval settles the question finally. As to rank, I am a skilledworkman, the first in my trade; and it is only by courtesy andforbearance that I suffer any man to speak of my class as inferior. Takeus all, professions and trades together; and you will find by actualmeasurement round the head and round the chest, and round our mannersand characters, if you like, that we are the only genuine aristocracy atpresent in existence. Therefore I meet your objection to my rank with apoint-blank assertion of its superiority. Now let us have the otherobjections, if there _are_ any others. "

The clergyman received this challenge in silence. Then, after clearinghis throat uneasily twice, he said:

"I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to persuade you on generalgrounds to relinquish your design. But as you are evidently not withinreach of those considerations which I am accustomed to see universallyadmitted, it becomes my painful duty to assure you that a circumstance, on the secrecy of which you are relying, is known to me, and, throughme, to my father. "

"What circumstance is that?"

"A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whom you mentionedjust now. You understand me, I presume?"

"Oh! you have found that out?"

"I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister that she is about tocontract a close relationship with one who is--I must say it--living insin with our cousin. "

"What do you suppose will be the result of that?"

"I leave you to imagine, " said the clergyman indignantly, rising. 

"Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. You have said that myviews are peculiar. What if I have taken the peculiar view that I wasbound to tell Marian this before proposing to her, and have actuallytold her?"

"But surely--That is not very likely. "

"The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage is not likely; butit is going to happen, nevertheless. She knows this circumstanceperfectly well. You told her yourself. "

"I! When?"

"The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth yourconsideration, too, that by mistrusting Marian at that time, andrefusing to give her my sister's address, you forced her to appeal to mefor help, and so advanced me from the position of consulting electricianto that of friend in need. She knew nothing about my relationship to thewoman in a state of sin (as you call it), and actually deputed me towarn your cousin of the risk he was running by his intimacy with her. Whilst I was away running this queer errand for her, she found out thatthe woman was my sister, and of course rushed to the conclusion that shehad inflicted the deepest pain on me. Her penitence was the beginning ofthe sentimental side of our acquaintance. Had you recognized that shewas a woman with as good a right as you to know the truth concerning allmatters in this world which she has to make her way through, you wouldhave answered her question, and then I suppose I should have gone awaywithout having exchanged a word with her on any more personal mattersthan induction coils and ohms of resistance; and in all probability youwould have been spared the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law. "

"Well, sir, " said the Rev. George dejectedly, "if what you say be true, I cannot understand Marian, I can only grieve for her. I shall not arguewith you on the nature of the influence you have obtained over her. Ishall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me. "

"That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am willing to hear more, ifyou have anything new to urge. "

"You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. But I fear I haveused it to very little purpose. "

"You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even I, whose ability toexercise influence you admit, never obtained the least over my ownsister. She knew me too well on my worst side and not at all on my best. If, as I presume, your father has tried in vain, what hope is there foryou?"

"Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed in his appeal to dutyeven where a father's appeal to natural affection has been disregarded. "

"Well, well, " said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor disconsolatelyprepared to go, "you can try. _I_ got on by dint of dogged faith inmyself. "

"And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would I could imbue youwith the same feeling!"

Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in silence. "Hallo!"said he, as he opened the door, "it is raining. Let me lend you a coat. "

"Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night, " said the clergyman, quickly, and hastened away through the rain from Conolly's civilities. 

When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a cab waiting beforethe house. The door was opened to him by Marian's maid, who was dressedfor walking. 

"Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss McQuinch, " she said, meaning, evidently, "Look out for squalls. "

He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, standing by thepianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. Mr. Lind, looking perplexedand angry, was opposite to her. 

"George, " said Mr. Lind, "close the door. Do you know the latest news?"

"No. "

"Marian has run away!"

"Run away!"

"Yes, " said Miss McQuinch. "She has fled to Mrs. Toplis's, at St. Mary'sTerrace, with--as Uncle Reginald was just saying--a most dangerousassociate. "

"With--?"

"With _me_, in short. "

"And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?"

"No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domesticdiscomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nicerooms: you may come and see us, if you like. "

"Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?" said theRev. George, indignantly. "I think the spectacle of a wrecked home--"

"Stuff!" interrupted Elinor, impatiently. "What else can I say? UncleReginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what Itell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you havedriven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walkof you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wreckedyours. "

"There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George, " said Mr. Lind, with theair of a man who had tried it. "You had better go to Marian, and tellher what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of yourvisit?"

"He maintains that she knows everything, " said the Rev. George, with adispirited glance at Elinor. "I fear my visit has been worse thanuseless. "

"It is impossible that she should know. He lies, " said Mr. Lind. "Go andtell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her--I order her--tocome back at once. Say that I am waiting here for her. "

"But, Uncle Reginald, " began Elinor, in a softer tone than before, whilst the clergyman stood in doubt--

"I think, " continued Mr. Lind, "that I must request you, Elinor, tooccupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents. Iregret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continueto offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter. I will charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire. "

Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. Then, seeing hercousin slowly going to the door, she said:

"You dont really mean to go on such a fool's errand to Marian, George?"

"Elinor!" cried Mr. Lind. 

"What else is it?" said Elinor. "You asserted all your authorityyourself this morning, and only made matters worse. Yet you expect herto obey you at second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to desert_me_ now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her lettingherself be bullied. "

"I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her, " said theclergyman. 

"If you are coming, " said Elinor, "you had better come in my cab. Good-night, Uncle Reginald. "

"Stay, " said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. "Elinor, I--you--Will you exerciseyour influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at leastso much. "

"I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let herdo as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for returningthan that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St. Mary's Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I mayinfluence her. "

"If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it, " said Mr. Lind, pettishly. 

"You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel withanyone. "

"She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has beenasked to sacrifice her own wishes. "

"To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she hasever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the firsttime you are conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell herthat you will allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He iswell enough off; and they are fond of one another. A man of genius isworth fifty men of rank. "

"Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr. Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with her. That is my last word. "

"So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That issensible. Come, cousin George! I am off. "

"I do not think I should do any good by going, " said the clergyman. 

"Then stay where you are, " said Elinor. "Good-night. " And she abruptlyleft the room. 

"It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury toenter the house, " said Mr. Lind. "She must be mad. What did _he_ say?"

"He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could makeno impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of histype. No. He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage. "

"We cannot prevent it. "

"Oh, surely we----"

"I tell you we _cannot_ prevent it, " repeated Mr. Lind, turning angrilyupon his son. "How can we? What can we do? She will marrythis--this--this--this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen hermother. "

The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing. 

"You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke's, " continued Mr. Lind, "and try whether she can persuade her brother to commute his interest inthe company, and go back to America, or to the devil. I will take carethat he gets good terms, even if I have to make them up out of my ownpocket. If the worst comes, _she_ must be persuaded to leave Marmaduke. Offer her money. Women of that sort drive a hard bargain; but they havetheir price. "

"But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to drive a bargain witha woman of evil reputation?"

"Well, I must go myself, I suppose. "

"Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would mention it. "

"A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. Come to breakfast inthe morning: we can talk over matters then. "

CHAPTER XI

One morning the Rev. George Lind received a letter addressed in ahandwriting which he did not remember and never thenceforth forgot. Within the envelope he found a dainty little bag made of blue satin, secured by ribbons of the same material. This contained a note writtenon scented paper, edged with gold, and decorated with a miniaturerepresentation of a _pierrot_, sitting cross-legged, conning a book, onthe open pages of which appeared the letters L. V. The clergymanrecognized the monogram no more than the writing. But as it wasevidently from a lady, he felt a pleasant thrill of expectation as heunfolded the paper. 

 "Laurel Grove West Kensington "Wednesday "Dear Mr. George

 "I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew is the most heavenly place on earth to spend a May morning so Bob has had to promise to row her down there to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall be at home alone from eleven to one this is very short notice I know but opportunities are scarce and another might not present itself for a month. 

 "Believe me Dear Mr. George

 "Yours sincerely Lalage Virtue. "

The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put the note in a littlerack over the mantelpiece. Then, recollecting that a prying servant orlandlady might misinterpret it, he transferred it to his pocket. Afterbreakfast, having satisfied himself before the mirror that his dress wasfaultless, and his expression saintly, he went out and travelled by railfrom Sloane Square to West Kensington, whence he walked to Laurel Grove. An elderly maid opened the gate. It was a rule with the Rev. George notto look at strange women; and this morning the asceticism which hethought proper to his office was unusually prominent in his thoughts. Hedid not look up once while the maid conducted him through the shrubberyto the house; and he fully believed that he had not seen at the firstglance that she was remarkably plain, as Susanna took care that all herservants should be. Passing by the drawing-room, where he had been on aprevious occasion, they went on to a smaller apartment at the back ofthe house. 

"What room is this?" he asked, uneasily. 

"Missus's Purjin bodoor, sir, " replied the main. 

She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, found himself in asmall room, luxuriously decorated in sham Persian, but containingornaments of all styles and periods, which had been purchased andintroduced just as they had caught Susanna's fancy. She was seated on aottoman, dressed in wide trousers, Turkish slippers, a voluminous sash, a short Greek jacket, a long silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, allof fine soft materials and rare colors. Her face was skilfully painted, and her dark hair disposed so as not to overweight her small head. Theclergyman, foolishly resisting a natural impulse to admire her, feltlike St. Anthony struggling with the fascination of a disguised devil. He responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow. 

"Sit down, " she said. "You mustnt mind this absurd dress: it belongs toa new piece I am studying. I always study in character. It is the onlyway to identify myself with my part, you see. "

"It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly, " said the clergyman, nervously. 

"Thank you for the compliment----"

"No, no, " said he, hastily. "I had no such intention. "

"Of course not, " said Susanna, with a laugh. "It was merely anunpremeditated remark: all compliments are, of course. I know all aboutthat. But do you think it a proper costume?"

"In what sense, may I ask?"

"Is it a correct Eastern dress? I am supposed to be one of the wives ofthe Caliph Somebody al Something. You have no idea how difficult it isto get a reliable model for a dress before laying out a heap of money onit. This was designed in Paris; but I should like to hear itcriticized--chronologically, or whatever you call it--by a scholar. "

"I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Orientalist; and my studiestake a widely different direction from yours. "

"Yes, of course, " said Susanna, with a sigh. "But I assure you I oftenwish for your advice, particularly as to my elocution, which is veryfaulty. You are such a master of the art. "

The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compliment, and began to takeheart; for to receive flattery from ladies in exchange for severereproof was part of his daily experience. 

"I have come here, " he said, "to have a very serious conversation withyou. "

"All right, Doctor. Fire away. "

This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in divinity, and herchange of manner--implying that she had been laughing at himbefore--irritated him. "I presume, " he said, "that you are acquaintedwith the movements of your brother. "

"Of Ned?" said Susanna, frowning a little. "No. What should I know abouthim?"

"He is, I believe, about to be married. "

"No!" screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and making her banglesand ornaments clatter. "Get out, Doctor. You dont mean it. "

"Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. I must also tellyou that his marriage will make it quite impossible for you to continuehere with my cousin. "

"Why? Who is he going to marry?"

"Ahem! He has succeeded in engaging the affections of my sister. "

"What! Your sister? Marian Lind?"

"Yes. "

Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction andsimplicity which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked, said: "Well, I _am_ damned! I know more than one fool of a girl who willbe sick and sorry to hear it. " She paused, and added carelessly: "Isuppose all your people are delighted?"

"I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in thematter. My sister has followed her own inclinations. "

"Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gonefarther and fared worse. "

"Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that youshould remain in your present--that you should continue here, in fact. "

"What do you mean?"

"You cannot, " said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern withfemale sinners, "when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as youare now doing with her cousin. "

"Why not?"

"Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the sinof it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I. "

"Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to ascandal----!"

"I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for yourawakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness ofheart----"

"Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of yourparishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for mehave not met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may talkshop as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?"

"To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will notprove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for strength todo it, and you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even morethan poor Marmaduke. "

"Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit _you_: thatsplain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont byany means profit the child. "

"Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense----"

"That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe inyou parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see. Just tell me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have nodoubt: she would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn't. But why isshe to have everything her own way?"

"I do not understand. "

"Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in lifethat hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth, schooling, travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she choseto ask for. Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, herluck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a man in athousand--though Lord forbid we should have many of his sort about! Yetshe's not satisfied. She wants _me_ to give up my establishment just tokeep her family in countenance. "

"She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you. "

"Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go herown way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dontsuppose she will visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than ifthere was no such person as I in the world. "

"But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leavethis house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a pecuniarypoint of view by doing so. My father is rich----"

"What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, doeshe?"

"You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered----"

"There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How doyou make out that I should gain by leaving this house?"

"My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal ofsuch portion of Marmaduke's income as you may forfeit by ceasing yourconnexion with him. "

"You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old manyour father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?"

"I hope I have not offended you?"

"Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you. Suppose I agreeto oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) whois to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of _my_ income as ourseparation will deprive _him_ of? Eh? I see that that staggers you alittle. If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have hadit; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage andMarmaduke's horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ranup before he settled down with me; and other little things; and thenfind out from his father how much money he has drawn within the last twoyears, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two balance. Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to spend on me;but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all throughlast autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have beentaking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed piousAunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him, instead of sermons which he never reads. "

"I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of hisfather. "

"A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that, if he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if itdidnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for thechild, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, hewould spend a thousand a month. And look at _my_ expenses! Look at mydresses! I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazedcalico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they actedby candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about twohundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt thinkthat any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At the theatrethey think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might shutup the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills. Tell yourfather that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do tokeep this place going by my work--not to mention the worry of it, whichalways falls on the woman. "

"I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe, " said theclergyman, losing his former assurance. "But would it not then be betterfor you to separate?"

"Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income israther tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if Ileft Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to thedevil, too, and disgrace you in earnest. "

"But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!"

"What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be thedifference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will bethe difference?"

"Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament ofmarriage before casting in her lot with your brother!"

"I bet you my next week's salary that you dont get Ned to enter achurch. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister willhave the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is notindependent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving herwithout bread and butter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob aclean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of herown, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap myfingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about me;and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had thepluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain ofgoing to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; itgives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to behonorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George's, HanoverSquare, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as anydecent woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: Idont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behavingbetter than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she willmarry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she canthelp herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about mydisgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respectmyself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not. Ifyou dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me. Ifyou want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I canfill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with reallyclever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the presentmoment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and mostpopular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your parishionerswould think if they could see you now. "

"I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to seeeverything reversed--upside down. You--I--you bewilder me, Miss Conol--"

"Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call meSusanna, if you like, since we are as good as related. "

"I fear, " said the clergyman, blushing, "that we have no common groundon which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you. "

"Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for youthan most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself tooffer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the housedouble quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mindyour hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?"

"Thank you, no. "

"Dont you drink at all?"

"No. "

"You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you acase of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestrybefore you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season inyour church. Thats good of me, isnt it?"

"I must go, " said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending tolook at his watch. "Will you excuse me?"

"Nonsense, " she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through his armto detain him. "Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really thinkyoure afraid of me. _Do_ stay. "

"Impossible. I have much business which I am bound----Pray, let me go, "pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with Susanna, who had now got his arm against her breast. "You must be mad!" he cried, drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt himself being pulledhelplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at last; and hemade a desperate effort to free himself. 

"Oh, how rough you are!" she exclaimed in her softest voice, adroitlytumbling into the seat as if he had thrown her down, and clinging to hisarms; so that it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as hestooped over her, striving to get upright. At which supreme moment thedoor was opened by Marmaduke, who halted on the threshold to survey thetwo reproachfully for a moment. Then he said:

"George: I'm astonished at you. I have not much opinion of parsons as arule; but I really did think that _you_ were to be depended on. "

"Marmaduke, " said the clergyman, colouring furiously, and almost besidehimself with shame and anger: "you know perfectly well that I amactuated in coming here by no motive unworthy of my profession. Youmisunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my calling made a jestof. "

"Quite right, Doctor, " said Susanna, giving him a gentle pat ofencouragement on the shoulder. "Defend the cloth, always. I was onlyasking him to stay to lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him?"

"Do, old fellow, " said Marmaduke. "Come! you must: I havnt had a chatwith you for ever so long. I'm really awfully sorry I interrupted you. What on earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that for?"

"Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to do with my being incharacter. This is what came last night in the box: I could not resisttrying it on this morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if youplease. I must have your opinion of the rouge song, Doctor. Observe. This is a powder puff: I suppose you never saw such a thing before. I ammaking up my face for a visit of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to theaudience for using cosmetics. The original French is improper; so I willgive you the English version, by the celebrated Robinson, the cleverestadapter of the day:

 'Poor odalisques in captive thrall Must never let their charms pall: If they get the sack They ne'er come back; For the Bosphorus is the boss for all In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum scarum place. '

Intellectual, isnt it?"

Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow dance, stopping atcertain points to clink a pair of little cymbals attached to her ankles, and to look for a moment archly at the clergyman. 

"No, " he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of manner whichcompelled them to respect him for the first time, "I will not stay; andI am very sorry I came. " And he left the room, his cheeks tingling. Marmaduke followed him to the gate. "Come and look us up soon again, oldfellow, " he said. 

"Marmaduke, " said the clergyman: "you are travelling as fast as you canalong the road to Hell. "

As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the gate and made thevillas opposite echo his laughter. 

"On my soul, it's a shame, " said he, when he returned to the house. "Poor old George!"

"He found no worse than he had made up his mind to find, " said Susanna. "What right has he to come into my house and take it for granted, to myface, that I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was a commonwoman from the streets. "

"Pshaw! What does he know? He is only a molly-coddling parson, poorfellow. He will give them a rare account of you when he goes back. "

"Let him, " said Susanna. "He can tell them how little I care for theiropinion, anyhow. "

The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and went to the officesof the Electro-Motor Company, where he found his father. They retiredtogether to the board-room, which was unoccupied just then. 

"I have been to that woman, " said the clergyman. 

"Well, what does she say?"

"She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories in her shame. I havenever before met with such an example of complete and unconsciousdepravity. Yet she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully cleverrefinement even in her coarseness which goes far to account for herinfluence over Marmaduke. "

"No doubt; but apart from her personal charms, about which I am notcurious, is she willing to assist us?"

"No. I could make no impression on her at all. "

"Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything about Conolly's sellinghis interest here and leaving the country?"

"No, " said the clergyman, struck with a sense of remissness. "I forgotthat. The fact is, I hardly had the oppor----"

"Never mind. It is just as well that you did not: it might have mademischief. "

"I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with any furtherovertures. Besides, I really could not undertake to conduct them. "

"May I ask, " said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, "what objection youhave to Marian's wishes being consulted in this matter?"

The Rev. George recoiled, speechless. 

"I certainly think, " said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, "that Marian mighthave trusted to my indulgence instead of hurrying away to a lodging andwriting the news in all directions. But I must say I have received somevery nice letters about it. Jasper is quite congratulatory. The _CourtJournal_ has a paragraph this week alluding to it with quite good taste. Conolly is a very remarkable man; and, as the _Court Journal_ trulyenough remarks, he has won a high place in the republic of art andscience. As a Liberal, I cannot say that I disapprove of Marian'schoice; and I really think that it will be looked on in society as aninteresting one. "

Mr. Lind's son eyed him dubiously for quite a long time. Then he said, slowly, "Am I to understand that I may now speak of the marriage as arecognized thing?"

"Why not, pray?"

"Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be helped--" The clergymanagain looked at his father, still more dubiously. He saw in his eye thatthere would be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So he said"I must go home now. I have to write my sermon for next Sunday. "

"Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye. "

The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed by the novelty of hissensations. He had always respected his father beyond other men; and nowhe knew that his father did not deserve his respect in the least. Thatwas one conviction uprooted. And Susanna had done something to him--hedid not exactly know what; but he felt altogether a different man fromthe clergyman of the day before. He had come face to face with what hecalled Vice for the first time, and found it not at all what he hadsupposed it to be. He had believed that he knew it to be mostdangerously attractive to the physical, but utterly repugnant to themoral sense; and such fascination he was prepared to resist to theutmost. But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby sothrown off his guard that he did not know he was attacked at all; sothat he told himself vaingloriously that the shafts of the enemy hadfallen harmlessly from his breastplate of faith. For he was not in theleast charmed by Susanna's person. He had detected the paint on hercheeks, and had noted with aversion a certain unhealthy bloat in herface, and an alcoholic taint in her breath. He exulted in theconsciousness that he had been genuinely disgusted, not as a matter ofduty, but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple nature. What interestedhim in her was her novel and bold moral attitude, her self-respect inthe midst of her sin, her striking arguments in favor of an apparentlyindefensible course of life. Hers was no common case of loose living, hefelt: there was a soul to be saved there, if only Heaven would raise herup a friend in some man absolutely proof against the vulgar fascinationof her prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness of characterabout her, a capacity for heroic repentance as well as for heroic sin. Before long he was amusing himself by thinking how it might have gonewith her if she had him for her counsellor instead of a gross andthoughtless rake like Marmaduke. 

It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase which the Rev. George's imagination ran from this starting-point to the moment when hewas suddenly awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact that hewas being outwitted and beglamoured, like the utter novice he was, by apower which he believed to be the devil. He rushed to the little oratoryhe had arranged with a screen in the corner of his sitting-room, andprayed aloud, long and earnestly. But the hypnotizing process did nottranquilize him as usual. It excited him, and led him finally to apassionate appeal for pardon and intercession to a statuet of the VirginMother, of whom he was a very devout adorer. He had always regardedhimself as her especial champion in the Church of England; and now hehad been faithless to her, and indelicate into the bargain. And yet, inspite of his contrition, he felt that he was having a tremendousspiritual experience, which he would not for worlds have missed. Theclimax of it was the composition of his Sunday sermon, the labor ofwhich secured him a sound sleep that night. It was duly delivered on thefollowing Sunday morning in this form:

"Dearly beloved Brethren: In the twenty-third verse of the third chapterof St. Mark's gospel, we find this question: '_How can Satan cast outSatan_?' How can Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what follows, you will perceive that that question was not answered. My brethren, itis unanswerable: it never has been, and it never can be answered. 

"In these latter days, when the power of Satan has become so vast, whenhis empire and throne tower in our midst so that the faithful are castdown by the exceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples innumerableare open for his worship, it is no strange thing that many faint-heartedones should give half their hearts to Beelzebub, and should hope by theprince of devils to cast out devils. Yes, this is what is taking placedaily around us. Oh, you, who seek to excuse this book to infidelphilosophers by shewing with how much facility a glib tongue mayreconcile it with their so-called science, I tell you that it is scienceand not the Bible that shall need that apology in the great day ofwrath. And, therefore, I would have you, my brethren, earnestlydiscountenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God by explaining itin conformity with the imaginations of the men of science. How can Satancast out Satan? He cannot; but he can lead you into the sin of adding toand of taking from the words of this book. He can add plagues unto you, and take away your part out of the holy city. 

"In this great London which we inhabit we are come upon evil day's. Therage of the blasphemer, the laugh at the scoffer, the heartlesslip-service of the worldling, and the light dalliance of the daughtersof music, are offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars within thisvery parish. I would ask some of you who spend your evenings in theplayhouses which multiply around us like weeds sown in the rank soil ofhuman frailty, what justification you make to yourselves when you arealone in the watches of the night, and your conscience saith, '_Whatwent ye out for to see_?' You will then complain of the bitterness oflife, and prate of the refining influences of music; of the help tospiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the public stage ofmockeries of God's world, wherein some pitiful temporal triumph ofsimulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the vicious triflingthat has gone before. And in whom do you there see typified that virtuewhich you should shield in your hearts from the contamination of thetheatre? Is it not in some woman whose private life is the scandalousmatter of your whispered conversations, and whose shameless face smirksat you from the windows of those picture-shops which are a disgrace toour national morality? Is it from such as she that you will learn to bespiritual-minded? Does she appear before your carnal crowds repentant, her forehead covered with ashes, her limbs covered with sackcloth? No!Her brow is glowing with unquenchable fire to kindle the fuel that thedevil has hidden in your hearts. Her raiment is cloth of gold; and sheis not covered with it. Naked and unashamed, she smiles and weeps inmockery of the virtue which you would persuade yourselves that sherepresents to you. Will you learn spiritual-mindedness from the sight ofher eyes, from the sound of her mouth, from the measure of her steps, orfrom the music and the dancing that cease not within the doors of hertemple? How can Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to deceive bywhitening the sepulchre? Is it yourselves? The devil has blinded youalready. Is it God? Who shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that hewho makes the pursuit of virtue a luxury, and takes refuge from sin, notbefore the altar, but in the playhouse, is casting out devils byBeelzebub, the prince of the devils. 

"As I look about me in this church; I see many things intended to givepleasure to the carnal eye. Were the cost of all these dainty robes, this delicate headgear, these clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and ofsparkling jewels, were the price of these things brought into theChurch's treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands betweenwhose torrid shores and the tropical sun the holy shade of Calvary hasnot yet fallen! But, you will say, it is a good thing to be comely inthe house of the Lord. The sight of what is beautiful elevates the mind. Uncleanness is a vice. This, then, is how you will war with uncleanness. Not by prayer and holy living. Not by pouring of your superfluity intothe lap of the poor, and entering by the strait gate upon the narrowpath in a garment without seam. No. By the dead and damning gold; bythe purple and by the scarlet; by the brightness of the eyes that isborn of new wine; by the mincing gait and the gloved fingers; and by themusk and civet instead of the myrrh and frankincense: by these thingsare you fain to purge your uncleanness. And will they suffice? Can Satancast out Satan? Beware! '_For though thou wash thee with nitre and takethee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the LordGod_. ' There shall come a day when your lace and feathers shall hang onyou as heavy as your chains of gold, to drag you down to him in whosename you have thought to cast out devils. Do not think that these thingsare harmless vanities. Nothing can fill the human heart and be harmless. If your thoughts be not of God, they will keep your minds distraughtfrom His grace as effectually as the blackest broodings of crime. '_Cana maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people haveforgotten me days without number, saith the Lord God_. ' Yes, your mindsare too puny to entertain the full worship of God: do you think they arespacious enough to harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Muchless dare you pretend that the Baal altar is erected for the honor ofGod, that you may come into His presence comely and clean. It is but afew days since I stood in the presence of a woman who boasted to me thatshe bore upon her the value of two hundred pounds of our money. I caredlittle for the value of money that was upon her. But what shall be saidof the weight of sin her attire represented? For, those costly garmentswere the wages of sin--of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. Yet thereis not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. Will you, my sisters, trust to the comeliness of visage and splendor of raiment in which sucha woman as this can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out yourdevils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised whilst there isyet time. Ask yourself again and again, how can Satan cast out Satan?

"When sin is committed in a great city for wages, is there no fault onthe side of those who pay the wages? There is more than fault: there iscrime. I trust there are few among you who have done such crime. But Iknow full well that it may be said of London to-day '_Thou art full ofstirs, a joyous city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nordead in battle_. ' No. Our young men are slain by the poison ofBeelzebub, the prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old subterfugelacking here. There are lost ones in this town who say, 'It is by ourmeans that virtue is preserved to the rich: it is we who appease thewicked rage which would otherwise wreck society. ' There are men whoboast that they have brought their sins only to the houses of shame, andthat they have respected purity in the midst of their foulness. 'Suchthings must be, ' they say: 'let us alone, lest a worse thing ensue. 'When they are filled full with sin, they cry 'Lo! our appetite has gonefrom us and we are clean. ' They are willing to slake lust with satiety, but not to combat it with prayer. They tread one woman into the mire, and excuse themselves because the garment of her sister is spotless. Howvain is this lying homage to virtue! How can Satan cast out Satan?

"Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and danger of our age. TheAtheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and areproach, poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right. Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in this book, do so inthe name of that truth for which they profess to be seeking. Art, profanely veiling its voluptuous nakedness with the attributes ofreligion, disguises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in theslothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch and pray. Thevain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her Creator's handiwork:the lustful man casts away his soul that society may be kept clean:there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not pretend towork the world's salvation, nor a man who flatters not himself that thesin of one may be the purging of many. To such I say, Look to your ownsoul: of no other shall any account be demanded of you. A day shall comein which a fire shall be kindled among your gods. The Lord shall arrayHimself with this land as a shepherd putteth on his garment. Be surethat then if ye shall say 'I am a devil; but I have cast out manydevils, ' He will reply unto you, How can Satan cast out Satan? Who shallprompt you to an answer to that question? Nay, though in His boundlessmercy He give you a thousand years to search, and spread before you allthe books of science and sociology in which you were wont to findexcuses for sin, what will it avail you? Will a scoff, or a quibble overa doubtful passage, serve your turn? No. You cannot scoff whilst yourtongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth for fear, and there will be nopassage doubtful in all the Scriptures on that day; for the light of theLord's countenance will be over all things. "

BOOK III

CHAPTER XII

One Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making rainbows in the cloud ofspray thrown from the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas appearedthere amongst the promenaders on the banks of the pond. He halted on thesteps leading down to the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl paddlingat his feet. A lady in a becoming grey dress came to the top of thesteps, and looked curiously at him. Somehow aware of this, he turnedindifferently, as if to leave, and found that the lady was Marian. Herripened beauty, her perfect self-possession, a gain in her as of addedstrength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness outgrown andtimidity overcome, dazzled him for a moment--caused a revulsion in himwhich he half recognized as the beginning of a dangerous passion. Hisformer love for her suddenly appeared boyish and unreal to him; and thisruin of a once cherished illusion cost him a pang. Meanwhile, there shewas, holding out her hand and smiling with a cool confidence in thesuccess of her advance that would have been impossible to Marian Lind. 

"How do you do?" she said. 

"Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, I hope?"

"I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first. "

"Am I altered?"

"You are growing stout. "

"Indeed? Time has not been so bounteous to me as to you. "

"You mean that I am stouter than you?" She laughed; and the soundstartled him. He got from it an odd impression that her soul was gone. But he hastened to protest. 

"No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you have achieved theimpossible--altered for the better. "

"I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks desperately now that Iam growing matronly. How is Mrs. Douglas?"

"She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I trust--"

"He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at present. Do not troubleyourself to maintain that admirable expression of shocked sadness. Eucalyptus means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the speciessomewhere in the neighborhood. He came here with that object: he nevergoes anywhere without an object. He wants to plant Eucalyptuses roundsome new works where the people suffer from ague. "

"Oh! You mean that he is here in the gardens. "

"Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the flowers. I want to seethe lilies. There used to be some in a hot-house, or rather a hot bath, near this. "

"That is it on our right. May I go through it with you?"

"Just as you please. "

"Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, is it not?"

"More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not seen you since I wasmarried. "

Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, lazier, altogether less tenacious of his dignity than of old; and hisembarrassment brought out the change strikingly. Marian liked him allthe better for it; he was less imposing; but he was more a man and lessa mere mask. At last, reddening a little, he said, "I remember our lastmeeting very well. We were very angry then: I was infuriated. In fact, when I recognized you a minute ago, I was not quite sure that you wouldrenew our acquaintance. "

"I had exactly the same doubt about you. "

"A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am afraid. You know toowell that your least beck will bring me to you at any time. "

"Dont you think we had better not begin that. I generally repeat myconversations to Ned. Not that he will mind, if you dont. "

Douglas now felt at his ease and in his clement. He was clearly welcometo philander. Recovering his poise at once, he began, in his finestvoice, "You need not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part now. You can entangle me without fear; and I can love without hope. Ned is anunrepealed statute of Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with me: itwill amuse you. And--spiritless wretch that I am!--it will help me tolive until you throw me away, crushed again. "

"You seem to have been quite comfortable without me: at least you lookextremely well. I suspect you are becoming a little lazy and attached toyour dinner. Your old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere habit. It used to be the most active principle in you. Are you quite sure thatnobody else has been helping you to live, as you call it?"

"Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. Time has taught me theway to vegetate; and so I no longer need to live. As you have remarked, I have habits, not active principles. But one at least of theseprinciples is blossoming again even as I speak. If I could only live asthat lily lives now!"

"In a warm bath?"

"No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking up into your eyes, with no memory for the past, no anticipation of the future. "

"Delightful! especially for me. I think we had better go and look forNed. "

"Were I in his place I would not be absent from your side now--or ever. "

"That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt be in hisplace--among the gum trees. Perhaps you would be right. "

"He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy. "

"You have reason to, " said Marian, suddenly grave. 

"I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give to be never without apurpose, never with a regret, to regard life as a succession of objectseach to be accomplished by so many days' work; to take your pleasure intrifling lazily with the consciousness of possessing a strong brain; tostudy love, family affection, and friendship as a doctor studiesbreathing or digestion; to look on disinterestedness as either weaknessor hypocrisy, and on death as a mere transfer of your social function tosome member of the next generation?"

"I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of my soul. I wouldnot for worlds be such a man, save on one condition. "

"To wit?"

"That only as such could I win the woman I loved. "

"Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant factor like love ifyou were Ned. "

"May I ask, do you, too, think of love as 'an insignificant factor'?"

"I? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have never been in love. "

"What! You have never been in love?"

"Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your sonnets used tobreathe. "

"Then you do not know what love is. "

"Do you?"

"You should know whether I do or not. "

"Should I? Then I conclude that you do not. You are growing stout. Yourdress is not in the least neglected. I am certain you enjoy lifethoroughly. No, you have never known love in all its novelistic-poeticoutrageousness. That respectable old passion is a myth. "

"You look for signs that only children shew. When an oak dies, it doesnot wither and fall at once as a sapling does. Perhaps you will one dayknow what it is to love. "

"Perhaps so. "

"In any case, you will be able to boast of having inspired the passion. "

"I hope so--at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. Do look at thatvegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus. "

"In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should see yourselfagainst the background of palms, with that great fan-like leaf for ahalo, and----"

"Thank you. I see it all in my mind's eye by your eloquent description. You are quite right in supposing that I like compliments; but I amparticular about their quality; and I dont need to be told I am prettyin comparison with a hideous cactus. You would not have condescended tomake such a speech long ago. You are changed. "

"Not toward you, on my honor. "

"I did not mean that: I meant toward yourself. "

"I am glad you have taken even that slender note of me. I find yousomewhat changed, too. "

"I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I feel as if MarianLind was a person whom I knew once, but whom I should hardly knowagain. "

"The change in me has not produced that effect. I feel as though MarianLind were the history of my life. "

"You have become quite a master of the art of saying pretty things. Youare nearly as glib at it as Ned. "

"We have the same incentive to admiration. "

"The same! You do not suppose that Ned pays _me_ compliments. He neverdid such a thing in his life. No: I first discovered his talent in thatdirection at Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated discoursewith the dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper there. That was the firstconversation in Italian I succeeded in following. A week later I couldunderstand the language almost as well as he. However, dont let us wastethe whole afternoon talking stuff. I want to ask you about your mother. I should greatly like to call upon her; but she has never made me anysign since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith Fairfax tells me that she neverallows my name to be mentioned to her. I thought she was fond of me. "

"So she was. But she has never forgiven you for making me suffer as youdid. You see she has more spirit than I. She would be angered if she sawme now tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair tyrant. "

"Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Manchester Square somemorning, I could coax back her old feeling for me?"

"I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. Tell me whatday you intend to venture. I know my mother will not oppose me if I shewthat I wish you to be kindly received. "

"Most disinterested of you. Thank you: I will fail or succeed on my ownmerits, not on your recommendation. You must not say a word to her aboutme or my project. "

"If you command me not to----"

"I do command you. "

"I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive I am, the moreimperious you will become. "

"Very likely. And now look along that avenue to the left. Do you see aman in a brown suit, with straw hat to match, walking towards us at aregular pace, and keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks ateverybody he passes as if he were counting them. "

"He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had missed the number. "

"Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless a pretty one, probablydark. You recognize him, I see. There is a frost come over you whichconvinces me that you are preparing to receive him in your oldungracious way. I warn you that I am accustomed to see Ned made much of. He has caught sight of us. "

"And has just remarked that there is a man talking to his wife. "

"Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no longer attends to us. He is looking at the passers-by as before. That means that he hasrecognized you, and has stowed the observation compactly away in hisbrain, to be referred to when he comes up to us. "

"So much method must economize his intellect very profitably. How do youdo, Mr. Conolly? It is some time since we have had the pleasure ofmeeting. "

"Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away all the winter. Are youstaying in London?"

"Yes. "

"I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at Holland Park. "

"You are very kind. Thank you: yes, if Mrs. Conolly will permit me. "

"I should make you come home with us now, " said Marian, "but for thisSunday being a special occasion. Nelly McQuinch is to spend the eveningwith us; and as I have not seen her since we came back, I must have herall to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to. "

"Do, " said Conolly. "Half past three is our Sunday hour. If you cannotface that, we are usually at home afterwards the entire evening. Marian:we have exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train. "

"Oh! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept waiting half anhour. "

Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them on that day week. 

"Dont you think he is growing very fat?" said she, as they walked away. 

"Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He does not seem to bemaking much of his life. "

"What matter, so long as he enjoys it?"

"Pooh! He doesnt know what enjoyment means. "

They said nothing further until they were in the train, where Mariansat looking listlessly through the window, whilst Conolly, opposite, reclining against the cushions, looked thoughtfully at her. 

"Ned, " said she, suddenly. 

"My dear. "

"Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about me than ever?"

"Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw you. "

"You are nearly as complimentary as he, " said Marian, blushing with agratification which she was very unwilling to betray. "He noticed itsooner than you. I discovered it myself in the glass before either ofyou. "

"No doubt you did. What station is this?"

"I dont know. " Then, raising her voice so as to be overheard, sheexclaimed "Here is a stupid man coming into our carriage. "

A young man entered the compartment, and, after one glance at Marian, who turned her back on him impatiently, spent the remainder of thejourney making furtive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face. Conolly looked a shade graver at his wife's failure in perfectself-control; but he by no means shared her feelings toward theintrusive passenger. Marian and he were in different humors; and he didnot wish to be left alone with her. 

As they walked from Addison Road railway station to their house, Conollymused in silence with his eyes on the gardens by the way. Marian, whowished to talk, followed his measured steps with impatience. 

"Let me take your arm, Ned: I cannot keep up with you. "

"Certainly. "

"I hope I am not inconveniencing you, " she said, after a furtherinterval of silence. 

"Hm--no. "

"I am afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on by myself. "

"Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode oflocomotion--you need not struggle in the public street: now that youhave got my arm you shall keep it--I say it is such an inconvenient andridiculous mode of locomotion that if you were any one else I shouldprefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our present mode of proceedingwould be inexcusable if I were a traction-engine, and you my tender. "

"Then let me go. What will the people think if they see a great engineerviolating the laws of mechanics by dragging his wife by the arm?"

"They will appreciate my motives; and, in fact, if you watch them, youwill detect a thinly-disguised envy in their countenances. I violate thelaws of mechanics--to use your own sarcastic phrase--for many reasons. Ilike to be envied when there are solid reasons for it. It gratifies myvanity to be seen in this artistic quarter with a pretty woman on myarm. Again, the sense of possessing you is no longer an abstraction whenI hold you bodily, and feel the impossibility of keeping step with you. Besides, Man, who was a savage only yesterday, has his infirmities, andfinds a poetic pleasure in the touch of the woman he loves. And I mayadd that you have been in such a bad temper all the afternoon that Isuspect you of an itching to box my ears, and therefore feel safer withyour arm in my custody. "

"Oh! _Indeed_ I have not been in a bad temper. I have been most anxiousto spend a happy day. "

"And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious at all. Is thatwhat has provoked you?"

"I am not provoked. But you might tell me what your reflections areabout. "

"They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them. "

"You must recollect some of them. From the time we left the stationuntil a moment ago, when we began to talk, you were pondering somethingwith the deepest seriousness. What was it?"

"I forget. "

"Of course you forget--just because I want to know. What a crowded roadthis is!" She disengaged herself from his arm; and this time he did notresist her. 

"That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly of people going to thepro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathedral contains an altar. An altar suggestskneeling on hard stone; and that brings me to the disease called'housemaids' knee, ' which was the subject of my reflections. "

"A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. I dont want to hearany more. "

"But you will hear more of it; for I am going to have the steps of ourhouse taken away and replaced by marble, or slate, or something that canbe cleaned with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes. "

"Why?"

"My chain of thought began at the door steps we have passed, allwhitened beautifully so as to display every footprint, and allrepresenting an expenditure of useless, injurious labor inhearthstoning, that ought to madden an intelligent housemaid. I dontthink our Armande is particularly intelligent; but I am resolved tospare her knees and her temper in future by banishing hearthstone fromour establishment forever. I shudder to think that I have been walkingupon those white steps and flag ways of ours every day without awakeningto a sense of their immorality. "

"I cannot understand why you are always disparaging Armande. And I hatean ill-kept house front. None of our housemaids ever objected tohearthstoning, or were any the worse for it. "

"No. They would not have gained anything by objecting: they would onlyhave lost their situations. You need not fear for your house front. Iwill order a porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to replaceyour beloved hearthstone. "

"Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy it is to stain marble?Armande will be on her knees all day with a bottle of turpentine and abit of flannel. "

"You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget that it does not rainink, and that Nelly will hardly select the porch to write her novelsin. "

"Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax collectors and gasmen carrybottles in their pockets. "

"Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my dear; or, betterstill, dont pay them, so that they will have no need to write a receipt. Let me remind you that ink shews as much on white hearthstone as it canpossibly do on marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of steps from thevisits of tax collectors are not common. "

"Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter nonsense. "

"Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out of the window forus. Here she is at the door. "

Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. Miss McQuinch lookedolder; and her complexion was drier than before. But she had apparentlybegun to study her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat and evenelegant, which they had never been within Marian's previous experienceof her. 

"_You_ are not changed in the least, " she said, as she gave Conolly herhand. "I have just been wondering at the alteration in Marian. She hasgrown lovely. "

"I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope of getting herinto a better temper. Come into the drawing-room. Have you been waitingfor us long?"

"About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your organ. I should havetried the piano; but I did not know whether that was allowable onSunday. "

"Oh! Why did you not pound it to your heart's content? Ned scandalizesthe neighbors every Sunday by continually playing. Armande: dinner assoon as possible, please. "

"I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a comfortable modern home. "

"You must stay long enough to find out its defects, " said Conolly. "Weread your novel at Verona; but we could not agree as to which charactersyou meant to be taken as the good ones. "

"That was only Ned's nonsense, " said Marian. "Most novels are suchrubbish! I am sure you will be able to live by writing just as well asMrs. Fairfax can. " Conolly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of thisunhappy remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by turningsharply away from him, and speaking as affectionately as she could toMarian. 

After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from thefront to the back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gaveaccess to the garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terraceoutside. Conolly went to the organ. 

"May I play a voluntary while you talk?" he asked. "I shall notscandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it isplayed on the organ. "

"We have a nice view of the sunset from here, " said Marian, in a lowvoice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze. 

"Stuff!" said Elinor. "We didnt come here to talk about the sunset, andwhat a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know--goodheavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!"

"Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it, " said Marian. "When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar untilthe whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he ventsit at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he issatisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playfulframe of mind, such as _I_ can gratify. "

"But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together, aswe used to do; or sing to one another's accompaniments?"

"I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house. "

"Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?"

"No: it is not so much that. But--it sounds very silly--if I attempt toplay or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that Ihardly know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing. "

"Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like it. "

"No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he wasfond of music, and fancying--poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke sobitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of amarried woman's duty in a house to supply music after dinner. At thattime he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time inthe city that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we were flyingall about England opening those branch offices, and what not. He alwaystook me with him; and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest inthe Company. When we were in London, although I was so much alone in thedaytime, I was happy in anticipating our deferred honeymoon. Then thetime for that paradise came. Ned said that the Company was able to walkby itself at last, and that he was going to have a long holiday afterhis dry-nursing of it. We went first to Paris, where we heard all theclassical concerts that were given while we were there. I found that henever tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never ceasedgrumbling at it. He thought nothing of the great artists in Paris. Thenwe went for a tour through Brittany; and there, in spite of hisclassical tastes, he used to listen to the peasants' songs and writethem down. He seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, Scotch, Russian, German, Italian, no matter where from. So one evening, at alodging where there was a piano, I played for him that old arrangementof Irish melodies--you know--'Irish Diamonds, ' it is called. "

"Oh Lord! Yes, I remember. 'Believe me if all, ' with variations. "

"Yes. He thought I meant it in jest: he laughed at it, and played a lotof ridiculous variations to burlesque it. I didnt tell him that I hadbeen in earnest: perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it. Then, after that, in Italy, he got permission--or rather bought it--to try theorgan in a church. It was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; andsomehow between the sense of repose, and the mysterious twilight in theold church, I was greatly affected by his playing. I thought it must bepart of some great mass or symphony; and I felt how little I knew aboutmusic, and how trivial my wretched attempts must appear to him when hehad such grand harmonies at his fingers' ends. But he soon stopped; andwhen I was about to tell him how I appreciated his performance, he said, 'What an abominable instrument a bad organ is!' I had thought itbeautiful, of course. I asked him what he had been playing. I said wasit not by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I added, as asaving clause, that perhaps it was something of his own. 'My dear girl, 'said he, 'it was only an _entr'acte_ from an opera of Donizetti's. ' Hewas carrying my shawl at the time; and he wrapped it about my shouldersin the tenderest manner as he said this, and made love to me all theevening to console me. In his opinion, the greatest misfortune that canhappen anyone is to make a fool of oneself; and whenever I do it, hepets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were a child who had justgot a tumble. When we settled down here and got the organ, he began toplay constantly, and I used to practise the piano in the daytime so asto have duets with him. But though he was always ready to play wheneverI proposed it, he was quite different then from what he was when heplayed by himself. He was all eyes and ears, and the moment I played awrong note he would name the right one. Then I generally got worse andstopped. He never lost his patience or complained; but I used to feelthat he was urging me on, or pulling me back, or striving to get me todo something which I could not grasp. Then he would give me up indespair, and play on mechanically from the notes before him, thinking ofsomething else all the time. I practised harder, and tried again. Ithought at first I had succeeded; because our duets went so smoothly andwe were always so perfectly together. But I discovered--by instinct Ibelieve--that instead of having a musical treat, he was only trying toplease me. He thought I liked playing duets with him; and accordingly heused to sit down beside me and accompany me faithfully, no matter how Ichose to play. "

"Dear me! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play with him, since he is soremarkably fastidious?"

"It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack; but there issomething--I cannot tell what it is. I found it out one night when wewere at Mrs. Saunders's. She is an incurable flirt; and she was quitesure that she had captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love toanyone that will listen to him. "

"A nice sort of man to be married to!"

"He only does it to amuse himself. He does not really care for them: Ialmost wish he did, sometimes; but it is often none the less provoking. What is worse, no amount of flirtation on my part would make _him_angry. What happened at Mrs. Saunders's was this. The Scotts, of Putney, were there; and the first remark Ned made to me was, 'Who is the womanthat knows how to walk?' It was Mrs. Scott: you know you used to sayshe moved like a panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott sang 'Caller Herrin' inthat vulgar Scotch accent that leaks out occasionally in her speech, with Ned at the piano. Everybody came crowding in to listen; and therewas great applause. I cannot understand it: she is as hard andmatter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont believe the expression in hersinging comes one bit from true feeling. I heard Ned say to her, 'Thankyou, Mrs. Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of singing a ballad asyou have it. ' I knew very well what that meant. _I_ have not the secret. Well, Mrs. Scott came over to me and said 'Mr. Conolly is a very_pair_tinaceous man. He persuaded me into shewing him the way the littlesong is sung in Scotland; and I stood up without thinking. And see now, I have been _rag_uilarly singing a song in company for the first time inmy life. ' Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of affectation. Nedtalked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played 'Caller Herrin'four times next day. That finished my domestic musical career. I havenever sung for him since, except once or twice when he has asked me totry the effect of some passage in one of his music-books. "

"And do you never sing when you go out, as you used to?"

"Only when he is not with me, or when people force me to. If he is inthe room, I am so nervous that I can hardly get through the easiestsong. He never offers to accompany me now, and generally leaves the roomwhen I am asked to sing. "

"Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you. "

"Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like _me_ to listen to _him_, atfirst. "

Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding glumness. There wasan ominous pause. Then she said, abruptly, "You remember how we used todebate whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you found out?"

"I dont know. "

"That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you quite sure you are notin low spirits this evening? He was bantering you about being out oftemper when you came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew. "

"Quarrel! He quarrel! I cannot explain to you how we are situated, Nelly. You would not understand me. "

"Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you as he was beforeyou married him?"

"I dont know. "

Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently. 

"Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way--I do not quite knowhow or why. At first he was not very ceremonious. He used to makeremarks about people, and discuss everything that came into his headquite freely before me. He was always kind, and never grumbled about hisdinner, or lost his temper, or anything of that kind; but--it was notthat he was coarse exactly: he was not that in the least; but he wasvery open and unreserved and plain in his language; and somehow I didnot quite like it. He must have found this out: he sees and feelseverything by instinct; for he slipped back into his old manner, andbecame more considerate and attentive than he had ever been before. Iwas made very happy at first by the change; but I do not think he quiteunderstood what I wanted. I did not at all object to going down to thecountry with him on his business trips; but he always goes alone now;and he never mentions his work to me. And he is too careful as to whathe says to me. Of course, I know that he is right not to speak ill ofanybody; but still a man need not be so particular before his wife asbefore strangers. He has given up talking to me altogether: that is theplain truth, whatever he may pretend. When we do converse, his manner issomething like what it was in the laboratory at the Towers. Of course, he sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never seems in earnest, but makes love to me in a bantering, half playful, half sarcastic way. "

"You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remember you used to say thata husband should be just as tender and respectful after marriage asbefore it. You seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you arenot satisfied. "

"Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more idioticallyignorant than on any other, it is happiness in marriage. A courtier, alover, a man who will not let the winds of heaven visit your face tooharshly, is very nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be awife and not a fragile ornament kept in a glass case. He would as soonthink of submitting any project of his to the judgment of a doll as tomine. If he has to explain or discuss any serious matter of businesswith me, he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me roughly. "

"Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not likethat either. What is the unfortunate man to do?"

"I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. Iam always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, themore mischief I contrive to make. "

"This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his partwould make you happy?"

"Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everythingand everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city--I was jealous of thesanitary inspector the other day--because he talks with interest tothem. I know he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief tome to go out in the evening, or to have a few people here once or twicea week; but I am angry because I know it is a relief to him too. I amjealous even of that organ. How I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to themaddening thing twisting and rolling and racing and then mixing itselfup into one great boom. He can get on with Bach: he can't get on withme. I have even condescended to be jealous of other women--of such womenas Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her as dexterously asshe thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her; and theyrattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has noconscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature: sheflirts even more disgustingly than she used to when she was BelleWoodward; but she is quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoysa broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too tolerant of, though he would as soon die as indulge in it before me. Then there isMrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I haveheard him ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not in somestroke of business--something that I had never heard of, of course. Iwish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she is. _Her_husband would be nothing without her. "

"I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage _is_ a mistake. There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Nedcannot be happy, no pair in the world can. "

"We might be very happy if----" Marian stopped to repress a sob. 

"Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs. You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Marian Lindagain. Think of all the women who would give their souls to have ahusband who would neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, norsulk whenever he was kept waiting half a minute for anything. You haveno little pests of children----"

"I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimeshave Lucy, Marmaduke's little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to befond of her. She is a very bold little thing. "

"I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was. "

"He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in thisdirection occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid _she_ has taken todrinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for shemakes me uncomfortable when I think of her. "

"Does your--your Ned ever speak of her?"

"No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he nevermentions her. Hush! Here he is. "

The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stoodbetween them. 

"How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?" said he. 

"Do you mean the organ?"

"Yes. "

"I wasn't listening to you. "

"You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for yourentertainment: you used to work at Liszt's transcription of it. Theorgan is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven toit by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my realconsoler. "

"So she has just been telling me, " said Elinor. Conolly's surpriseescaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She colored, and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, "I am sure you mustbe a nuisance to the neighbors. "

"Probably, " said Conolly. 

"I do not think you should play so much on Sunday, " said Marian. 

"I know. [Marian winced. ] Well, if the neighbors will either melt downthe church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so ofmy unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in abeautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht, then perhaps I will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I willtake the liberty of celebrating the day of rest with such devices as thereligious folk cannot forbid me. "

"Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned. "

"My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admitthat it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I donot know how even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach. "

"What do you mean by '_even_ Marian'?" said Elinor, sharply. 

"I should have said, 'Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody andeverything. ' I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from you, Miss McQuinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward me. I fear shehas been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domesticshortcomings. "

"No, " said Elinor. "As far as I can judge from her account, you are amonotonously amiable husband. "

"Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out here?"

"Yes. "

"Do not stir, Marian: I will ring for it. "

When he was gone, Marian said "Nelly: for Heaven's sake say nothing thatcould make the slightest coldness between Ned and me. I am clinging tohim with all my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those sharp thingsthat you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever enough to guesseverything I have said to you from them. "

"If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away, " saidElinor. "Dont suppose I am in a huff: I am quite serious. I have anunlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug iscracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than tomend it and handle it tenderly ever after. However, I hope your marriageis not a cracked jug yet. "

CHAPTER XIII

On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at ManchesterSquare in the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive ofhis visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she wasemboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually venturedto be. 

"My darling boy, " she said, holding him fondly for a moment, "this isthe second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I want tospeak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me thismorning. "

"What! Has she gone?" said Douglas. 

"Why?" said Mrs. Douglas. "Did you know she was coming?"

"She mentioned to me that she intended to come, " he replied, carelessly;"but she bade me not to tell you. "

"That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you forspending your time in gayer places than this. "

"You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know mydisposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care tocome only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. Ihope you received Marian kindly. "

"I did not expect to see her; and I told her so. "

"Mother!"

"But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now, Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father oryou. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better ofme. "

"Yes, " said Douglas, gloomily. "She has a wonderful face. "

"The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will notgo to her house too often. "

"Do you doubt my discretion, mother?"

"No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising betweenyou and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and sojealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all. "

"Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian andcorduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkablygood, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite thereverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told thathe does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marianterribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian andhe are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as aslight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them fromthinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have meat his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have anappointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?"

"No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for acup of tea. "

"Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club. "

"If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come againsoon, will you not?"

"Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother. "

Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had noreal appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother, who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relievedby being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitudewhich their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists'models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practiceand its dignity. 

At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted. Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a littlebehind him. 

"Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, abruptly. 

"Why do you ask?" said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right ofanother to question him. 

"I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?"

"Yes, if you wish. "

"Let's go to the South Kensington Museum. "

"The South----! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star andGarter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search ofluncheon?"

"I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum thisafternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come;it's only a matter of a few minutes if we drive. "

"Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years. "

"All right. Come al----oh, damn! There's Lady Carbury and Constancecoming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on. "

But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who wassupine upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as theystood talking. 

"Mamma, " she said, "there's Marmaduke and Sholto Douglas. "

"Where???" said the Countess, lifting her head quickly. "Josephs, driveslowly. Where are they, Constance?"

"They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passingthe hospital. "

"We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make afool of yourself. "

"Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me----"

"Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has movedfrom where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very ill. Do as I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel. "

"I say, " said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred: "come back. There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up to?"

"It cannot be helped, " said Douglas. "There is no escape. You must notcross: it would be pointedly rude. "

Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countesscalled his name, and greeted him with smiles. 

"We want to know how your father is, " she said. "We have had suchalarming accounts of him. I hope he is better. "

"They havnt told me much about him, " said Marmaduke. "There was deucedlittle the matter with the governor when I saw him last. "

"Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He hasnot been to see us for three years past, and during that time we havehad the worst reports of him. "

"You never asked me to go and see you. "

"Silly fellow! Did you expect me to send you invitations and leave cardson you, who are one of ourselves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your unclethe Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the familybesides. You cannot plead that you have not been invited now. Will youcome?"

"No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken to dining in themiddle of the day. "

"Come after dinner, then?"

"Mamma, " said Constance, peevishly, "can't you see that he does not wantto come at all? What is the use of persecuting him?"

"No, I assure you, " said Marmaduke. "It's only the Bishop I object to. I'll come after dinner, if I can. "

"And pray what is likely to prevent you?" said the Countess. 

"Devilment of some sort, perhaps, " he replied. "Since you have all givenme a bad name, I dont see why I should make any secret of earning it. "

The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she was amused, but mustnot laugh at such a sentiment in Constance's presence. Then, turning soas to give the rest of the conversation an air of privacy, shewhispered, "I must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. It issaid that your wild oats are all sown, and I will answer for it thateven the Bishop will receive you with open arms. "

"And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old hypocrite, " saidMarmaduke, speaking rather more loudly than before. "Well, we must betrotting. We are going to the South Kensington Museum--to improve ourminds. "

"Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance is. She is goingto work at her painting while I pay a round of visits. Wont you comewith us?"

"Thank you: I'd rather walk. A man should have gloves and a proper hatfor your sort of travelling. "

"Nonsense! you look very nice. Besides, it is only down the BromptonRoad. "

"The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in with me. I know allsorts of queer people down Brompton way. I should have to bow to them ifwe met; and that wouldnt do before _her_, "--indicating Constance, whowas conversing with Douglas. 

"You are incorrigible: I give you up. Good-bye, and dont forgetto-morrow evening. "

"I wonder, " said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove off, "what she'ssaying about me to Constance now. "

"That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps. "

"Serve her right! I hate her. I have got so now that I can't stand thatsort of woman. You see her game, dont you; she can't get Constance offher hands; and she thinks there's a chance of me still. How well sheknows about the governor's state of health! And Conny, too, grinning atme as if we were the best friends in the world. If that girl had anounce of spirit she would not look on the same side of the street withme. "

Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marmaduke's loud conversationwas irksome in the street, and it was now clear that he was unusuallyexcited. At the museum they alighted, and passed through the courts intothe grill-room, where they sat down together at a vacant table, andordered luncheon. 

"You were good enough to ask my advice about something, " said Douglas. "What is the matter?"

"Well, " said Marmaduke, "I am in a fix. Affairs have become souncomfortable at home that I have had to take up my quarters elsewhere. "

"I did not know that you had been living at home. I thought your fatherand you were on the usual terms. "

"My father! Look here: I mean home--_my_ home. My place at Hammersmith, not down at the governor's. "

"Oh! I beg your pardon. "

"Of course, you know all about my establishment there with LalageVirtue? her real name is Susanna Conolly. "

"Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian's husband?"

"Cousin! She's his sister, and Marian's sister-in-law. "

"I never believed it. "

"It's true enough. But thats not the mischief. Douglas: I tell you she'sthe cleverest woman in London. She can do anything she likes. She canmanage a conversation with any foreigner in his own language, whethershe knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like a native. She can learnoff her part in a new piece, music and all, between breakfast andluncheon, any day. She can cook: she can make a new bonnet out of thelining of an old coat: she can drive a bargain with a Jew. She says shenever learns a thing at all unless she can learn it in ten minutes. Shecan fence, and shoot. She can dance anything in the world. I never knewsuch a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the Bones at the ChristyMinstrels, you'd say she was the lowest of the low. Next minute she willgive herself the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in a style thatwould make Conny burst with envy. To see her preaching like George wouldmake you laugh for a week. There's nothing she couldnt do if she chose. And now, what do you think she has taken to? Liquor. Champagne by thegallon. She used to drink it by the bottle: now she drinks it by thedozen--by the case. She wanted it to keep up her spirits. That was theway it began. If she felt down, a glass of champagne would set her up. Then she was always feeling down, and always setting herself up. At lastfeeling down came to mean the same thing as being sober. You dont knowwhat a drunken woman is, Douglas, unless youve lived in the same housewith one. " Douglas recoiled, and looked very sternly at Marmaduke, whoproceeded more vehemently. "She's nothing but a downright beast. She'seither screaming at you in a fit of rage, or clawing at you in a fit offondness that makes you sick. When she falls asleep, there she is, abesotted heap tumbled anyhow into bed, snoring and grunting like a pig. When she wakes, she begins planning how to get more liquor. Think ofwhat you or I would feel if we saw our mothers tipsy. By God, that childof mine wouldnt believe its eyes if it saw its mother sober. Only forLucy, I'd have pitched her over long ago. I did all I could when I firstsaw that she was overdoing the champagne. I swore I'd break the neck ofany man I caught bringing wine into the house. I sacked the whole staffof servants twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into thedustpan. I stopped drinking at home myself: I got in doctors to frightenher: I tried bribing, coaxing, threatening: I knocked her down once whenI caught her with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her headagainst the fender, and frightened me a good deal more than she hurtherself. It was no use. Sometimes she used to defy me, and say she_would_ drink, she didnt care whether she was killing herself or not. Other times she cried; implored me to save her from destroying herself;asked me why I didnt thrash the life out of her whenever I caught herdrunk; promised on her oath never to touch another drop. The sameevening she would be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it, saythat she wasn't drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed theAlmighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had a bottle in thehouse. Aye, and the very stool she knelt on would be a wine case with ared cloth stuck to it with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look likea piece of furniture. Next day she would laugh at me for believing her, and ask me what use I supposed there was in talking to her. How shemanaged to hold on at the theatre, I dont know. She wouldnt learn newparts, and stuck to old ones that she could do in her sleep, she knewthem so well. She would go on the stage and get through a long part whenshe couldnt walk straight from the wing to her dressing-room. Of course, her voice went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching andcroaking she pulls through. She says she darent go on sober now; thatshe knows she should break down. The theatre has fallen off, too. Theactors got out of the place one by one--they didnt like playing withher--and were replaced by a third-rate lot. The audiences used to bevery decent: now they are all cads and fast women. The game is up forher in London. She has been offered an engagement in America on thestrength of her old reputation; but what is the use of it if shecontinues drinking. "

"That is very sad, " said Douglas, with cold disgust, perfunctorilyveiled by a conventional air of sympathy. "But if she is irreclaimable, why not leave her?"

"So I would, only for the child. I _have_ left her--at least, I've takenlodgings in town; but I am always running out to Laurel Grove. I darenttrust Lucy to her; and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take thepoor little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws for it. She knows that it gives her a grip over me. Well, I have not seen herfor a week past. I have tried the trick of only going out in the eveningwhen she has to be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a longletter; and I dont exactly know what to do about it. She swears she hasgiven up drinking--not touched a spoonful since I saw her last. She's assuperstitious as an old woman; and yet she will swear to that lie withoaths that make _me_ uncomfortable, although I am pretty thick-skinnedin religious matters. Then she goes drivelling on about me havingencouraged her to drink at first, and then turned upon her and desertedher when I found out the mischief I had done. I used to stand plenty ofchampagne, but I am sure I never thought what would come of it. Then shesays she gave up every friend in the world for me: broke with herbrother, and lost her place in society. _Her_ place in society, mindyou, Douglas! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am leaving her todie alone with her helpless child: I might have borne with her a littlelonger: she will not trouble me nor anyone else much more; and so on. The upshot is that she wants me to come back. She says I ought to bethere to save the child from her, if I dont care to save her fromherself; that I was the last restraint on her; and that if I dont comeshe will make an end of the business by changing her tipple to prussicacid. The whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from beginning to end;and I believe she primed herself with about four bottles of champagne towrite it. Still, I dont want to leave her in the lurch. You are a manwho stand pretty closely on your honor. Do you think I ought to go back?I may tell you that as regards money she is under no compliment to me. Her earnings were a good half of our income; and she saved nothing outof them. In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts shepaid for me. We always shared like husband and wife. "

"I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can take the little girlout of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her. "

"Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if sheinsists on keeping it. "

"Well, so much the better for you. It would be a burden to you. Pay herfor its maintenance: that is probably what she wants. "

"No, no, " said Marmaduke, impatiently. "You dont understand. Youretalking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman. "

Douglas looked at him doubtfully. "I confess I do not understand, " hesaid. "Perhaps you will be good enough to explain. "

"It's very simple. I went to live with her because I fell in love withher, and she wouldnt marry me. She had a horror of marriage; and I wasnaturally not very eager for it myself. Matters must be settled betweenus as if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is all nonsense. Shedoesnt want money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of me. Only for the drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant standher when she is not sober. I bore with it long enough; and now all Iwant is to get Lucy out of her hands and be quit of her, as yousay--although it seems mean to leave her. "

"She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused tomarry you. Are you sure she is not married already?"

"Bosh! Not she. She likes to be independent; and she has a sort ofself-respect--not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted melong enough in the hope of running me down at last in a church. "

"If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the leastobligation to stay with her. She reserved liberty to leave you; and, ofcourse, the same privilege was implied on your part. If you have nosentimental wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound inhonor to. "

"I'm fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when she isfuddled. If she would only give up drinking, we might make a freshstart. But she wont. "

"You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, my dear fellow. Thismarriage of Marian's has put the affair on a new footing altogether. Itell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexionwith Conolly's sister is a disgraceful one. "

"Hang Conolly! Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna. Ihave heard enough of that side of the question. Marian married him withher eyes open. "

"Do you mean to say that she knew?"

"Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. He's anextraordinary card, that fellow. "

"Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accidentafter the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it. It was he whosaid that it was Conolly's _cousin_ that you were with. "

"Uncle Rej. Is an old liar. So are most of the family: I never believe aword they say. "

"Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to break the connexion. She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are resolvedto leave her. She only holds on because she hopes to make it the meansof bringing you back. "

"I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet her here to-day athalf past three. Thats the reason I came. "

"Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?"

"Whew! So it does. I had better go and look for her. I'm very muchobliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me. I suppose youdont want to meet her. "

"I should be in the way at present. "

"Then good-bye. "

Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to thepicture galleries, where several students were more or less busy attheir easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying"Sterne's Maria, " by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had beenannoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a richcostume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect herdrawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she wasconsidered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance outof countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with anexpression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thusrevenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minuteslater Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone. 

"Here I am, " said Constance to him, playfully. 

"So I see, " said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment. "You knew I was looking for you, did you?"

"Of course I did, sir. "

"Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?"

"Dont you see? I am copying a picture. "

"Oh! it's very pretty. Which one are you copying?"

"What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough, only you pretend not to. "

"Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it's a little like Mary themaid of the inn there. "

"It's not Mary: it's Maria--Sterne's Maria. "

"Indeed! Do you read Sterne?"

"Certainly not, " said Constance, looking very serious. 

"Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is afit subject for you?"

"Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work. "

"I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?"

"Who?"

"You, and all the other girls here. "

"Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them. "

"Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope noneof the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you. "

"I dont know anything about them, " said Lady Constance, pettishly. "AllI mean is that they are strangers to me. "

"Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the littlepictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There's a bigpicture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?"

"Will you soon be leaving town?" she replied, looking steadily at herwork, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked. Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the roomwith the woman in the black silk dress. 

"Who is that girl?" said Susanna, as they went out. 

"That's Lady Constance, whom I was to have married. "

"I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true Englishlady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting;and she stared at me as if I had bitten her. "

"She is a little fool. "

"She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I think. Bob: did you get my letter?"

"Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here. "

"Well?"

"Well, I dont believe a word of it. "

"That's plain speaking. "

"There is no use mincing matters. You are just as likely to stopdrinking as you are to stop breathing. "

"Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long. "

"Very likely, at your present rate. "

"That will be a relief to you. "

"It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for yourself. You havemade me miserable for a year past; and now you expect me to befrightened at the prospect of being rid of you. "

"I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you to do what all men do:throw me aside as soon as I have served your turn. "

"Yes. Of course, _you_ are the aggrieved party. Where's Lucy?"

"I dont know, and I dont care. "

"Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at home?"

"How do I know whether she is at home or not. I left her there. Verylikely she is with her Aunt Marian, telling stories about her mother. "

"She is better there than with you. What harm has she done you that youshould talk about her in that way?"

"No harm. I dont object to her being there. She has very pleasantconversations with Mrs. Ned, which she retails to me at home. 'AuntyMarian: why do you never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking it. 'And then, 'Mamma: why do you drink so much wine? Aunty Marian neverdrinks any. ' Good heavens! the little devil told me this morning by wayof consolation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty that Iget drunk. "

"What did you do to her for saying it?"

"Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor even box her ears. Why should I? She only repeats what you teach her. "

"She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If she learned the wordfrom me, she learned the meaning from you. A nice lesson for a childhardly three years old. "

Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her feet. After a fewmoments, she tightened her lips; rose; and walked away. 

"Hallo! Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, following her. 

"I'm going to get some drink. I have been sober and miserable ever sinceI wrote to you. I have not got much thanks for it, except to be mademore miserable. So I'll get drunk, and be happy. "

"No, you shant, " said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, and forcibly stoppingher. 

"What does it matter to you whether I do or not? You say you won't comeback. Then leave me to go my own way. "

"Here! you sit down, " he said, pushing her into a chair. "I know yourgame well enough. You think you have me safe as long as you have thechild. "

"Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a cab; and go to LaurelGrove for her? There is nothing to prevent you taking her away. "

"I have a good mind to do it. "

"Well, _do_ it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do it long ago? Her homeis no place for her. I'm not fit to have charge of her. I have no fancyfor having her talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to otherpeople. "

"Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to do, if you will onlybe reasonable. Listen. Let us part friends, Susanna, since there is nouse in our going on together. You must give me the child. It would onlybe a burden to you; and I can have it well taken care of. You can keepthe house just as it is: I will pay the rent of it. "

"What good is the house to me?"

"Can't you hear me out? It will be good to you to live in, I suppose; oryou can set it on fire, and wipe it off the face of the earth, for whatI care. I can give you five hundred pounds down----"

"Five hundred pounds! And what will you live on until your Octoberdividends come in? On credit, I suppose. Do you think you can impose onme by flourishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny fromyou; no, not if I starve for it. "

"Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must. "

"Must I? Do you think you can make me take your money as you made me sitdown here? by force!"

"I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts----"

"I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean to leave me, youshant plaster up your conscience with bank notes. You would like to beable to say in your club that you treated me handsomely. "

"I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. Any other man wouldhave left you months ago. If I had married that little fool insidethere, and she had taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a week. Ihave stood it from you nearly a year. Can you expect me to stay underthe same roof with you, with the very thought of you making me sick andangry? I was looking at some of your old likenesses the other day; andI declare that it is enough to make a man cry to look at your face nowand listen to your voice. When you used to lecture me for losing atwenty pound note at billiards, and coming home half screwed--no manshall ever see me drunk again--I little thought which of us would be thefirst to go to the dogs. "

"I shall not trouble you long. "

"What is the use of harping on that? I have seen you drunk so often thatI should almost be glad to see you dead. "

"Stop!" said Susanna, rising. "All right: you need say no more. Talkingwill not remedy matters; and it makes me feel pretty much as if you werethrowing big stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose: I'vechosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the consequences. Youcan have the child. I will send for my things: you wont see me at LaurelGrove again. Good-bye. "

"But----"

"Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye. " He took her hand irresolutely. She drew it quickly away; nodded to him; and went out, whilst he stoodwondering whether it would be safe--seeing that he did not desire areconciliation--to kiss her good-bye. 

CHAPTER XIV

On Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a glorious sunset, alongUxbridge Road to Holland Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, MissMcQuinch, and Marmaduke. A little girl was playing in the garden. Theywere all so unconstrained, and so like their old selves, that Douglas atonce felt that Conolly was absent. 

"I am to make Ned's excuses, " said Marian. "He has some pressing familyaffairs to arrange. " She seemed about to explain further; but Marmadukelooked so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily, sheadded, "I told Ned that he need not stand on ceremony with you. Fancy mysaying that of you, the most punctilious of men!"

"Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not suffered me tointerfere with his movements, " he replied, with a smile, which hesuppressed as he turned and greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual coldcomposure. But to Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he gave anencouraging squeeze of the hand. Not that he was moved by themisfortunes of Marmaduke; but he was thawed by the beauty of Marian. 

"We shall have a pleasant evening, " continued Marian. "Let us fancyourselves back at Westbourne Terrace again. Reminiscences make one feelso deliciously aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our oldSunday afternoons. Sholto had better go upstairs and shave, to heightenthe illusion. "

"Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to callyou Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I thinkthat our conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse oftime. "

"Of course, " said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from Elinor. "What else should you call me? We were talking about Nelly's fame whenyou came in. The colonial edition of her book has just appeared. Beholdthe advertisement!"

There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one ofits columns as she spoke. Douglas took it up and read the following:

 Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s. 

 THE WATERS OF MARAH, BY ELINOR MCQUINCH. 

 "Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at the railway bookstall. " _Athenaeum_. 

 "There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle reader. " _Examiner_. 

 "There is a ring of solid metal in 'The Waters of Marah. '" _Daily Telegraph_. 

 "Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered the greatest novelist of the age. " _Middlingtown Mercury. _

 "Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident..... Instinct with passion and pathos. " _Ladies' Gazette_. 

 TABUTEAU & SON, COVENT GARDEN. 

"That is very flattering, " said Douglas, as he replaced the paper on thetable. 

"Highly so, " said Elinor. "Coriolanus displaying his wounds in theForum is nothing to it. " And she abruptly took the paper, and threw itdisgustedly behind the sofa. Just then a message from the kitchenengaged Marian's attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guestsfor the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmadukehad moodily preceded him. 

"Still in your difficulties, Lind?" he said, with his perfunctory air ofconcern, looking at the garden with some interest. 

"I'm out of my difficulties clean enough, " said Marmaduke. "There's thechild among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her mother: for good, Isuppose. "

"So much the better! I hope it has not cost you too much. "

"Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, andtold her what you recommended: that I must have the child, and that shemust go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen her since. "

"I congratulate you. "

"I dont feel comfortable about her. "

"Absurd, man! What better could you have done?"

"Thats just what I say. It was her own fault; I did all in my power. Ioffered her five hundred pounds down. She wouldnt have it, of course;but could I help that? Next day, when she sent her maid for her things, I felt so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair. He behaved very decently about it, and said that I might as well haveleft her six months ago for all the good my staying had done or waslikely to do. He has gone off to see her to-day--she is in lodgingssomewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any moneyis required. I should like to know what they are saying to one anotherabout me. They're a rum pair. "

"Well, let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die, " said Douglas, withan unnatural attempt at humor. "Marian seems happy. We must not spoilher evening. "

"Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away. "

"Indeed?"

"It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think she is afraid ofhim. "

"You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her?" said Douglas, fiercely. 

"No: I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything of that sort. And yethe is just that sort of chap that I shouldnt be surprised at anything hemight do. As far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat herparticularly well. But Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets anxiouswhen he comes into the room; and he has his own way in everything. "

"Is that all? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I suppose. Perhaps sheis afraid of his allowing his breeding to peep out. "

"Not she. His manners are all right enough. Besides, as he is a geniusand a celebrity and all that, people dont expect him to be conventional. He might stand on his head, if he chose. "

"Sholto, " said Marian, joining them: "have you spoken to little Lucy?"

"No. "

"Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of theearth, " said Elinor. "You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who havemade her so. "

"Leave her alone, " said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call thechild. "Petting babies is not in Douglas's line: she will only borehim. "

"Not at all, " said Douglas. 

"It does not matter whether she bores him or not, " said Marian. "He mustlearn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here. "

Lucy stopped playing, and said, "What for?"

"Because I ask you to, dear, " said Marian, gently. 

The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. MissMcQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down thegarden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps ofher, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other sideof a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; butshe, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so asto keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified tododge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she onlylaughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty, expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. Sheplaced her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers;and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrilyto the house, saying, between his teeth:

"Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate. "

"She is really too bad to-day, " said Marian. "I am quite shocked ather. "

"She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspectionlike a doll, " said Elinor. 

"She is very bold not to come when she is told, " said Marian. 

"Yes, from your point of view, " said Elinor. "I like bold children. "

Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after thisincident. They recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related toDouglas how she had become reconciled to his mother. Afterward, Marmaduke suggested a game at whist. 

"Oh no, not on Sunday, " said Marian. "Whist is too wicked. "

"Then what the dickens _may_ we do?" said Marmaduke. "May Nelly play_écarté_ with me?"

"Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the frontwindow. "

"Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like. "

"I wish you could sing, Sholto, " said Marian. "It is an age since welast had a game of chess together. Do you still play?"

"Yes, " said Douglas; "I shall be delighted. But I fear you will beat menow, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr. Conolly. "

"Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish expedientfor making idle people believe they are doing something very clever whenthey are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the priceof the table and the pieces; but I insisted on having them, I suppose inremembrance of you. "

"It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or white?"

"White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with yourmen. "

"Now. Will you move?"

"I think I had rather you began. Remember our old conditions. You arenot to checkmate me in three moves; and you are not to take my queen. "

"Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more of my adversary thanof my game. Check. "

"Oh! You have done it in three moves. That is not fair. I won't play anymore unless you take back that. "

"No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop should be at the otherside for that. There! of course, that will do. "

"What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards! I hope the people nextdoor will not hear him swearing. "

"Impossible. You must not move that knight: it exposes your king. Do youknow, I think there is a great charm about this house. "

"Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house. "

"And this sunset hour makes it additionally so; Besides, it isinexpressibly sad to see you here, a perfectly happy and perfectlybeautiful mistress of this romantic foreign home. "

"What do you mean, Sholto?"

"I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, I have no partnor lot in it. Remember, we are only playing at old times to-night. Everything around, from the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds methat I am a stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to regretnothing whilst I am full of regrets. "

"Check, " said Marian. "Mind your game, sir. "

"Flippant!" exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving his king. "I verilybelieve that if your husband were at the bottom of the Thames at thismoment, you would fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and breakhearts with as much indifference as ever. "

"I wish you would not make suggestions of that sort, Sholto. You makeme uncomfortable. Something _might_ happen to Ned. I wish he were home. He is very late. "

"Happy man. You can be serious when you think about him. I envy him. "

"What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! Prodigious!"

"Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not envy him? His careerhas been upward throughout. He has been a successful worker in theworld, where I have had nothing real to do. When the good things I hadbeen dreaming of and longing for all my life came in his path, he hadthem for the mere asking. I valued them so highly that when I fancied Ipossessed them, I was the proudest of men. I am humble enough now that Iam beggared. "

"You are really talking the greatest nonsense. "

"No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. There is no harm intelling you so now. "

"On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For shame, Sholto!"

"I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because now you can listen tome without uneasiness, knowing that it is no longer associated withhope, or desire, or anything but regret. You see that I do not affectthe romantic lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go into society;and you reproach me for growing fat. "

Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to hide her face. Then shesaid in a lower voice, "I have thoroughly convinced myself that there isno such thing as love in the world. "

"That means that you have never experienced it. "

"I have told you already that I have never been in love, and that Idont believe a bit in it. I mean romantic love, of course. "

"I verily believe that you have not. The future has one more pang instore for me; for you will surely love some day. "

"I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, pray, did youreceive the arrow in your heart?"

"When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest hours of my life werethose in which I was slowly, tremulously daring to believe that I hadfound my vision at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! Whata career was to have been mine! I remember how you used to reproach mebecause I was austere with women and proud with men. How could I havebeen otherwise? I contrasted the gifts of all other women with those ofmy elect, and the lot of all other men with my own. Can you wonder that, doing so, I carried my head among the clouds? You must remember howunfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at Oxford, in society, I hadsought distinction without misgiving, and attained it withoutdifficulty. My one dearest object I deemed secure long before I openedmy lips and asked expressly for it. I think I walked through life atthat time like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I must havebeen piling mistake upon mistake until out of a chaos of meaninglesswords and smiles I had woven a Paphian love temple. At the first menaceof disappointment--a thing as new and horrible to me as death--I fledthe country. I came back with only the ruins of the doomed temple. Youwere not content to destroy a ruin: the feat was too easy to beglorious. So you rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and lightedits altars with more than their former radiance. Then, as though itwere but a house of cards--as indeed it was nothing else--you gave itone delicate touch and razed it to its foundations. Yet I am afraidthose altar lamps were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneaththe ruins still. "

"I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at Oxford, Sholto: youmix your metaphors most dreadfully. Dont be angry with me: I understandwhat you mean; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because Imust. How _can_ one meet seriousness in modern society except by chaff?"

"I am not angry. I had rather you did not understand. The more flippantyou are, the more you harden my heart; and I want it to be as hard asthe nether millstone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that. "

"I believe it does every man good to be softened. If you ever reallyfelt what you describe, you greatly over-estimated me. What can you loseby a little more softness? I often think that men--particularly goodmen--make their way through the world too much as if it were a solidmass of iron through which they must cut--as if they dared not relaxtheir hardest edge and finest temper for a moment. Surely, that is notthe way to enjoy life. "

"Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. It may bepleasant to have a soft heart; but then someone is sure to break it. "

"I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, I do not mean that menshould be too soft. For instance, sentimental young men of about twentyare odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude at the barestsuggestion of sentiment; to believe in nature as something inexorable, and to aim at being as inexorable as nature: is not that almost as bad?"

"Do you know any such man? You must not attribute that sort of hardnessto me. "

"Oh no; I was not thinking of you. I was not thinking of anyone in fact. I only put a case. I sometimes have disputes with Ned on the subject. One of his cardinal principles is that there is no use in crying forspilt milk. I always argue that as irremediable disasters are the onlyones that deserve or obtain sympathy, he might as well say that there isno use in crying for anything. Then he slips out of the difficulty bysaying that that was just what he meant, and that there is actually noplace for regret in a well-regulated scheme of life. In debating withwomen, men brazen out all the ridiculous conclusions of which they areconvicted; and then they say that there is no use in arguing with awoman. Neither is there, because the woman is always right. "

"Yes; because she suffers her heart to direct her. "

"You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. Where you cannotwithold credit from a woman, you give it to her heart and deny it to herhead. "

"There! I wont play any more, " said Miss McQuinch, suddenly, at theother end of the room. "Have you finished your chess, Marian?"

"We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, Nelly. Let us finish, Sholto. "

"Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for my inattention. "

"Mine--no, yours. Stop! it must be mine. I really dont know. "

"Nor do I. I have forgotten my game. "

"Then let us put up the board. We can finish some other night. "

It had become dark by this time; and the lamps were brought in whilstDouglas was replacing the chessmen in their box. 

"Now, " said Marian, "let us have some music. Marmaduke: will you singUncle Ned for us? We have not heard you sing for ages. "

"I believe it is more than three years since that abominable concert atWandsworth; and I have not heard you sing since, " said Elinor. 

"I forget all my songs--havnt sung one of them for months. However, heregoes! Have you a banjo in the house?"

"No, " said Marian. "I will play an accompaniment for you. "

"All right. See here: you need only play these three chords. When onesounds wrong, play another. Youll learn it in a moment. "

Marmaduke's voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so spontaneous, as atWandsworth; but they were not critical enough to appreciate thedifference: they laughed like children at him. Elinor was asked to play;but she would not: she had renounced that folly, she said. Then, atDouglas's request, Marian sang, in memory of Wandsworth, "Rose, softlyblooming. " When she had finished, Elinor asked for some old melodies, knowing that Marian liked these best. So she began gaily with The Oakand the Ash and Robin Adair. After that, finding both herself and theothers in a more pathetic vein, she sang them The Bailiff's Daughter ofIslington, and The Banks of Allan Water, at the end of which Marmaduke'seyes were full of tears, and the rest sat quite still. She paused for aminute, and then broke the silence with Auld Robin Gray, which affectedeven Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang the last strain, the click ofa latchkey was heard from without. Instantly she rose; closed thepianoforte softly; and sat down at some distance from it. Her action wasreflected by a change in their behavior. They remembered that they werenot at home, and became more or less uneasily self-conscious. Elinor wasthe least disturbed. Conolly's first glance on entering was at thepiano: his next went in search of his wife. 

"Ah!" he said, surprised. "I thought somebody was singing. "

"Oh dear no!" said Elinor drily. "You must have been mistaken. "

"Perhaps so, " said he, smiling. "But I have been listening carefully atthe window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard AuldRobin Gray. "

Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. Hewas alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting andapology to Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had everdone in their lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, becamesilent, and dropped the pretty airs of command which, as hostess, shehad worn before. 

"Have you any news?" said Marmaduke at last. "Douglas knows the wholebusiness. We are all friends here. "

"Only what we expected, " said Conolly. "Affairs are exactly as theywere. I called to-day at her address--"

"How did you get it?" said Marmaduke. 

"I wrote for it to her at the theatre. "

"And did she send it?"

"Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her, and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance hasaltered very much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and sheknows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked me, in hersarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any other advice to give her. Itold her that if she meant to go on, her proper course was to purchase ahogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process ofkilling herself, which may at present take some years, into a few days. "

"Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!" said Marian. 

"I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem tothink, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best adviceI could have given. "

"I do not think I would have said so. "

"Most likely not, " said Conolly, with a smile. "You would have saidsomething much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty thingsof life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made topass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time intrying to spare one another's feelings. If we did, we should both seethrough the attempt and be very impatient of it. "

"Did she tell you what she intends to do?" said Marmaduke. 

"She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close, itwill, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step. Butshe has no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled. "

"Has she any intention of reforming her habits?" said Elinor, bluntly. 

"I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so. Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed. Has Lucy been put to bed?"

"Lucy is in disgrace, " said Elinor. Marian looked at her apprehensively. 

"In disgrace!" said Conolly, more seriously. "How so?"

Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told howthe child had disregarded Marian's appeal, Conolly laughed. 

"Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling inobediently because her aunt asked her to, " he said. "She is, like allchildren, very practical, and will not assist in getting up amiablelittle scenes without good reason rendered. "

Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking toher in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So shesaid sharply, "It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do. "

"Apparently it is, " said Conolly, complacently. 

"What would you have done?" said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas. 

"I suppose, " said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, "I shouldhave answered her question--told her what she was wanted for. If I askedyou to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely annoyedif I answered, 'because I ask you. '"

"I would not ask why, " said Marian. "I would do it. "

"That would be very nice of you, " said Conolly; "but you cannot: expectsuch a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to beequally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned longsince that grown people systematically impose on the credulity andhelplessness of children. "

"Thats true, " said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietlyresumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled withhim into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke. 

"Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?" said Conolly, leftalone with her. 

"Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and_écarté_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang forus; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers. "

"And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?"

"Certainly not. Why do you say that?"

"Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps, because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had beenhere, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equallyhappy in her singing?"

"Dont you like Marian's singing?"

"Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?"

"I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it. "

"That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why theplain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every daybetter performances than Marian's. She believes there is somethingpretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best ofher ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian, lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I haveheard a hundred times from singers who knew what they were about, then, though I admire her as I must always, my admiration is rather increasedthan otherwise when she stops; because then I am no longer conscious ofa deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could supply. "

"Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admirationof her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is thather singing is good enough for me. "

"I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but howcan I help myself? Poor Marian----"

"Do hush!" said Elinor. "Here she is. "

"You need not be in such a hurry, Duke, " said Marian. "What can itmatter to you how late you get back?"

"No, " said Marmaduke. "I've got to write home. The governor is ill; andmy mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect writing to-night. You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears if she givesyou any cheek. She wants it: she's been spoiled. "

"If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand herback to you, " said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Mariangently pressed Douglas's hand and looked into his eyes as he bade herfarewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, andunexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence init that did not reassure her. A few minutes later she went to bed, leaving the couple alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for amoment with an amused expression; but she closed her lipsirresponsively, and went to the table for a book which she wanted tobring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not spoken toher. 

"Marian: Douglas is in love with you. "

She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, "Very well. I shall notask him to come again. "

"Why?"

She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, "I thought you cared. Ibeg your pardon. "

"My dear, " he replied, amiably: "if you exclude everybody who falls inlove with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men. "

"And do you like men to be in love with me?"

"Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive toyou; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy, any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love withyou as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according toa higher standard than if they had never known you. But do not returnthe compliment, or your influence will become an evil one. "

"Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. SholtoDouglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day. "

"Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later. "

Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely anda little wistfully. "I think, " she said, "I should feel very angry ifany woman made such a confession to you. "

"A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach ofconvention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when theyhave become a burden to her. "

"What do you mean by that?" she said, rising. 

"Marian, " he said, looking straight at her: "are you dissatisfied?"

"What reason have I to--"

"Never mind the reasons. Are you?"

"No, " said she, steadfastly. 

He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek;and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take beforeretiring. 

CHAPTER XV

In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of HardyMcQuinch's brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortunemade in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself, fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night. Oneevening, returning home alone a little before five o'clock, he shuthimself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, thehousemaid, interrupted him. 

"Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir. "

Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before hismarriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention atQueen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share ofDouglas's second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possiblewithout actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was asurprise. Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-roomwithout a word. 

"_How_ do you do, Mr. Conolly?" said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered. "Ineed not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed you?"

"You have--most agreeably. Pray sit down. "

"I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come, but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. Ihave been there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on youthe moment I returned. "

"Yes, " said Conolly, convinced that this was not true. "She promised todo so in her last letter. "

Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions, checked herself, and looked suspiciously at him. 

"The air of Sark has evidently benefited you, " he said, as she paused. "You are looking very well--I had almost said charming. "

Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, "Nonsense! but, indeed, the trip was absolutely necessary for me. I should hardly have beenalive had I remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent onhaving me. "

"He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter. "

"It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted withinvitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist. ButWilliam McQuinch's place at Sark is really palatial. He is calledSarcophagus on account of his wealth. A great many people whom he knewwere staying in the island, besides those in the house with us. Marianwas the beauty of the place. How every one admires her! Why do you notgo down, Mr. Conolly?"

"I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for awhile. "

"Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself. "

"By herself! Why, is not the place full?"

"Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her there. "

"You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. There is Marmaduke, hercousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. SholtoDouglas, one of her oldest and most attached friends?"

"Oh! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?"

"No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her secondchildhood whilst he is there. Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself, isshe not? And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely. "

"No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that. "

"Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources. Itappears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife. "

"Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think that I am afraid ofanything--anything--"

"Anything?"

"Well--Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. At least, not exactlywrong, but--"

"Anything undomestic. "

"Yes. You see, Marian's position is a very difficult one. She is soyoung and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seemsso strange her being without her husband. "

"Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about inthe world, do they not?"

"That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get everything out of me, Mr. Conolly! I called here without the faintest idea of alluding toMarian's situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things. What a fortune you would have made at the bar!"

"I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you. Naturally, ofcourse, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian. "

"It is the very last thing I should desire. But now that it has slippedout, I really think you ought to go to Sark. "

"Indeed! I rather infer that I should be very much in the way. "

"The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly. "

"Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of a husband are stale, unsuited to holiday time. Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark withthe tender assurance in my mouth, 'Marian, I love you. ' She would reply, 'So you ought. Am I not your wife?' The same advance from another--Mr. Douglas, for instance--would affect her quite differently, and much morepleasantly. "

"Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?"

"Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely desire that Marian shouldenjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is admired, thehappier she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to the generalfeeling in such matters, I should become jealous. "

Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. "I cannot make you out atall, Mr. Conolly, " she said submissively. "I hope I have not offendedyou. "

"Not in the least. I take it that having observed certain circumstanceswhich seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I amaware, Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditatedexpression in the course of a conversation with me. " Conolly beamed ather, as if he thought this rather neatly turned. 

"Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I have observedanything particular. "

"Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no harm in my writingto Marian to say that her behavior has attracted your notice, and----"

"Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention _me_ in the matter! Youare so innocent--at least so frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so, inyour way of dealing with things! I would not have Marian know what Ihave said--I really did not notice anything--for worlds. You had betternot write at all, but just go down as if you went merely to enjoyyourself; and dont on any account let Marian suspect that you have heardanything. Goodness knows what mischief you might make, in your--youringenuousness!"

"But I should have thought that the opinion of an old and valued friendlike yourself would have special weight with her. "

"You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you are, you do notunderstand the little wheels by which our great machine of society isworked. "

"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, " he rejoined, echoing the cadence of hersentence. "Educated as a mere mechanic, I am still a stranger to theelegancies of life. I usually depend on Marian for direction; but sinceyou think that it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the presentinstance----"

"Out of the question, Mr. Conolly. "

"--I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What do you suggest?"

Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression which shehabitually wore like a mask in society, wavered and broke. Her liptrembled: her eyes filled with tears: she rose with a sniff that washalf a sob. When she spoke, her voice was sincere for the first time, and at the sound of it Conolly's steely, hard manner melted, and hisinhuman self-possession vanished. 

"You think, " she said, "that I came here to make mischief. I did not. Marian is nothing to me: she does not even like me; but I dont want tosee her ruin herself merely because she is too inexperienced to knowwhen she is well off. I have had to fight my way in London: and I knowwhat it is, and what the world is. She is not fit to take charge ofherself. Good-bye, Mr. Conolly: you are a great deal too young yourselfto know the danger, for all your cleverness. You may tell her that Icame here and gossipped against her, if you like. She will never speakto me again; but if it saves her, I dont care. Good-bye. "

"My dear Mrs. Fairfax, " he said, with entire frankness, "I am now deeplyand sincerely obliged to you. " And in proof that he was touched, hekissed her hand with the ease and grace of a man who had been carefullytaught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself and almost blushedas he went with her to the door, chatting easily about the weather andthe Addison Road trains. 

She was not the last visitor that evening. She had hardly been fifteenminutes gone when the Rev. George presented himself, and was conductedto the laboratory, where he found Conolly, with his coat off, surroundedby apparatus. The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, and preparations foran evening meal, gladdened him more than the presence of hisbrother-in-law, with whom he never felt quite at ease. 

"You wont mind my fiddling with these machines while I talk, " saidConolly. 

"Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations with greatinterest. You must not think that the wonders of science are indifferentto me. "

"So you are going on to Sark, you say?"

"Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to come?"

"No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here. "

"I think it would renovate your health to come for a few days. "

"My health is always right as long as I have work. Did you meet Mrs. Fairfax outside?"

"A--yes. I passed her. "

"You spoke to her, I suppose?"

"A few words. Yes. "

"Do you know what she came here for?"

"No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that she came for a book shelent you. "

"She mentioned what was not true. What did she say to you about Marian?"

"Well, she--She was just saying that it is perhaps as well that I shouldgo down to Sark at once, as Marian is quite alone. "

The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that Conolly laughedoutright at him. "You mean, " he said, "that Marian is _not_ quite alone. Well, very likely Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her. If so, there may be some busybody or another down there fool enough to tell herthat people are talking about her. That would spoil her holiday; so itis lucky that you are going down. No one will take it upon themselves tospeak to her when you are there; and if they say anything to you, youcan let it in at one ear and out at the other. "

"That is, of course, unless I should see her really actingindiscreetly. "

"I had better tell you beforehand what you will see if you keep youreyes open. You will see very plainly that Douglas is in love with her. Also that she knows that he is in love with her. In fact, she told meso. And you will see she rather likes it. Every married woman requires aholiday from her husband occasionally, even when he suits herperfectly. "

The Rev. George stared. "If I follow you aright--I am not sure that Ido--you impute to Marian the sin of entertaining feelings which it isher duty to repress. "

"I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a beggar that he has noright to be hungry, as a woman that it is her duty to feel this and notto feel that. "

"But Marian has been educated to feel only in accordance with her duty. "

"So have you. How does it work? However, " continued Conolly, withoutwaiting for an answer, "I dont deny that Marian shews the effects of hereducation. They are deplorably evident in all her conscientiousactions. "

"You surprise and distress me. This is the first intimation I havereceived of your having any cause to complain of Marian. "

"Nonsense! I dont complain of her. But what you call her education, asfar as I can make it out, appears to have consisted of stuffing her withlies, and making it a point of honor with her to believe them in spiteof sense and reason. The sense of duty that rises on that sort offoundation is more mischievous than downright want of principle. I dontdispute your right, you who constitute polite society, to skin over allthe ugly facts of life. But to make your daughters believe that theskin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor Marian thinks that a room isclean when all the dust is swept out of sight under the furniture; andif honest people rake it out to bring it under the notice of those whoseduty it is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and ten to oneaccuses them of having made it themselves. She doesnt know what sort ofworld she is in, thanks to the misrepresentations of those who shouldhave taught her. She will deceive her children in just the same way, ifshe ever has any. If she had been taught the truth in her own childhood, she would know how to face it, and would be a strong woman as well as anamiable one. But it is too late now. The truth seems natural to a child;but to a grown woman or man, it is a bitter lesson in the learning, though it may be invigorating when it is well mastered. And you know howseldom a hard task forced on an unwilling pupil _is_ well mastered. "

"What is truth?" said the clergyman, sententiously. 

"All that we know, Master Pilate, " retorted Conolly with a laugh. "Andwe know a good deal. It may seem small in comparison with what we dontknow; but it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We know, for instance, that the world was not planned by a sentimental landscapegardener. If Marian ever learns that--which she may, although I amneither able nor willing to teach it to her--she will not thank thosewho gave her so much falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she will, I amafraid, do little else than lay up a store of regrets for herself. "

"This is very strange. We always looked upon Marian as an exceptionallyamiable girl. "

"So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so villainous butshe will defend it; no tyranny so oppressive but she will make a virtueof submitting to it; no social cancer so venomous but she will shrinkfrom cutting it out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and muchbetter as it is. She knows that she disobeyed her father, and that hedeserved to be disobeyed; yet she condemns other women who aredisobedient, and stands out against Nelly McQuinch in defence of theunselfishness of parental love. She knows that the increased freedom ofmovement allowed to her as a married woman has been healthy for her; yetshe looks coldly at other young women who assert their right to freedom, and are not afraid to walk through the streets without a sheepdog, humanor otherwise, at their heels. She knows that marriage is not what sheexpected it to be, and that it gives me many unfair advantages over her;and she knows also that ours is a happier marriage than most. Nevertheless she will encourage other girls to marry; she will maintainthat the chain which galls her own wrists so often is a string ofhoneysuckles; and if a woman identifies herself with any public movementfor the lightening of that chain, she wont allow that that woman is fitto be admitted into decent society. There is not one of these shams towhich she clings that I would not like to take by the throat and shakethe life out of; and she knows it. Even in that she has not theconsistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful and out ofkeeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith in her husband. In order toblind herself to her inconsistencies, she has to live in a rose-coloredfog; and what with me constantly, in spite of myself, blowing this fogaway on the one side, and the naked facts of her everyday experience asconstantly letting in the daylight on the other, she must spend halfthe time wondering whether she is mad or sane. Between her desire to doright and her discoveries that it generally leads her to do wrong, shepasses her life in a wistful melancholy which I cant dispel. I can onlypity her. I suppose I could pet her; but I hate treating a woman like achild: it means giving up all hope of her becoming rational. She mayturn for relief any day either to love or religion; and for her own sakeI hope she will choose the first. Of the two evils, it is the leastpermanent. " And Conolly, having disburdened himself, resumed his workwithout any pretence of waiting for the clergyman's comments. 

"Well, " said the Rev. George, cautiously, "I do not think I have quitefollowed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down, asif they were projected upon the retina of your mind's eye--to useShakspear's happy phrase--just as they would be upon your--your realeye, you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is anentirely mistaken one. You seem to think that she does not give in herentire adherence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matterwhich I venture to say you do not understand. "

"Admitted, " interposed Conolly, hastily. "Here is my workman's tea. Areyou fond of scones?"

"I hardly know. Anything--the simplest fare, will satisfy me. "

"So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself, pray. "

Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergymanate. Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by therepast, returned to the subject of his host's domestic affairs. 

"Come, " he said, "I am sure that a few judicious words would lead to anexplanation between you and Marian. "

"I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not bejudicious words. "

"Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?"

"No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because thetruth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the difficultyto a man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I despisedher, and nothing else. "

"Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; alittle concession on both sides----"

"All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or amother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent atthe club on the man's part, or too many dances with a gallant on thewoman's; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words: thereare no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault. Besides, these few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign remedy forall sorts of domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. If Itold them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make lasting truceseither. No: the situation is graver than you think. Just suppose, forinstance, that you undertake to restore harmony, as you call it! whatwill you say to her?"

"Well, it would depend on circumstances. "

"But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would youbegin?"

"There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. Forinstance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair sohappily situated as you two should not agree perfectly. "

"You would get no further; for Marian would never admit that we do notagree. She does not know what her complaint is, and therefore feelsbound in honor to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She isnot the woman to cast reproach on me for a discontent she cannotexplain. Or, if she could explain it, how much wiser should you be? _I_have explained; and you confess you cannot understand me. The differencebetween us is neither her fault nor mine; and all the explanations inthe world will not remove it. "

"If you would allow me to appeal to her religious duty----"

"Religion! She doesnt believe in it. "

"What!" exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly shocked. "Surely, surely----"

"Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean holding up your handand saying, 'Credo. ' It means habitually acting on the assumption thatthe doctrine is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church; andshe will hold up her hand and cry 'Credo' to the immortality of hersoul, or to any verse in the New Testament. The shareholders of ourconcern in the city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on theassumption that they are immortal, or that riches are dross, or thatclass prejudice is damnable? Never. They dont believe it. You will findthat Marian has been thoroughly trained to separate her practice fromher religious professions; and if you allude to the inconsistency shewill instinctively feel that you are offending against good taste. Inshort, her 'Credo' doesnt mean faith: it means church-going, which ispractised because it is respectable, and is respectable because it is ahabit of the upper caste. But church-going is church-going; and businessis business, as Marian will soon let you know if you meddle with _her_business. However, we need not argue about that: we know one another'sviews and can agree to differ. "

"I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest if I made any suchagreement. "

"Perhaps so; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our lives over the sameargument. No, as I was saying, take my advice, and let Marian alone. "

"But what do you intend to do, then?"

"What _can_ I do but wait? Experience must wear out some of herillusions. She will at least find out that she is no worse off thanother women, and better off than some of them. Since the job cannot beundone, we must try how making the best of it will work. I am prettyhopeful myself. How are affairs getting on at your chapel? I am toldthat the sermons of your _locum tenens_ send the congregation asleep. "

"He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow! a most loving manbut not able to grapple with a large congregation. After all, I amobliged to confess that very few of our cloth are. The power ofpreaching is quite an exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as atrust. I humbly believe that the power of the tongue comes of a higherordination than the bishop's. "

Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergyman's object invisiting Conolly was, it presently appeared, to borrow a portmanteau. When he was gone, Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote thefollowing letter:

 "My dear Marian

 "I have just had two unexpected visits, one from Mrs. Fairfax, and one from George. Mrs. L. F. Said you asked her to call and give me the news. When I told her, without blushing, that you had written to prepare me for her visit, she was rather put out, justly thinking me to mean that I did not believe her. As this is fully the thirty-sixth falsehood in which you have detected good Mrs. F. , I fear you will be compelled, in spite of your principle of believing the best of everybody, to regard her in future as a not invariably accurate woman. She came with the object of making me go down to Sark. You were so young and so much admired: Mr. Douglas was so attentive: you should not be left entirely alone, and so forth. You will be angry with her; but she thinks Douglas so irresistible that she is genuinely anxious about you: I believe she really meant well this time. As to our reverend brother, his portmanteau burst in the train coming from Edinburgh; so he came to borrow mine, having apparently resolved to wear out those of all his friends before buying a new one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F. Down the road; and she urged him to go down to Sark just as she had urged me. Now as George is incapable of holding his tongue when he ought, I feel sure that unless I tell you what Mrs. F. Said, he will anticipate me. Otherwise I should not have mentioned it until your return, for fear of annoying you and spoiling your visit. So if his reverence hints or lectures, you will know what he means and not heed him. Mrs. F's confidences have probably not been confined to me; but were I in your place, I should not make the slightest change in my conduct in consequence. At all events, if you feel constrained to display any sudden accession of reserve toward Douglas, tell him the reason; because if you dont, he will ascribe the change to coquetry. 

 "I have turned the spare room on the first floor into a laboratory, and am sitting in it now. I'm thinking of fitting it up like a studio, and having private views of my inventions, as Scott has of his pictures. Parson's man came with some flowers the other day, and informed me that three balls, to the first of which he was invited, took place in the house while I was away. One or two trifling dilapidations, and the fact that somebody has been tampering with the locks of the organ and piano, dispose me to believe this tale. Parson's man declares that he was too virtuous to come to the two last entertainments after finding out that the first was a clandestine one; but I believe he made himself disagreeable, and was not invited. Probably he quarrelled with some military follower of Armande's; for he was particularly bitter on the subject of a common soldier making free in a gentleman's house. I have not said anything to the two culprits; but I have contrived to make them suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty with trembling diligence. Some man sat on the little walnut table and broke it; but no other damage worth mentioning has been done. The table was absurdly repaired with a piece of twine, and pushed into the recess between the organ and the front window, whence I sometimes amuse myself by the experiment of pulling it into broad daylight. It is always pushed back again before I return in the evening. 

 "How are you off for money? I have plenty of loose cash just now. Madame called last Monday, and asked Matilda, who opened the door, when you would be back. Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she is loyal to her clients; for I had great difficulty in extracting her bill, which was, of course, what she called about. She evidently recognizes the necessity of keeping husbands in the dark in such matters. One of the items was for the lace on your maccaroni-colored body, which, as I chanced to remember, you supplied yourself. After a brief struggle she deducted it; so I paid her the balance: only 35£ 13s. 9d. 

 "When are you coming back to me? After Sark I fear you will find home a little dull. Nevertheless, I should like to see you again. Come back before Christmas, at any rate. 

 "Yours, dear Marian, in solitude, "NED. "

The answer came two days later than return of post, and ran thus:

 "Melbourne House, Sark, "Sunday. "My dear Ned

 "How very provoking about the servants! I do not mind Matilda so much; but I do think it hard that we could not depend on Armande, considering all the kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely believe that she would have acted so badly unless she were led away by Matilda, whom I will pack off the moment I return. As to Armande, I will give her another chance; but she shall have a sharp talking to. I am quite sure that a great deal more mischief has been done than you noticed. If the carpet was danced on for three nights by men in heavy boots, it must be in ribbons. It is really too bad. I do not want any money. Indeed the twenty pounds you sent me last was quite unnecessary, as I have nearly sixteen left. What a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my lace! I am sorry you paid the bill. She had no business to call for her money: she is _never_ paid so soon by _anybody_. We have had great fun down here. It has been one continual garden party all through; and the weather is still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial: but I think his ways make the house pleasanter than if he were still English. Carbury is quite stupid in comparison to this place. I have danced more than I ever did in my life before; and now we are so tired of frivolity that if any one ventures to strum a waltz or propose a game, we all protest. We tried to get up some choral music; but it was a failure. On Friday, George, who is looked on as a great man here, was asked to give us a Shakespeare reading. He was only too glad to be asked; for he had heard Simonton, the actor, read at a bazaar in Scotland, and was full of Richard the Third in consequence. He was not very bad; but his imitation of Simonton was so obvious and so queerly mixed with his own churchy style that he seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least I thought so. I was dreadfully uncomfortable during the reading because of Marmaduke, who behaved scandalously. There were some schoolboys present; and he not only encouraged them to misbehave themselves, but was worse than any of them himself. At last he pretended to be overcome by the heat, and went out of the room, to my great relief; but when the passage about the early village cock came, he crew outside the door, where he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could help laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. McQuinch took two of them out by the collar. I believe he was glad of the excuse to go out and laugh himself. George was very angry, and no wonder! He will hardly speak to Marmaduke, who, of course, denies all knowledge of the interruption; but George knows better. All the Hardy McQuinches are down here. Uncle Hardy is rather stooped from rheumatism. Nelly is now the chief personage in the family: Lydia and Jane are nowhere beside her. They are good-humored, bouncing girls; but they are certainly not brilliant. I hope it is not Aunt Dora's walnut table that is broken. Was it not mean of Parson's man to tell on Armande? I think, since you have plenty of loose cash, we might venture on a set of those curtains we saw at Protheroe's, for the drawing-room. I can easily use the ones that are there now for _portières_. 

 "You must not think that I have written this all at once. I shall be able to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, and I have made an excuse to stay away from church. George is to preach; and somehow I never feel toward the service as I ought when he officiates. I know you will laugh at this. 

 "The first part of your letter must have a paragraph all to itself. I hardly know what to say. I could not have believed that Mrs. Leith Fairfax would have behaved as she has done. I was so angry at first that for fully an hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to George the day after he arrived, because he said that Sholto had better not take me down to dinner, although his doing so was quite accidental. I know you will believe me when I tell you that I was quite unconscious that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was about to write you an indignant denial, only I shewed Nelly your letter, and she crushed me by telling me she had noticed it too. We nearly had a quarrel about it; but she counted up the number of times I had danced with him and sat beside him at dinner; and I suppose an evil-minded woman looking on might think what Mrs. Leith Fairfax thought. But there is no excuse for her. She knows that Sholto and I have been intimate since we were children; and there is something odious in her, of all people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is worse, she was particularly friendly and confidential with me while she was here; and although I tried to keep away from her at first, she persisted in conciliating me, and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken what she said that other time. Who could have expected her to turn round and calumniate me the moment my back was turned! How can people do such things! I hope we shall not meet her again; for I will never speak to her. I have not said anything to Douglas. How could I? It would only make mischief. I feel that the right course is to come home as soon as I can, and in the meantime to avoid him as much as possible. So you may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is quite dismayed at my departure, which he says will be the signal for a general breaking up; but this I cannot help. I shall be glad to go home, of course. Still, I am sorry to leave this place, where we have all been so jolly. I will write and let you know what train I shall come by; but you need not trouble to meet me, unless you like: I can get home quite well by myself. After all, it is just as well that I am getting away. It _was_ pleasant enough; but now I feel utterly disgusted with everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They have just come in from church; and I must go down. 

 "Your affectionate "MARIAN. "

CHAPTER XVI

One Saturday afternoon in December Marian and Elinor sat drinking tea inthe drawing-room at Holland Park. Elinor was present as an afternooncaller: she no longer resided with the Conollys. Marian had been lamelyexcusing herself for not having read Elinor's last book. 

"Pray dont apologize, " said Elinor. "I remember the time when you wouldhave forced yourself to read it from a sense of duty; and I am toodelighted to find that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel thewound to my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear you can read it stillwhenever you please. Brother George read it, and was shocked because theheroine loves the villain and tells him so without waiting to be asked. It is odd that long ago, when I believed so devoutly in the tenderpassion, I never could write a really flaming love story. "

"Dont begin to talk like that, " said Marian, crossly. "People _do_ fallin love, fortunately for them. It may be injudicious; and it may turnout badly; but it fills up life in a way that all the barren philosophyand cynicism on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather have toregret a lost love than to repine because I had been too cautious tolove at all? The disappointments of love warm the heart more than thetriumphs of insensibility. "

"Thats rather a good sentence, " said Elinor. "Your talk is moreclassical than my writing. But what would the departed Marian Lind havesaid?"

"The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise that she neglectedthat excellent precept, 'Be not righteous over much, neither makethyself over wise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?' I took up theBible last night for the first time since my marriage; and I thoughtwhat fools we two used to be when we made up our minds to avoid all themistakes and follies and feelings of other people, and to be quitesuperior and rational. 'He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and hethat regardeth the clouds shall not reap. ' It is all so true, in spiteof what Ned says. We were very clever at observing the wind andregarding the clouds; and what are we the better for it? How muchirreparable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by letting ourlittle wisdoms stifle all our big instincts! Look at those very otherpeople whom we despised; how happy they are, in spite of their havingalways done exactly what their hearts told them!"

"I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know I am. Certainly itwas part of our wisdom that marriage was a bad thing; and I grant thatthough you married in obedience to your instincts you are as well off asI. But I dont see that we are the worse for having thought a little. "

"I did _not_ marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; and you know it. I made a disinterested marriage with a man whom I felt I could respectas my superior. I was convinced then that a grand passion was a folly. "

"And what do you think now?"

"I think that I did not know what I was talking about. "

"I believe you were in love with Ned when you married him, and longenough before that, too. "

"Of course I loved him. I love him still. "

"Do you, really? To hear you, one would think that you only respectedhim as a superior. "

"You have no right to say that. You dont understand. "

"Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?"

"I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love. There is a love which one's good sense suggests--a sort of moralapproval----"

Elinor laughed. "Go on, " she said. "What is the other sort?"

"The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an overpoweringimpulse--a craving--a faith that defies logic--something to lookforward to feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling heartin your age. "

"Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as thedifference between the old love and the new?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out atme, though: I dont mind it. "

"Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you. "

"It's rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on thissubject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?"

Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent. 

"Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, andtell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you areunhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furiousscene with him, and all will come right. "

"It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myselfridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am notunhappy. "

"What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning allprudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid ofbeing ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding theclouds, I should like to know?"

"I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me. "

"Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk ofsomething else. Where did those flowers come from?"

"Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted abouquet. "

"Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarelymisses an excuse for coming. "

"Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except onSunday; and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is. "

"He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders's on Wednesday; hewas at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on Saturday. "

"I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-homewould be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. LeithFairfax?"

"Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you havemade that mistake oftener since your return from Sark than in all yourlife before. Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he comeshere a great deal too often. Instead of encouraging him to dangle afteryou as he does, and to teach you all those finely turned sentimentsabout love which you were airing a minute ago, you ought to make him getcalled to the bar, or sent into Parliament, or put to work in somefashion. "

"Nelly!"

"Bother Nelly! It is true; and you know it as well as I do. "

"If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help it. "

"You can help his following you about. "

"I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does not Ned object? Heknows that Sholto is in love with me; and he does not care. "

"Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have nothing more to say:you may flirt away as hard as you please. There's a knock at the door, just in time to prevent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock it is, too. "

Marian had flushed slightly at the sound; and Elinor, with her feetstretched out before her, lapped the carpet restlessly with her heels, and watched her cousin sourly as Douglas entered. He was in eveningdress. 

"Good-evening, " said Elinor. "So you are going to the theatre, too?"

"Why?" said Douglas. "Is any one coming with us? Shall we have thepleasure of your company?"

"No, " replied Elinor, drily. "I thought Mr. Conolly was perhaps goingwith you. "

"I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will, " said Douglas. 

"He will not, " said Marian. "I doubt if he will come home before westart. "

"You got my flowers safely, I see. "

"Yes, thank you. They are beautiful. "

"They need be, if you are to wear them. "

"I think I will go, " said Elinor, "if you can spare me. Marian has beenfar from amiable; and if you are going to pay her compliments, I shallvery soon be as bad as she. Good-bye. " Douglas gratefully went with herto the door. She looked very hard at him, and almost made a grimace asthey parted; but she said nothing. 

"I am very glad she went, " said Marian, when Douglas returned. "Sheannoys me. Everything annoys me. "

"You are leading an impossible life here, Marian, " he said, putting hishand on her chair and bending over her. "Whilst it lasts, everythingwill annoy you; and I, who would give the last drop of my blood to spareyou a moment's pain, shall never experience the delight of seeing youhappy. "

"What other life can I lead?"

Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to reply; but hehesitated, and did not speak. Marian was not looking at him. She wasgazing into the fire. 

"Sholto, " she said, after an interval of silence, "you must not comehere any more. "

"What!"

"You are too idle. You come here too often. Why do you not become abarrister, or go into Parliament, or at least write books? If Nelly cansucceed as an author, surely you can. "

"I have left all that behind me. I am a failure: you know why. Let ustalk no more of it. "

"Do not go on like that, " said Marian, pettishly. "I dont like it. "

"I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily distressed. "

"Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it too. I think you mightbear with me, Sholto. " Here, most unexpectedly, she rose and burst intotears. "When my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannotalways be patient. I have been forbearing toward you many times. "

Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen her cry before. Then, as she sat down again, and covered her face with her handkerchief, he advanced, intending to kneel and put his arm about her; but hiscourage failed: he only drew a chair to the fire, and bent over, as hesat beside her, till his face was close to hers, saying, "It is all thefault of your mad marriage. You were happy until then. I have beensilent hitherto; but now that I see your tears, I can no longer mastermyself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a moment since what otherlife was open to you. There is a better life. Leave England with me;and--and----" Marian had raised her head; and as she looked steadily athim, he stopped, and his lips became white. 

"Go on, " she said. "I am not angry. What else?"

"Nothing else except happiness. " His voice died away: there was a pause. Then, recovering himself, he went on with something of hischaracteristic stateliness. "There is no use in prolonging your presentlife; it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate? You know howseldom the mere letter of duty leads to either happiness or justice. Youcan rescue me from a wasted existence. You can preserve your own heartfrom a horrible slow domestic decay. _He_ will not care: he cares fornothing: he is morally murdering you. You have no children to think of. I love you; and I offer you your choice of the fairest spots in the wideworld to pass our future in, with my protection to ensure your safetyand comfort there, wherever it may be. You know what a hollow thingconventional virtue is. Who are the virtuous people about you? Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and her like. If you love me, you must know that you arecommitting a crime against nature in living as you are with a man who isas far removed from you in every human emotion as his workshop is fromheaven. You have striven to do your duty by him in vain. He is none thehappier: we are unutterably the more miserable. Let us try a new life. Ihave lived in society here all my days, and have found its atmospheremost worthless, most selfish, most impure. I want to be free--to shakethe dust of London off my feet, and enter on a life made holy by love. You can respond to such an aspiration: you, too, must yearn for a pureand free life. It is within our reach: you have but to stretch out yourhand. Say something to me. Are you listening?"

"It seems strange that I should be listening to you quite calmly, as Iam; although you are proposing what the world thinks a disgracefulthing. "

"Does it matter what the world thinks? I would not, even to save myselffrom a wasted career, ask you to take a step that would really disgraceyou. But I cannot bear to think of you looking back some day over abarren past, and knowing that you sacrificed your happiness toFashion--an idol. Do you remember last Sunday when we discussed thatbitter saying that women who have sacrificed their feelings to the lawsof society secretly know that they have been fools for their pains? _He_did not deny it. You could give no good reason for disbelieving it. Youknow it to be true; and I am only striving to save you from that vainregret. You have shewn that you can obey the world with grace anddignity when the world is right. Shew now that you can defy itfearlessly when it is tyrannical. Trust your heart, Marian--my darlingMarian: trust your heart--and mine. "

"For what hour have you ordered the carriage?"

"The carriage! Is that what you say to me at such a moment? Are youstill flippant as ever?"

"I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I will go deliberately, and not on the spur of your persuasion. I must have time to think. Whathour did you say?"

"Seven. "

"Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind waiting here alone?"

"If you would only give me one hopeful word, I think I could waithappily forever. "

"What can I say?"

"Say that you love me. "

"I am striving to discover whether I have always loved you or not. Surely, if there be such a thing as love, we should be lovers. "

He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a movement as if toembrace her. 

"No, " she said, stopping him. "I am his wife still. I have not yetpronounced my own divorce. "

She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro Until she returned, dressed in white. He gazed at her with quickened breath as sheconfronted him. Neither heeded the click of her husband's latchkey inthe door without. 

"When I was a little boy, Marian, " he said, gazing at her, "I used tothink that Paul Delaroche's Christian martyr was the most exquisitevision of beauty in the world. I have the same feeling as I look at younow. "

"Marian reminds me of that picture too, " said Conolly. "I rememberwondering, " he continued, smiling, as they started and turned towardhim, "why the young lady--she was such a perfect lady--was martyred in aball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian's wreath adds to theforce of the reminiscence. "

"If I recollect aright, " said Marian, taking up his bantering tone witha sharper irony, "Delaroche's martyr shewed a fine sense of thenecessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow herexample by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be goodenough to assist me, both of you. "

She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch fora moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. "By the bye, " hesaid, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, "I have to run awayto Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another againuntil Monday evening. "

Douglas's hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian's arm. "There, there, " she said, drawing it away from him, "you do it for me, Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius. " Her hand was quite steady asConolly shut the clasp. "Why must you go to Glasgow?"

"They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer hastelegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shallcertainly be back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half pastseven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but youknow the popular prejudice. If you want a thing done, see to ityourself. "

"Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popularprejudices, " said Marian. "He says that to defy the world is a proof ofhonesty. "

"So it is, " said Conolly. "I get on in the world by defying its oldnotions, and taking nobody's advice but my own. Follow Douglas'sprecepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter toeight?"

"Oh! Let us go. We shall be late. "

"I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night. "

"Good-night, " said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did notcare to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. "Pleasant journey. "

"Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back. ] What have youforgotten?"

"My opera-glass, " said Marian. "No, thanks: you would not know where tolook for it: I will go myself. "

She went upstairs; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, and found herin their bedroom, closing the drawer from which she had just taken theopera-glass. 

"Marian, " he said: "you have been crying to-day. Is anything wrong? oris it only nervousness?"

"Only nervousness, " said Marian. "How did you find out that I had beencrying? it was only for an instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does myface shew it?"

"It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more cheerful now?"

"Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like. "

Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. "Why?" he said. "Do you wish----?" Herecovered himself, and added, "It is too cold, my dear; and I musttravel very fast. I shall be busy all the time. Besides, you areforgetting the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching cold onthe steps. "

"Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will make you happier. "

"Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make _you_ happier, " said he, kissing her. To his surprise, she threw her arm round him, held him fastby the shoulder, and looked at him with extraordinary earnestness. Hegave a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, "Dont youthink your nervousness is taking a turn rather inconvenient forDouglas?" She let her hands fall; closed her lips; and passed quietlyout. He went to the window and watched her as she entered the carriage. Douglas held the door open for her; and Conolly, looking at him with asort of pity, noted that he was, in his way, a handsome man and that hishabit of taking himself very seriously gave him a certain, dignity. Thebrougham rolled away into the fog. Conolly pulled down the blind, andbegan to pack his portmanteau to a vigorously whistled accompaniment. 

CHAPTER XVII

Conolly returned from Glasgow a little before eight on Monday evening. There was no light in the window when he entered the garden. MissMcQuinch opened the door before he reached it. 

"What!" he said. "Going the moment I come in!" Then, seeing her face bythe hall lamp, he put down his bag quickly, and asked what the matterwas. 

"I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am very glad you havereturned. Come into the drawing-room: I dont want the servants to hearus talking. "

"There is no light here, " he said, following her in. "Is it possible youhave been waiting in the dark?"

He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when she exclaimedimpatiently, "Oh, I did not notice it: what does it matter? Do let thelamp alone, and listen to me. " He obeyed, much amused at her irritation. 

"Where has Marian gone to?" she asked. 

"Is she out?" he said, suddenly grave. "You forget that I have comestraight from Glasgow. "

"I have been here since three o'clock. Marian sent me a note not to comeon Sunday--that she should be out and that you were away. But they tellme that she was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when she wasout with Sholto. She packed her trunks in the evening, and went awaywith them. She told the cabman to drive to Euston. I dont know what itall means; and I have been half distracted waiting here for you. Ithought you would never come. There is a note for you on yourdressing-table. "

He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at her, but saidnothing. 

"Wont you go and open it?" she said anxiously. "It must contain someexplanation. "

"I am afraid the explanation is obvious. "

"You have no right to say that. How do you know? If you are not going toread her letter, you had better say so at once. I dont want to pry intoit: I only want to know what is become of Marian. "

"You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse me whilst I fetch it?"

She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went for the letter, which, after a brief absence, he placed unopened on the table before her, saying:

"I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the dark. "

"Are you going to open it?" she said, hardly able to contain herself. 

"No. "

He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage. His friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on secondthoughts, exasperated her. 

"Why wont you?"

"I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Prayopen it. "

"I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie thereforever. "

He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her theenclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, stillpresenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked tosnatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, andlooked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace andresolute not to cry. "I had rather have had my two hands cut off, " shesaid passionately, after a pause. 

"It is very sad for you, " said Conolly, sympathetically. "He is aneducated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him. "

"He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are_you_ going to do, may I ask?"

"Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear. "

"Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening. " He seemed to know that shewould not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. Onher way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched, that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assaulthim. 

"Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?" she said, letting her temperloose. "How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?"

"What _can_ I do, Miss McQuinch?" he said, gently. 

"You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utteridiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him?If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you. "

"Thank you, " he said, good-humoredly. "But you see she does not wish tolive with me. "

"Good God, man, what woman do you think _could_ wish to live with you! Isuppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculatingmachine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough tohave kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue forencouraging him, you would have been more of a man than you are: shewould have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a stone full ofbrains--such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chanceleft--if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrashhim within an inch of his life; and bring her back and punish her howyou please so long as you shew her that you care. You can do it if youwill only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is afraid of you: Ihave seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him--if you would onlynot be so cold blooded--if you will only go--_dear_ Mr. Conolly--yourenot really insensible--you will, wont you?"

This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made himlook at her curiously. "What does the letter say?" he asked, stillquietly, but inexorably. 

She snatched it up again. "Here, " she said. "'_Our marriage was amistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the world. Itis all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me_. ' That is what herletter says, since you condescend to ask. "

"It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?"

"Yes, " she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable toweep. "It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had youto go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it tohappen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and itserves you right. '_Pray forget her_. ' Oh, yes, poor girl! she need nottrouble about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner, cowardlier, selfisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done whatwe always said we would do--kept free from you!"

"It was a good plan, " said Conolly, submissively. 

"Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood, pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose andshook off an imaginary detaining hand. ] I dont want to hear anythingmore about it. I suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she wasright to go, too; so we are all right, and everything is for the best, no doubt. Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter to you?She was only in your way. You can console yourself with your--" HereArmande came in; and Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and stoodthere, so that the housemaid should not see her face. 

"Your dinner, sir, " said Armande, with a certain artificiality of mannerthat was, under the circumstances, significant. "There is a nice fire inthe laboratory. "

"Thank you, " said Conolly. "Presently, Armande. "

"The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was veryparticular with me and cook about it. " And Armande, with an air ofdeclining further responsibility, went out. 

"What shall I do without Marian?" said Conolly. "Not one woman in ahundred is capable of being a mistress to her servants. She saved me allthe friction of housekeeping. "

"You are beginning to feel your loss, " said Elinor, facing him again. "Apleasant thing for a woman of her talent to be thrown away to save youthe friction of housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to herhappiness that she did to your dinners you would not be in your presentpredicament. "

"Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy to make a womanhappy as to feed a man?"

"Calc--! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three times as easy--sixtimes as easy: more fool the woman! You can make a woman happy for aweek by a word or a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order aweek's dinners? I suppose you consider a kiss a weakness?"

"I am afraid--judging by the result--that I am not naturally clever atkissing. "

"No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better go and do what you_are_ clever at--eat your dinner. "

"Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate little child get asevere fall, and then, instead of a little kindly petting, catch a soundwhacking from its nurse for daring to startle her and spoil itsclothes?"

"Well, what is the point of that?"

"You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a sort of fall thisevening. "

"And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I suppose; because youdont care to be told that it is your own fault. That is a commonexperience with children, too. I tell you plainly that I dont believeyou are hurt at all; though you may not be exactly pleased--just for themoment. However, I did not mean to be uncivil. If you are really sorry, I am at least _as_ sorry. I have not said all I think. "

"What more?"

"Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my time here--and nodoubt wasting yours too. "

"Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are not thoroughlysatisfied, pray go on for ten minutes longer: your feelings do youcredit, as the phrase goes. Still, do not forget that you thought justthe same of me a week ago; and that if you had said as much then youmight have prevented what has happened. Giving me a piece of your mindnow is of no use except as far as it relieves you. To Marian or me oranyone else it does no good. So when you have said your worst, we cannotdo better, I think, than set our wits to work about our next move. "

Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then she laughed sourly, and said, "There is some sense in that. I am as much to blame asanybody: I dont deny it--if that is any comfort to you. But as to thenext move, you say yourself that it is too late to do anything; and Idont see that you can do much. "

"That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. First, I have toset Marian and myself free. "

"How?"

"Divorce her. "

"Divorce!" Elinor looked at him in dismay. He was unmoved. Then her gazefell slowly, and she said: "Yes: I suppose you have a right to that. "

"She also. "

"So that she may marry him--from a sense of duty. That will be so happyfor her!"

"She will have time, before she is free to find out whether she likeshim or not. There will be a great fuss in the family over the scandal. "

"Do you care about that? _I_ dont. "

"No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps write to you. If so, just point out to her that her five hundred a year belongs to her still, and makes her quite independent of him and of me. That is all, I think. You need take no pains now to conceal what has happened: the servantsbelow know it as well as we: in a week it will be town talk. "

Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing her as she felthow little effect it was producing. Yet her temper rather rose than fellat him. There was a much more serious hostility than before in her toneas she said:

"You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what has happened. I donot want any instructions from you as to what I shall write to Marianabout her money affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into herhead to come back when she has found what a fool she has made ofherself, whether I may tell her that you are glad to be rid of her, andthat there is no use in her humiliating herself by coming to your doorand being turned away. "

"Shall I explain the situation to you from my point of view?" said he. At the sound of his voice she looked up in alarm. The indulgent, half-playful manner which she had almost lost the sense of because itwas so invariable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly gone. Shefelt that the real man was coming out now without ceremony. He was quickto perceive the effect he had produced. To soften it, he placed acomfortable chair on the hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary friendlyway: "Sit nearer the fire: we can talk more comfortably. Now, " hecontinued, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, "let me tell you, Miss McQuinch, that when you talk of my turning people away from my dooryou are not talking fair and square sense to me. I dont turn myacquaintances off in that way, much less my friends; and a woman who haslived with me as my wife for eighteen months must always be a ratherparticular friend. I liked her before I was her husband, and I shallcontinue to like her when I am no longer her husband. So you need haveno fear on that score. But I wont remain her husband. You said just nowthat I knew what was going to happen; that I intended it to happen, wanted it to happen, and am glad it happened. There is more truth inthat than you thought when you said it. For some time past Marian hasbeen staying with me as a matter of custom and convenience only, usingme as a cover for her philandering with Douglas, and paying me bykeeping the house very nicely for me. I had asked myself once or twicehow long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the answer; foralthough I was wifeless and had no one to live with who really cared forme, I was quite prepared to wait a couple of years if necessary, on thechance of our making it up somehow. But sooner or later I should haveinsisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am not sorry nowthat the end has come, since it was inevitable; though I am right sorryfor the way it has come. Instead of eloping in the conventional way, sheshould have come to an understanding with me. I could easily have takenher for a trip in the States, where we could have stopped a few monthsin South Dakota and got divorced without any scandal. I have never madeany claims on her since she found out that she didnt care for me; andshe might have known from that that I was not the man to keep heragainst her will and play dog in the manger with a fellow like Douglas. However, thats past praying for now. She has had enough of me; and Ihave had more than enough of her set and her family, except that Ishould like to remain good friends with you. You are the only one of thewhole lot worth your salt. It is understood, of course, that you takeMarian's part against me on all issues; but will you be friends as faras is consistent with that?"

"All right, " said Nelly, shortly. 

"Shake hands on it; and I'll tell you something else that will help youto understand me better, " he said, holding out his hand. She gave hers;and when the bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seatedhimself on the edge of the table. 

"You know that when I married, " he resumed, "I was promoted to mix infashionable society for the first time. Of course you do: that was thewhole excitement of the affair for the family. You know the impression Imade on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now tell me: do youknow what impression polite society made on me?"

"Dont understand. "

"Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp as you are, that Icould have taken society otherwise than at its own valuation of itself, as something much higher, more cultivated and refined than anything thatI had been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in that much at anytime; but it was not until I had made a _mésalliance_ for Marian's sakethat I realized how infinitely beneath me and my class was the one I hadmarried into. "

"_Mésalliance!_--with Marian! I take back the shake hands. "

"_Mésalliance_ with her class, for her sake: I made the distinctionpurposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch? A worker. I belonged and belongto the class that keeps up the world by its millions of serviceablehands and serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me settles onthat point. I admit no loafer as my equal. The man who is working at thebench is my equal, whether he can do my day's work or not, provided heis doing the best he can. But the man who does not work anyhow, and theclass that does not work, is a class below mine. When I annoyed Marianby refusing to wear a tall hat and cuffs, I did so because I wanted tohave it seen as I walked through Piccadilly and St. James's Street thatI did not belong there, just as your people walk through a poor streetdressed so as to shew that they dont belong there. To me a man like youruncle, Marian's father, or like Marmaduke or Douglas, loafing idly roundspending money that has been made by the sweat of men like myself, arelittle better than thieves. They get on with the queerest makeshifts forself-respect: old Mr. Lind with family pride. Douglas with personalvanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of interest in his own appetites andhis own jollity. Everything is a sham with them: they have drill andetiquet instead of manners, fashions instead of tastes, small talkinstead of intercourse. Everything that is special to them asdistinguished from workers is a sham: when you get down to the realelement in them, good or bad, you find that it is something that iscommon to them and to all civilized mankind. The reason that this isntas clear to other workmen who come among them as it is to me is thatmost workmen share their ignorance of the things they affect superiorityin. Poor Jackson, whom you all call the Yankee cad, and who is not a cadat all in his proper place among the engineers at our works, believes inthe sham refinements he sees around him at the at-homes he is so fondof. He has no art in him--no trained ear for music or for fine diction, no trained eye for pictures and colors and buildings, no cultivatedsense of dignified movement, gesture, and manner. But he knows whatfashionable London listens to and looks at, and how it talks andbehaves; and he makes that his standard, and sets down what isdifferent from it as vulgar. Now the difference between me and him isthat I got an artistic training by accident when I was young, and hadthe natural turn to profit by it. Before I ever saw a West End LondonerI knew beautiful from ugly, rare from common, in music, speech, costume, and gesture; for in my father's operatic and theatrical companies theredid come now and then, among the crowd of thirdraters, a dancer, anactor, a scenepainter, a singer, or a bandsman or conductor who was afine artist. Consequently, I was not to be taken in like Jackson bymade-up faces, trashy pictures, drawling and lounging and strutting andtailoring, drawing-room singing and drawing-room dancing, any more thanby bad ventilation and unwholesome hours and food, not to mention politedram drinking, and the round of cruelties they call sport. I found thatthe moment I refused to accept the habits of the rich as standards ofrefinement and propriety, the whole illusion of their superiorityvanished at once. When I married Marian I was false to my class. I had asort of idea that my early training had accustomed me to a degree ofartistic culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, andthat would be quite natural to Marian. I soon found that she had thekeenest sense of what was ladylike, and no sense of what was beautifulat all. A drawing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed withouta white mount round it to spoil it pained her as much as my wristswithout cuffs on them. No mill girl could have been less in sympathywith me on the very points for which I had preferred her to the millgirls. The end of it was that I felt that love had made me do athoroughly vulgar thing--marry beneath me. These aristocratic idlegentlemen will never be shamed out of their laziness and low-mindednessuntil the democratic working gentlemen refuse to associate with theminstead of running after them and licking their boots. I am heartilyglad now to be out of their set and rid of them, instead of having toreceive them civilly in my house for Marian's sake. The whole businesswas strangling me: the strain of keeping my feeling to myself was morethan you can imagine. Do you know that there have been times when I havebeen so carried away with the idea that she must be as tired of theartificiality of our life as I was, that I have begun to speak my mindfrankly to her; and when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and frightenedthat I was going to turn coarse at last, I have shut up and sat thereapparently silent, but really saying under my breath: 'Why dont you go?Why dont you leave me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You must bea dream: I never married you. You dont know me: you cant be my wife:your lungs were not made to breathe the air I live in. ' I have said athousand things like that, and then wondered whether there was any truthin telepathy--whether she could possibly be having my thoughtstransferred to her mind and thinking it only her imagination. I wouldask myself whether I despised her or not, calling on myself for thetruth as if I did not believe the excuses I made for her out of thefondness I could not get over. I am fond of her still, sometimes. I didnot really--practically, I mean--despise her until I gave up thinkingabout her at all. There was a certain kind of contempt in thatindifference, beyond a doubt: there is no use denying it. Besides, it isproved to me now by the new respect I feel for her because she has hadthe courage and grit to try going away with Douglas. But my love for heris over: nothing short of her being born over again--a thing thatsometimes happens--will ever bring her into contact with me after this. To put it philosophically, she made the mistake of avoiding allrealities, and yet marrying herself to the hardest of realities, aworking man; so it was inevitable that she should go back at last to theregion of shadows and mate with that ghostliest of all unrealities, thenon-working man. Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful than ours:the cross between us was too violent. Now you have the whole story frommy point of view. What do you--"

"Hush!" said Elinor, interrupting him. "What is that noise outside?"

The house bell began to ring violently; and they could hear a confusednoise of voices and footsteps without. 

"Can she have come back?" said Elinor, starting up. 

"Impossible!" said Conolly, looking disturbed for the first time. Theystood a moment listening, with averted eyes. A second peal from the bellwas followed by roars of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice wasaudible. Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Conolly randownstairs at once and opened it. On the step he found Marmaduke reelingin the arms of the Rev. George. 

"How are you, ol' fler?" said Marmaduke, plunging into the hall. "Theparson is tight. I found him tumbling about High Street, and brought himalong. "

"Pray excuse this intrusion, " whispered the Rev. George. "You see thestate he is in. He accosted me near Campden Hill; and I really could notbe seen walking with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested. "

"He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough to know how to amusehimself at your expense, " said Conolly, aloud. "Come up to thelaboratory. Miss McQuinch is there. "

"But he is not fit, " urged the clergyman. "Look at him trying to hang uphis hat. How absurd--I should rather say how deplorable! I assure you heis perfectly tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, andrequesting females to accompany us. Better warn Elinor. "

"Nonsense!" said Conolly. "I have some news that will sober him. Here isMiss McQuinch. Are you going?"

"Yes, " said Elinor. "I should lose my patience if I had to listen toGeorge's comments; and I am tired. I would rather go. "

"Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to um's Marmadukes?"

"Let me go, " said Elinor, snatching away her hand, which he had seized. "You ought to be at home in bed. You are a sot. " At this Marmadukelaughed boisterously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The threemen then went upstairs, Marmaduke dropping his pretence of drunkennessunder the influence of Conolly's presence. 

"Marian is not in, I presume, " said the clergyman, when they wereseated. 

"No. " said Conolly. "She has eloped with Douglas. "

They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long whistle; and theclergyman rose, pale. "What do you mean, sir?" he said. 

Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly sat down again. 

"Well, I'm damned sorry for it, " said Marmaduke, emphatically. "It wasa mean thing for Douglas to do, with all his brag about his honor. "

The Rev. George covered his face with his handkerchief and sobbed. 

"Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of yourself, " saidMarmaduke. "What are you going to do, Conolly?"

"I must simply divorce her. "

"Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thousand out of him, just topunish him. "

"He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I punish him?"

"My dear friend, " cried the clergyman, "you must not dream of a divorce. I implore you to abandon such an idea. Consider the disgrace, theimpiety! The publicity would kill my father. "

Conolly shook his head. 

"There is no such thing as divorce known to the Church. 'What God hathjoined together, let no man put asunder. '"

"She had no right to bolt, " said Marmaduke. "Thats certain. "

"I was married by a registrar, " said Conolly; "and as there is no suchthing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from theecclesiastical point of view, has no existence. We were not joined byGod, in fact, in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarryingwould be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law, which, by the bye, would make me the father of Douglas's children. Icannot, merely because your people are afraid of scandal, take such arevenge on Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sacrificed somuch for. After all, since our marriage has proved a childless one, theonly reason for our submitting to be handcuffed to one another, now thatour hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is gone. "

"The game began at Sark, " said Marmaduke. "Douglas stuck to her therelike a leech. He's been about the house here a good deal since she cameback. I often wondered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it wasnot my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going? You hadntany row with her just before, had you?

"We never had rows. "

"That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have heard poor Susanna andme fighting. We always ended by swearing we would never speak to oneanother again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had givenMarian something to complain of, she would have been too much taken upwith it to bother about Douglas. "

"But have you ascertained whither they have gone?" said the clergyman, distractedly. "Will you not follow them?"

"I know nothing of their movements. Probably they are crossing to NewYork. "

"But surely you ought to follow her, " said the Rev. George. "You may yetbe in time to save her from worse than death. "

"Yah!" said Marmaduke. "Drop all that rot, George. Worse than death behanged! Serves the family right! They are a jolly sight too virtuous: itwill do them good to get shewn up a bit. "

"If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest, " exclaimed theRev. George, shedding tears, "you might at least be silent in thepresence of a heartbroken brother and husband. "

"Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or Conolly, "said Marmaduke, sulkily. "No doubt it's rough on you. But as to thefeelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the wholecrew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of bigamy. It would take the conceit out of them. "

"I know not how to break this wretched news to my father, " said the Rev. George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly. 

"It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss made about it thebetter. She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out miseryand disgrace. Your family can very well follow my example. I havenothing to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say againstme. Nothing can prevent such publicity as a petition for divorce mustentail. Your father will survive it, never fear. "

The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried to change Conolly'sintention when Marian was to be married, felt that he should succeed nobetter now that she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he satdangling his handkerchief between his knees and leaning forward on hiselbows toward the fire. 

"You must excuse me if I see my way straight through to the end. Idaresay you would rather realize it gradually, inevitable as it is, "added Conolly, looking down with some pity at his drooping figure. "Icannot help my habit of mind. When are you going to be married?" hecontinued, to Marmaduke. 

"I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I'm not. But I suppose it willbe some time in spring. "

"You have made up your mind to it at last?"

"Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only I dont like to behunted into a corner. Conny is a good little girl, and will make asteady wife. I dont like her mother; but as for herself, she is fond ofme; and after all, I _did_ lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy, the Earl is forking out handsomely; and as I have some notion ofsettling down to farm, his dust will come in conveniently as capital. "

The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen gloves. 

"If youre going, I will see you part of the way, " said Marmaduke. "I'llcheer you up. You know you neednt tell the governor until to-morrow. "

"I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you did before. "

"Never fear. I'm as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away withmelancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this timenext year. "

This seemed to have been in the clergyman's mind; for he shook handswith his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conollywent to the laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he atewith all a traveller's appetite. From the dinner table he went straightto the organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after abrief turn in the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietlyasleep. 

BOOK IV

CHAPTER XVIII

Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; aletter which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17thDecember at New York: and the formal beginning and ending were omitted. This was an old custom between Marian and her cousin. In their girlishcorrespondence they had expressed their affection by such modes ofaddress as "My darling Marian, " and "My dearest Nelly. " Subsequentlythey became oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereaftertheir letters contained only the matter to be communicated and thesignature. 

"You are the only person in England, " wrote Marian, "to whom I darewrite now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time toanswer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter, lest you should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That mayhave been an unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidableone for a woman. 

"And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, ifI could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; andlisten invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: butone must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me whatkind of sensation I have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose. Half thepeople never would have thought it; and the other half knew all alongwhat it would come to. Well, I do not care much about the world ingeneral; but I cannot quiet my conscience on the subject of my fatherand George. It must be very hard on papa that, after being disappointedin my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my mother did, heshould now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is theword. I am afraid poor George's prospects must be spoiled by thescandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. I thought my first dutywas to leave Ned free, and to free myself, at all hazards; and so I didnot dwell on the feelings and interests of others as much as I perhapsought to have done. There is one point about which I am especiallyanxious. It never occurred to me before I went that people might saythat my going was Ned's fault, and that he had treated me badly. Youmust contradict this with all your might and main if you hear it evenhinted at. 

"There is no use in putting off the confession any longer, Nelly: I havemade an utter fool of myself. _I wish I were back with Ned again_. There! what do you think of that? Now for another great confession, anda most humiliating one. Sholto is a--I dont know what epithet is fair. Isuppose I have no right to call him an impostor merely because we werefoolish enough to overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that weever really thought that there were great qualities and powers latentbeneath his proud reserve. Ned, I know, never believed in Sholto; and I, in my infinite wisdom, set that down to his not understanding him. Nedwas right, as usual. If you want to see how selfish people are, and howskin-deep fashionable politeness is, take a voyage. Go with a pickedcompany of the nice people you have met for an hour or so at a dinner oran at-home; and see how different they will appear when they have beencooped up in a ship with you day and night for a week. An ocean steameris the next worst thing to the Palace of Truth. Poor Sholto did notstand the ordeal. He was ridiculously distant in his manner to the restof the passengers, and in little matters at table and so forth he wasreally just as selfish as he could be. He was impatient because I wasill the first two days, and afterwards he seemed to think that I oughtnot to speak to anyone but himself. The doctor, who was very attentiveto me, was his particular aversion; and it was on his account that wehad our first quarrel, the upshot of which was a scene between them, which I overheard. One very fine day, when all the passengers were ondeck, Sholto met the doctor in the saloon, and offered him a guinea forhis attendance on me, telling him in the most offensively polite waythat I would not trouble him for any further services. The doctorretorted very promptly and concisely; and though what he said was notdignified, I sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendlywith him at dinner. (Meals take place on hoard ship at intervals of tenminutes: it is horrifying to see the quantity of food the elderly peopleconsume. ) To prevent further hostilities I took care to be always in theway when the doctor encountered Sholto afterwards. I cannot imagine Nedinvolving himself in such a paltry squabble. It is odd how things comeabout. I used to take Sholto's genius for granted, and think a greatdeal of it. In another sense, I used to take Ned's genius for granted, and think nothing of it. Now I have found out in a single fortnight thatwe saw all of Sholto that there was to be seen. His reserves of talentexisted only in our imagination. He has absolutely no sense of humor;and he is always grumbling. Neither the servants, nor the food, nor therooms, nor the wine, satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me, who, from not having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten thatmen ever were guilty of it. I flirted a little, a very little, with thedoctor; not because I meant anything serious, but because it amused meand made the trip pleasant. Sholto will not understand this. One day, onboard, I was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the use of a piece ofmachinery belonging to the ship. Ned would have known, or, if he hadnot, would very soon have found out. Sholto didnt know, and was weakenough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying that I couldnot understand it. This put me on my mettle; and I asked the surgeonthat afternoon about it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but heappealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended to revengemyself on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; butunfortunately, whether through the first officer's want of perspicuityor my own stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation. 

"I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next. As Sholtohas given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him. Iknow now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least tryto hide from him that he has done likewise. I can see that he is nothappy; but he tries so desperately to persuade himself that he is, andclings so to the idea that the world is well lost for me, that I havenot the heart to undeceive him. So we are still lovers; and, cynicalthough it sounds, I make him a great deal happier in my insincerity thanI could if I really loved him, because I humor him with a cunning quiteincompatible with passion. He, on the other hand, being still sincere, tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and importunities. As hehas nothing to do, he is almost always with me; and a man who has nooffice to go to--I dont care who he is--is a trial of which you can haveno conception. So much for our present relations. But I fear--indeed Iknow--that they will not last long. I dare not look steadily at thefuture. In spite of all that he has sacrificed for me, I cannot liveforever with him. There are times at which he inspires me with such afrenzy of aversion and disgust that I have to put the strongestconstraint upon myself to avoid betraying my feelings to him. Weintended going to the West Indies direct from here, in search of someidyllic retreat where we could live alone together. He still entertainsthis project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him off with somepretext for remaining here whenever he mentions it. I have only one hopeof gaining a separation without being open to the reproach of havingdeserted him. You remember how we disputed that Saturday about themerits of a grand passion, which I so foolishly longed for. Well, I havetried it, and proved it to be a lamentable delusion, selfish, obstinate, blind, intemperate, and transient. As it has evaporated fromme, so it will evaporate from Sholto in the course of time. It wouldhave done so already, but that his love was more genuine than mine. Whenthe time comes, he will get rid of me without the least remorse; and sohe will have no excuse for reviving his old complaints of my treachery. 

"One new and very disagreeable feature in my existence, which I hadpartly prepared myself for, is the fear of detection. We sailed beforeour flight had become public; and as there was fortunately no one onboard who knew us, I had a nine days' respite, and could fearlesslyapproach the other women, who, I suppose, would not have spoken to mehad they known the truth. But here it is different. Ned's patents are somuch more extensively worked here than in England, and the people are sogo-ahead, that they take a great interest in him, and are proud of himas an American. The news got into the papers a few days after wearrived. To appreciate the full significance of this, you should knowwhat American newspapers are. One of them actually printed a longaccount of my going away, with every paragraph headed in large print, 'Domestic Unhappiness, ' 'The Serpent in the Laboratory, ' 'TheTemptation, ' 'The Flight, ' 'The Pursuit, ' and so on, all invented, ofcourse. Other papers give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old jokes arerevived and ascribed to us. I am accused of tearing his hair out, and heof coming home late at nights drunk. Two portraits of ferocious oldwomen supposed to be Ned's mother-in-law have been published. The latestversion appeared in a Sunday paper, and is quite popular in this hotel. According to it, Ned was in the habit of 'devoting me to science' bytrying electrical experiments on me. 'This, ' the account says, 'was kindof rough on the poor woman. ' The day before I 'scooted, ' a new machineappeared before the house, drawn by six horses. 'What are them menfoolin' round with, Mr. C. ?' said I. 'That's hubby's latest, ' repliedNed. 'I guess it's the boss electro-dynamic fixin' in the universe. Full charge that battery with a pint of washing soda, an' youll fetch upa current fit to ravage a cont'nent. You shall have a try t'morro'mornin', Sal. Youre better seasoned to it than most Britishers; but ifit dont straighten your hair and lift the sparks outer youreyelashes--!' 'You bet it wont, Mr. C. , ' said I. That night (this isonly what the paper says, mind) I stole out of bed; arranged the wireson each side of Ned so that if he stirred an inch he would make contact;charged the battery; and gently woke him, saying, 'Mr. C, love, dontstir for your life. Them things that's ticklin' your whiskers is theconductors of that boss fixin' o' yourn. If I was you, I'd lie stilluntil the battery runs down. ' 'Darn it all, ' said Ned, afraid to lifthis lips for a shout, and coming out in cold water all over theforehead, 'it wont run down for a week clear. ' 'That'll answer menicely, ' I replied. 'Good-bye, Mr. C. Young Douglas from the cornergrocery is waitin' for me with a shay down the avenue. ' I cannot helplaughing at these things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is alwaysdescribed in them as a young man from some shop or other. He tries hard, out of delicacy, to keep the papers which contain them away from me; butI hear about them at breakfast, and buy them downstairs in the hall formyself. Another grievance of Sholto's is that I will not have mealsprivately. But my dislike to being always alone with him is greater thanmy dread that my secret will leak out, and that some morning I shall seein the people's faces that the Mrs. Forster who has so often beenregaled with the latest account of the great scandal, is no other thanthe famous Mrs. Conolly. That evil day will come, sooner or later; but Ihad rather face it in one of these wonderful hotels than in aboarding-house, which I might be asked to leave. As to taking a house ofour own, I shrink from any such permanent arrangement. We are noticed agood deal. Sholto is, of course, handsome and distinguished; and peopletake a fancy to me just as they used to long ago. I was once proud ofthis; but now it is a burden to me. For instance, there was a Mrs. Crawford staying here with her husband, a general, who has just built ahouse here. She was so determined to know me that I found it hard tokeep her off without offending her. At last she got ill; and then I feltjustified in nursing her. Sholto was very sulky because I did so, andwanted to know what business it was of mine. I did not trouble myselfabout his anger, and Mrs. Crawford was well in two days. In fact, Ithink Sholto was right in saying that she had only overeaten herself. After that I could avoid her no longer, and she was exceedingly kind tome. She wanted to introduce me to all her New York friends, and beggedme to leave the hotel and go to her new mansion. There was plenty ofroom for us, she said. I did not know what to say. I could not repay herkindness by going to her house under false colors, and letting herintroduce me to her circle; and yet I could make no reasonable excuse. At last, seeing that she attributed my refusals to pride, I told herplainly that if her friends were to learn my history by any accidentthey might not thank her for the introduction. She was quite confounded;but she did not abate her kindness in the least, although my reservationof confidence in only giving her a hint of the truth, checked heradvances. You may think this an insane indiscretion on my part; but ifyou knew how often I have longed to stand up before everybody andproclaim who I am, and so get rid of the incubus of a perpetualfalsehood, you would not be so much surprised. There is one unspeakableblessing in American law. It is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One canget free without sacrificing everything except bare existence. I do notcare what anybody may argue to the contrary, our marriage laws areshameful. 

"I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly, there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularlyto know what Ned did--as far as you know--when he heard the news. Ispapa very angry? And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is?I thought that Sholto would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but hedoes not really care half so much as I do. How selfish I have been! Iused to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for others because I made ahabit--a detestably self-conscious habit--of being considerate intrifles. And in the end, after being so vain-gloriously attentive to themomentary comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them andthought only of myself when their whole happiness was concerned. I neverknew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how far thediscovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me everything". I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel as if I hadbeen writing for a whole month instead of two days. Good-bye for threeweeks. 

"MARIAN. "

"P. S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of thepapers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear fromthe wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the audience. "

CHAPTER XIX

On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in NewYork, and ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sittingthere, thinking, with a letter in her lap, She only looked up for amoment when he entered; and he plucked off his sealskin gloves and threwaside his overcoat in silence. 

"It is an infernal day, " he said presently. 

Marian sighed, and roused herself. "The rooms look cheerless in winterwithout the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England. "

"Damn the rooms!" he muttered. 

Marian took up her letter again. 

"Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?" he said, aggressively. 

"Yes. "

"You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for dayspast. "

"Yes. I thought it was a matter of course. "

"Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me inignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself. "

"Is it of importance, then?"

"Certainly it is--of vital importance. "

"Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?"

"I have received some private letters. "

"Oh! I beg your pardon. "

Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning. She sat as before. 

"How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?" he said, turningupon her suddenly. 

"In New York?"

"This is New York, I believe. "

"I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else. "

"Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering conclusion?"

Marian shrugged her shoulders. "I dont know, " she said. 

"Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail tocommunicate your state of mind to those about you. "

"So it seems. "

"What does that mean?"

"That you do not seem to be happy either. "

"How in the devil's name can you expect me to be happy in this city? Doyou think it is pleasant to have no alternative to the society ofAmerican men except that of a sulky woman?"

"Sholto!" said Marian, rising quickly, and looking at him in surprise. 

"Spare me these airs, " he said, coldly. "You will have to accustomyourself to hear the truth occasionally. "

She sat down again. "I am not giving myself airs, " she said, earnestly. "I am astonished. Have I really been sulky?"

"You have been in the sulks for days past: and you are in them at thismoment. "

"There is some misunderstanding between us then; for you have seemed tome quite cross and out of sorts for the last week; and I thought youwere out of temper when you came in just now. "

"That is rather an old-fashioned retort. "

"Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not; but you arespeaking very slightingly to me. "

He muttered something, and walked across the room and back. "I am quiteclear on one point at least, " he said. "It was not for this sort ofthing that I crossed the Atlantic with you; and you had bettor make ourrelations more agreeable if you wish me to make them permanent. "

"You to make them permanent? I do not understand. "

"I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your husband's suit isundefended, he will obtain a decree which will leave you a single womanin six months. Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is nota club in London that would hold me in any way bound to marry you afterthe manner in which you have behaved. Let me remind you that your futureposition depends on your present conduct. You have apparently forgottenit. "

She looked at him; and he went back to the window. 

"My husband's suit cannot be defended, " she said. "Doubtless you willact according to the dictates of the London clubs. "

"I do not say so, " he said, turning angrily. "I shall act according tothe dictates of my own common sense. And do not be too sure that thepetition will be unopposed. The law recognizes the plea of connivance. "

"But it would be a false plea, " said Marian, raising her voice. 

"I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your husband was blind, ormerely kept his eyes shut will not be decided by us. You have beenwarned. We will drop the subject now, if you please. "

"Do you suppose, " said Marian, with a bright color in her cheeks, "thatafter what you have said, anything could induce me to marry you?"

He was startled, and remained for a moment motionless. Then he said, inhis usual cold tone, "As you please. You may think better of it. I willleave you for the present. When we meet again, you will be calmer. "

"Yes, " she said. "Good-bye. "

Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk jacket, transferredhis cigar-case to a pocket in it, and went out. When he had passed thethreshold, he hesitated, and returned. 

"Why do you say good-bye?" he said, after clearing his throat uneasily. 

"I do not like to leave you without saying it. "

"I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that weshould part. "

"I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneaththe same roof with you again. "

"Come!" he said, shutting the door: "this is nonsense. You are out oftemper. "

"So you have already told me, " she said, becoming pale. 

"Well, but--Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now;but I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable. "

"Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, anddesire no advances. Good-bye is enough. "

"But, Marian, " said he, coming nearer, "you must not fancy that I haveceased to love you. "

"Above all, " said Marian, "let us have no more of that. You say you hatethis place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it, and havebeen so for a long time. "

"Let us go elsewhere. "

"Yes, but not together. One word, " she added resolutely, seeing hisexpression become fierce. "I will not endure any violence, even oflanguage, from you. I know of old what you are when you lose yourtemper; and if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim who I am. "

"Do you think I am going to strike you?"

"No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to oaths or abuse. "

"What have you to complain of? What is your grievance?"

"I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought so dearly to gowhere I please and do what I please. "

"And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you. I haveincurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position insociety; and broken my mother's heart for your sake. "

"But for that I would have left you before. I am very sorry. "

"You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that yourhusband will take you back. Not a woman in London will speak to you. "

"I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean. Can we notpart with dignity? We have made a mistake. Let us acknowledge itquietly, and go our several ways. "

"I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose, " he said, his facedarkening menacingly. "Do you think I believe in your going out alonefrom this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who isit?"

"Who is----? What do you mean?"

"What new connexion have you formed? You were very anxious about ourship returning the other day--anxious about the mails, of course. Perhaps also about the surgeon. "

"I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to some other man. Iwill tell you now the true reason. "

"Do, " said he, sarcastically, biting his lip. 

"I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I foolishlythought I could, I neither respect nor even like you. You are utterlyselfish and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for havingdeserted for your sake a far better man. I am sorry you have sacrificedso much for me; but if you had been worthy of a woman's regard, youwould not have lost me. "

Douglas stared at her. "_I_ selfish and narrow-minded!" he said, withthe calm of stupefaction. 

"Yes. "

"I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to you, "said he slowly, after a pause. "But, though I do not ask for gratitude, I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrousassertion as that I am selfish. "

"You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost. You neverthink of what I have lost. I make no profession of unselfishness. I amsuffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer. "

"In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came here because you had awretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you. You do whatyou like, and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of yours thathas not been silently gratified. "

"I do not find fault with you. You have been generous in supplying mewith luxuries such as money can obtain. But it was not the want of moneythat made me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can do as Ilike. How many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off if Idid not make myself agreeable to you? Can you boast of your generosityafter taunting me with my dependence on you?"

"You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, nor threatened, nortaunted. I have even apologized for that moment's irritation. If youcannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very littlegenerosity. "

"Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things; but I cannot forgetthem, nor feel as I did before they happened. "

"You think so at present. Let us cease this bickering. Lovers' quarrelsshould not be carried too far. "

"I am longing to cease it. It worries me; and it does not alter mydetermination in the least. "

"Do you mean----"

"I do mean. Dont look at me like that: you make me angry instead offrightening me. "

"And do you think I will suffer this quietly?"

"You may suffer it as you please, " said Marian, stepping quietly to thewall, and pressing a button. "I will never see you again if I can helpit. If you follow me, or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to thepolice for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more than I do anyone on earth. "

He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. She stood apparentlywatching him quietly, but really listening with quickened heart to hisloud and irregular breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he wasconfronted on the threshold by a foreign waiter. 

"Vas you reeng?" said the waiter doubtfully, retreating a step. 

"I will not be accountable for that woman's expenses from this timeforth, " said Douglas, pointing at her, "You can keep her at your ownrisk, or turn her into the streets to pursue her profession, as youplease. "

The waiter, smiting vaguely, looked first at the retreating figure ofDouglas, and then at Marian. 

"I want another room, if you please, " she said. "One on any of the upperfloors will do; but I must have my things moved there at once. "

Her instructions were carried out after some parley. In the meantime, Douglas's man servant appeared, and said that he had been instructed toremove his master's luggage. 

"Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel?" she asked. 

"I dont know his arrangements, madam. "

"I guess I do, then, " said a sulky man, who was preparing to wheel awayMarian's trunk. "He's about to shift his billet to the Gran' Central. "

Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new room to considerher situation. To fix her attention, which repeatedly wandered to whathad passed between her and Douglas, she counted her money, and foundthat she had, besides a twenty pound note which she had brought with herfrom London, only a few loose dollars in her purse. Her practice inhousekeeping at Westbourne Terrace and Holland Park had taught her thevalue of money too well to let her suppose that she could afford toremain at a first rate American hotel with so small a sum in herpossession. At home Conolly had made her keep a separate bankingaccount; and there was money to her credit there; but in her ignoranceof the law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited all her propertyby eloping. She resolved to move at once into some cheap lodging, and tolive economically until she could ascertain the true state of heraffairs, or until she could obtain some employment, to support her. Shefaced poverty without fear, never having experienced it. 

It was still early in the afternoon when she left the hotel and drove tothe Crawfords'. 

"So you have come at last, " cried Mrs. Crawford, who was fifty years ofage and stout, but leaner in the face than fat Englishwomen of that ageusually are. 

"I just expected you'd soon git tired of being grand all by yourself inthe hotel yonder. "

"I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all by myself in somevery shabby lodging, " said Marian. "Dont be surprised Mrs. Crawford. Canone live in New York on ten dollars a week?"

"_You_ cant live on ten dollars a week in New York nor on a hundred. Yourode here, didnt you?"

"Yes, of course. "

"Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week you should have walked. I know the sort you are, Mrs. Forster. You wont be long getting rid ofyour money, no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows yourhusband?"

"I dont know. I hope he is quite well, " said Marian, her voice tremblinga little. "Mrs. Crawford: you are the only friend I have in America;and you have been so very kind to me that since I must trouble some one, I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I have left myhusband; and I have only about one hundred dollars in the world. I mustlive on that until I get some employment, or perhaps some money of myown from England. "

"Chut, child! Nawnsnse!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, with benevolentintolerance. "You go right back to your husband. I spose youve had arumpus with him; but you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish;and I should say from what I have seen of him that he is no exception tothe rule. But you cant have perfection. He's a fine handsome fellow; andhe knows it. And, as for you, I dont know what they reckon you inEngland; but youre the best-looking woman in Noo York: thats surtn. It'sa pity for such a pair to fall out. "

"He is not selfish, " said Marian. "You never saw him. I am afraid I mustshock you, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Forster is not my husband. "

"No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?"

"General Crawford! Oh, no. "

"Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! He always said so. Andthe grit you must have, to tell it out as cool as that! Well! I'm sorryto hear it though, Mrs. Forster. It's a bad account--a very bad one. Butif I take what you said just now rightly, youre married. "

"I am. I have deserted a very good husband. "

"It's a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, isnt it?"

"I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting for the best. "

"Thought you were acting for the best in running away from a goodhusband! Well, you British aristocrats are singular. You throw stones atus because our women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet yourealways scandlizing us; and now _you_ tell me youve done it on morlgrounds! Who educated you, child? And what do you intend to do now?"

"For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you tell me where I shouldlook for one? I dont know the east from the west end of this town; and Iam so inexperienced that I might make a mistake easily as to thecharacter of the places. Will you direct me to some street or quarter inwhich I should he likely to find suitable rooms? I can live veryeconomically. "

"I dont know what to do, " said Mrs. Crawford, perplexedly, turning herrings on her fingers. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you sopretty!"

"Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may tell me so candidly. Ishall not be offended. "

"You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a talk with the Generalabout you. I dont feel like letting you go into some ordinary place byyourself. But I cant ask you to stay here without consulting----"

"Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing: I must begin to face theworld alone at once. I assure you, Mrs. Crawford, I could not come here. I should only keep your friends away. "

"But nobody knows you. "

"Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. There are hundreds ofpeople who know me by sight, who travel every year. Besides, my case isa very public one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confidence?"

"If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but I will take itkindly. "

"I know you will. You must have heard all about me. Mr. Forster's realname is Douglas. "

Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. "And you! Are you----?"

"I am. "

"Only think! And that was Douglas! Why, I thought he was astraight-haired, sleeky, canting snake of a man. And you too are not abit like what I thought. You are quite a person, Mrs. --Mrs. Conolly. "

"I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray call me by myassumed name still, and keep my secret. I hope you do not believe allthe newspapers said?"

"No, of course not, " said Mrs. Crawford. "But whose fault was it?"

"Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell people that Mr. Conolly isblameless in the matter. "

"He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I am sure you got someprovocation: I know what men are. The General is not my first husband. "

"No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like other men. I gotdiscontented because I had nothing to desire. And now, about thelodgings, Mrs. Crawford. Do not think I am changing the subject fromreticence. It is the question of money that makes me anxious. All myresources would be swallowed up at the hotel in less than a week. "

"Lodgings? You mean rooms, I guess. People here mostly go toboarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, you dont know what cheapnessis. Cant you make some arrangement with your great relations in England?Have you no property of your own?"

"I cannot tell whether my property remains my own or not. You mustregard me as a poor woman. I am quite determined to have the lodgings;and I should like to arrange about them at once; for I am rather upsetby something that happened this morning. "

"Well, if you must, you must, I know a place that might suit you: Ilived in it myself when I was not so well off as I am at present. It isa little down-town; but you will have to put up with that for the sakeof economy. "

Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her guest's relationship tothe Earl of Carbury, then sent for her carriage, and dressed herselfhandsomely. When they had gone some distance, they entered a widestreet, crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated railway. 

"What do you think of this neighborhood?" said Mrs. Crawford. 

"It is a fine, wide street, " replied Marian; "but it looks as if itneeded to be swept and painted. "

"The other end is quieter. I'm afraid you wont like living here. "

Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thoroughfares, not asplaces in which she could dwell. "Beggars cannot be choosers, " she said, with affected cheerfulness, looking anxiously ahead for the promisedquiet part. 

"Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it is not easy to getrooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a good soul, and though the house is notmuch to look at, it is comfortable enough inside. "

The appearance of the street improved as they went on; and the housethey stopped at, though the windows were dingy and the paint old, wasbetter than Marian had hoped for a minute before. She remained in thecarriage whilst her companion conferred with the landlady within. Twentyminutes passed before Mrs. Crawford reappeared, looking much perplexed. 

"Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you very well; only youwould be on the same floor with a woman who is always drunk. She haspawned a heap of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs. Myers hasnt got rid of her yet. It's very provoking. She's quiet, anddoesnt trouble any one; but still, of course----"

"She cannot interfere with me, " said Marian. "If that is the onlyobjection, let it pass. I need have nothing to say to her. If she is notviolent nor noisy, her habits are her own affair. "

"Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to yourself, English fashion. "

"Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more searching andbargaining. "

"Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill?"

"No. It is nothing. I am rather tired. "

They went in together; and Marian was introduced to Mrs. Myers, anervous widow of fifty. The rooms were small, and the furniture andcarpets old and worn; but all was clean; and there was an open fireplacein the sitting-room. 

"They will do very nicely, thank you, " said Marian. "I will send for myluggage; and I think I will just telegraph my new address and a fewwords to a friend in London. "

"If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage, " said Mrs. Crawford. "But I advise you to come back with me; have a good lunch atDelmonico's; and send your cablegram yourself. "

Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was coming upon her, andtook Mrs. Crawford's advice. When they returned to the richer quarter ofthe town, and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At thehotel she observed that the clerk was surprised when, arranging for theremoval of her luggage and the forwarding of her letters, she mentionedher new address. Douglas, she found, had paid all expenses beforeleaving. She did not linger in the building; for the hotel staff staredat her curiously. She finished her business by telegraphing to Elinor:"_Separated. Write to new address. Have I forfeited my money?_" Thiscost her nearly five dollars. 

"Only that you must find out about your money, I wouldnt have let youspend all that, " said Mrs. Crawford. 

"I did not think it would have cost so much, " said Marian. "I washorrified when he named the price. However, it cannot be helped. "

"We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers's now. It's late. "

"Yes, I suppose so, " said Marian, sighing. "I am sorry I did not askNelly to telegraph me. I am afraid my funds will not last so long as Ithought. "

"Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken with you for the wayyou looked after me when I was ill yonder; so you have two friends inNoo York City, at any rate. "

"You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I shall have to troubleyou further if I get bad news. You will have to help me to find somework. "

"Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. I hope you wont mope atMrs. Myers's. How does the American air agree with you?"

"Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of our passage across, and somehow my digestion seems to have got out of order in consequence. Of late I have been a little unwell in the mornings. "

"Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have to come and look afteryou occasionally. "

"Why?"

"Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor going without food tosave money. Take care of yourself. "

"It is nothing serious, " said Marian, with a smile. "Only a passingindisposition. You need not be uneasy about me. This is the house, is itnot? I shall lose myself whenever I go out for a walk here. "

"This is it. Now good-bye. I'll see you soon. Meanwhile, you take careof yourself, as youre told. "

It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. Mrs. Myers wasstanding at the open door, remonstrating with a milkman. Marian hastilyassured her that she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She waschilled and weary; her spirits had fallen again during her journey fromthe telegraph office. As she approached her room, hoping to find a goodfire, she heard a flapping noise, which was suddenly interrupted by therattle of a falling poker, followed by the exclamation, in a woman'svoice, "Och, musha, I wouldnt doubt you. " Marian, entering, saw a robustyoung woman kneeling before the grate, trying to improve a dull firethat burnt there. She had taken up the poker and placed it standingagainst the bars so that it pointed up the chimney; and she was nowusing her apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed in the draught;and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure that the young woman'scalico dress was soiled, and her hair untidy. 

"I think----"

"God bless us!" ejaculated the servant, starting and turning a comelydirty face toward Marian. 

"Did I frighten you?" said Marian, herself startled by the exclamation. 

"You put the life acrass in me, " said the servant, panting, and pressingher hand on her bosom. 

"I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I think you need not takeany further trouble with the fire. It will light of itself now. "

"Very well, miss. "

"What is your name?"

"Liza Redmon', miss. "

"I should like some light, Eliza, if you please. "

"Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, miss?"

"Yes, thank you. "

Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her bonnet and furs, andsat down before the fire to despond over the prospect of living in thatshabby room, waited on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in hersomething very like racial antipathy. Presently Eliza returned, carryinga small tray, upon which she had crowded a lighted kerosene lamp, achina tea service, a rolled-up table cloth, a supply of bread andbutter, and a copper kettle. When she had placed the lamp on themantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray on the sofa, and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she shook from its folds andspread like a sail in the air by seizing two of the corners in herhands, and pulling them apart whilst she held the middle fold in herteeth. Then she adroitly wafted it over the table, making a breeze inwhich the lamp flared and Marian blinked. Her movements were very rapid;and in a few moments she had arranged the tea service, and was ready towithdraw. 

"My luggage will be sent here this evening or to-morrow, Eliza. Will youtell me when it comes?"

"Yis, miss. "

"You know that my name is _Mrs_. Forster, do you not?"

"Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss. "

Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed to maam; and Elizaleft the room. As she crossed the landing, she was called by someone onthe same floor. Marian started at the sound. It was a woman's voice, disagreeably husky: a voice she felt sure she had heard before, and yetone that was not familiar to her. 

"Eliza. Eli-za!" Marian shuddered. 

"Yis, yis, " said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door. 

"Come here, alanna, " said the voice, with mock fondness. The door wasthen closed, and Marian could hear the murmur of the conversation whichfollowed. It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in. 

"I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up here alone, Mrs. Forster, " she said; "but I do have such worry sometimes that I'm boundto leave either one thing or another undone. "

"It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant has been veryattentive to me. "

"The hired girl? She's smart, she is--does everything right slick away. The only trouble is to keep her out of that room. She's in there now. Unless I am always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawningand buying drink for that unfortunate young creature. "

"For whom?"

"A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you about. "

"So she did, " said Marian. "But I did not know she was young. "

"She's older than you, a deal. I knew her when she was a little girl, and I often forget how old she is. She was the prettiest child! Even nowshe would talk you into anything. But I cant help her. It's nothing butdrink, drink, drink from morning til night. There's Eliza coming out ofher room. Eliza. "

"Yis, maam, " said Eliza, looking in. 

"You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont have you go out. "

"Could I spake a word to you, maam?" said Eliza, lowering her voice. 

"No, Eliza. I'm engaged with Mrs. Forster. "

"She wants to see you, " whispered Eliza. 

"Go downrs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her. "

"Mrs. Myers, " cried the voice. Marian again shrank from the sound. "Mrs. My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to your poor Soozy. " Mrs. Myers lookedperplexedly at Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an affectedYankee accent, "I guess I'll raise a shine if you dont come. "

"I must go, " said Mrs. Myers. "I promise you, Mrs. Forster, she shallnot annoy you. She shall go this week. It aint right that you should bedisturbed by her. "

Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran downrs, and Marianheard her open the house door softly and go out. She also heardindistinctly the voices of the landlady and her lodger. After a timethese ceased, and she drank her tea in peace. She was glad that Mrs. Myers did not return, although she made no more comfortable use of hersolitude than to think of her lost home in Holland Park, comparing itwith her dingy apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon her eyeswhen they became too full of tears. She had passed more than an hourthus when Eliza roused her by announcing the arrival of the luggage. Thereupon she bestirred herself to superintend its removal to herbedroom, where she unpacked a trunk which contained her writing-case andsome books. With these were stowed her dresses, much miscellaneousfinery, and some handsomely worked underclothing. Eliza, standing by, could not contain her admiration; and Marian, though she did not permither to handle the clothes, had not the heart to send her away until shehad seen all that the trunk contained. Marian heard her voice afterwardin the apartment of the drunken lodger, and suspected from its emphasisthat the girl was describing the rare things she had seen. 

Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings that evening bydescribing them in a letter to Elinor. When she had finished, she wasweary; and the fire was nearly out. She looked at her watch, and, finding to her surprise that is was two hours after midnight, rose to goto bed. Before leaving the room, she stood for a minute before theold-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot on the fender, and looked at herimage, pitying her own weariness, and enjoying the soft beauty of herface and the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance did not alwaysplease her; but on this occasion the mirror added so much to the solaceshe had found in writing to Elinor, that she felt almost happy as shetook the lamp to light her to her bedroom. 

She had gone no farther than the landing when a sound of unsteadyfootsteps on the stairs caused her to stop. As she lifted the lamp andlooked up, she saw a strange woman descending toward her, holding thebalustrade, and moving as though with pains in her limbs. This woman, whose black hair fell nearly to her waist, was dressed in a crimsonsatin dressing-gown, warmly padded, and much stained and splashed. Shehad fine dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and handsome; but whenshe came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, the slackness of herlower lip and jaw, and an eager and worn expression in her fine eyes, gave her a thirsty, reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Heraspect conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice had donebefore, but more definitely; for it struck Marian, with a shock, thatConolly, in the grotesque metamorphosis of a nightmare, might appear insome such likeness. The lamp did not seem to attract her attention atfirst; but when she came within a few steps, she saw some one beforeher, and, dazzled by the light, peered at Marian, who lost her presenceof mind, and stood motionless. Gradually the woman's expression changedto one of astonishment. She came down to the landing; stopped, graspingthe handrail to steady herself; and said in her husky voice:

"Oh, Lord! It's not a woman at all. It's D. Ts. " Then, not quiteconvinced by this explanation, she suddenly stretched out her hand andattempted to grasp Marian's arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on thebreast, and immediately cried, "Mrs. Ned!"

Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her courage. 

"Do you know me?" she said. 

"I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good deal in myappearance, or you would know me. Youve seen me on the stage, I suppose. I'm your sister-in-law. Perhaps you didnt know you had one. "

"Are you Miss Susanna Conolly?"

"Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of Miss Susanna. You dontlook overjoyed to make my acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as youonce. Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. The end ofchampagne is brandy; and the end of brandy is----" Susanna made agrimace and indicated herself. 

"I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk here. We had bettersay good-night. "

"No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Come into my roomwith me for a while. I'll talk quietly: I'm not drunk. Ive just slept itoff; and I was coming down for some more. You may as well keep me fromit for a few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt forbidden you to speak to me. "

"Oh, no, " said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. "Come into myroom. There is a scrap of fire there still. "

"We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my father's time, " saidSusanna, following Marian into the room, and reclining with a groan onthe sofa. "I'm rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out how the deuceyou come to be here. Did Ned send you to look after me? Is he in NewYork? Is he here?"

"No, " said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and a terrible blushwhat must follow. "He is in England. I am alone here. "

"Well, why--? what--? I dont understand. "

"Have you not read the papers?" said Marian, in a low voice, turning herhead away. 

"Papers! No, not since I saw an account of my brilliant _debût_ here, ofwhich I suppose you have heard. I never read: I do nothing but drink. What has happened?"

Marian hesitated. 

"Is it any secret?" said Susanna. 

"No, it is no secret, " said Marian, turning, and looking at hersteadily. "All the world knows it. I have left your brother; and I donot know whether I am still his wife, or whether I am already divorced. "

"You dont mean to say youre on the loose!" cried Susanna. 

Marian was silent. 

"I always told Ned that no woman could stand him, " said Susanna, withsodden vivacity, after a pause, during which Marian had to endure herastonished stare. "He always thought you the very pink of propriety. Ofcourse, there was another man in it. Whats become of him, if I may ask?"

"I have left him, " said Marian, sternly. "You need impute no fault toyour brother in the matter, Miss Conolly. He is quite blameless. "

"Yes, " said Susanna, not in the least impressed, "he always isblameless. How is Bob? I mean Marmaduke, your cousin. I call him Bob, short for Cherry Bob. "

"He is very well, thank you. "

"Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether the reverse; and hewas a capital fellow to get on with. Ned was always right, always sureof himself; and there was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bobever get married?"

"He is going to be married in the spring. "

"Who to?"

"To Lady Constance Car----"

"Damn that woman!" exclaimed Susanna. "I hate her. She was alwaysthrowing herself at his head. Curse her! Damn her! I wish----"

"Miss Conolly, " said Marian: "I hope you will not think me rude; but Iam very tired, and it is very late. I must go to bed. "

"Well, will you come and see me to-morrow? It will be an act of charity. I am dying here all alone. You are a nice woman, and I know what youmust feel about me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy you. Iwont swear. I wont say anything about your cousin. I'll keep sober. Docome. You are a good sort: Bob always said so; and you might save mefrom destroying myself. Say youll come. "

"If you particularly wish it, I will, " said Marian, not disguising herreluctance. 

"Youd rather not, of course, " said Susanna, despondently. 

"I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you. "

"For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But it'shard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but Eliza. However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take theconsequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?"

"Quite. "

"That was odd. " Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa. "Well, since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quiteright. "

"I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are introuble. "

"Do, " said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian's hand with her moist palm. "We'll get on better than you think. I like you, and I'll make you likeme. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bitdisgusting. Good-night. "

"Good-night, " said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna's hand, and clasping it. "Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster. "

"All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for havingcompassion on me. "

"Wont you take a light?"

"I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark. "

She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroomand locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly givenway to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a womanas an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamedthat she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that thehousehold was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs. 

CHAPTER XX

Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian'sletter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel atEuston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End. Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartmentsin Charles Street, St. James's. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglasresolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run thegauntlet. 

It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life. Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Placehe met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, lookedat him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a memberof his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Streethe saw Lady Carbury's carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried pastthe door, for he had lost courage at his encounter with Elinor. Therewere, however, two doors; and as he passed the second, the Countess, Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just before him. 

"Where the devil is the carriage?" said Marmaduke, loudly. 

"Hush! Everybody can hear you, " said Lady Constance. 

"What do I care whether--Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?"

Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by thesleeve and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas's stern lookwith the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Douglashaughtily raised his hat. 

"How obstinate Marmaduke is!" said the Countess, when she had bidden thecoachman drive away at once. "He is going to walk down Regent Streetwith that man. "

"But you didnt cut him, mamma. "

"I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannottell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what otherpeople will do. If we meet him again we had better not see him. "

"Look here, old fellow, " said Marmaduke, as he walked away with Douglas. "Youve come back too soon. It wont do. Take my advice and go away againuntil matters have blown over. Hang it, it's too flagrant! You have notbeen away two months. "

"I believe you are going to be married, " said Douglas. "Allow me tocongratulate you. "

"Thank you. Fine day, isnt it?"

"Very fine. "

Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently recommenced theconversation. 

"I only arrived in London last night. I have come from New York. "

"Indeed. Pleasant voyage?"

"Very pleasant. "

Another pause. 

"Has anything special happened during my absence?"

"Nothing special. "

"Was there much fuss made about my going?"

"Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. Excuse my alludingto the subject again. I shouldnt have done so if you hadnt asked me. "

"Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony with me. "

"That's all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded to it just now, youas good as told me to mind my own business. "

"I told you so!"

"Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter is easily settled. Youbolted with Marian. I know that, and you know it. If the topic isdisagreeable, say so, and it is easily avoided. If you want to talkabout it, better not change the subject when I mention it. "

"You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the subjectinadvertently. "

"Hm! Well, has she come back with you?"

"No. "

"Do you mean that youve thrown her over?"

"I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, she has thrown meover. "

"Thats very strange. You are not going to marry her then, I suppose?"

"How can I? I tell you she has deserted me. Let me remind you, Lind, that I should not be bound to marry her in any case, and I shallcertainly not do so now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily doso by her own conduct. "

"I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. People seem tohave made up their minds that you were wrong in the first instance, andyou ought to keep out of the way until they have forgotten----Oh, confound it, here's Conolly! Now, for God's sake, dont let us have anyrow. "

Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the roadway before herecovered himself; for Conolly had come upon them suddenly as theyturned into Charles Street. A group of gentlemen stood on the steps ofthe clubhouse which stands at that corner. 

"Bless me!" said Conolly, with perfect good humor. "Douglas back again!Why on earth did you run away with my wife? and what have you done withher?"

The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to stare. 

"This is not the place to call me to account, sir, " said Douglas, stillon his guard, and very ill at ease. "If you have anything to say to mewhich cannot be communicated through a friend, it had better be said inprivate. "

"I shall trouble you for a short conversation, " said Conolly. "How doyou do, Lind? Where can we go? I do not belong to any club. "

"My apartments are at hand, " said Douglas. 

"I suppose I had better leave you, " said Marmaduke. 

"Your presence will not embarrass me in the least, " said Conolly. 

"I have not sought this interview, " said Douglas. "I therefore preferMr. Lind to witness what passes. "

Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on the doorstep of whichDouglas's man was waiting, and ascended to the front drawing-room. 

"Now, sir, " said Douglas, without inviting his guests to sit down. Conolly alone took off his hat. Marmaduke went aside, and looked out ofthe window. 

"I know the circumstances that have led to your return, " said Conolly;"so we need not go into that. I want you, however, to assist me on onepoint. Do you know what Marian's pecuniary position is at present?'

"I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way. "

"Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish that she should bewithout money in a foreign city. She has telegraphed a question abouther property to Miss McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her newaddress, which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens to be knownto me as that of a rather shabby lodging-house. "

"I know nothing of it. "

"I do: it means that she is poor. I can guess at the sum she carriedwith her to America. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me whetheryou have ever given her money; if so, how much; and what her expenditurehas been, you will enable me to estimate her position at present. "

"I do not know that you have any right to ask such questions. "

"I do not assert any right to ask them. On the contrary, I haveexplained their object. I shall not press them, if you think that ananswer will in any way compromise you. "

"I have no fear of being compromised. None whatever. "

Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer. 

"I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable sum. I paid allthe expenses; and Miss--Mrs. Conolly did not, to my knowledge, disbursea single fraction. She did not ask me to give her money. Had she doneso, I should have complied at once. "

"Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to hold out until shehears from us. Good-afternoon. "

"Allow me to add, sir, before you go, " said Douglas, asserting himselfdesperately against Conolly's absolutely sincere disregard of him andpreoccupation with Marian, "that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in herpresent position entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate theinsinuation that I have deserted her in a foreign city; and I challengeinquiry on the point. "

"Quite so, quite so, " assented Conolly, carelessly. "Good-bye, Lind. "And he took his hat and went out. 

"By George!" said Marmaduke, admiringly, "he did that damnedwell--_damned_ well. Look here, old man: take my advice and clear outfor another year or so. You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see mostof the game; and thats my advice to you as a friend. "

Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with successive rushes ofblood until it was now purple, lost all self-control at Marmaduke'scommiserating tone. "I will see whether I cannot put him in the wrong, "he burst out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man. "Do youthink I will let him tell the world that I have been thrown over andfooled?"

"Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I understood you to say so aswe came along. "

"Let him say so, and I'll thrash him like, a dog in the street. I'll----"

"Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply hand you over to thepolice? and quite right, too! What rot!"

"We shall see. We shall see. "

"Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one another's heads off forwhat I care. He has had the satisfaction of putting you into a rage, atall events. "

"I am not in a rage. "

"Very well. Have it your own way. "

"Will you take a challenge to him from me?"

"No. I am not a born fool. "

"That is plain speaking. "

Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whistled. "I think I willtake myself off, " he said, presently. 

"As you please, " replied Douglas, coldly. 

"I will look in on you some day next week, when you have cooled down abit. Good-bye. "

Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, went out. Some minuteslater the servant entered and said that Mr. Lind was below. 

"What! Back again!" said Douglas, with an oath. 

"No, sir. It's old Mr. Lind--Mr. Reginald. "

"Did you say I was in?"

"The man belonging to the house did, sir. "

"Confound his officiousness! I suppose he must come up. "

Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed a chair for him, andwaited, mute, and a little put out. Mr. Lind's eyes and voice shewedthat he also was not at his ease; but his manner was courtly and hisexpression grave, as Douglas had, in his boyhood, been accustomed to seethem. 

"I am sorry, Sholto, " said Mr. Lind, "that I cannot for the present meetyou with the cordiality which formerly existed between us. Howeverunbearable your disappointment at Marian's marriage may have been, youshould not have taken a reprehensible and desperate means of remedyingit. I speak to you now as an old friend--as one who knew you when thedisparity in our ages was more marked than it is at present. "

Douglas bowed. 

"I have just heard from Mr. Conolly--whom I met accidentally in PallMall--that you have returned from America. He gave me no further accountof you, except that he had met you and spoken to you here. I hopenothing unpleasant passed. "

"The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take steps to make Mr. Conolly understand that. "

"Nothing approaching to violence, I trust. "

"No. Mr. Conolly's discretion averted it. I am not sure that a secondinterview between us will end so quietly. "

"The interview should not have taken place at all, Sholto. I need notpoint out to you that prudence and good taste forbid any repetition ofit. "

"I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. I promise you thatif a second meeting takes place, it will be forced upon him by me, andwill take place in another country. "

"That is a young man's idea, Sholto. The day for such crimes, thankHeaven, is past and gone. Let us say no more of it. I was speaking toyour mother on Sunday. Have you seen her yet?"

"No. "

"Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before Christmas. I knowwhat I felt about my daughter. But I can only imagine what your mothermust have felt about her son. "

"I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my misfortune than myfault that I have caused you to suffer. If it will gratify you to knowthat I have suffered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, Ican assure you that such is the case. "

"It is fortunate for us all that matters are not absolutelyirremediable. I will so far take you into my confidence as to tell youthat I have never felt any satisfaction in Marian's union with Mr. Conolly. Though he is unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was acertain degree of incongruity in the match--you will understandme--which placed Marian apart from her family whilst she was with him. Ihave never entered my daughter's house without a feeling that I was moreor less a stranger there. Had she married you in the first instance, thecase would have been different: I wish she had. However, that is pastregretting now. What I wish to say is that I can still welcome you asMarian's husband, even though she will have a serious error to livedown; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if her previousmarriage had never taken place. "

Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak. 

"Well?" said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening. 

"This is a very painful matter, " said Douglas at last. "As a man of theworld, Mr. Lind, you must be aware that I am not bound to your daughterin any way. "

"I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. I am speaking as afather, and as a gentleman. "

"Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate one. I cansympathize with your feelings. But as a gentleman----"

"Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you speak as agentleman, you can have only one answer. If you have any other, you willspeak as a scoundrel. " The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr. Lind's lips; but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had beentoo precipitate. 

"Sir!"

"I repeat, as a scoundrel--if you deny your duty in the matter. "

"I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. Lind. You know aswell as I do that no gentleman is expected or even permitted by societyto take as his wife a woman who has lived with him as his mistress. "

"No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her all the reparation inhis power can claim to be a gentleman. "

"You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was the guardian of her ownhonor. I made her no promises. It is absurd to speak of a woman of herage and experience being betrayed, as though she were a child. "

"I always understood that you prided yourself on acting up to a higherstandard of honorable dealing than other men. If this is yourboasted----"

"Mr. Lind, " said Douglas, interrupting him with determination, "no moreof this, if you please. Briefly, I will have nothing whatever to say toMrs. Conolly in the future. If her reputation were as unstained as yourown, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered from her theutmost refinements of caprice and treachery, and the coarsest tirades ofabuse. She left me of her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to herto stay--entreaties which I made her in response to an exhibition oftemper which would have justified me in parting from her there and then. It is true that I have moulded my life according to a higher standard ofhonor than ordinary men; and it is also true that that standard is neverhigher, never more fastidiously acted up to, than where a woman isconcerned. I have only to add that I am perfectly satisfied as to thepropriety of my behavior in Marian's case, and that I absolutely refuseto hear another accusation of unworthiness from you, much as I respectyou and your sorrow. "

Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, found it hard tosubdue his temper; for though not a strong man, he was unaccustomed tobe thwarted. "Sholto, " he said: "you are not serious. You are irritatedby some lovers' quarrel. "

"I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I am resolved never togive her a place in my thoughts again. I have madly wasted my youth onher. Let her be content with that and the other things I have sacrificedfor her sake. "

"But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must lead if you do notmarry her. She will be an outcast. She will not even have a name. "

"She would not be advised. She made her choice in defiance of anexplicit warning of the inevitable results, and she must abide by it. Ichallenge the most searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It willbe found, if the truth be told, that I spared her no luxury before sheleft me; and that, far from being the aggressor, it is I who have theright to complain of insult and desertion. "

"Still, even granting that her unhappy position may have rendered her alittle sore and impatient at times, do you not owe her some forbearancesince she gave up her home and her friends for you?"

"Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the two. Like her, Ihave lost my friends and my position here--to some extent, at least. Worse, I have let my youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For thehome which she hated, I offered her one ten times more splendid. I gaveher the devotion of a gentleman to replace the indifference of ablacksmith. What have I not done for her? I freed her from her bondage;I carried her across the globe; I watched her, housed her, fed her, clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love that taught her ameaning of the word she had never known before. And when I had servedher turn--when I had rescued her from her husband and placed her beyondhis reach--when she became surfeited with a wealth of chivalrous lovewhich she could not comprehend, and when a new world opened before her afresh field for intrigue, I was assailed with slanderous lies, andforsaken. Do you think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I willendure the reproaches of any man--even were he my own father?"

"But she suffers more, being a woman. The world will be comparativelylenient toward you. If you and she were married and settled, with noconsciousness of being in a false position, and no wearing fear ofdetection, you would get on together quite differently. "

"It may be so, but I shall never put it to the test. "

"Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter calmly andrationally. I am a rich man--at least, I can endow Marian better thanyou perhaps think. I see that you feel aggrieved, and that you fearbeing forced into a marriage which you have, as you say--I fully admitit, most fully--a perfect right to decline. But I am urging you to makeMarian your legal wife solely because it is the best course for both ofyou. That, I assure you, is the feeling of society in the matter. Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in-law. The Earl says noother course is possible. I will give you ten thousand pounds down onher wedding-day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim damages. He has contradicted the report that he would. I will pay the costs ofthe divorce as well. Mind! I do not mean that I will settle the money onher. I will give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it willbecome your property the moment you become her husband. "

"I understand, " said Douglas contemptuously. "However, as it is merely aquestion of making your daughter an honest woman in consideration of somuch cash, I have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who willbe glad to close with you for half the money. You are much in the citynow, I believe. Allow me to suggest that you will find a dealer theremore easily than in St. James's. "

Mr. Lind reddened again. "I do not think you see the matter in theproper light, " he said. "You are asked to repair the disgrace you havebrought on a lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that youwill not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever other loss you mayincur, you are bound to bear it as the penalty of your own act. I appealto you, sir, as one gentleman appeals to another, to remove the dishonoryou have brought upon my name. "

"To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, Mr. Lind. The public ismore accustomed to associate conjugal levity with the name of Lind thanwith that of Douglas. "

"If you refuse me the justice you owe to my daughter, you need notcouple that refusal with an insult. "

"I have already explained that I owe your daughter nothing. You comehere and offer me ten thousand pounds to marry her. I decline thebargain. You then take your stand upon the injury to your name. I merelyremind you that your name was somewhat tarnished even before Mrs. Conolly changed it for the less distinguished one which she has reallydishonored. "

"Douglas, " said Mr. Lind, trembling, "I will make you repent this. Iwill have satisfaction. "

"As you remarked when I declared my readiness to give satisfaction inthe proper quarter, the practice you allude to is obsolete. Fortunatelyso, I think, in our case. "

"You are a coward, sir. " Douglas rang the bell. "I will expose you inevery club in London. "

"Shew this gentleman out, " said Douglas to his servant. 

"You have received that order because I told your master that he is arascal, " said Mr. Lind to the man. "I shall say the same thing to everyman I meet between this house and the committee-room of his club. "

The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. Soon after, Douglas, whose self-respect, annihilated by Conolly, had at first been thoroughlyrestored by Mr. Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of theinterview. Finding solitude and idleness intolerable, he went into thestreets, though he no longer felt any desire to meet his acquaintances, and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid them. As he strolled about, thinking of all that had been said to him that afternoon, he grewmorose. Twice he calculated his expenditure on the American trip, andthe difference that an increment of ten thousand pounds would make inhis property. Suddenly, in turning out of Air Street into Piccadilly, he found himself face to face with Lord Carbury. 

"How do you do?" said the latter pleasantly, but without theunceremonious fellowship that had formerly existed between them. 

"Thank you, " said Douglas, "I am quite well. "

A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what to say next. 

"I am considering where I shall dine, " said Douglas. "Have you dinedyet?"

"No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My mother likes to have afamily dinner occasionally. "

Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to jointhe party. "I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal aboutme of late, " he said. 

"Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over. "

"It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?"

"Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniablya good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so, I think that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a littlelonger. "

"Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I amlikely to concern myself. "

"That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint. "

"The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as tostrangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a hostof malicious tongues are busy with me. "

"As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated. The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing couldexceed the moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints mighthave been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the subject. Even to me, he only shook his head and said that it was an oldattachment. As to Conolly, we have actually reproached him for makingexcuses for you. "

"Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me toenlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discoveredto be one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand poundsto marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her into myarms by playing the tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only too gladto get rid of her. At the same time, he is afraid to fight me, andashamed to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity me forbeing his gull in the matter. But I will stop that. "

"Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop thesubject, if you dont mind. "

"If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think Iwill turn in here and dine. Good-evening. "

They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurantand dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, andbegan to consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into hisclub. He was close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when hestopped to debate the point with himself; and in his preoccupation hedid not notice a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a ladyin an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who, recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a little past the lampand stop. 

"Good heavens!" she said in a half-whisper: "you here! What madnesspossessed you to come back?"

"I had no further occasion to stay away. "

"How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I haveheard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leaveLondon?"

"I have no intention of leaving it at present. "

"But you cannot stay here. "

"Pray why not? Is not London large enough for any man who does not liveby the breath of the world?"

"Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out of the question. You_must_ go away for a year at the very least. You must yield something topropriety. "

"I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section of society that mayfeel called upon to do without me. "

"Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours for your mother'ssake if not for your own. Besides, you have been very wicked andreckless and daring, just like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with agood grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor McQuinch'sstory is true as far as the facts go. "

"I have not heard her story. "

"It is only that you have parted from--you know. "

"That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any other particular?"

"Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. I shudder when Ithink of what you have undergone at the hands of one woman. There! Iwill not allude to it again. "

"You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I have suffered, I havesuffered. I desire no pity, and will endure none. "

"That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent Garden, or I shallbe late. Will you come and see me quietly some day before you go? I amnever at home to any one on Tuesdays; but if you come at about five, Caroline will let you in. It will be dark: nobody will see you. We canhave a chat then. "

"Thank you, " said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, and raising his hat, "I shall not intrude on you. Good-evening. "

She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He walked quickly backto Charles Street, and called his servant. 

"I suppose no one has called?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you went out. She wishesyou to go to the Square this evening, sir. "

"This evening? I am afraid--Buckstone. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Is she looking well?"

"A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt. "

"How much of the luggage have you unpacked?"

"Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought----"

"So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to Brussels to-night. Find out about the trains. I shall want you to take a hansom and take anote to Chester Square; but come back at once without waiting to bespoken to. "

"Very good, sir. "

Douglas then sat down and wrote the note. 

 "My dear Mother:

 "I am sorry I was out when you called. I did not expect you, as I am only passing through London on my way to Brussels. I am anxious to get clear of this vile city, and so shall start to-night. Buckstone tells me you are looking well; and this assurance must content me for the present, as I find it impossible to go to you. You were quite right in warning me against what has happened; but it is all past and broken off now, and I am still as ever, "Your affectionate son, "SHOLTO DOUGLAS. "

CHAPTER XXI

One day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. Myers, and said:

"A' thin, maam, will you come up and spake to Miss Conolly. She's rasinructions above stairs. "

"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Myers. "Cant you keep her quiet?"

"Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an roarin, dyin andesarted?"

"Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop. "

"Mrs. Forsther's at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht! There she is, callin me. Youll have to gup to her, maam. Faith I wont go next or nearher. "

"There's no use in my going up, Eliza. What can I do?"

Eliza had nothing to suggest. "I'm sure, maam, " she pleaded, "if shewont mind you, she wont mind me--bad manners to her!"

Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier. 

"I spose Ive got to go, " said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. She went upstairsand found Susanna lying on the sofa, groaning, with a dressing-gown anda pair of thick boots on. 

"What _is_ the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre goin on fit to raisethe street. "

"For God's sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor dosomething. I'm famishing. I must be poisoned. "

"Lord forbid!"

"Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I amdying of thirst. "

"Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink. "

"What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothingwill stay inside me. If I could only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. Ithought I could die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. I cantstand this: I'll kill myself. "

"Be quiet, Miss Susan: youll be better presently. Whats the use oftalking-about the doctor? He says youll not be able to drink for days, and that you will get your health back in consequence. You are doingyourself no good by screeching like that, and you are ruining me and myhouse. "

"Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope you may diedeserted yourself. Dont go away. _Dear_ Aunt Sally, you wont leave mehere alone, will you? If you do, I'll scream like a hundred devils. "

"I dont know what to do with you, " said Mrs. Myers, crying. "Youll driveme as mad as yourself. Why did I ever let you into this house?"

"Oh, bother! Are _you_ beginning to howl now? Have you any sardines, oranything spicy? I think I could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt, though. Go for the doctor. There must be something that will do me good. What use is he if he can't set me right? All I want is something thatwill make me able to drink a tumbler of brandy. "

"The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here's Mrs. Forster coming up. Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster:will you step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She's clean mad. "

"Come here, " cried Susanna, as Marian entered. "Come and sit beside me. You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer. "

"Hush, pray, " said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting down bythe sofa. "What is the matter?"

"The same as last night, only a great deal worse, " said Susanna, shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. "It's all up with me thistime, Mrs. Ned. I'm dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is thatfiend of a woman gone?"

"Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been verykind to you. "

"I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to last?"

"Shall I go for the doctor?"

"No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat. "

"You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making aneffort to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you todrink. Try and be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?"

"No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better, " saidSusanna, writhing impatiently. "I'm done for. How old are you? Youneednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it. "

"I was twenty-five in June last"

"I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of thetree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might havegone on easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. Iwish I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me playingburlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I could have played tragedyor real Italian opera. I had to work hard at first; and they wont fillmy place, very readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness was my ruin. Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months to learn thingsthat I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much better he has donethan I. "

"Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else. Shall we talk about Marmaduke?"

"No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks mostabout one's self, and about things that happened long ago. People that Icame to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. Therewas a baritone in my father's company, a tremendous man, with shiningblack eyes, and a voice like a great bell--quite pretty at the top, though: he must have been sixty at least; and he was very fat; but hewas the most dignified man I ever saw. You should have heard him do theDuke in Lucrezia Borgia, or sing Pro Peccatis from Rossini's StabatMater! I was ten years old when he was with us, and my grand ambitionwas to sing with him when I grew up. He would shake his head if he sawSusanetta now. I would rather hear him sing three bars than have tenvisits from Bob. Oh, dear! I thought this cursed pain was gettingnumbed, but it is worse than ever. "

"Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often wondered that you neverspeak of your child. I have heard from my friend in London that it isvery well and happy. "

"Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp. "

"Would you not like to see her again?"

"No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I suppose. I am glad she isout of my hands. She was a nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifyingexample for her. What on earth should I want to see her for?"

"I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother. "

Susanna laughed. "Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You dont know what may happento you yet. There now! I know, without opening my eyes, that you areshocked, bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have got throughlife if I'd been thin-skinned? What good does it do you? You are piningaway in this hole of a lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers tries to befriendly with you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression when Elizatreats you to a little blarney about your looks. Now _I_ would just assoon gossip and swear at her as go to tea with the Queen. "

"I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other people when youreyes are shut. "

"They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they would do it at once, Iwonder whether I will get any ease before there is an end of me. "

"Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good beginning for yousomewhere else, Susanna. "

"Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, cheerful turn, hasntit? Well, I cant be much worse off than I am at present. Anyhow, I musttake my chance. "

"Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want to alarm you: I am sureyou will get better: the doctor told me so; but I will go for one if youlike. "

"No: I dont want to be bothered--at least not yet. Besides, I hateclergymen, all except your brother, the doctor, who fell in love withme. "

"Very well. I only suggested it in case you should feel uneasy. "

"I dont feel quite easy; but I dont care sufficiently about it to makea fuss. It will be time enough when I am actually at death's door. All Iknow is that if there is a place of punishment in the next world, it isvery unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make myself ormy circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. I am half dead as it iswith pain and weariness. Dont go until I am asleep. "

"I will not. Let me get you another pillow. "

"No, " said Susanna, drowsily: "dont touch me. "

Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for nearly half an hour. Then, having some letters to write, she went to her own room to fetchher desk. Whilst she was looking for her pen, which was mislaid, sheheard Susanna stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a clink as of abottle. A moment later, Marian, listening with awakened suspicion, wasstartled by the sound of a heavy fall mingled with a crash of breakingglass. She ran back into the next room just in time to see Susanna, onher hands and knees near the stove, lift her white face for a moment, displaying a bleeding wound on her temple, and then stumble forward andfall prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the walls of the roomrevolve before her; and fainted upon the sofa, which she had reachedwithout knowing how. 

When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; and Eliza was pickingup fragments of the broken bottle. The smell of the spilled brandyreminded her of what had happened. 

"Where is Miss Conolly?" she said, trying to collect her wits. "I amafraid I fainted at the very moment when I was most wanted. "

"All right, " said the doctor. "Keep quiet; youll be well presently. Dontbe in a hurry to talk. "

Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was kind, though differentto that of the London physicians to whom she was accustomed, presentlyleft the room and went upstairs. Eliza was howling like an animal. Thesound irritated Marian even at that pass: she despised the whole Irishrace on its account. She could hardly keep her temper as she said:

"Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?"

"Oa, blessed hour! she's kilt. Her head's dhreepin wid blood. "

Marian shuddered and felt faint again. 

"Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. Shemust ha fell agin the stoave. It's the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, thatbrought her to it. It's little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandywould do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it. "

"You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza. "

"What could I do, miss, when she axed me?"

"There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder tohave kept it from her. "

"Sure I know. Many's the time I tould her so. But she could talk thebirds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God sendher well out of her throuble!"

Here the doctor returned. "How are you now?" he said. 

"I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?"

"It's all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the kitchen, "he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable lamentation, outof the room. 

"How awful!" said Marian, stunned. "Are you quite sure? She seemedbetter this morning. "

"Quite sure, " said the doctor, smiling grimly at the question. "She waspractically dead when they carried her upstairs, poor girl. It's easierto kill a person than you think, Mrs. Forster, although she tried solong and so hard without succeeding. But she'd have done it. She'd havebeen starved into health only to drink herself back into starvation, andthe end would have been a very bad one. Better as it is, by far!"

"Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to London. I know one ofher relatives there. "

The doctor shook his head. "I will telegraph if you like, but you muststay here. Youre not yet fit to go out. "

"I am afraid I have not been well lately, " said Marian. "I want toconsult you about myself--not now, of course, after what has happened, but some day when you have leisure to call. "

"You can put off consulting me just as long as you please; but thisaccident is no reason why you shouldnt do it at once. If there isanything wrong, the sooner you have advice--you neednt have it from meif you prefer some other doctor--the better. "

Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her state of health. Heseemed a little amused, asked her a few questions, and finally told hercoolly that she might expect to become a mother next fall. She was soutterly dismayed that he began to look stern in anticipation of anappeal to him to avert this; an appeal which he had often had to refusewithout ever having succeeded in persuading a woman that it was futile, or convincing her that it was immoral. But Marian spared him this: shewas overwhelmed by the new certainty that a reconciliation with herhusband was no longer possible. Her despair at the discovery shewed herfor the first time how homesick she really was. 

When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and gossipeduntil two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what she hadseen of the accident, and became indignant at the apparent incredulitywith which they questioned her and examined the room. After theirdeparture Eliza came to her, and invited her to go upstairs and see thebody of Susanna. She refused with a shudder; but when she saw that thegirl was hurt as well as astonished, it occurred to her that avoidanceof the dead might, if it came to Conolly's knowledge, be taken by him toindicate a lack of kind feeling toward his sister. So she overcame herrepugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades were drawn down, andthe dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, on which stood aplaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with two lighted candles beforeit. To please Eliza, who had evidently made these arrangements, Marianwhispered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to the bed. Thesight made her uncomfortable. The body was decently laid out, itswounded forehead covered with a bandage, and Eliza's rosary and crucifixon its breast; but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace orsleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant thing that had always underlainher, and which, apart from her, was ghastly. 

"She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!" saidEliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied Marianto contradict her. 

"Amen, " said Marian. 

"It's sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan yet. "

Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs. Myers was below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit ofthe police had interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, sheleft the house, and went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford, whose frequent visits she had never before ventured to return. To hershe narrated the events of the day. 

"This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking, " saidMrs. Crawford. "Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and giveyou a chance of making up with him. "

"If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford. "

"What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, youought to be glad to see him. I'm sure he would have you back. Depend onit, he has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees youagain as pretty as ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont like youany the worse for being a little bashful with him after such anescapade. "

"I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. After what thedoctor told me to-day, I should throw myself out of the window, I think, if I heard him coming upstairs. I should like to see him, if I wereplaced where he could not see me; but face him I _could_ not. "

"Well, my dear, I think it's right silly of you, though the littlestranger--it will be a regular stranger--is a difficulty: there's no twoways about that. "

"Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in my room; and I seethat it is better for him to be free. I know he was disappointed in me. He is not the sort of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman asI. "

"What does he expect from a woman? If youre not good enough for him, hemust be very hard to please. "

Marian shook her head. "He is capable of pitying and being consideratewith me, " she said: "I know that. But I am not sure that it is a goodthing to be pitied and forborne with. There is something humiliating init. I suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should like to beamongst women what he is amongst men, supported by my own strength. Evenwithin the last three weeks I have felt myself becoming more independentin my isolation. I was afraid to go about the streets by myself atfirst. Now I am getting quite brave. That unfortunate woman did me good. Taking care of her, and being relied on so much by her, has made me relyon myself more. Thanks to you, I have not much loneliness to complainof. And yet I have been utterly cast down sometimes. I cannot tell whatis best. Sometimes I think that independence is worth all the solitarystruggling it costs. Then again I remember how free from real care I wasat home, and yearn to be back there. It is so hard to know what oneought to do. "

"You have been more lively since you got such a pleasant answer to yourtelegram. I wish the General would offer to let me keep my own money andas much more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man! Thatreminds me to tell you that you must stay the evening. He wants to seeyou as bad as can be--never stops asking me to bring you up some timewhen he's at home. You mustnt excuse yourself: the General will see yousafe back to your place. "

"But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?"

"Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to see you. What dothey know about you? You cant live like a hermit all your life. "

Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers's, stayed; and the eveningpassed pleasantly enough, although three visitors came: a gentleman, with his wife and brother. The lady, besides eating, and replying to theremarks with which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to entertainher, did nothing but admire Marian's dress and listen to herconversation. Her husband was polite; but Marian, comparing him with theEnglish gentlemen of her acquaintance, thought him rather oppressivelyrespectful, and too much given to conversing in little speeches. He hadbeen in London; and he described, in a correct narrative style, hisimpressions of St. Paul's, the Tower, and Westminster Palace. Hisbrother fell in love with Mrs. Forster at first sight, and sat silentuntil she remarked to him how strangely the hotel omnibuses resembledold English stage coaches, when he became recklessly talkative and soonconvinced her that American society produced quite as choice a compoundof off-handedness and folly as London could. But all this was amusingafter her long seclusion; and once or twice, when the thought of deadSusanna came back to her, she was ashamed to be so gay. 

No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers's when she returned. They had left herlamp in the entry; and she took it upstairs with her, going softly lestshe should disturb the household. Susanna's usual call and petition fora few minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for Susanna was now onlya memory. Marian tried not to think of the body in the room above. Though she was free from the dread which was just then making Elizatremble, cry, and cross herself to sleep, she disliked the body all themore as she distinguished it from the no-longer existent woman: a featquite beyond the Irish peasant girl. She sat down and began to think. The Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to her: no doubt thelady would not have been civil had she known all; but, then, the ladywas a silly person. They were not exactly what Marian considered thebest sort of people; but New York was not London. She would not stay atMrs. Myers's: her income would enable her to lodge more luxuriously. Ifshe could afford to furnish some rooms for herself, she would get somecurtains she had seen one day lately when shopping with Mrs. Crawford. They would go well with----

A noise in the room overhead: Susanna's death chamber. Marian gave agreat start, and understood what Eliza meant by having "the life putacross in her. " She listened, painfully conscious of the beats of herheart. The noise came again: a footstep, or a chair pushed back, or--shewas not certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be watching at the bedside? Itwas not unlikely. Could Susanna be recovering--finding herself laid outfor dead, and making a struggle for life up there alone? That would beinconvenient, undesirable: even Marian forgot just then to consider thatobvious view wrong and unfeeling; but, anyhow, she must go and see, and, if necessary, help. She wished there were some one to keep her company;but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she felt that she would be as well byherself as with Mrs. Myers. There was nothing for it but to take acandle and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to daunt herafresh; and she reached the landing above almost reassured, and thinkinghow odd it was that the idea of finding somebody--Susanna--there, though it had come as a fear, was fading out as a disappointed hope. 

Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set her teeth and didit swiftly, as if to surprise someone within. She did surprise some one:her husband, sitting by his sister's body. He started violently onseeing her, and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door withoutturning, leaned back against it with her hand behind her, and looked athim open-mouthed. 

"Marian, " he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehensive tone, putting uphis hand deprecatingly: "remember, here"--indicating the figure on thebed--"is an end of hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot bear them. Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, erring butrepentant wife. We are man and woman, nothing less and nothing more. After our marriage you declined intercourse on those terms; and Iaccepted your conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conventions:you have broken them yourself. If you will not have the truth betweenus, avoid me until I have subsided into the old groove again. There!" headded, wincing, "dont blush. What have you to blush for? It was the onlyhonest thing you ever did. "

"I dont understand. "

"No, " he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; "how could you? Younever did, and you never will. "

"If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you, " said Marian, greatlyrelieved and encouraged by a sense of being now the injured party, "youare most unjust. I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I_never_ deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he first spokewrongly to me, I told you at once; and you did not care. "

"Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved you: the point was, did you love him? If not, then all was well: if so, our marriage wasalready at an end. But you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something morethan fibbing. You never told fibs--except the two or three dozen a weekthat mere politeness required and which you never thought of counting;but you never told me the truth, Marian, because you never told yourself the truth. You told me what you told yourself, I grant you; and soyou were not conscious of deceit. I dont reproach you. Surely you canbear to be told what every honest man tells himself almost daily. "

"I suppose I have deserved it, " said Marian; "but unkind words from youare a new experience. You are very unlike yourself to-night. "

He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of impatience. "On thecontrary, I am like myself--I actually am myself to-night, I hope. " Thenthe explosion came. "Is it utterly impossible for you to say somethingreal to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have ten love romancesevery year with other men, if you like. Be anything rather than aladylike slave and liar. There! as usual, the truth makes you shrinkfrom me. As I said before, I refuse further intercourse on such terms. They have proved unkind in the long run. "

"You spoke plainly enough to her, " said Marian, glancing at the bed, "but in the long run it did her no good. "

"She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced matters, for shenever deceived herself. Society, by the power of the purse, set her tonautch-girl's work, and forbade her the higher work that was equallywithin her power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, howcould she be happy except when she was not sober? It was her ownimmediate interest to drink; it was her tradesman's interest that sheshould drink; it was her servants' interest that she should be pleasedwith them for getting drink for her. She was clever, good-natured, moreconstant to her home and her man than you, a living fountain of innocentpleasure as a dancer, singer, and actress; and here she lies, aftermischievously spending her talent in a series of entertainments too dullfor hell and too debased for any better place, dead of a preventabledisease, chiefly because most of the people she came in contact with hada direct pecuniary interest in depraving and poisoning her. Aye, look ather! with the cross on her breast, the virgin mother in plaster lookingon from where she kept her mirror when she was alive, and the peopleoutside complacently saying 'Serve her right!'"

Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish Eliza's altar byhurling the chair through it. "Dont, Ned, " she said, timidly, puttingher hand on his arm. 

"Dont what?" he said, taken aback. She drew her hand away and retreateda step, coloring at the wifely liberty she had permitted herself totake. "I beg your pardon. I thought--I thought you were going to takethe cross away. No, " she added quickly, seeing him about to speak, andanticipating a burst of scepticism: "it is not that; but the servant isan Irish girl--a Roman Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well, and will be hurt if it is thrown aside. "

"And you think it better that she should remain in ignorance of whateducated people think about her superstition than that she should sufferthe mortification of learning that her opinions are not those of allthe world! However, I had no such intention. Eliza's idol is arespectable one as idols go. "

There was a pause. Then Marian said: "It must have been a great shock toyou when you came and found what had happened. I am very sorry. But hadwe not better go downrs? It seems so unfeeling, somehow, to talkwithout minding her. I suppose you consider that foolish; but I thinkyou are upset by it yourself. "

"You see a change in me, then?"

"You are not quite yourself, I think. "

"I tell you again that I _am_ myself at last. You do not seem to likethe real man any better than the unreal: I am afraid you will not haveme on any terms. Well, let us go downstairs, since you prefer it. "

"Oh, not unless you wish it too, " said Marian, a little bewildered. 

He took her candle and led the way out without another word or a look atthe bed. Marian, as he stood aside to let her go downstairs before him, was suddenly seized with a fantastic fear that he was going to kill her. She did not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only felt safewhen they were in her room, and he no longer behind her. 

"Sit down, " he said, placing the candle on the mantelpiece. She sat downat the table, and he stood on the hearthrug. "Now, " said he, "about thefuture. Are you coming back? Will you give the life at Holland Parkanother trial?"

"I cannot, " she said, bending her head almost on her hands. "I shoulddisgrace you. And there is another reason. "

"It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to disgrace me ifI do not feel disgraced. It is useless to say that you cannot. If yousay 'I will not, ' then that will settle it. What is the other reason?"

"It is not yet born. But it will be. "

"That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be a worse father to itthan he would have been?"

"No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you. " He made an impatientgesture. "I dont understand you, Ned. Would you not rather be free?"

"Freedom is a fool's dream. I am free. I can divorce you if I please: ifI live with you again it will be by my own choice. You are free too: youhave burnt your boats, and are rid of fashionable society, of yourfamily, your position, your principles, and all the rest of your chainsforever. You are declassed by your own act; and if you can frankly givea sigh of relief and respect yourself for breaking loose from what iscalled your duty, then you are the very woman I want for a wife. I maynot be the very man you want for a husband; but at all events you arefree to choose, free to change after you choose if you choose me, freeanyhow; for I will divorce you if you refuse; and then you willbe--independent--your own mistress--absolute proprietor of your ownchild--everything that married women and girls envy. You have aforetaste of that freedom now. What is it worth? One or two conditionsmore or less to comply with, that is all: nature and society still haveyou hard and fast; the main rules of the game are inviolable. "

"I think it is a good thing to be free, " said Marian, timidly. 

"That means 'I will not. '"

"Not 'will not'; but I think I had better not. "

"A characteristic distinction, Marian. I once thought, like you, thatfreedom was the one condition to be gained at all cost and hazard. Myfavorite psalm was that nonsense of John Hay's:

 'For always in thine eyes, O Liberty, Shines that high light whereby the world is saved; And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee. '

And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attainable life. Thatinvolves the least endurable liberty. You dont see that yet. Very well:you have liberty--liberty to hurt as well as help yourself; and you areright to try whether it will not make you happier than wedlock hasdone. "

"It was not your fault; and it is very good of you to offer to take meback, I know. Will my refusing disappoint you at all, Ned?"

"I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept: I foresee how I shalladapt myself to either set of circumstances. "

"Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything, " said Marian, with somebitterness. 

"No: I only face what I see. That is why you do not like living with me. Good-bye. Do not look troubled: we shall meet again to-morrow and oftenafterward, I hope; but to-night makes an end of the irrational knot. "

"Good-night, " said Marian rather forlornly, after a pause, profferingher hand. 

"One folly more, " he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her. Shemade no resistance. "If such a moment could be eternal, we should neversay good-bye, " he added. "As it is, we are wise not to tempt Fortune byasking her for such another. "

"You are too wise, Ned, " she said, suffering him to replace her gentlyin the chair. 

"It is impossible to be too wise, dearest, " he said, and unhesitatinglyturned and left her.