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diff --git a/39730-8.txt b/39730-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ad07595..0000000 --- a/39730-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4329 +0,0 @@ - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing - -Author: Mrs. C. N. Williamson - -Release Date: May 18, 2012 [EBook #39730] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover art] - - - - - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - By - - MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON - - - AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR," ETC. - - - - - _ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN CAMERON_ - - - - - LONDON - - WARD LOCK & CO LIMITED - - 1905 - - - - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - - -Joan Carthew had reason to believe that it was her birthday, and she had -signalised the occasion by running away from home. But her birthday, -and her home, and her running away, were all so different from things -with the same name in the lives of other children, that the celebration -was not in reality as festive as it might seem if put into print. - -In the first place, she based her theory as to the date solely upon a -dim recollection that once, eons of years ago, when she had been a -petted little creature with belongings of her own (she was now twelve), -there had been presents and sweets on the 13th of May. She thought she -could recall looking eagerly forward to that anniversary; and she argued -shrewdly that, as her assortment of agreeable memories was small, in all -likelihood she had not made a mistake. - -In the second place, Joan's home was a Brighton lodging-house, where she -was a guest of the landlady, and not a "paying" guest, as she was -frequently reminded. In that vague time, eons ago, she had been left at -the house by her mother (who was, it seemed, an actress), with a sum of -money large enough to pay for her keep until that lady's return from -touring, at the end of the theatrical season. The end of the season and -the end of the money had come about the same time, but not the expected -mother. The beautiful Mrs. Carthew, whose professional name was Marie -Lanchester, had never reappeared, never written. Mrs. Boyle had made -inquiries, advertised, and spent many shillings on theatrical papers, -but had been able to learn nothing. Mr. Carthew was a vague shadow in a -mysterious background, less substantial even than a "walking gentleman," -and Mrs. Boyle, feeling herself a much injured woman, had in her first -passion of resentment boxed Joan's ears and threatened to send the -"brat" to the poorhouse. But the child was in her seventh year and -beginning to be useful. She liked running up and downstairs to answer -the lodgers' bells, which saved steps for the two overworked servants; -and, of course, when she became a financial burden instead of the means -of lightening burdens, it was discovered that she could do many other -things with equal ease and propriety. She could clean boots and knives, -wash dishes, help make beds, and carry trays; she could also be slapped -for misdeeds of her own and those of others, an act which afforded -invariable relief to the landlady's feelings. As years went on, further -spheres of usefulness opened, especially after the Boyle baby came; one -servant could be kept instead of two; and taking everything into -consideration, Joan's hostess decided to continue her charity. -Therefore, the child could have answered the conundrum, "When is a home -not a home?" out of the stores of her intimate experience. - -In the third place, she had only run away as far as one of the shelters -on the Marine Parade; she had brought the landlady's baby with her, and, -lurking grimly in the recesses of her mind, she had the virtuous -intention of going home again when Minnie should be hungry enough to -cry, at tea-time. - -Joan was telling the two-year-old Minnie a fairy story, made up out of -her own head, all about a gorgeous princess, and founded on the -adventures she herself would best like to have, when, just as the -narrative was working towards an exciting climax, a girl of Joan's own -age came in sight, walking with her governess. - -The story broke off short between Joan's little white teeth, which -suddenly shut together with a click. This did not signify much, as far -as the Boyle baby was concerned, for Joan unconsciously wove fairy tales -more for her own pleasure than that of her companion, and as a matter of -fact the warmth of the afternoon sunshine had acted as "juice of poppy -and mandragora" upon Minnie's brain. Her small, primrose-yellow head -was nodding, and she was unaware that the story had ended abruptly just -as the princess was beguiling the dragon, and that a girl almost as fine -as the princess herself was approaching. - -The new-comer was about twelve or thirteen, and she was more exquisitely -dressed than any child Joan remembered to have met. Perhaps, if the -apparition had been a good deal younger or older, the lodging-house -drudge would not have observed so keenly, or realised with a quick stab -of passionate pain the illimitable gulf dividing lives. But here was a -girl of her own age, her own height, her own needs and capacities, and -yet--the difference! - -It struck her like a thrust of some thin, delicate surgical instrument -which could inflict anguish, yet leave no trace. Joan's whole life was -spent in dreaming; without the dreams, existence at 12, Seafoam Terrace -would not have been tolerable to a young creature with the nerves of a -racehorse and the imagination of a Scheherazade. She lived practically -a double life within herself, but never until this moment had she been -consciously jealous of the happier fate of a fellow-creature. - -In looking from the shelter where she sat in shadow, at the other girl -who walked in sunshine, she knew the crunching pain of the monster's -fangs. - -The other girl had long, fair hair; she wore white muslin, foaming with -lace frills, white silk stockings, and shoes of white suede. Her face -was shaded by a great, rose-crowned, leghorn hat, which flopped into -soft curves and made a picture of small features which without it might -have seemed insignificant. The magnetism that was in Joan Carthew's -eyes forced the girl to turn and throw a glance as she passed at the -shabby child in faded brown serge (a frock altered from a discarded one -of Mrs. Boyle's) who sat huddled in the shelter, with a tawdrily dressed -baby asleep by her side. The glance had all the primitive, merciless -disdain of a sleek, fortunate young animal for a miserable, hunted one, -and Joan felt the meaning of it in her soul. - -"Why should she have everything and I nothing?" was the old-new question -which shaped itself wordlessly in the child's brain. "She looks at me as -if I were a rat. I'm not a rat! I'm as good as she is, if I had her -clothes. I'm cleverer, and prettier, too, I know I am--heaps and heaps. -Oh! I want to be like her, only better--I must be--I shall!" - -She quivered with the fierceness of her revolt against fate, yet in it -was no vulgar jealousy. The other girl's pale blue eyes, in one -contemptuous glance, had found every patch on her frock and shoes, had -criticised her old hat, and sneered at her little, rough, work-worn -hands, scorning her for them as if she were a creature of an inferior -race; but Joan had no personal hatred for the happier child, no wish for -revenge, no desire to take from the other what she had. The feeling -which shook her with sudden, stormy passion was merely the sharp -realisation of injustice, the conviction that by nature she herself was -worthy of the good things she had missed, the savage resolve to have -what she ought to have, at any cost. - -It was not tea-time yet, and Minnie was happily asleep; Joan was certain -to be scolded just as sharply on her return as if she had stopped away -for hours longer, therefore she might as well have drained her birthday -cup of stolen pleasure to the dregs; but the good taste of the draught -was gone. She yearned only to go home, to get the scolding over, and to -have a few minutes to herself in the tiny back room which she shared -with the baby. There seemed to be much to think of, much to decide. - -The child waked Minnie, who was cross at being roused, and refused to -walk. The quickest way of triumphing over the difficulty was to carry -her, and this method Joan promptly adopted. But the baby was heavy and -fractious. She wriggled in her young nurse's grasp, and just as Joan -had staggered round the corner of Seafoam Terrace, with her -disproportionate burden, she tripped and fell, under the windows of No. -12. - -Minnie roared, and there was an echoing shriek from the house. Mrs. -Boyle, who had been looking up and down the street in angry quest of her -missing drudge, saw the catastrophe and rushed to the rescue of her -offspring. She snatched the baby, who was more frightened than hurt, -and holding her by one arm, proceeded to administer chastisement to -Joan. - -Instinctively she knew that the girl was sensitive and proud, though she -had no kindred feelings in her own soul, and she delighted in -humiliating her drudge before the whole street. As she screamed -reproaches and harsh names, raining a shower of blows on Joan's ears and -head and burning cheeks, a face appeared in at least one window of each -house along the Terrace. Though a cataract of sparks cascaded before -the child's eyes, somehow she saw the faces and imagined a dozen for -every one. - -The shame seemed to her beyond bearing. She forgot even her love for the -baby, which (with the dreams) was the bright thread in the dull fabric -of her existence. After this martyrdom, she neither could nor would -live on in Seafoam Terrace, which with all its eyes had seen her beaten -like a dog. - -"Into the house with you, you lazy, good-for-nothing brat!" panted Mrs. -Boyle, when her hand was tired of smiting; and with a push, she would -have urged the girl towards the open front door, but Joan turned -suddenly and faced her. - -"No!" she cried, "I won't be your servant any more! I've done with you. -I will never go into your hateful house again, until I come back as a -grand lady you will have to bow down to and worship." - -These were grandiloquent words, and Mrs. Boyle would either have laughed -with a coarse sneer, or struck Joan again for her impudence, had not the -look in the child's great eyes actually cowed her for the moment. In -that moment the thin girl of twelve, whom she had beaten, seemed to grow -very tall and wonderfully beautiful; and in the next, she had gone like -a whirlwind which comes and passes before it has been realised. - -Joan was desperate. Her newly formed ambition and her stinging shame -mounted like frothing wine to her hot brain. She was in a mood to kill -herself--or make her fortune. - -For a time she flew on blindly, neither knowing nor caring which way she -went. By and by, as breath and strength failed, she ran more slowly, -then settled into a quick, unsteady walk. She was on the front, running -in the direction of Hove, and in the distance a handsome victoria with -two horses was coming. The sun shone on the silver harness and the -horses' satin backs. There was a coachman and a groom in livery, and in -the carriage sat an old lady dressed in grey silk, of the same soft tint -as her hair. - -Joan had seen this old lady in her victoria several times before, and -had pretended to herself, in one of her glittering dreams, that the lady -took a fancy to her and proposed adoption. - -Now, in a flash of thought, which came quick as the glint of light on a -bird's wing, the child told herself that this thing must happen. She -had no home, no people, nothing; she would stake her life on the one -throw which might win all or lose all. - -Without stopping to be afraid, or to argue whether she were brave or -foolhardy, she ran forward and threw herself in front of the horses. -The coachman pulled them up so sharply that the splendid pair plunged, -almost falling back on to the victoria, but he was not quick enough to -save the child one blow on the shoulder from an iron-shod hoof. - -In an instant the groom was in the road and had snatched her up, with a -few gruff words which Joan dimly heard and understood, although she had -just enough consciousness left to feign unconsciousness. - -"How dreadful! how dreadful!" the old lady was exclaiming. "You must -put the poor little thing in the carriage, and I'll drive to the nearest -doctor's." - -"Better let me take her in a cab to a hospital, my lady," advised the -groom. "It wasn't our fault. She ran under the horses' feet. Tomkins -and me can both swear to that." - -The arbitress of Joan's fate appeared to hesitate, and the child thought -best to revive enough to open her eyes (which she knew to be large and -soft as a fawn's) for one imploring glance. In the fall which had -caused her to drop the Boyle baby, she had grazed her forehead against a -lamp-post, and on the small, white face there remained a stain of blood -which was effective at this juncture. She started, put out her hand, -and groped for the old lady's dress, at which she caught as a drowning -man is said to catch at a straw. - -"On second thoughts, I will take her home, if she can tell me where she -lives. She seems to be reviving," said the lady. "Where do you live, my -poor little girl?" - -"I--don't live anywhere," gasped Joan, white-lipped. "I haven't any -mother or any home, or anything. I wanted to die." - -"Oh, you poor little pitiful thing! What a sad story!" crooned the old -lady. "You shall go to _my_ home, and stop till you get well, and I -will buy you a doll and lots of nice toys." - -The rapidly recovering Joan determined that, once in the old lady's -house, she would stop long after she had got well, and that she would, -sooner or later, have many things better than toys. But she smiled -gratefully, faintly, looking like a broken flower. The groom was -directed to place her on the seat, in a reclining posture, and she was -given the old lady's silk-covered air-cushion to rest her head upon. -She really ached in every bone, but she was exaggerating her sufferings, -saying to herself: "It's come! I've walked right into the fairy story, -and nothing shall make me walk out again. I've got nobody to look after -me, so I'll have to look after myself and be my own mamma. I can't help -it, whether it's right or wrong. I don't know much about right and -wrong, anyhow, so I shan't bother. I've got to grow up a grand, rich -lady; my chance has come, and I'd be silly not to take it." - -Having thus disposed of her conscience--such as her wretched life had -made it--Joan proceeded to faint again, as picturesquely as possible. -Her pretty little head, rippling over with thick, gold-brown hair, fell -on the grey silk shoulder and gave the kindly, rather foolish old heart -underneath a warm, protecting thrill. The child's features were lovely, -and her lashes very long and dark. If she had been ugly, or even plain, -in spite of her appealing ways, Lady Thorndyke (the widow of a rich City -knight) would probably have agreed to the groom's suggestion; but Joan -did not overestimate her own charms and their power. A quarter of a -century ago Lady Thorndyke had lost a little girl about the age of this -pathetic waif, and she had had no other child. There was a nephew on -the Stock Exchange, but Lady Thorndyke was interested in him merely -because she thought it her duty, though he had been brought up to take -it for granted that he would be her heir. In truth, the lonely woman -had half unconsciously sighed all her life for romance and for love. -She had never had much of either, and now, in this tragic child who -clung to her and would not be denied, there was promise of both. - -So Joan was borne in supreme spiritual triumph and slight bodily pain to -the big, old-fashioned Brighton house where her new protectress spent -the greater part of the year. She was put into a bed which smelled of -lavender and felt like a soft, warm cloud; she went through the ordeal -of being examined by a doctor, knowing that her whole future might -depend upon his verdict. She lay sick and quivering with a thumping -heart, lest he should say: "This child is perfectly well, except for a -bruise and a scratch or two. There is nothing to prevent her being sent -home." But in her anxiety Joan had worked herself into a fever. The -doctor was a fat, comfortable man, with children of his own, and the -escaped drudge could have worshipped him when he announced that she was -in a highly nervous state, and would be better for a few days' rest, -good nursing, and nourishing food. - -She had arnica and plasters externally, and internally beef-tea. Then -she told her story. Had it been necessary, Joan would have plunged into -a sea of fiction, but she had enough dramatic sense to perceive that -nothing could be more effective than the truth, dashed in with plenty of -colour. - -Joan's memory was as vivid as her imagination. She was fired to -eloquence by her own wrongs; and her word-sketch of the poor baby -deserted by a beautiful, mysterious actress, her picturesque conjectures -as to that actress's noble husband, the harrowing portrait of her -angelic young self as a lodging-house drudge, the final climax, painting -the savage punishment in the street, and her resolve to seek refuge in -death (the one fabrication in the tale), affected the secretly -sentimental heart of the City knight's widow like music. - -"I would rather have been trampled to death under your horses' feet than -go back!" sobbed the child. - -"Don't be frightened and excite yourself, my poor, pretty little dear," -Lady Thorndyke soothed her. "No harm shall come to you, I promise -that." - -Joan's instinctive tact had been sharpened to diplomacy by the constant -need of self-defence. She said no more; she only looked; and her eyes -were like those of a wounded deer which begs its life of the hunter. - -Lady Thorndyke began to turn over various schemes for Joan's advantage; -but that same evening, which was Saturday, her nephew, George Gallon, -arrived from town to spend Sunday with his aunt. She told him somewhat -timidly about the lovely child she was sheltering, and the hard-mouthed, -square-chinned young man threw cold water on her projects. He said that -the girl was no doubt a designing little minx, who richly deserved what -she had got from the charitable if quick-tempered woman who gave her a -home. He advised his aunt to be rid of the young viper as soon as -possible, and meanwhile to leave the care of her entirely to servants. - -His strong nature impressed itself upon Lady Thorndyke's weak one, as -red-hot iron cauterises tender flesh. She believed all he said while he -was with her, and conceived a distrust of Joan; but Gallon had an -important deal on in the City for Monday, and was obliged to leave -early, having extracted a half-promise from his aunt that the intruder -should go forth that day, or at latest the next. - -He had not seen Joan Carthew, and therefore had not reckoned on her -strength and fascination as forces powerful enough to fence with his -influence. - -Joan felt the difference in her patroness's manner, as a swallow feels -the coming of a storm. She knew that there had been a visitor, and she -guessed what had happened. She grew cold with the chill of presentiment, -but gathered herself together for a fight to the death. - -"You look much better this morning, my dear," began Lady Thorndyke -nervously. "You will perhaps be well enough to get up and be dressed by -and by, to drive out with me, and choose yourself a doll, or anything -you would like. You will be glad to hear that--that my nephew and I -called on Mrs. Boyle yesterday, and--she is sorry if she was harsh. In -future, you will not be living on her charity. I shall give her a small -yearly sum for your board and clothing. You will be sent to school, as -you ought to have been long ago, and really I don't see how she managed -to avoid this duty. But in any case you will be happy." - -Joan turned over on her face, and the bed shuddered with her tearing -sobs. She was not really crying. The crisis was too tense for tears. - -"Don't, dear, don't," pleaded Lady Thorndyke, feeling horribly guilty. -"I will see you sometimes, and----" - -"See me sometimes!" echoed the child. "You are the only person who has -ever been kind to me. I can't live without you now. I won't try. Oh, -it was cruel to bring me here and show me what happiness could be, just -to drive me away again into the dark!" - -"But----" the distressed old lady had begun to stammer, when the child -slipped out of bed and fell at her protectress's feet. - -"Keep me with you!" she implored. "I'll be your servant. I'll live in -the kitchen. I'll eat what your dog eats. Only let me stay." - -She wound her slim, childish arms round Lady Thorndyke's waist, her eyes -streamed with tears at last; her beautiful hair curled piteously over -the grey-silk lap. She was at that moment a great actress, for though -she was honestly grateful, she neither wished nor intended to live in -the kitchen and eat what the dog ate. She would be a child of the house -or she would be nothing. Her beauty, her despair, and her humility were -irresistible. Lady Thorndyke forgot George Gallon and clasped the child -in her arms, crying in sympathy. "If you care so much, dear, how can I -let you go?" she whimpered. - -"I care enough to die for you, or to die if I lose you!" Joan vowed. - -"You shall not die, and you shall not lose me!" exclaimed the old lady, -remembering her nephew now and defying him. "You shall stay and be my -little girl." - -Joan did stay. Before the week ended, and another visit from George -Gallon was due, she had so entwined herself round Lady Thorndyke's heart -that the rather cowardly old woman had courage to face her nephew with -the news that she meant to keep the waif whom "Providence had sent her." - - - - -CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - - -At first there was no question of formal adoption. Joan simply stayed -on and was allowed to feel that she had a right to stay. Gallon did all -he could to oust her, for his mind had telescopic power and brought the -future near. He feared the girl, but he dared not actually offend his -aunt, lest he should lose at once what he wished to safeguard himself -against losing later. - -The child made Lady Thorndyke happier than she had ever been. Her -presence created sunshine. She was never naughty like other children; -she was never sulky nor disagreeable. A governess was procured for her, -a mild, common-place lady whom Joan despised and astonished with her -progress. "I was born knowing a lot of things which she could never -learn," the little girl told herself scornfully. But she did not -despise George Gallon, whom she occasionally saw, nor did she exactly -fear him, because she believed that she would be able to hold her own in -case the day ever came for a second contest, as she foresaw it would. - -When she had learned all that the governess knew, and rather more -besides, she was sent to a boarding-school in Paris to be "finished." -After her first term, she came back to Brighton for the Christmas -holidays, so grown up, so beautiful, and so distinguished that Lady -Thorndyke was very proud. "What shall I give you for Christmas, my -dear?" she asked. "A diamond ring?" - -Joan kissed her withered leaf of a hand. - -"If you love me," she said, "give me the right to call myself your -daughter. That is the one thing in the world you have left me hungry -for. Will you adopt me, so that I can feel I am your own, own child? -Think what it would be if any one ever claimed me and took me away from -you!" - -Joan's love was not all a pretence. She would have been a monster if it -had been, instead of the mere girl of seventeen she was, with a large -nature, and capacities for good which had been stunted and turned the -wrong way. But the vicissitudes of life had taught her to be even more -observant than she was critical, and she knew as well how to manage Lady -Thorndyke as if the kind old creature had been a marionette, worked with -strings. It was not necessary to let her benefactress know all that was -in her mind, nor how she had calculated that to be the rich woman's -legally adopted daughter ought to mean being her heiress as well. While -she pleaded to be Lady Thorndyke's "own, own child," she was saying to -herself: "I will make a good deal better use of the money than that -hateful George Gallon would." - -No normal young man, and no sentimental old lady, could have doubted the -disinterestedness of a girl with eyes like Joan Carthew's. Lady -Thorndyke was delighted with the dear child's affection, and promptly -sent for her lawyer to talk over the matter of a formal adoption. She -also announced her intention of altering her will, and leaving only -twenty thousand pounds to her nephew, the bulk of her property to Joan, -"who would no doubt be greatly surprised." - -Thinking it but fair that George should be prepared for this change in -his prospects, she told him what she intended to do, in the presence of -a friend, lest there should be a scene. - -There was no scene, for George was a sensible man, and saw that a little -butter on his bread was better than none. But he hated Joan, and -respected her at the same time because she had triumphed. He was not -quite beaten yet, however. He had a talk, which he hoped sounded manly -and frank, with his young rival, told Joan that he bore her no grudge, -and paid her a compliment. When she went back to school, flowers and -sweets began to arrive from "Cousin George"; and the girl saw the game -he was playing and smiled. - -When she came home for Easter, he proposed. He got her on a balcony, by -moonlight, where he said that he had loved her for years, and could not -wait any longer to speak out what was in his heart. - -"Your heart!" laughed Joan, with all the insolence of a beautiful, -spoiled young heiress of eighteen, who has pined for revenge upon a -hated man, and got it at last. "Your heart!" It was delicious to throw -policy to the wind for once and be frankly herself. She was thoroughly -enjoying the situation, as she stood with the pure radiance of the -moonlight shining down upon her bright head and her white, filmy gown. -"What a fool you must think me, Mr. Gallon! It's your pockets you would -have me fill, not your heart. I acknowledge I have owed you a debt for -a long time, but it's not a debt of love. When I was a forlorn, -friendless child, you tried to turn me out into the cold; and if I -hadn't been stronger than you, you would have succeeded. Instead, it was -I who did that. I've always meant to pay, for I hate debts. No, I will -not marry you. No; nothing that your aunt means to give me shall be -yours. Now I have paid, and we are quits." - -[Illustration: "'No, I will not marry you.'"] - -George Gallon was cold with fury. "Don't be too sure," he said in his -harsh voice, which Joan had always hated. "They laugh best who laugh -last." - -"I know that," the girl retorted; and passing him to go indoors, where -Lady Thorndyke dozed after dinner, she threw over her shoulder a laugh -to spice her words. - -The next day she went back to school, pleased with herself and what she -had done, for she was no longer in the least afraid of George Gallon. - -Some things are in the air. It was in the air at school that Joan would -be a great heiress. The girls were very nice to her, and Joan enjoyed -their flatteries, though she saw through them and made no intimate -friends. When in June, shortly before the coming of the summer -holidays, the girl was telegraphed for, because Lady Thorndyke had had a -paralytic stroke and was dying, there was a sensation in the school. Of -course, as Joan would now inherit something like a million, she would -not return, but after her time of mourning would come out in Society, -well chaperoned, be presented, and probably marry at least a viscount. -The other girls were nicer than ever; tears were shed over her, and -farewell presents bestowed. - -When Joan arrived in England, Lady Thorndyke was dead, and the girl was -sad, for she realised how well she had loved her benefactress. After -the funeral came the reading of the will. The dead woman's adopted -daughter, the servants, and George Gallon were the only persons present -besides the lawyer. Joan's heart scarcely quickened its beating, for -she was absolutely confident. Any surprise which might come could be -merely a matter of a few thousands more or less. She sat leaning back -in an armchair, very calm and beautiful in her deep mourning. George -Gallon's eyes never left her face, and they lit as at last she lifted -her head, with bewilderment on the suddenly paling face. - -There had been a few bequests to servants and to a favourite charity. -Everything else which Lady Thorndyke died possessed of was left -unconditionally to her nephew, George Gallon. There was no mention of -Joan Carthew. The will was dated ten years before. Lady Thorndyke had -put off making the new one, and death had rendered the delay -irrevocable. Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world; save for her -education, her clothes, and the memory of six happy years, she was no -better off than on the day when she threw herself under Lady Thorndyke's -carriage. - -[Illustration: "Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."] - -At first she could not believe that it was true. It was like having -rolled a heavy stone almost to the top of an incredibly steep hill, to -find oneself suddenly at the bottom, crushed under the stone. But the -solicitor's stilted sympathy, and the look in George Gallon's eyes, -which said: "Now perhaps you are sorry for having made a fool of -yourself," brought her roughly face to face with the truth. At the same -time she was stimulated. The words, the look, braced her to assume -courage, if she had it not. - -She was down--very far down; but she was young, she was beautiful, she -was brave, and life had early taught her to be unscrupulous. The world -was, after all, an oyster; she would open it yet somehow and make it -hers; this was a vow. - -When the solicitor had gone, George remained. The house was his house -now. - -"What do you intend to do?" he inquired. - -"I have my plans," Joan answered. - -In the man's veins stirred a curious thrill, which was something like -dread. The girl was wonderful, and formidable still, not to be -despised. He half feared her, yet he could not resist the temptation to -humiliate the creature who had laughed at him. - -"It is a pity you never learned anything useful, like typing and -shorthand," said he patronisingly. "If you had, I would have taken you -into our office as secretary. There's two pounds a week in the job, and -that's better than the wages of a nursery governess, which, in the -circumstances, you will, no doubt, be thankful to get. After what has -passed between us, you would hardly care, I suppose, to accept charity -from me, even if I were inclined to offer it." - -"I would take no favour from you," said Joan, in an odd, excited voice. -"But I _will_ accept that secretaryship; you'll find me competent." - -George stared. "You don't know what you are talking about. You have no -knowledge of typing or shorthand." - -"I am expert in both. I thought, as a woman with large property, the -accomplishments might be useful to me, and I insisted on taking them up -at school instead of one or two others more classical but not as -practical." - -"You would actually come and work in my office, almost as a menial, on a -salary of two pounds a week, while I enjoy the million you expected -would be yours?" - -"Beggars mustn't be choosers," returned Joan, drily. "You don't -withdraw the offer?" - -"No-o," replied George slowly, doubtful whether his scheme of -humiliation had been quite wise, yet finding a certain pleasure in it -still. "The girl's expression is queer," he said to himself. "She -looks as if she had something up her sleeve." - -He was right. Joan had something "up her sleeve," something too small -to be visible, yet large enough, perhaps, to be the seed of fortune. - - - - -CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - - -George Gallon had lately left a well-known firm of stockbrokers, in -which he had been junior partner, and set up business on his own -account. He had started at a trying time, about the close of the Boer -war, when the financial world was in a state of depression; but he had -since brought off two or three _coups_ for his clients and himself, and -though he was unpopular, he had begun to be talked of among a limited -circle in the City as a man who would succeed. - -Joan Carthew had heard "George's luck" discussed by guests at Lady -Thorndyke's, when she had been at home from school on her holidays; -therefore it was that she had so promptly accepted the offer thrown to -her in derision, as a bone is flung to a chained dog. "If I keep my -eyes and ears open, I shall get tips," was the thought that flashed into -her mind. - -If Joan had been an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl, she would have -faltered before the difficulty of turning such "tips" to her own -advantage, on a salary of two pounds a week; but she would not have -entered George Gallon's service if she had been one to falter before -difficulties; and three days after the reading of the will which left -the girl a pensioner on her own wits, she presented herself at the -office in Copthall Court. - -It was early, and Gallon had not yet arrived. However, his curiosity to -see whether Joan would really keep her engagement brought him to the -City half an hour earlier than usual. When he came in, there sat at an -inner office, at the desk used by his late stenographer, a young woman -plainly dressed in black, though not in mourning deep enough to depress -the spirits of the beholder. - -It was Joan Carthew. She had already taken off her hat and hung it on a -peg. Gallon noticed instantly that her beautiful golden-brown hair was -dressed more simply than he had seen it. Every detail of her costume -was suited to the new part she was about to play--that of the business -woman. - -"Good morning, Mr. Gallon," she said crisply. "Your head clerk told me -this would be my desk. I have brought my own typewriter. I hope you -don't mind. You know, from the test you made the other day, that I take -down quickly from dictation, and that my typing is clear. I am ready to -begin work whenever you are." - -"Glad to find you so businesslike," said Gallon, uncomfortable in spite -of himself, though there was a keen relish in the situation. - -"You will, I hope, never find me anything else," quietly replied Joan. - -So the new _régime_ began. At first, for some days, the man was ill at -ease, could not collect his thoughts for dictation, and stammered in his -speech. He regretted that his desire to humiliate the girl had tempted -him to offer this position; but Joan's attitude was so tactful, so -unobtrusive, that little by little he forgot his awkwardness and even -the meanness of his motive in making her his dependent. He almost -forgot that he had ever asked her to marry him; and because he found her -astonishingly clever and useful, he waived the idea of further insults -which had flitted through his head when first the dethroned heiress -became his secretary. - -One autumn morning, Gallon was late. Joan sat waiting in his office, and -had opened such correspondence as was not marked "Private," had typed -several letters ready for her employer's signature, and having no more -business which could be transacted until he appeared, began to glance -through an illustrated Society weekly which she took in. This paper she -always read with eagerness; not because she had the morbid interest of -an outsider in the doings of Society, with a capital S, but because any -information she could glean about important people might be of service -in the career to which she undauntedly looked forward. - -On one page of this particular paper, country houses, electric-launches, -libraries, motor-cars, and even family jewels were advertised; and it -was an absorbing page to Joan. To-day she gazed long at the -reproduction of a handsome steam-yacht, which for some weeks past had -been advertised for sale, for the sum of twelve thousand pounds. Only a -few months ago, she had been planning to have some day a yacht of her -own. It had been one of the many pleasant things she had meant to do -with Lady Thorndyke's money. - -"I shouldn't mind owning the _Titania_, if she's as good as her -photograph," the girl was thinking, when George Gallon and a fat, -foreign-looking man came in. - -"You can go back into the next room, Miss Carthew," said George, -abruptly. "I shall not need you at present, and you may tell them -outside that I am not to be disturbed." - -Joan rose and walked into the outer office, where the three clerks, who -were all more or less in love with the beautiful secretary, glanced up -joyfully from their work at sight of her. The youngest, whose desk was -close to the door, had already proposed. He was a dreamy youth with a -fluffy brain, but his father was a rich man known in the City as "the -Salmon King," who cherished hopes that one day his son would cut a -figure on the Stock Exchange. These family details the young man had -confided to Joan as a lure to matrimony, and though she had answered -that he was a "foolish boy," and nothing was farther from her intention -than to settle down as Mrs. Tommy Mellis, she had not in so many words -refused the honour. - -Now she whispered a request that, if he had still a regard for her, he -would slip away and buy a box of chocolates, for the need of which she -was perishing. A moment later Tommy was out of his chair, and Joan was -in it. His was the one seat in the room where conversation in Gallon's -private office could by any means be overheard; and Gallon was aware -that whatever might go in at Tommy's right ear promptly went out at the -left, without leaving the smallest impression of its meaning. - -"Is the deal certain to come off?" she heard George inquire. - -"Sure as the sun is to rise to-morrow," replied another voice with a -foreign accent. "You are the only outsider in the know. That's worth -something, isn't it?" - -"It's worth what I've promised for it." - -"At least that. And I want an advance to-day." - -"In such a hurry? Remember I shan't make anything, or be sure you -haven't fooled me, for weeks. Still, I can manage a hundred." - -"I need ten times that." - -"You'll have it the day the Clerios are taken over." - -"'Sh! not so loud! And no names, for Heaven's sake, man!" - -"Oh, that's all right. The clerk near the door is a fool. The only one -out there with any real brains is a girl, but she doesn't know the -difference between Clerios and clerics. That's why I employ a woman for -a secretary. She spends her spare energy on the fashions, and doesn't -bother about things which are none of her business." - -In spite of this protest, Gallon dropped his voice. Only a word here -and there started out of the broken murmurs on the other side of the -door; but one more sentence, almost whole, came to her ears. "Grierson -Mordaunt ... sort of chap ... carries these things through." Then -reappeared Tommy with the chocolates, and Joan went to her own desk; but -the stray bits of information were as flint and steel in her brain, and -together they struck out a spark of inspiration. She was as sure as if -she had heard all details of the transaction that the World's Shipping -Combine, of which the American millionaire, Grierson Mordaunt, stood at -the head, had arranged to take over the Clerio line of Italian boats -plying between Mediterranean ports. The fat man with the foreign accent -was no doubt the confidential agent of the Italian company, and being -acquainted with George Gallon and his methods, had given the secret away -for a consideration. Doubtless he was poor, perhaps in difficulties; -otherwise he would have kept the information and bought all the Clerio -shares he could lay his hands upon. - -Now Joan knew why Gallon had written yesterday to a man in Manchester, -asking him how many Clerios he had to sell, and what was the lowest -price he was prepared to take for them, adding that it would be useless, -in the present depressed state of the market, to name a high figure. -This man had been requested to wire his answer, and at any moment it -might arrive. - -When Joan had jumped so far in her conclusions, Gallon escorted his -visitor out, flinging back word that he would be in again in half an -hour. - -The girl's blood sang in her ears. It seemed to her that Fortune was -knocking at the door; but could she find the key to open it? She called -all her wits to the rescue, and in five minutes that key was grating in -the lock. - -In Gallon's private room was a small desk, which she used when her -services were wanted there. This gave her an excuse to go in, and in -passing she threw a glance at Tommy Mellis, which caused him, after the -lapse of a decent interval (he counted eighty seconds), to follow. - -"Once you said you would do anything for me," she began, with a lovely -look. "Did you mean it?" - -"Rather!" - -"Well, then, the next question is: Will your father do anything for -_you_?" - -"He'll do a good deal." - -"If you tell him you've a tip about some shares that are bound to rise, -will he give you the money to buy them?" - -"He'd lend it. That's his way. He'd be tickled to see me taking an -interest in business. But what has that got to do with----" - -"I want to buy some shares--lots of shares--all I can get hold of. -To-day they're going cheap. To-morrow, who can say? They are Clerios." - -"But, look here, even I know that Clerios are no good. It's a badly -managed line, and the shares are down to next to nothing." - -"All the better. Mr. Gallon mustn't know you are in this, as he wants -to get hold of all the shares himself. You must trust me enough to have -them put into my name, and when I've got your profit for you, we'll go -halves. Can you see your father inside half an hour?" - -"His place is just round the corner." - -"Well, then, if you _do_ care anything for me, ask him to see you -through a big deal. You shall really make on it, I promise you, -something worth having besides my--gratitude." - -"The governor's a queer fish. If I should let him in----" - -"You won't let him in. But we don't want your father or anybody else in -with us. All we want is the loan, and his name, which is a good one in -the City, I know. I trust you for that. You must show how clever you -are, if you're anxious to please me. I'll manage the rest. Now, like a -dear, good boy, run off and arrange things with your father." - -Again Tommy became knight-errant, and hardly was he out of the way when -a strange voice was heard in the adjoining office. "Mr. Gallon in? I'm -Mr. Mitchison, from Manchester." - -"Mr. Gallon is out at present, but----" a clerk had begun, when Joan -appeared and cut him short. "Mr. Gallon wishes me to see Mr. Mitchison, -in his absence. Will you kindly step in here, sir?" - -The gentleman from Manchester obeyed. Joan's quick eyes noted his -worried air and the genteel shabbiness of his clothing. "I am Mr. -Gallon's confidential secretary," she said. "I know about this business -of Clerios. You came instead of wiring? Mr. Gallon rather expected you -would." - -"I had to come to London in a day or two, anyhow, and it's always more -satisfactory to do business in person." - -"Exactly. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Mr. Gallon has seen reason -to change his mind about buying your block of shares in the Clerio line, -as he has some big things on now, and finds his hands full; but Mr. -Mellis, a client of his--'the Salmon King,' you know--wants to invest -some money privately for his son. Mr. Gallon has advised them that, -though Clerios are not likely to rise much for some years, there is a -certain, if small, dividend; and if you can tell young Mr. Mellis where -they can get hold of other blocks of the same shares, it might then be -worth his while to take over yours. Those you hold are hardly enough -for him without others." - -"I know several men in Genoa, where I did business for some years, who -hold shares and would part with them for a decent price. I could work -the deal for Mr. Mellis, I'm certain." - -"Good. He's at his father's office now. I have Mr. Gallon's permission -to introduce you to him, but his only free time this morning is in the -next half-hour. I can go with you to Mr. Mellis senior's office, if -you're inclined to settle matters at once." - -"The Salmon King," who had earned his title by building up the largest -"canned goods" business of its kind in England, had offices on the -ground floor of an imposing building not far away, and Joan was lucky -enough to guide her companion to the door without the dreaded misfortune -of meeting George Gallon on the way. As they crossed the threshold, -Tommy Mellis issued from a room with a ground-glass door. Joan hurried -to him, asked if his father had been kind, was assured that all was well -so far, and hastened to explain the new development of affairs so -clearly that even Tommy's slow intelligence grasped her meaning without -difficulty. "When I've introduced you to Mr. Mitchison, offer him -twenty pounds a share (their nominal value is fifty), and if necessary -go up to twenty-five. Tell him he shall have a commission on all the -other shares he can get, if the whole thing can be fixed up by wire -to-morrow. Say there is a man coming to see you the day after about -some other investment, which your father prefers, but you've taken a -fancy to this, and want everything settled before the two older men come -together. As Gallon must do all his business in Clerios privately, and -doesn't want to ask for them in the House, that will give us time to -work." - -"By Jove! this will mean a lot of money," faltered Tommy. "Of course, -I'm delighted to do this for you, but if the governor----" - -Joan soothed his fears; and introduced Mitchison to young Mellis, who -took them both into a small, empty office. She hovered about during the -business conversation which ensued, putting in a word here and there, -and impressing the Manchester man with her shrewdness. In his opinion, -George Gallon had a treasure for a secretary, and he was grateful to her -for pushing on his affairs so well, especially as he did not believe he -could have got from Gallon the price which Mellis was willing to give. - -When Joan returned to the office in Copthall Court, her employer had not -yet come back. "Don't tell Mr. Gallon I've been out, will you?" she -appealed to the clerks, her slaves. As she spoke, the door opened, and -Gallon entered, just in time to hear the ingenuous request. The young -men flushed in consternation for her, but the girl did not change -colour. As a matter of fact, she had known that George was coming up, -and had probably seen her on the stairs. She had not spoken without -design. - -Having been delayed vexatiously, Gallon was not in a good mood, and his -black ones were unpleasant for underlings. A frowning look and a -gesture of the head called Joan to his private office. She followed -meekly; but when the scolding had reached the stage which she mentally -designated as "ripe," her meekness vanished like snow in sunshine. - -"How dare you speak to me like that!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. -"I'm not your servant, though I have served you well. I leave to-day." - -"This moment, if you choose," George flung back at her furiously, though -in reality he had not intended matters to touch this climax. Joan had -become valuable, but, as he said to himself in his sullen anger, she was -the "last person in the world whose impudence he would stand." - -When Joan had gathered up her few belongings, and remarked that she -would send for her typewriter, she added: "Mr. Mitchison, of Manchester, -called, and wanted me to tell you that he'd already parted with the -shares you wired about last night. I asked who had bought them, but he -was pledged to secrecy. I believe that is all I need say, except that -you will find all your correspondence in good order, to be taken over by -my successor; and as you have declared so often that clever -stenographers are starving for want of employment, you will not be long -in obtaining one." - -With this she was off, and, hailing the first cab she saw (though in her -circumstances a cab was an extravagance), drove to Woburn Place, where -she lived in a back bedroom on the top floor of a cheap boarding-house. - -She remained only long enough, however, to change into one of the pretty -dresses left from last spring's wardrobe. Looking as if her home should -be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office of the -illustrated weekly in which she had been interested that morning. When -she inquired the address of _Titania's_ owner, she was told that all -business connected with the yacht would be done at the advertising -bureau of the paper. This was a blow, for the proposal that Joan had to -make was not, perhaps, of a kind suited to the taste of a mere -commonplace agent. She thought for a moment, and then said, with a -slight accent which she had learned through mimicking a girl at school: -"Well, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid we can't do business, then. I'm an -American girl; my name is Mordaunt. Grierson Mordaunt is my uncle. I -guess you've heard of him. I want to buy a yacht, in a hurry--my people -generally are in a hurry--and I thought this one might do. But if I -can't see the owner myself, it's no use. _Good_ morning." - -[Illustration: "Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of -Bloomsbury, she went to the office."] - -Before she had got half-way to the door the dapper manager of the -advertising bureau stopped her. Possibly an exception might be made in -her favour; he would write to his client. - -"Can you send the letter by district messenger?" shrewdly asked the -newly-fledged Miss Mordaunt. - -The manager admitted that this could be done. To what hotel should he -transmit the answer? "I'm staying with friends, and I don't want them -to know about this till it's settled," said Joan. "I tell you what I'll -do: I'll wait here." - - - - -CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - - -She did wait, for three-quarters of an hour; and at the end of that time -the manager received a reply to his letter. In consequence, he told -Joan that Lady John Bevan would see her at Kensington Park Mansions. - -As soon as the girl heard the name of Lady John Bevan, she knew why the -yacht was for sale, and was hopeful that the eccentric proposition she -meant to make might be received with favour. Lord John Bevan was in -prison, for the crime of forgery, committed after losing a fortune at -Monte Carlo. - -Joan took another cab to Kensington Park Mansions--a mean shelter for a -woman whose environment had once been brilliant. But Lady John, a tall -and peculiarly elegant woman, shone out like a jewel in an unworthy -setting. The two women looked at each other with admiration, and there -was eagerness in the elder's voice as she said: "You want to buy the -_Titania_, Miss Mordaunt?" - -"I'm not sure yet, till I've tried, to see how I like her," replied -Joan. "That's fair, isn't it? What I want, if I see the yacht, take -fancy to her, and we can come to terms, is to hire the _Titania_ for a -while. Then, at the end of that time, if I don't buy her myself, I'll -sell her for you to somebody else; that's a promise. What would you want -for your yacht for a couple of months, all in working order, and the -captain and crew's money included?" - -"Five hundred pounds," returned Lady John. "You can see her at Cowes." - -"Well, I don't mind telling you that's more than I expected. I'm G. B. -Mordaunt's niece, and some day I suppose I shall be one of the richest -women in America, but my money's tied up till I'm twenty-five. I've only -an allowance, and Uncle Grierson, who is my guardian, is hard as nails. -I'll tell you what I can do, though. I have some shares which are worth -a lot of money, but I don't want to deal with them myself, as their -value is a secret, and my uncle would be mad with me if he knew I was -using it. What I was going to say is this. The shares I speak of are -worth mighty little to those who aren't 'in the know,' and a lot to -those who are. If you'll call to-morrow morning at ten o'clock on a -stockbroker in the City, whose address I'll give you, and tell him -you've a block of Clerios to dispose of, he'll jump at the offer. All -you must do is to stand firm, and you can get eight hundred pounds out -of him. If he says they're no good, just let your eyes twinkle and tell -him G. B. Mordaunt's niece has been talking to you. That will settle -Mr. George Gallon! Keep your five hundred for the yacht, and give the -three hundred change to me. Of course, this is provided I like the -yacht. You give me an order to see her at Cowes. I'll start at once, -wire you what I think of her, and, if it's all right, I'll call here -first thing in the morning with the share certificates." - -Carried away by the girl's magnetism and dash, Lady John Bevan would -have said "Yes" to almost anything. She said "Yes" now with a -promptness which surprised herself when she thought of it afterwards, by -the cold light of reason. - -Joan arrived at Cowes before dark, and was delighted with the _Titania_ -and her crew. She wired her approval to Lady John, and telegraphed Tommy -Mellis, asking him to meet her at Waterloo for the eleven o'clock train -from Southampton, bringing the share certificates which had that morning -been Mitchison's. She was sure that Tommy would not fail, and he did -not. They had supper together in the grill-room of the Carlton, as Joan -was not in evening dress. She told him all she chose to tell, and no -more; and thus ended the busiest day of Joan Carthew's life. - -The transaction in which Lady John Bevan was to act as catspaw came off -next morning as the girl had expected, and she would have given -something handsome if she could have seen George Gallon's face when he -found himself obliged to pay, for the very shares he had expected to -obtain yesterday, four times what he had intended to offer Mitchison. -His profit would now be small, when the great _coup_ came off; still, he -could not afford to refuse the chance, and Joan knew it. Some day, she -meant that he should also know to whom he owed his defeat; but that day -was not yet. - -For the shares sold by Mitchison he had received two hundred pounds. A -like sum Joan agreed to place in Tommy's hands, as part profit of the -transaction; and when Lady John Bevan was paid for the two months' hire -of the _Titania_, the girl would have a hundred pounds over, to "play -with," as she expressed it to herself. The other shares which Mitchison -was pledged to obtain from Genoa would be available within the next few -days, and Joan had made up her mind what to do with them by and by. She -had had several inspirations since overhearing snatches of conversation -between her employer and his Italian visitor yesterday morning, and one -of these inspirations concerned Lady John Bevan. - -Lady John was pitied by the old friends in the old life from which -poverty and misfortune had removed her. People would have been glad to -be "nice" to her in any cheap way which did not cost too much money or -trouble, if she had let them. But the woman was a proud woman, who -still loved her husband in spite of his guilt, and she had not cared to -go out of her hired flat in Kensington to be patronised by the world -which had once flattered and fought for her invitations. Joan guessed -as much of this as she did not know, and when Lady John wished her, -rather wistfully, a "pleasant cruise," the girl said suddenly: "Come -along and be my chaperon! My aunt Caroline, Uncle Grierson Mordaunt's -sister, came to England with me; but she hates the sea, and flatly -refuses to do any yachting. I'm not sorry, because she's a prim old -dear, and what I want is to see a little life and fun. I've been kept -very close till now, and though I'm of age, I'm only just out, so I -don't know many people, and you would be sure to meet lots of nice -friends of yours, to whom you'd introduce me. It's so foggy and horrid -here now; I'm going to make straight for the Riviera with the _Titania_, -and it will do you good. Please come." - -Lady John could not resist the prospect, or that "Please," spoken -cooingly, with lovely, pleading eyes and a childlike touch on her arm. -Besides, she was fond of the _Titania_, and before she quite knew what -she was doing, she had promised to chaperon Grierson Mordaunt's niece. - -Considering the way in which she was handicapped by false pretences and -shortness of cash, Joan could not have done better for herself. She -told Lady John that she had had a disagreement with the friends with -whom she had been staying, and wished to be recommended to a hotel for -the few days before they could get off on the _Titania_. Of course, Lady -John invited her to the flat, and the girl accepted. She asked her new -chaperon's advice about dressmakers and milliners for the Riviera -outfit, which must be got together in a hurry. Lady John had paid all -her own bills after the crash, with money grudgingly supplied by -relations, and was still in the "good books" of the tradespeople she had -once lavishly patronised. Introduced by her as a niece of the -well-known American millionaire, Joan had unlimited credit to procure -unlimited pretty things. Everything had to be bought ready made; and at -the end of the week the steam-yacht _Titania_, with "Miss Jenny -Mordaunt" and Lady John Bevan on board, was bounding gaily over the -bright waters of the Bay. A few days later, the _Titania_ made one of a -colony of other yachts lying snugly in Nice harbour. - -Now, Joan's wisdom in the choice of a chaperon justified itself even -more pointedly than when it had been a question of a pilot among shoals -of tradespeople. Lady John believed in her young charge, whose -statements concerning her engaging self it had never occurred to the -elder woman to doubt. Having undertaken the duties of a chaperon, she -was conscientious in carrying them out, and lost no time in picking up -old friendships which might be valuable to Miss Mordaunt--just how -valuable, or in what way, Lady John little dreamed. - -Not only did she know a number of rich and titled English folk, who had -come out to spend the cold months at their villas, or in fashionable -hotels, at Nice, Monte Carlo, and Mentone, but she could claim -acquaintance with various foreign royalties and personages of high -degree. These latter especially were delighted to meet the beautiful -American girl, who was so rich and independent that she travelled about -the world on her own yacht. It was nobody's business that the _Titania_ -was but hired for two months, since it was Miss Mordaunt's pleasure to -pose as the owner. The name of the yacht had been changed, for politic -reasons, since gay Lord John had careered about the waterways of the -world in her; she had been newly decorated, and the colour of her paint -had undergone a change, therefore she could pass unrecognised by all -save experts. Joan and her chaperon kept "open house" on board. The -luncheon-table was always laid for twelve, in case any one strolled on -in the morning whom it would be agreeable to detain. On fine days--and -what days were not fine on these shores beloved of the sun?--tea was -always served on deck under the rose-and-white awning; and Russian -princes, Austrian barons and baronesses, French counts and countesses, -with a sprinkling of the English nobility, came early and stayed late to -drink the Orange Pekoe and eat the exquisite little cakes provided by -the confiding tradespeople of Nice. Joan paid for nothing, and got -everything. Was she not a great American heiress, and was not the yacht -alone a guarantee of her trustworthiness? - -Not even the owners of famous American yachts lying alongside suspected -the girl to be other than she seemed, though they were of the world in -which Grierson Mordaunt was prominent. He was not a man who made -intimate friends, and none of those who knew him best had any reason to -doubt that he had a pretty niece named Jenny. Concerning the great -Mordaunt himself Joan kept posted as to his whereabouts. She read the -papers and followed his movements in Florida; therefore she felt safe -and pursued her business more or less calmly. - -For it was business more than pleasure which had brought the girl on -this adventure, though she knew how to combine the two. Her hospitality, -her breakfasts, her tea and cakes, her lavish dinners, were not supplied -to her guests for nothing, though they were not aware that they were -paying save by the honour of their presence. When Joan had established -friendly relations with a person worth cultivating (she abjured all -others), her next step was to drop a careless word about a wonderful -"tip" she had got from Grierson Mordaunt. "It's all in the family," she -would say, laughing, "or he would never have given it away; and, of -course, I mustn't. He just said to me: 'Buy up a certain thing while you -can get it,' and I did. My goodness! I've got more than I know what to -do with, for, after all, I had more money than I wanted before. By and -by I shall be _too_ rich. Mercy! I'm afraid now of being married for -my money." - -Then the hearers, dazzled by this fairy story, wondered whether they -might possibly ask Miss Mordaunt if they could profit by the marvellous -"tip," and pick up a few crumbs from her overflowing table. If Joan had -hawked her wares, no doubt these people would have fought shy; but as -the object was difficult of attainment and must be manoeuvred for, -according to the way of the world they struggled for it with eagerness. -As soon as Joan could decently appear to understand, in her innocence, -what her dear friends were driving at, she was so "good-natured" that -she volunteered to sell them a few of her own shares. The only promise -she exacted in return was that nobody would boast of the favour granted. -The shares which she had bought at a low price--not yet paid--she sold -for three times their face value, sent half the profit to Tommy Mellis -as she got it in, and pocketed her own half. She was thus able to pay -the tradespeople who had trusted her, and to lay in coal for the trips -round the coast which the _Titania_ often took with a few distinguished -passengers. - -The girl could have sung for joy over the success of her adventure. In -the end she would cheat nobody; she would make a decent sum for herself, -and meanwhile she was drinking the intoxicating nectar of excitement. -She was so happy that when she had finished her business, sold all her -shares, and the two months for which the _Titania_ was hired were -drawing to an end she longed to stay on. She was her own mistress, and -could pay her way now--at least, for awhile, until she had another -stroke of luck, which her confidence in herself enabled her to count -upon as certain. She and Lady John were having a "good time," everybody -liked them, and she did not see why this good time should not go on -indefinitely. Besides, she had promised to sell the yacht for its -owner. The two ladies of the _Titania_ had invitations for a month -ahead, and one evening were dressed and waiting for the arrival of an -English bishop, a Roman prince, two American trust magnates, and a -French duchess and her daughter, when the name of Mr. Grierson Mordaunt -was announced. - -Joan's blood rushed to her head, but she stood up smiling. "Leave us -for a minute, dear," she breathed to Lady John, who slipped off to her -cabin unsuspectingly. The girl found herself facing a grizzled, -smooth-shaven man with a prominent chin, a large nose, and deep eyes of -iron grey which matched his hair and faded skin. - -"So you are the young woman who has been trading on a supposed -relationship to me?" remarked Grierson Mordaunt, looking her up and down -from head to foot. - -"We are related--through Adam," replied Joan, whose lips were dry. "As -for 'trading' on the relationship, I'm proud of it, and I don't see why -you should be ashamed of me. I've done nothing to disgrace you." - -"What is your game, that you should have selected my particular branch -of the Adam family?" - -"Because I have one of your family secrets. If you are going to disown -me, there's no reason why I shouldn't give it away." - -"What are you talking about?" - -"Clerios. You aren't ready for the secret of that deal to come out yet, -are you? I saw in the paper the other day that you had denied any -intention of taking the Clerio line into your combine. It was the same -paper that said you had just returned to New York from Florida." - -"You are an adventuress, my young friend." - -"Every seeker of fortune is an adventurer or an adventuress. The crime -is, failure. I'm not a criminal, because I am succeeding, and my success -has enabled me to meet my obligations. If you don't think that I was -justified in claiming relationship with you through so remote an -ancestor in common as Adam, you can make the rest of my stay here very -uncomfortable, I admit; and if you have no fellow-feeling for a -beginner, I suppose you will do it." - -"How long do you intend your stay to be?" inquired Mordaunt grimly, but -with a twinkle in his eye. - -"How long do you want it kept dark about Clerios?" - -"A fortnight." - -"Then I should like very much, if you don't mind, to stop here a -fortnight." - -The great man laughed. "You've the pluck of--the Evil One!" he -ejaculated. "I was in Paris, and read about one of my niece's smart -dinner-parties, so I came on--especially to see you. Now----" - -"Now you are here, won't you stop to one of the dinner-parties? Some -very nice people are coming this evening." - -"And play the part of fond uncle? No, I thank you. But, by Jove! I'm -hanged if I don't go away without unmasking you. You may bless your -pretty face and your smart tongue for that----" - -"And the family secret." - -"That's part of it, but not all. I give you a fortnight's grace. Mind, -not a day more; and respect the character you've stolen meanwhile, or -the promise doesn't stand. This day fortnight you clear out, and Miss -Jenny Mordaunt must never be heard of again." - -"It's a bargain," said Joan. "By some other name I shall be as great." - -"So long as it's not mine. Have you done well with Clerios?" - -"Pretty well, thank you. I was a little hampered for lack of capital. -I might get you a few shares here in Nice, if you like; not cheap, -exactly--still, a good deal lower than they will be a fortnight from -now." - -"Much obliged. You needn't trouble yourself. But I shall keep my eye -on you." - -"I shall consider it a compliment," said Joan, "and try to be worthy of -it." - -"Good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - -When he was gone, Joan sank into a chair and closed her eyes. It would -have been a comfort to faint, but the first guest arrived at that -moment, and she rose to them and to the occasion. The dinner was a -great success, and every one was grieved to hear that the _Titania_ was -due to steam away--for a destination unmentioned--in a fortnight. - - - - -CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - - -Joan had no difficulty in selling _Titania_ for Lady John Bevan, to a -Swiss millionaire, the proprietor of a popular chocolate, who was -disporting himself on the Riviera that winter. The yacht was to be -delivered to him at Corsica, so that when the charming Miss Mordaunt and -her chaperon steamed out of Nice Harbour, none of those who bade them -farewell needed to know that _Titania_ was to be disposed of. If they -found out afterwards, it did not matter much to Joan. After her the -Deluge. - -The girl had grown fond of Lady John Bevan, and could not bear to -exchange her friend's warm affection and gratitude for contempt. -Therefore she made up a pretty little fiction about an unexpected -summons to America, and parted from Lady John, with mutual regret, at -Ajaccio. Joan's one grief in this connexion was that Miss Mordaunt -would scarcely be able to keep her promise to write from New York; but -this grief was only one of the rain-drops in that "deluge" which had to -fall after the vanishing of the American heiress. - -If she had been prudent, Joan might have come out of this adventure with -a small fortune after sending Tommy Mellis his share of the spoil; but -she had been intoxicated with success, and had spent lavishly, as money -came from the sale of the shares. She made a good commission on the -"deal" with the yacht, which she sold for a somewhat larger sum than -Lady John had asked; but where a less generous young person might have -closed the episode with thousands, Joan Carthew had only hundreds. She -had also, however, many smart dresses, some jewellery, and the memory of -an exciting experience. Besides, the money she kept had been got -easily, in addition to the joy of her adventure. - -It had been in the girl's mind, perhaps, that she might, as Miss -Mordaunt, capture a fortune and a title; but in this regard, and this -only, the episode of the _Titania_ had proved a failure. She had had -plenty of proposals, to be sure; but the men who were rich were either -too old, too ugly, or too vulgar to suit the fastidious young woman who -called the world her oyster; and the titles laid at her feet were all -sadly in need of the gilding which a genuine American heiress might have -supplied for the sake of becoming a Russian princess or a French -_duchesse_. - -So Miss Mordaunt disappeared from the brilliant world where she had -glittered like a star; and at about the same time, Miss Joan Carthew -(who had nothing to conceal) appeared at her old quarters in Woburn -Place. She went back there for two reasons; indeed, Joan had bought her -experience of life too dearly to do anything without a reason. The -first was because she wished to lie hid for awhile, spending no -unnecessary money until the twilight of uncertainty should brighten into -the dawn of inspiration and show her the next step on the ladder which -she was determined to mount. The second reason was that the landlady--a -quite exceptional person for a landlady--had been kind, and Joan desired -to reward her. - -If the girl had not gone back to Woburn Place, her whole future might -have been different. But--she did go back, and arrived in the midst of -a crisis. Since Joan had vanished, some months ago, bad luck had come -into the house and finally opened the door for the bailiff. - -Joan found the landlady in tears; but to explain the fulness of the -girl's sympathy, the landlady must be described. - -In the first place, she _was_ a lady; and she was young and pretty, -though a widow. Her husband had been the Honourable Richard -Fitzpatrick, the scapegrace son of a penniless Irish viscount. -"Dishonourable Dick," as he was sometimes nicknamed behind his back, had -gone to California to make his fortune, had naturally failed, but had -succeeded in marrying an exceedingly pretty girl, an orphan, with ten -thousand pounds of her own. He had brought her to England, had spent -most of her money on the race-course, and would have spent the rest, had -it not occurred to him that it would be good sport to do a little -fighting in South Africa. He had volunteered, and soon after died of -enteric. - -Meanwhile, the Honourable Mrs. Fitzpatrick was at a boarding-house in -Woburn Place, where the landlord and landlady were so kind to her that -she gladly lent them several hundred pounds, not knowing yet that she -had only a few other hundreds left out of her little fortune. - -Suddenly the blow fell. Within three days Marian Fitzpatrick learned -that she was a widow, that her dead husband had employed the short -interval of their married life in getting rid of almost everything she -had; and that, her landlord and landlady being bankrupt, she could not -hope for the return of the three-hundred-pound loan she had made them. - -It was finally arranged, as the best thing to be done, that she should -take over the lease of the boarding-house and try to get back what she -had lost, by "running" the establishment herself. - -Mrs. Fitzpatrick had just shouldered this somewhat incongruous burden, -when Joan Carthew had been attracted to the house by the brightness of -the gilt lettering over the door, and the pretty, fresh curtains in the -windows. Joan was nineteen, and Marian Fitzpatrick twenty-three. The -two had been drawn to one another with the first meeting of their eyes. -When, after a few weeks' acquaintance, the girl had been told the young -widow's story, her interest and sympathy were keenly aroused, for Joan's -heart was not hard except to the rich, most of whom she conceived to be -less deserving, if more fortunate, than herself. Now, when she came -back fresh from her triumphant campaign on the _Côte d'Azur_, to hear -that things had gone from bad to worse, all the latent chivalry in her -really generous nature was aroused. - -Joan was tall as a young goddess brought up on the heights of Olympus, -instead of at a French boarding-school. Despite the hardships and -wretchedness of her childhood, she was strong in body and mind and -spirit, with the strength of perfect nerves and a splendid vitality. -Marian Fitzpatrick, broken by disappointment, and worn by months of -anxiety, was fragile and white as a lily which has been bent by savage -storms, and the sight of her small, pale face and big, sad, brown eyes -fired the girl with an almost fierce determination to assume the _rôle_ -of protector. - -"I've got money," she reflected, in mental defiance of the Fate with -whom she had waged war since childish days, "and I can make more when -this is gone. I suppose I'm a fool, but I don't care a rap. I'm going -to help Marian Fitzpatrick, and perhaps make her fortune, as I mean to -make my own. But just for the present, mine can wait, and hers can't." - -Aloud, she asked Marian what sum would tide her over present -difficulties. Two hundred and fifty pounds, it appeared, were needed. -Joan promptly volunteered to lend, on one condition, but she was cut -short before she had time to name it. - -"Condition or no condition, you dear girl, I can't let you do it," -sobbed Marian. "I'm perfectly sure I could never pay. I'm in a -quicksand and bound to sink. Nobody can pull me out." - -"I can," said Joan; "and in doing it, I'll show you how to pay me. You -just listen to what I have to say, and don't interrupt. When I get an -inspiration, I tell you, it's worth hearing, and I've got one now. What -I want you to do is to give up trying to manage this house. You're too -young and pretty and soft-hearted for a landlady, and you haven't the -talent for it, though you have plenty in other ways, and one is, to be -charming. My inspiration will show you how best to utilise that -talent." - -Then Joan talked on, and at first Marian was shocked and horrified; but -in the end the force of the girl's extraordinary magnetism and -self-confidence subdued her. She ceased to protest. She even laughed, -and a stain of rose colour came back to her cheeks. It would be very -awful and alarming, and perhaps wicked, to do what Joan Carthew -proposed, but it would be tremendously exciting and interesting; and -there was enough youthful love of mischief left in her to enjoy an -adventure with a kind of fearful joy, especially when all the -responsibility was shouldered by another stronger than herself. - -The first thing to do towards the carrying out of the great plan was to -get some one to manage the boarding-house in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's place. -This was difficult, for competent and honest managers, male or female, -were not to be found at registry-offices, like cooks; but Joan was (or -thought she was) equal to this emergency as well as others. She sorted -out from the dismal rag-bag of her early Brighton experiences the memory -of a wonderful woman who had done something to make life tolerable for -her when she was the forlorn drudge of Mrs. Boyle's lodging-house at 12, -Seafoam Terrace. - -This wonderful woman had been one of two sisters who kept a rival -lodging-house in Seafoam Terrace. The Misses Witt owned the place, -consequently it was not improbable that they were still to be found -there, after these seven years; and as they had not always agreed -together, it seemed possible that the younger Miss Witt (the clever and -nice one, who had given occasional cakes and bulls'-eyes to Joan in -those bad old days) might be prevailed upon to accept an independent -position, with a salary, in London. - -Joan had always promised herself that, when she was rich and prosperous, -she would sweep into the house of her bondage like a young princess, and -bestow favours upon little Minnie Boyle, whom she had loved. But Lady -Thorndyke had not wished her adopted daughter even to remember the -sordid past; and after the death of her benefactress, the girl had not -until lately been in a position to undertake the _rôle_ of fairy -princess. Even now, to be sure, she was not rich, but she swam on the -tide of success, and she had at least the air of dazzling prosperity. -She dressed herself in a way to make Mrs. Boyle grovel, and bought a -first-class ticket, one Friday afternoon, for Brighton. She took her -seat in an empty carriage, and hardly had she opened a magazine when a -man got in. It was George Gallon; and if he had wished to get out again -on recognising his travelling companion, there would not have been time -for him to do so, as at that moment the train began to move out of the -station. - -These two had not seen each other since the eventful morning when Joan -had resigned her position as Mr. Gallon's secretary. She was not sure -whether she were sorry or glad to see him now, but the situation had its -dramatic element. George spoke stiffly, and Joan responded with -malicious cordiality. Knowing nothing of her identity with Grierson -Mordaunt's brilliant niece, long pent-up curiosity forced the man to ask -questions as to where she had been and what she had been doing. - -"I have an interest in a London boarding-house, and am going to Brighton -to try and engage a manageress," Joan deigned to reply, with a twinkle -under her long eyelashes. "I forgot that you would of course have kept -on the old place at Brighton. I suppose you are going down for the -week-end?" - -George admitted grimly that this was the case, and as Joan would give -only tantalising glimpses of her doings in the last few months, and -seemed inclined to put impish questions about the office she had left, -he took refuge in a newspaper. Joan calmly read her magazine, and not -another word was exchanged until the train had actually come to a stop -in the Brighton station. "Oh! by the way," the girl exclaimed then, as -if on a sudden thought. "It was I who got hold of those Clerios I -believe you had an idea of buying in so very cheap. I knew you could -afford to pay well if you wanted them. One gets these little tips, you -know, in an office like yours. That's why I snapped at your two pounds -a week. Good-bye. I hope you'll enjoy the sea air at dear Brighton." - -Before George Gallon could find breath to answer, she was gone, and he -was left to anathematise the hand-luggage which must be given to a -porter. By the time it was disposed of, the impertinent young woman had -disappeared. Yet there is a difference between disappearing and -escaping. Joan's little impulsive stab had made Gallon more her enemy -than ever, and perhaps the day might come when she would have to regret -the small satisfaction of the moment. - -But she had no thought of future perils, and drove in the gayest of -moods to Seafoam Terrace, where she stopped her cab before the door of -No. 12. There, however, she met disappointment. Her first inquiry was -answered by the news that Mrs. Boyle had died of influenza in the -winter, and the house had passed into other hands. The servant could -tell her nothing of Minnie; but the new mistress called down from over -the baluster, where she had been listening to the conversation, that she -believed the little girl had been taken in by the two Misses Witt next -door. - -Death had stolen from Joan a gratification of which she had dreamed for -years. Mrs. Boyle could never now be forced to regret past unkindnesses -to the young princess who had emerged like a splendid butterfly from a -despised chrysalis; but Minnie was left, and Joan had been genuinely -fond of Minnie. She had therefore a double incentive in hurrying to the -house next door. - -The nice Miss Witt herself answered the ring, and Joan had a few words -with her alone. She would be delighted to accept a good position in -London; and it was true that Minnie Boyle was there. She had taken -compassion on the child, who was as penniless and friendless as Joan had -been when last in Seafoam Terrace; but the elder Miss Witt wished to -send the little girl to an orphanage, and the difference of opinion, and -Minnie's presence in the house, led to constant discussion. "The only -trouble is," said the kindly woman, "that if I leave, sister will send -the little creature away." - -"She won't, because I shall take Minnie off her hands," retorted Joan, -with the promptness of a sudden decision. "Do let me see the poor pet." - -Minnie was nine years old, so small that she did not look more than six, -and so pathetically pretty that Joan saw at once how she might be fitted -into the great plan. She could do even more for the child now than she -had expected to do; and because the little one was poor and alone in the -world, as she herself had been, Joan's heart grew more than ever warm to -her playmate of the past. She made friends with Minnie, who had -completely forgotten her, and so bewitched the child with her beauty, -her kindness, and her smart clothes that Minnie was enchanted with the -prospect of going away with such a grand young lady. - -"I used to know some nice fairy stories when I was very, very little," -said the child. "This is like one of them." - -"I told you those fairy stories," returned Joan. "Now I am going to -make them come true." - - - - -CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - - -About the first of May, when Cornwall was at its loveliest, everybody -within twenty miles of Toragel (a village famed for its beauty and -antiquity, as artists and tourists know) was delighted to hear that Lord -Trelinnen's place was let at last, and to most desirable tenants. Lord -Trelinnen was elderly, and too poor to live at Roseneath Park, therefore -Toragel had long ceased to be interested in him; but it was intensely -interested in the new people, despite the fact that their advent was the -second excitement which had stirred the fortunate village within the -last year or two. - -The first had been the home-coming of Sir Anthony Pendered, the richest -man in the county, who had volunteered for the Boer war, raised a -regiment, and, when peace was declared, had come back to Torr Court -covered with honours. He was only a knight, and had been given his -title because of a valuable new explosive which he had discovered and -made practicable. He had grown enormously rich through his various -inventions, and, after an adventurous life of some thirty-eight years, -had bought a handsome place near his native village, Toragel. At first -the county had looked at him askance, but the South African affair had -settled all aristocratic doubts in his favour. About a year before the -letting of Roseneath Park he had been enthusiastically received by all -classes, and was still a hero in everybody's eyes; nevertheless, the -first excitement had had time to die down, and the county people and the -"best society" of the village united with more or less hidden eagerness -to know what poor old Lord Trelinnen's tenants would be like. - -The Trelinnen pew in the pretty church of Toragel was next to that where -Sir Anthony Pendered was usually (and his maiden sister always) to be -seen on Sunday mornings. The first Sunday after the new people's -arrival, the church was full; but service began, and still the Trelinnen -pew was empty. After all, the tenants of Roseneath Park (whom nobody had -seen yet) had come only yesterday. Perhaps they would not appear till -next Sunday; but just as the congregation was sadly resigning itself to -this conclusion, there was a slight rustle at the door. The first hymn -was being sung, therefore eyes were able to turn without too much -levity; and it is wonderful how much and how far an eye can see by -turning almost imperceptibly, particularly if it be the eye of a woman. - -Two ladies and a little girl were shown to the Trelinnen pew. Both -ladies were young; the elder could not have been more than twenty-three, -the younger looked scarcely nineteen. Both were in half-mourning; both -were beautiful. They were, in fact, no other than the Honourable Mrs. -Fitzpatrick, and her sisters, Miss Mercy and Mary Milton, these latter -being known in other circles as Joan Carthew and little Minnie Boyle. - -The child, who appeared to be about six years old, was charmingly -dressed, and exemplarily good during the service. As for her elders, -they were almost aggravatingly devout, scarcely raising their eyes from -their prayer-books, and never glancing about at their neighbours, not -even at Sir Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two more than he had -ever been known to look at any other women. This was saying a good -deal, because he was by no means a misanthrope, although he was forty -and had contrived to remain a bachelor. It was rumoured that he wished -to marry, if he could find a wife to suit him, though meanwhile he was -content enough with the society of his sister, who was far from -encouraging any matrimonial aspirations. - -When Marian and Joan and Minnie were driven back to Roseneath Park (in -the perfect victoria and by the splendid horses which advertised the -solid bank balance they did not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked -over their impressions. - -Minnie played with a French doll, that somewhat resembled herself in her -new white frock, with her quantities of yellow hair. Marian, leaning -back on a cushioned sofa, waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound, was -prettier and more distinguished-looking than she had ever been; while -Joan, as Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been recognised by those who -knew her best. Marian's maiden name had really been Milton, and "Mercy" -had been selected to fit the picture for which Joan had chosen to sit. -Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted meekly in the middle and -brought down over the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the nape of -her white neck. She was dressed as plainly as a young nun, and had the -air of qualifying for a saint. - -"Well, dear, what did you think of him?" she inquired of Marian. - -"Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing. - -"Oh, if you are going to be innocent! Well, then, of the distinguished -being whose name and qualifications I showed you in the _Mayfair Budget_ -a few days after I got back to England and you. The _eligible parti_, -in fact, whose residence near Toragel is responsible for our choice of -abode." - -"Joan! _Don't_ put it like that!" - -"'Mercy,' if you please, not Joan. And I've found out exactly what I -wanted to know. Your reception of my brutal frankness has shown me that -you like him. So far, so good." - -"I may like him, but that won't help your plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean, -I do feel such a wretch! That man looks so honest and frank and nice, -and he could hardly take his eyes off you in church. If he knew what -frauds we are!" - -"You are not a fraud, and it is you with whom he is concerned, or it -will be, as I'll soon show him, if necessary. Your name _is_ -Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are sisters--in affection. You haven't -a fib to tell; you've only got to be charming." - -"But it's you he admires. I told you it would be so. If one of us is -to be Lady----" - -"'Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed musically for lunch. - -Had it not been for the existence of innocent little Minnie, the county -might not have accepted the lovely sisters as readily as it did. Joan -had thought of that, as she thought of most things; and Minnie, the -_protégée_ of charity, was distinctly an asset. "A very good prop," as -Joan mentally called her, in theatrical slang which she had learned, -perhaps, from her long-vanished mother. - -The presence of Minnie in the feminine household gave a kind of -pathetic, domestic grace, which appealed even to tradespeople; and -tradespeople were extremely important in Joan's calculations. - -She had obtained credentials, upon starting on her new career, in a -characteristic way. Miss Jenny Mordaunt wrote to Lady John Bevan, asking -for a letter of introduction for a great friend of hers, the Honourable -Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to the solicitors who had charge of Lord Trelinnen's -affairs, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick wanted to take Roseneath Park. Jenny -Mordaunt's late chaperon gladly managed this. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called -upon her, and Lady John was charmed. She had known the "Dishonourable -Dick" slightly, years ago, had heard that he had married an heiress, and -marvelled now that he had been tolerated by so sweet a creature as this. -Lady John offered one or two letters of introduction to old friends in -Cornwall, and they were gratefully accepted. As the friends were not -intimate, and as Lady John detested the country, except when hunting or -shooting was in question, there was little danger that she would -inopportunely appear on the scene and recognise the saintly Mercy Milton -as the late Miss Mordaunt. - -Everybody called on the fair, lilylike young widow and her very modest, -retiring, unmarried sister--everybody, that is, with the exception of -Miss Pendered, who pleaded, when her brother urged, that she was too -much of an invalid to call on new people. Soon, however, he boldly went -by himself, excusing his sister with some tale of rheumatism which she -would have indignantly resented. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were -surrounded with other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced, -and he was just in time to hear a glowing account of the orphaned -sisters' "dear old California home," which Joan had learned by heart, -partly from Marian's reminiscences, partly from a book. - -[Illustration: "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by -other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."] - -"When father and mother died, little Minnie and I were the loneliest -creatures you can imagine," the gentle Mercy was saying. "Dear Marian -had just lost her husband, and so she wrote for us to join her. It is so -nice having a home in the country again. We both felt we couldn't be -happy without one, and we chose Cornwall because we thought it the -loveliest county in England. We are very glad we did, now, for everybody -has been _so_ kind." - -She might have added "and the trades-people _so_ trusting"; but on that -subject she was silent, though she intended that they should go on -trusting indefinitely. Indeed, thus far the scheme worked almost too -easily to be interesting. - -Sir Anthony Pendered outstayed the other visitors, and he stopped -unconscionably long for a first call; but that was the fault of his -hostesses, who made themselves so charming that the man lost count of -time--and perhaps lost his head a little, also. At first it seemed that -Marian's impression was right, and that, despite Mercy's retiring ways, -it was the young girl who attracted him. This made Marian secretly sad; -for when she had seen Sir Anthony looking up from his prayer-book in the -adjoining pew, she had said in her heart, with a sigh: "How good he -would be to a woman! How he would pet her and take care of her! To be -his wife would be very different from----" but she had guiltily broken -short that sentence in the midst. - -Persuaded and fired by Joan, she had entered into this adventure. She -had even laughed when Joan selected the neighbourhood of Toragel because -a Society paper announced the advent of a particularly desirable -bachelor. "You will be the prettiest and nicest woman in the county, of -course; therefore, he will fall in love with you and propose. He will -marry you; you will live happy ever after; and you will be able to pay -all the debts that we shall have run up in the process of securing him," -the girl had remarked. But now, when the "desirable bachelor" had -become a living entity, and she felt her heart yearning towards him, -Marian's conscience grew sore. Still, though she told herself that she -could not carry out the plan and try to win Sir Anthony Pendered, it was -a blow to see him prefer Joan. - -The symptoms of his admiration were equally displeasing to the girl. -She was deliberately effacing herself for this episode; while it lasted, -she was to be merely the "power behind the throne." Knowing that she -was more strikingly beautiful and brilliant than Marian Fitzpatrick, she -had studied how to reduce her fascinations, that Marian might outshine -her. Evidently she had not entirely succeeded; but during that first -call of Sir Anthony's, she quickly, surreptitiously changed a -diamond-ring from her right hand to the "engaged" finger of her left, -flourished the newly adorned member under his eyes, and spoke, with a -conscious simper, of "going back some day to California to live." Sir -Anthony did not misunderstand, and as he had not yet tumbled over the -brink of that precipice whence a man falls into love, he readjusted his -inclinations. After all, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was as pretty, he thought, and -certainly more sympathetic. He was glad that Minnie was her sister, and -not her child. Though he had always said he would not care to marry a -widow, this case was different from any that he had imagined, for Mrs. -Fitzpatrick had only been married a year or two when her husband died, -and she had soon awakened from her girlish fancy for the man--so Miss -Milton had guilelessly confided to him. - -Thanks to this, and much further "guilelessness" of the same kind on the -part of the meek maiden, Sir Anthony Pendered discovered, before the -sisters had been for many weeks tenants of Roseneath Park, that he was -deeply in love with Marian Fitzpatrick. Accordingly, he proposed one -June afternoon, amid the ruins of a storied castle overhanging the sea. -Joan had got up a picnic to this place expressly to give him the -opportunity which she felt triumphantly sure he was seeking, and she was -naturally annoyed with Marian when she discovered that the young widow -had asked for "time to think it over." - -"You little idiot! Why didn't you fall into his arms and say -'Yes--yes--_yes_'?" the girl demanded, in Marian's bedroom, when they -had come home towards evening. - -"Because I love him, and because I'm a fraud!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh! -I know what you must think of me. I haven't played straight with you, -either. You've done everything for me. I was to make this match; and -the rent of this place, and our horses and carriages, the payment of all -the tradespeople on whom we've been practically living, depend on my -catching the splendid 'fish' you've landed for me. You've lent me a lot -of money; and what you had left when we came here, you've been -spending----" - -"I've spread it like very thin butter on very thick bread, to make the -hundreds look like thousands. To carry off a big _coup_ like this, one -must have _some_ ready money," broke in Joan, with a queer little smile -at her own cleverness, and the thought of where it would land her if -Marian's "conscientious scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We -_shall_ be in rather a scrape if you won't marry Sir Anthony--and you're -made for each other, too. But never mind, we shall get out of it -somehow. At worst, we can disappear." - -"And leave everything unpaid, and let him and everybody know we are -adventuresses!" exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears. - -"Don't cry, dear; don't worry; and don't decide anything," said Joan. -"I have an idea." - -She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse the violent headache which the -battle between heart and conscience had brought on. When it was certain -that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would not appear again that evening, she sent a -little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as fortunately Torr Count was the -next estate to Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once. It is very -important that I should see you," wrote the decorous Mercy. - -Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of dinner when the communication -arrived, and to his sister's disgust he begged her to excuse him, as it -was necessary to go out immediately on business. - -"That adventuress has sent for you!" Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed. -"She has got you completely in her net. I don't believe those three are -sisters. They don't look in the least alike, and it is all very well to -say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child's accent. I have heard her talk -more like a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you there is something -wrong, very wrong, about them all." - -"I advise you not to tell any one else, then," answered Anthony Pendered -furiously--"that is, unless you wish to break off for ever with me. -This afternoon I asked the 'adventuress,' as you dare to call her, to -marry me, and she refused. I had to plead before she would even promise -to think it over." With this he left his sister also to "think it -over," and decide that, between two evils, it might be wise to choose -the less. - -Marian's lover could not guess why Marian's younger sister had sent for -him, and his anxiety increased when he saw the gravity of the girl's -face. - -"Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered. - -"A little, because she is unhappy; but you can make her well again--if -you choose," replied Joan inscrutably. - -"Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested. - -"Wait," said she, "and listen to what I have to say. Poor Marian is the -victim of her own goodness and sweet nature; and because she swore to me -that she would never tell the story of our past, she feels it would be -wrong to marry you. I cannot let her suffer for Minnie and me, so I am -now going to tell you, myself. But on this condition--if you do decide -that you want her for your wife in spite of all, you will never once -mention the subject to Marian. I will inform her that you know the -truth and that she is not to speak of it to you. Is that a bargain?" - -"Yes; but you needn't tell me the story unless you like. I'm sure _she_ -is not to blame for anything," replied the man, who was now thoroughly -in love with Marian, even to the point of wondering what he had ever -seen in Mercy. - -"Certainly it is not she; but as she thinks it is, it amounts to the -same thing. The facts are these: Dear, good Marian took pity on Minnie -and me in a London boarding-house, where we chanced to meet after her -widowhood. She had decided to come here to live, because she longed for -the country, but had not meant to take as grand a house as this, as she -had just found out that her dead husband had spent most of her fortune. -I implored her to bring Minnie and me to her new home, and give me a -good chance of getting into society by introducing us as her sisters. -She was rather a 'swell'--at least, she had married an 'Honourable,' and -we were nobodies. The poor darling finally consented to handicap -herself with us. I had a little money, too, which had--er--come to me -through a lucky investment, and I was so anxious to live at Roseneath -Park that I made Marian (who is most unbusiness-like) believe that -together we would have enough to take the place. I am supposed to be -practical, and so the management of everything has been left to me. I -have paid scarcely anything, except the servants' wages, so you see what -I have brought my poor Marian down to. The only atonement I can make is -to try and save her happiness by confessing my wrongdoing to you and -begging that you will not visit it on her." - -"I certainly will not do that," said Sir Anthony Pendered quickly. "As -you say, her one fault has been a kindness of heart almost amounting to -weakness, which, in my eyes, makes her more lovable than ever. As for -the loss of her money, that matters nothing to me. I have more than I -want, and----" - -"You'll pay everything, without betraying me to Marian? Oh! I don't -deserve it; but _do_ say you will do that, and I will relieve you of my -presence near your _fiancée_ as soon as possible, as a reward. I know -that, after what I have told you, it would be an embarrassment to you to -see me with Marian, because as you are _very_ chivalrous, you could not -let people know I was not really her sister. I will disappear, and -every one can think I have been suddenly called out to my Californian -lover to be married." - -"Doesn't he exist?" questioned Sir Anthony, looking at her "engaged" -finger and thinking of the matrimonial schemes she had just confessed. - -"Not in California. But as I haven't been a success here, I may decide -to be true to the person who gave me this ring." (She had bought it -herself.) "Now that I've promised to go out of Marian's life for ever, -you'll guard her happiness by seeing that everything is straightened -here--financially?" - -"I shall be only too delighted, if you will tell me how to manage it -without my name appearing in the matter." - -"We--ll, if you'd trust the money to me, I'd use it honestly to pay our -debts, and give you all the receipts." - -"So it shall be." - -"You're a--a brick, Sir Anthony. The only difficulty left then is about -poor little Minnie, of whom Marian is really very fond. People might -gossip if Marian let her youngest sister go back to California with me; -for as we are supposed to be so nearly related, surely it would be -better to save a scandal and let--well, let sleeping sisters lie?" - -"If Marian is truly fond of Minnie, there will be plenty of room for the -child at Torr Court, and she will be welcome to stay there, as far as I -am concerned. I must say, Miss--er--Milton, that I think the child will -be better off under our guardianship than in the care of her real -sister." - -"You _are_ good, and I quite agree with you," responded Joan meekly, far -from resenting his look of stern reproach. "When you've trusted me with -that money to pay things, and I hand you the receipts, I'll hand you -also a written undertaking never to trouble you or--Lady Pendered. You -would like me to do that, wouldn't you?" - -"I--er--perhaps something of the kind might be advisable," murmured Sir -Anthony. - -When he had gone, the girl chuckled and clapped her hands. Then she ran -to a looking-glass. "You're not exactly stupid, my dear," she -apostrophised her saintly reflection. "You've provided splendidly for -Marian and you've saved her sensitive conscience. _Her_ slate is clean. -As for Minnie, she will be all right until the time comes, if it ever -does, that you can do better for her. As for yourself--well, you can -leave Marian a couple of hundred for pocket-money, and still get out of -this with something on which to start again. You've finished with Mercy -Milton, thank goodness! and--it _will_ be a relief to do your hair -another way." - -Two days later, Joan Carthew had turned her back upon Toragel, and Mrs. -Fitzpatrick's engagement to Sir Anthony Pendered was announced. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - - -Joan went straight from Cornwall to London and the Bloomsbury -boarding-house in which some of her curiously earned money was invested. -All was to begin over again now; but to the girl this idea brought -inspiration rather than discouragement, for the world was still her -oyster, if she could open it, and experience had already taught her some -dexterity in the use of the knife. At this house in Woburn Place she -had the right to live without paying, while she "looked round," and Miss -Witt, who owed her present position to Joan, was only too delighted to -welcome her benefactress. - -The place was doing well, and the corner of difficulty had been turned; -this was the news the manager-housekeeper had to give Joan. Every room -but one was full, and so far the boarders seemed to be "good pay," with -perhaps a single exception. - -"There's only the little top floor back that's empty," cheerfully went -on Miss Witt. "Of course, I will take that and give you mine." - -"You'll do nothing of the sort, my dear woman," said Joan. "I like -running up and down stairs. It does me good. Besides, I'd rather be at -the back. There's a tree, or something that once tried hard to be a -tree, to look at, as I know well, for the room used to be mine; so -there's no use talking any more about that matter--it's settled. You -stay where you are, and I will rise, like cream, to the top. Now tell -me about this doubtful person you are afraid won't pay. Is it a man or -a woman?" - -"A woman," replied Miss Witt, "and one of the strangest beings I ever -saw. It is a great comfort to me that you are here, miss, for you can -decide what is to be done about her. She hasn't paid her board for a -fortnight, but she keeps pleading that as soon as she is well, and can -go out, she will get remittances which have been delayed." - -"Oh, she is ill, then?" - -"So she says. But I'm not sure, miss, it isn't just an excuse to work -upon my compassion, for why should she have to go out for remittances? -She stops in her room, lying upon a sofa, and makes a deal of bother -with her meals being carried up so many pairs of stairs, though it's -hardly worth while her having them at all, she eats so little. Yet she -doesn't look a bit different from what she did when she was supposed to -be well and going about as much like anybody else as one of her sort -could _ever_ do." - -"What do you mean?" asked Joan, whose curiosity was fired. - -"Only that she is, and was, more a ghost than a human being, with her -great, hollow, black eyes, like burning coals, set deep under her thick -eyebrows and overhanging forehead; with her thin cheeks--why, miss, they -almost meet in the middle--her yellow-white skin, her tall, gliding -figure and stealthy way of walking, so that you never hear a sound till -she's at your back." - -"Queer kind of boarder," commented Joan. - -"That she is, miss; and when she applied for a room, I would have said -we were full up, but in those days we had several of our best rooms -empty, and, strange as she was, her clothes were so good, and the -luggage on the four-wheeler waiting outside was so promising, as you -might say, that it did seem a pity to send away two guineas a week -because Providence had given it a scarecrow face. So I showed her the -best back room on the top floor----" - -"Next to mine," cut in Joan. - -"If you will have it so, miss; and there she's been for the last six -weeks, not having paid a penny since the end of the first month." - -"What is the ghost's name and age?" the girl went on with her catechism. - -"Her name, if one was to take her word, which I'm far from being certain -of, is Mrs. Gone; and as for her age, miss, she might be almost anywhere -between fifty and a hundred." - -"What a clever old lady!" laughed the girl. "Well, we can't turn the -poor wretch away while she's ill, if she is ill, can we? I know too -well what it is to be alone in the world and down on your luck, to be -hard on anybody else, especially a woman. We must give Mrs. Gone the -benefit of the doubt for a little while. But your description has quite -interested me; I should like to see this ghost who doesn't walk." - -"The house is the same as yours, miss," said Miss Witt. "You have the -right to go into her room at any time, more particularly as she hasn't -paid for it." - -"Perhaps I'll carry up her dinner this evening, by way of an excuse," -returned Joan--"if you think she could bear the shock of seeing a -strange face." - -Upon this, Miss Witt, who adored the girl, protested that, in her -opinion, the sight of such a face could only be a pleasure to any person -and in any circumstances. Joan laughed at the compliment, but she did -not forget her intention. Mrs. Gone's meals were usually taken up a few -minutes before the gong summoned the guests to the dining-room, because -it was easier to spare a servant then than later, and it was just after -the dressing-bell had rung that the girl knocked at the "ghost's" door. - -Joan was surprised to find her heart quickening its beats as she waited -for a bidding to "Come in!" One would think that a sight of this old -woman who would not pay her board was an exciting event! She smiled at -herself, but the smile faded as she threw open the door in answer to a -faint murmur on the other side. Miss Witt's sketch of Mrs. Gone had not -been an exaggeration. - -There she lay on a sofa by the window, her face gleaming white in the -twilight; and it was a wonderful face. A shiver went creeping up and -down Joan's spine, as a flame leaped out from the shadowy hollows of two -sunken eyes to hers. - -"This woman has been some one in particular--some one extraordinary," -the girl thought quickly; and as politely as if she had addressed a -duchess, she explained her intrusion. "The servants were busy, and I -offered to carry up your dinner," Joan said. "I arrived only to-day; -and as Miss Witt looks upon me as a sort of proprietor, she told me how -ill you have been. I hope you are better." - -The old woman with the strange face looked steadily at the beautiful -girl in the pretty, simple, evening frock which was to grace the -boarding-house dinner. "Did Miss Witt tell you nothing else?" she -asked, in a voice which would have made the fortune of a tragic actress -in the death scene of some aged queen. - -"She told me that she was afraid you were in trouble," promptly answered -Joan, who had her own way of dressing the truth. By this time the girl -had entered the room, set the tray on a table near the sofa, and taking -a rose from her bodice, laid it on the pile of plates. This she did on -the impulse of the moment, not with a preconceived idea of effect, and -she was rewarded by a slight softening of the tense muscles round the -once handsome mouth. - -"I hope you like roses?" she asked. - -"Yes," Mrs. Gone answered brusquely. "Why do you give it to me?" - -"Because I'm sorry you are ill, and perhaps lonely," said Joan, able for -once to account for an action without a single mental reserve. "I have -had a good deal of worry in my life, and can sympathise with others, as -I told Miss Witt when she spoke of you. One reason why I came was to say -that you needn't distress yourself about your indebtedness to this -house. Try to get well, and pay at your convenience. You shall not be -pressed." - -Joan had not meant to say all this when she arranged to have a sight of -Mrs. Gone. She had merely wished to satisfy her curiosity; but now she -felt impelled to utter these words of encouragement--why, she did not -know, for she had not conceived any sudden fancy for the sinister old -woman. On the contrary, the white face, with its burning eyes and -secretive mouth, inspired her with something like fear. A woman with -such a face could not have many sweet, redeeming graces of character or -heart. There was, to supersensitive nerves, an atmosphere of evil as -well as mystery about her; but though Joan felt this, it gave a keener -edge to her interest. - -"Thank you," said Mrs. Gone. "You are kind, as well as pretty. I do -not like young people usually, but I might learn to like you. I hope -you will come again." - -The words were a dismissal and a compliment. Joan accepted them as both. -She promised to repeat her visit, and after lighting the shaded lamp on -the table, left Mrs. Gone to eat her dinner. - -The girl would have given much to lift the veil of mystery wrapped about -this woman's past and personality. She even boasted to herself that she -would find some way, sooner or later, at least to peep under its edge; -but day after day passed, and though she went often to Mrs. Gone's room, -and was always thanked for her kind attentions, she seemed no nearer to -attaining her object than at first. Beyond occupying a room which she -did not pay for, Mrs. Gone was not an expensive guest. She ate almost -nothing; and when Joan had been in Woburn Place for a week, the white -face with its burning eyes had become so drawn with suffering that in -real compassion the girl offered to call a doctor at her own expense. -But Mrs. Gone would not consent. "I hate doctors," she said. "No one -could tell me more about myself than I know." - -The girl's own affairs were absorbing enough, for she saw no new opening -yet for her ambition; still, she found time to think a great deal about -Mrs. Gone. "Am I a soft-hearted idiot, allowing myself to be imposed -upon by a professional 'sponge'?" she wondered; "or is there something -in my odd feeling that I shall be rewarded for all I do for this -extraordinary woman?" - -Such questions were passing through her mind one night when she had gone -to bed late, after being out at the theatre. She had been in Woburn -Place eight days, and was growing impatient, for none of the boarders -were of the kind to be used as "stepping-stones," and none of the -Society and financial papers, which she studied, afforded any hopeful -suggestion for another phase of her career. To be sure, the young man -with whom she had consented to go to the theatre was employed as a -reporter for a great London daily, and she had been "nice" to him, with -the vague idea that she might somehow be able to profit by his -infatuation; but at present she did not see her way, and it appeared -that she was wasting sweetness on the desert air. - -"I suppose," Joan said to herself, turning over her hot pillow, "that if -I were an ordinary girl, I might be contented to go on as I am. I can -live here for nothing, and get enough interest on the money I've put -into this concern to buy clothes and pay my way about, with strict -economy. All the men in the house are in love with me; and if they were -more interesting, that might be amusing. But I'm not born to be -contented with small people or things. I don't want clothes. I want -creations. I don't want the admiration of young men from the City. I -want to be appreciated by princes. I believe I must have been a -princess in another state of existence, for I always feel that the best -of everything is hardly good enough for me." - -As she thought this, half laughing, there came a sound from the next -room--that room which might have been the grave of the strange woman who -occupied it, so dead was the silence which reigned there day and night. -Never before had Joan heard the least noise on the other side of the -dividing wall, but now she was startled by a crash as of breaking glass, -followed by the dull, soft thud which could only have been made by the -fall of a human body. Joan sat up, her heart thumping, and it gave a -frightened bound as a groan came brokenly to her ears. - -She waited no longer, but slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin -_mules_, flung on her dressing-gown, and in another moment was out of -her room and in the dark passage, fumbling for the handle of the other -door. - -Mrs. Gone kept her door unlocked in the daytime, perhaps to save herself -the trouble of rising to admit servants, or her only visitor, Joan -Carthew; but the girl feared that it might not be so at night, and that -before she could penetrate the mystery of the fall and the groan, the -whole house would have to be disturbed. She was relieved, therefore, to -find that the door yielded to her touch. Pushing it open, she listened -for an instant, but only the dead silence throbbed in her ears. - -As she got into her dressing-gown, with characteristic presence of mind -Joan had caught up a box of matches and put it into her pocket. The -room was as dark as the passage outside, and the girl struck a match -before crossing the threshold. The little flame leaped and brightened. -Something on the floor glimmered white in the darkness, and Joan did not -need to bend down to know what it was. - -The gas was close to the door, and she lighted it with the dying match, -which burnt her fingers. Then she saw clearly what had happened. In -tottering uncertainly across the floor, Mrs. Gone had knocked over a -small table holding a china candlestick, a water-bottle, and a goblet. -She had fallen, and after uttering that one groan which had crept to -Joan's ears, she had lost consciousness. - -The girl's quick eyes sought for an explanation of the catastrophe. The -long, white figure lay at some distance from the bed, and near the -mantel. On the mantel stood a curiously shaped, dark green bottle, -which Joan had once been requested to give to Mrs. Gone. She had seen a -few drops of some colourless liquid poured into a wineglass of water; -and when it had been swallowed, the ghastly pallor of the face had -changed to a more natural tint. Mrs. Gone had then said that she took -the medicine when very ill. If she used it oftener, its effect would -disappear, and she would have nothing left to turn to at the worst. - -"It was that bottle she was trying to find in the dark," Joan guessed. -"She must have been too ill to try and light the gas. Now, how much was -it that I saw her pour out? It might have been ten drops--no more." - -So thinking, the girl filled a glass on the wash-handstand a third full -of water, measured ten drops of the medicine with a steady hand, and -raising Mrs. Gone's head, put the tumbler to her lips. The strong teeth -seemed clenched, but some of the liquid must have passed their barrier, -for the dark eyes opened wide and looked up into Joan's face. - -"Too late----" the woman panted, with a gurgling in the throat which -choked her words. "Dying--now. Wish that--you--you have been -kind--only one in the world. My secret--you might have--Lord Northmuir -would have given----" - -The voice trailed away into silence. The gurgle died into a rattle; the -woman's breast heaved and was still. Her eyes had not closed, but -though they stared into Joan's, the spark of life behind their windows -had gone out. Mrs. Gone was dead, and had taken her secret with her -into the unknown. - -Joan had never seen death before, but there was no mistaking it. Her -first impulse was to run downstairs, call Miss Witt and a young doctor -who had his office and bedroom on the dining-room floor. Nevertheless, -when she had laid the heavy head gently down and sprung to her feet, she -remained standing. - -For some minutes she stood motionless, almost rigid, her lips pressed -together, her eyes hard and bright. Then she struck one hand lightly -upon the other, exclaiming half aloud: "I'll do it!" - -It seemed certain by this time that no one had heard the crash of glass -and the fall which had alarmed her, for the house was still. -Nevertheless, Joan tiptoed to the door and bolted it. When she had done -this, she opened all the drawers of the dressing-table and searched them -carefully for papers. Discovering none, she left everything exactly as -she had found it. Next she examined the pockets of the three or four -dresses hanging in the wardrobe, but they were limp and empty. There -were still left the leather portmanteau and handbag which had appealed -to Miss Witt's respectful admiration. Both were locked, but Joan's -instinct led her to look under the pillows on the bed, and there lay a -key-ring. She was able to open portmanteau and bag, but not a paper of -any kind was to be seen, and the girl recalled a remark of Miss Witt's, -that never since Mrs. Gone had become a boarder in Woburn Place had she -been known to receive or send a letter. - -Having assured herself that no information was to be gained among the -dead woman's possessions, Joan unlocked the door and went softly -downstairs to rouse Miss Witt. She justified what she had done by reason -of Mrs. Gone's last words, for she believed that the dead woman would -have made her a present of the secret if she could. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - - -Awakened and informed of what had happened, the housekeeper called the -doctor, who looked at the body and certified that death had resulted -from failure of the heart, which must have been long diseased. Joan paid -for a good oak coffin and a decent funeral. She bought a grave at -Kensal Green and ordered a neat stone to be erected. If she had -previously earned Mrs. Gone's gratitude, she felt that she had now -merited any reward which might accrue in future, and the curious, -erasible tablet that did duty as her conscience was wiped clear. - -The morning after Mrs. Gone's funeral, the girl put on her favourite -frock of grey cloth, with a hat to match, which had been bought at one -of the most fashionable shops in Monte Carlo. This costume, with grey -gloves, grey shoes, and a grey chiffon parasol, ivory-handled, gave Joan -an air of quiet smartness, a combination particularly appropriate for -the adventure which she had planned. She hired a decorous brougham and -said to the coachman: "Drive to Northmuir House, Belgrave Square." - -It was but ten o'clock, and, as Joan had gleaned some information -concerning the habits of the occupant, she was confident that he would -be at home. Mrs. Gone had not been dead two hours when the girl began -searching through her own scrapbook, compiled of cuttings taken from -Society papers. Whenever she came across the description of any -important member of the aristocracy--his or her home life, manners, -fancies, and ways--she cut it out and pasted it into this book, in case -it should become valuable for reference. The moment that the dying -woman uttered the name of Northmuir, Joan's memory jumped to a paragraph -(one of the first that had gone into the scrapbook), and as soon as she -could shut herself up in the little back room, she had consulted her -authority. - -The Earl of Northmuir was, according to the paper from which the cutting -had been clipped, still the handsomest man in England, though now long -past middle age. Once he had been among the most popular also, but for -some years he had lived more or less in retirement, owing to illness and -family bereavements, seldom leaving his fine old town house in Belgrave -Square. - -"He'll be in London, and he won't be the sort of man to go out before -noon," Joan said to herself. - -Her heart was beating more quickly than usual, but her face was calm and -untroubled, as she stood on the great porch at Northmuir House, asking a -footman in sober livery if Lord Northmuir were at home. - -The girl in the grey dress and grey hat, with large, soft ostrich -feathers, might have been a young princess. Whatever she was, she -merited civility, and the servant, who could not wholly conceal -surprise, politely invited her to enter, while he inquired if his -Lordship could receive a visitor. "What name shall I say?" he asked. - -"Give him this, please," said Joan, handing the footman an envelope, -addressed to "The Earl of Northmuir." Inside this envelope was a sheet -of paper, blank, save for the words, "A messenger from Mrs. Gone, who is -dead"; and the death notice was enclosed. - -With this envelope the man went away, leaving her to wait in a large and -splendid drawing-room, where stiffness of arrangement betrayed the -absence of a woman's taste. - -Joan looked about appreciatively, yet critically. Then, when she had -gained an impressionist picture of the room, she glanced at the jewelled -watch on her wrist, a present from Lady John Bevan after the sale of the -_Titania_. - -What if Lord Northmuir had never known the dead woman under the name of -Gone? What if--there were many things which might go wrong, and Joan had -put her whole stake on a single chance. If she had been mistaken--but -as her mind played among surmises, the footman returned. - -"His Lordship will see you in his study, if you will kindly come this -way," the servant announced. - -Joan rose with quiet dignity and followed the man along a pillared hall -to a closed door. "The lady, my lord," murmured the footman, in opening -it. Joan was left alone with a singularly handsome old man, who sat in -a huge cushioned chair by the fireplace. It was summer still, but a -fire of ship-logs sparkled with changing rainbow lights on the stone -hearth. In a thin hand, Lord Northmuir held an exquisitely bound book. -He must have been more than sixty, but his features were of the -cameo--fine, classic cut, of which the beauty, like that of old marble, -never dies, and it was easy to see why he had once borne a reputation as -the handsomest man in England. It was easy to see also, by his eyes as -they catalogued each item of Joan's beauty, that he had been a gallant -man, not blind to the charms of women. Nevertheless, his voice was cold -as he spoke to the unexpected visitor. - -"I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name, or why you have honoured -me by calling," he said. "Forgive my not rising. I am rather an -invalid. Pray sit down. There is something I can do for you?" - -"Several things, Lord Northmuir," returned the girl, taking the chair -his gesture had indicated. - -"You will tell me what they are?" - -"I am anxious to tell you. In the first place, I wish to be a relation -of yours, and not a poor relation. I wish to have a thousand pounds a -year, either permanently or until my marriage, should I become the wife -of a rich man through your introduction." - -Lord Northmuir stared at the girl, and if there were not genuine -astonishment in his eyes, he was a clever actor. "You are a handsome -young woman," he said slowly, when she had finished, "but I begin to be -afraid that your mind is unfortunately--er--affected." - -"There is a weight upon it," Joan replied.--"the weight of your secret. -It's so heavy that unless you are very kind, I shall be tempted to throw -the burden off by laying it upon others." - -Now the blood hummed in her ears. If she had built a house of cards, -this was the moment when it would topple, and bury her ambition in its -ignominious downfall. But Lord Northmuir's slow speech had quickened her -hope, for she said to herself that it was not spontaneous; and gazing -keenly into his face, she saw the blood stain his forehead. She had -staked on the right chance, yet the risk was not past. Her game was the -game of bluff, but its success depended upon the man with whom she had -to deal. - -"I do not understand what you are talking about," he said. - -"I dare say I haven't made my meaning clear," answered Joan, half -rising. "Perhaps I'd better explain to my solicitor, and get him to -write a letter----" - -"You are nothing more nor less than a common blackmailer," Lord -Northmuir exclaimed, bringing down his white hand on the arm of his -chair. - -"I may be nothing less, but I am a good deal more than a common one," -retorted Joan, surer of her ground. "I will prove that, if you force me -to do it." - -"Who are you?" he broke out abruptly. - -"I am a Woman Who Knows," she replied. "There was another Woman Who -Knew. She called herself Gone. She is dead, and I have come. I have -come to stay." - -"Don't you understand that I can hand you over to the police?" demanded -Lord Northmuir, with difficulty controlling his voice so that it could -not be heard by possible listeners outside the door. - -"Yes; and I understand that I can hand your secret over to the police. -They would know how to use it." - -He flushed again, and Joan saw that her daring shot had told. For the -instant he had no answer ready, and she seized the opportunity to speak -once more. "You can do better for yourself than hand me over to the -police. There need be no trouble, if you will realise that I am not a -common person, and not to be treated as such." - -"Again I ask: Who are you?" he cried. - -Joan risked another shot in the dark. "Can't you make a guess?" she -asked, with a malicious suggestion of hidden meaning in her tone. - -An expression of horror and surprise passed over Lord Northmuir's -handsome face, devastating it as a marching tornado devastates a -landscape. It was evident that he had "made a guess," and been -thunderstruck by its answer. Joan's curiosity was so strongly roused -that it touched physical pain. Almost, she would have been ready to -give one of her pretty fingers to know the secret. - -"Do you still wish to ask questions?" she inquired. - -"Heaven help me, no! What is it that you want?" - -"I have told you already. If I insisted on all I have a right to claim, -you would not be where you are." - -She watched him. He grew deathly and bowed his white head. Joan felt -sorry for the man now that he was at her mercy; but her imagination -played with the secret, as a child plays with a prism in the sunshine. -Its flashing colours allured her. "Oh! if I only _knew_ something," she -thought, "something which would hold in law, and could go through the -courts, where might I not stand? I might reach one of the highest -places a woman can fill. But it's no use; I must take what I can get, -and be thankful; and, anyway, I can't help pitying him a little, though -I'm sure he doesn't deserve it. He's old and tired, and I won't make him -suffer more than is necessary for the game." - -Joan again named her terms, this time with much ornamental detail. She -was to be a newly discovered orphan cousin. Her name was to be, as it -had been in Cornwall, Mercy Milton. She was to be invited to visit, for -an indefinite length of time, at Northmuir House. Her noble relative -was to exert himself to the extent of giving entertainments to introduce -her to his most influential and highly placed friends. He was also to -make her an allowance of a thousand pounds a year. - -"Don't think, if you gamble away as--as the other did, that I will go -beyond this bargain, for I will not!" cried Lord Northmuir, with a testy -desire to assert himself and show that he was not wholly to be cowed. - -"I don't gamble, except with Fate," said Joan. - -This exclamation of his explained one or two things which had been dark. -She guessed now why Mrs. Gone, evidently used to luxuries, had been -reduced to living on the charity of a boarding-house keeper, and why it -had been necessary to wait until she should be well enough to go out -before she could obtain "remittances." - -Having concluded her arrangement with Lord Northmuir, and settled to -become his relative and guest, Joan went back in her brougham to Woburn -Place. She told Miss Witt that she had been called away, packed her -things, left such as she would not want in Belgrave Square in boxes at -the boarding-house, delighted the housekeeper with many gifts, and the -following morning drove off with a pile of luggage on a cab. Turning -the corner of Woburn Place into the next street, she also turned a -corner in her career, and for the third time ceased to be Joan Carthew. - -She had chosen to take up her lately laid down part of Mercy Milton for -two reasons. One was, that in this character as she had played it in -Cornwall, with meekly parted hair, soft, downcast eyes, simple manners -and simple frocks, she was not likely to be recognised by any one who -had known the dashing and magnificent Miss Jenny Mordaunt; while if she -should come across Cornish acquaintances, there was nothing in her new -position which need invalidate the story of Lady Pendered's gentle -sister. - -If Lord Northmuir had looked forward with dread to the intrusion of the -adventuress whom he was forced to receive, he soon found that, beyond -the galling knowledge of his bondage, he had nothing disagreeable to -fear. The young cousin did not attempt to interfere with his habits -after he had provided her with acquaintances, who increased after the -manner of a "snowball" stamp competition. The two usually lunched and -dined together, and--at first--that was all. But Miss Mercy Milton made -herself charming at table, never referred by word or look to the loathed -secret, and was so tactful that, to his extreme surprise, almost horror, -the man found himself looking forward to the hours of meeting. Joan was -not slow to see this; indeed, she had been working up to it. When the -right time came, she volunteered to help Lord Northmuir with his letters -(he had no secretary) and to read aloud. At the end of six months she -had become indispensable, and he would have wondered how existence had -been possible without his treasure had he dwelt upon the dangerous -subject at all. If, however, the blackmailer's instalment in the -household had turned out an agreeable disappointment to the blackmailed, -it was a disappointment of another kind to the author of the plot. Joan -Carthew did not find life in Belgrave Square half as amusing as she had -pictured it, and though she was surrounded by luxury which might be hers -as long as Lord Northmuir lived, each day she grew more restless and -discontented. - -She had found society on the Riviera delightful, but the butterfly crowd -which fluttered between Nice and Monte Carlo had little resemblance to -that with which she came in contact as Lord Northmuir's cousin. Jenny -Mordaunt could do much as she pleased--at worst she was put down as a -"mad American, my dear"; but Mercy Milton had the family dignity to live -up to. Lord Northmuir's adopted relative could not afford to be "cut" by -the primmest dowager; and being an ideal, conventional English girl in -the best society did not suit Joan's roaming fancies. - -It was supposed that she would be Lord Northmuir's heiress; consequently -mothers of eligible young men were charming to her, which would have -been convenient if Joan had happened to want one of their sons. But not -one of the men who sent her flowers and begged for "extras" at dances -would she have married if he had been the last existing specimen of his -sex. This was annoying, for in planning her campaign, Joan had resolved -to marry well and settle satisfactorily for life. Now, however, she -found that it was simpler to decide upon a mercenary marriage in the -abstract than when it became a personal question. - -At the close of a year with Lord Northmuir she had saved seven hundred -pounds, and at last, after a sleepless night, she made up her mind to -take a step which was, in a way, a confession of failure. - -She went to Lord Northmuir's study as usual in the morning, but this -time it was not to act as reader or amanuensis. - -"It's a year to-day since I came," she said abruptly, with a purposeful -look on her face which the man felt was ominous. - -"Yes," he answered. "A strange year, but not an unhappy one. What I -regarded as a curse has turned out a blessing. I should miss the -albatross now if it were to be taken off my neck." - -"I'm sorry for that," said Joan, "for the albatross has revived and -intends to fly away." - -"What! You will marry?" - -"No. I'm tired of being conventional. I've decided to relieve you of my -presence here; and you can forget me, except when, each quarter, you -sign a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds." - -Lord Northmuir's handsome face grew almost as white as when she had -first announced her claim upon him. "I don't want to forget you. I -can't forget you!" he stammered. "If I could, I would publish the whole -truth; but that is impossible, for the honour of the name. You have -made me fond of you--made me depend upon you. Why did you do that, if -you meant to leave me alone?" - -"I didn't mean it at first," replied Joan frankly. "I thought I should -be 'in clover' here, and so I have been; but too much clover upsets the -digestion. I must go, Lord Northmuir. I can't stand it any longer. -I'm pining for adventures." - -"Have you fallen in love?" - -"No. I wish I had. I've been trying in vain." - -"A year ago I would not have believed it possible that I should make you -such an offer, but you have wrought a miracle. You came to blackmail, -you remained to bless. Stay with me, my girl, till I die, and not only -shall you be remembered in my will, but I will increase your allowance -from one thousand to two thousand a year. I can afford to do this, -since you have become the one luxury I can't live without." - -"I was just beginning to say that, if you would let me go without a -fuss, I would take five hundred instead of a thousand a year." - -"But now I have shown you my heart, you see that offer does not appeal -to me." - -Joan broke out laughing; this upsetting of the whole situation was so -humorous. A sudden reckless impulse seized her. She could not resist -it. - -"Lord Northmuir, you will change your mind when I have told you -something," she said. "I have played a trick on you. I have no -connection with your family, and know no more about your secret than I -know what will be in to-morrow's papers. Mrs. Gone, in dying, mentioned -a secret and your name. I put two and two together, and they matched so -well that I've lived on you for a year, bought lots of dresses, made -crowds of friends, had heaps of proposals, and kept seven hundred pounds -in hand. Now I think you will be willing to let me go; and you can lie -easy and live happy for ever after." - -Having launched the thunderbolt, she would have left the room, but Lord -Northmuir, old and invalided as he was, sprang from his chair like an -ardent youth and caught her arm. - -"By Jove! you shan't leave me like that!" he cried. "You have made your -first mistake, my dear. Instead of being in your power, you have put -yourself in mine. I need fear you no longer. But as a trickster I love -you no less than I did as a blackmailer. Indeed, I love you the more -for your diabolical cleverness, you beautiful wretch! Stay with me, not -as the little adopted cousin, living on charity, but as my wife, and -mistress of this house. Or, if you will not, I shall denounce you to -the police." - -For once, Joan was dumfounded. The tables had been turned upon her with -a vengeance. She gasped, and could not answer. - -"You see, it is my turn to dictate terms now," said Lord Northmuir. - -Joan's breath had come back. "You are right," she returned, in a meek -voice. "I have given you the reins. But--well, it would be something -to be Countess of Northmuir." - -"Don't hope to be a widowed Countess," chuckled the old man. "I am only -sixty-nine, and for the last ten years I have taken good care of -myself." - -"I count on nothing after this," said Joan. - -"You consent, then?" - -"How can I do otherwise?" - -Lord Northmuir laughed out in his triumph over her. "The notice of the -engagement will go to the _Morning Post_ immediately," he said. -"To-morrow, some of our friends will be surprised." - -But it was he who was surprised; for, when to-morrow came, Joan had run -away. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - - -It is like stating that the world is round to say that London is the -best of hiding-places. It is the best, because there are many Londons, -and one London knows practically nothing about any of the other Londons. -When, therefore, Mercy Milton disappeared from Northmuir House, Belgrave -Square, Joan Carthew promptly appeared at her old camping-ground, the -boarding-house in Woburn Place. - -Joan was no longer penniless, and as far as Lord Northmuir was -concerned, she was easy in her mind. A man of his stamp was unlikely to -risk the much-prized "honour of his name" to seek her with detectives; -while, unassisted, he would have to shrug his weary old shoulders and -resign himself to loss and loneliness. - -But ambition kindled restlessness. She grudged wasting a moment when -her fortune had to be made, her permanent place in life fixed. Besides, -she was dissatisfied with her adventure in the house of Lord Northmuir. -She had not come off badly, yet it galled her to remember that in -self-defence she had been driven to confess her scheme to its victim, -and that--this expedient not proving efficacious--she had eventually -been forced to run away like the coward she was not. On the whole, she -had to admit that if Lord Northmuir had not in the end got the better of -her, he had come near to doing so. The sharp taste of failure was in -her mouth, and the only way to be rid of it was to get the better of -somebody else--somebody disagreeable, so that the sweets of success -might be unmixed with bitterness. - -Existence as Lord Northmuir's adopted relative had been deadly dull; -existence as his wife would have been worse; and the remembrance of -boredom was too vivid still for Joan to regret what she had sacrificed. -Nevertheless, she realised that it had been a sacrifice which she would -not a little while ago have believed herself fool enough, or wise -enough, to be capable of making. She wanted her reward, and that reward -must mean new excitements, difficulties, and dangers. - -"I should like to do something big on a great London paper," she said to -herself on the first night of her return to Woburn Place. "What fun to -undertake a thrilling journalistic mission, and succeed better than any -man! I wonder whether Mr. Mainbridge, who was a reporter on _The -Planet_, is here still. He wasn't at dinner, but then he used often to -be away. I must ask in the morning." - -Joan went to sleep with this resolve in her mind, and before breakfast -she had carried it out. Mr. Mainbridge was still one of Miss Witt's -boarders, and had often inquired after Miss Carthew. He had come in -late last night, was now asleep, but would be down to luncheon, and -there was no doubt that he would be delighted to see the object of his -solicitude. - -All turned out as Miss Witt prophesied, and Joan was even nicer to the -reporter than she had been before. He invited her to dine that evening -at an Italian restaurant, and she consented. When they had come to the -sweets, Mr. Mainbridge could control his pent-up feelings no longer, and -was about to propose when Joan stopped him. - -"We are too poor to indulge in the luxury of being in love," said she, -with a sweet frankness which took the sting from the rebuff and dimly -implied hope for the future. "I shall not marry until I am earning as -much money as--as the man I love. I could not be happy unless I were -independent. Oh, Mr. Mainbridge! if you do care to please me, prove it -by introducing me to the editor of your paper! I want to ask him for -work." - -The stricken young man felt his throat suddenly dry. In his first -acquaintance with Joan he had boasted of his "influence" with the powers -that were upon that new and phenomenally successful daily, _The Planet_. -As a matter of fact, the influence existed in Mainbridge's dreams, and -there only. Sir Edmund Foster, the proprietor and editor, hardly knew -him by sight, and probably would not recognise him out of Fleet Street. -To ask such a favour as an introduction for a strange young girl, -however attractive, was almost as much as the poor fellow's place was -worth, but he could not bear to refuse Joan. - -"Tell Sir Edmund that I have information, important to the paper, for -his private ear," added the girl, reading her admirer's mind as if it -had been a book. - -"But--but if--er--you haven't really anything which he----" stammered -Mainbridge. - -"Oh, I have! I guarantee he shall be satisfied with me and not angry -with you. Only I must see him alone. Tell him I come from"--Joan -hesitated for an instant, but only for an instant--"from the Earl of -Northmuir." - -Mainbridge was impressed by the name and her air of self-confidence. -Encouraged, he promised to use every effort to bring about the -introduction, if possible the very next day. If he succeeded, he would -telegraph Joan the time of the appointment, which would certainly not be -earlier than three in the afternoon, as Sir Edmund never appeared at the -office until that hour. - -"Then I won't stop for the telegram and give him a chance to change his -mind before I can drive from Woburn Place to Fleet Street," said Joan. -"I will be at the office at three in the afternoon, and wait until -something is settled, if I have to wait till three in the morning." - -The next day, after luncheon, Joan chose her costume with extreme care, -as she invariably did when it was necessary to arm herself for conquest. -Radiant in pale blue cloth edged with sable, she presented herself at -the offices of _The Planet_. There was a waiting-room at the end of a -long corridor, and there she was bidden to sit; but instead of remaining -behind a closed door, as soon as her guide was out of sight she began -walking up and down near the stairway where Sir Edmund Foster must -sooner or later pass. She had never seen the famous man, but she -remembered his photograph in one of the illustrated papers. - -Presently a tall, smooth-shaven, sallow man, with eagle features and -bags under his keen eyes, came rapidly along the corridor, accompanied -by a much younger, less impressive man, who might have been a secretary. -Joan advanced, pretending to be absorbed in thought, then stood aside -with a start of shy surprise and a look nicely calculated to express -reverence of greatness. Sir Edmund Foster glanced at the apparition and -let his eyes linger for a few seconds as his companion rang the bell of -the lift, close to the wide stone stairway. - -"When he hears that there is a young woman waiting to see him, he will -remember me, and the recollection may influence his decision," thought -Joan, who did not under-value her beauty as an asset. - -Perhaps it fell out as she hoped (things often did), for she had not -read more than three or four back numbers of _The Planet_, which lay on -the waiting-room table, when Ralph Mainbridge, flushed and almost -tremulous with excitement, came to say that Sir Edmund had consented to -see her at once. - -Without seeming as much overpowered as he expected, the girl prepared to -enter the presence of greatness. But she was not in reality as calm as -she appeared. The thunderous whirr of the printing-machines had almost -bereft her of the capacity for thought, just at the moment when she -wished to think clearly. Her nerves were twanging like the strings of a -violin which is out of tune, and it was an intense relief to be shot up -in the alarmingly rapid lift to a quieter region. The rumbling roar was -deadened on Sir Edmund's floor, and as the door of his private office -closed on her, it was shut out altogether. - -"Miss Carthew, from Lord Northmuir," the famous editor-proprietor said. -"I believe you have some interesting information for me." He smiled -with a certain dry benignity, for Joan was very pretty, and he was, -after all, a man. "I think I saw you downstairs." - -"I saw you, Sir Edmund." Joan's manner was dignified now, rather than -shy. "I trust you will not be angry, but within the last two hours -everything has changed for me. Lord Northmuir, whom I know well through -my cousin, Miss Mercy Milton, his ward (you may have heard of her; we -are said to resemble each other), has now changed his mind about -allowing the piece of information I meant for you to be published. He -has forbidden his name to be used, but it was too late to stop that. I -can only beg, for my cousin Miss Milton's sake more than my own, that -you will not let the fact come to his ears; if it should, she will -suffer." - -"You need not fear that," Sir Edmund reassured her; "but if you have no -information to give me, Miss--er----" - -"I had to come and explain why I hadn't," Joan cut in. "I hope you -won't blame poor Mr. Mainbridge for putting you to this trouble. It -isn't his fault, and he doesn't even know." - -"Who is Mr. Mainbridge? Oh, ah! yes, of course. Pray don't regard it -as a trouble. Quite the contrary. But unfortunately, I----" - -"You would say you are a very busy man," Joan threw into the editor's -suggestive pause. "I won't take up much more of your time. But I want -to say that, although I have nothing of value, as I hoped, to tell, I -shall have later, if you will consent to engage me on your staff." - -Sir Edmund laughed. He evidently considered Joan a spoiled darling of -Society with a new whim. "My dear young lady!" he exclaimed, "in what -capacity, pray? We do not devote space to fashions, even in a Saturday -edition. Would you come to us as a reporter, like your friend Mr. -Mainbridge?" - -"As a special reporter," amended Joan. "I would undertake any mission of -importance----" - -"There are none going begging on _The Planet_. But" (this soothingly by -way of sugaring a dismissal) "you have only to get hold of something -good and bring it to me. For instance, some nice, spicy little item as -to the truth of the rumoured alliance between Russia and Japan. We -would pay you quite well for that, you know, provided you gave it to us -in time to publish ahead of any other paper." - -"How much would you pay me?" asked Joan, nettled at this chaffing tone -of the famous man. - -"Enough to buy a new frock and perhaps a few hairpins; say a hundred -pounds." - -"That isn't enough," said Joan; "I should want a thousand." - -Sir Edmund turned a sudden, keen gaze upon the girl; then his face -relaxed. "We might rise to that. At all events, I'm safe in promising -it." - -"It _is_ a promise, then?" - -"Oh, certainly." - -"Thank you. Let me see if I understand clearly. I'm not quite the baby -you think, Sir Edmund. I read the papers--yours especially--and take, I -trust, an intelligent interest in the political situation. Now, the -latest rumour is that Russia is secretly planning an understanding with -Japan and China. What you would like to know is whether there is truth -in the rumour, and what, in that event, England would do." - -"Exactly. That is what all the papers are dying to find out." - -"If you could get the official news before any of them, you would give -the person who obtained it for you a thousand pounds. If, in addition, -they, or one of them--let us say _The Daily Beacon_--got the _wrong_ -news on the same day, you would no doubt add five hundred to the -original thousand; for revenge is sweet, even to an editor, I suppose, -and _The Beacon_ has, I have heard, contrived to be first in the field -on one or two important occasions within the last few years." - -This allusion was a pin-prick in a sensitive place, for Joan was aware -that _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_ were deadly rivals as well as -political opponents. Mainbridge had told her the tale of _The Planet's_ -humiliation by the enemy, and she had not forgotten. _The Beacon_ had -been able, at the very time when _The Planet_ was arguing against their -probability, to assert that certain political events would take place, -and in time these statements had been justified, to the discomfiture of -_The Planet_. - -Sir Edmund frowned slightly. "_The Daily Beacon_ possesses exceptional -advantages," he sneered. "It is difficult for less favoured journals to -compete with it for political information." - -"I believe I can guess what you refer to," answered Joan. "I hear -things, you know, from my cousin, Miss Milton." (This to shield -Mainbridge.) "Lord Henry Borrowdaile, an Under Secretary of State, is a -distant relative of Mr. Portheous, the proprietor of _The Daily Beacon_, -and it is said that there has been a curious leakage of diplomatic -secrets, once or twice, by which _The Beacon_ profited." - -"You are a well-informed young lady." - -"I hope to earn your cheque as well as your compliment," said Joan. -"Perhaps you will write it before many days have passed." - -"It must be before many days, if at all." - -"I understand that time presses, if you are to be first in the field, -for the great secret can't be kept from the public for more than a week -or ten days at most. But look here, Sir Edmund, would you go that extra -five hundred if, on the day that your paper published the truth about -the situation, _The Beacon_ made a fool of itself by printing exactly -the opposite?" - -"Yes," said the editor, "I would." - -"Well, we shall see what we shall see," returned Joan. She then took -leave of Sir Edmund, who was certainly not in a mood to blame Mainbridge -for an introduction under false pretences, even if he were far from sure -that charming Miss Carthew could accomplish miracles. - -As for Joan, her head was in a whirl. She wanted to do this thing more -than she had ever wanted anything in her life, though it had not entered -her head a few moments ago. She would not despise fifteen hundred -pounds; but it was not of the money she was dreaming as she told her -cabman to drive to Battersea Park, and keep on driving till ordered to -stop. The strange girl could always collect and concentrate her -thoughts while driving, and this was her object now. - -Joan had never met Lord Henry Borrowdaile, but during her year at -Northmuir House she had known people who were friends or enemies of the -young man and his wife. She had her own reason for listening with -interest to intimate talk about the character and private affairs of -persons who were important figures in the world, for at any time she -might wish to use knowledge thus gained. She did not believe, from what -she had heard, that Lord Henry Borrowdaile, son of the Marquis of -Wastwater, was a man to betray State secrets for money. He was "bookish" -and literary, and though he was not rich, neither did he covet riches. -But he did adore his beautiful young wife, and was said by those who -knew him to be as wax in her hands. She was popular, as well as pretty; -was vain of being the leader of a very gay set, and dressed as if her -reputation depended upon being the best-gowned woman in London. Because -Lady Henry posed as an _ingénue_, who scarcely knew politics from polo, -Joan suspected her. "It is she who worms out secrets from her husband -and sells them to Portheous," Joan said to herself. "Oh! to be a fly on -the wall in the Borrowdailes' house for the next week!" - -This wish was so vivid, that like a lightning flash it seemed to -illumine the dim corners of the girl's brain. She suddenly recalled -another story of the inestimable Mainbridge's, told in connection with -the rivalry of _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_. - -"An eminent statesman's servant told the secret of his master's intended -resignation," she said to herself. "Why shouldn't a servant at the -Borrowdailes'----" - -She did not finish out the thought at the moment; the vista it opened -was too wide to be taken in at a glance. But after driving for an hour -round and round Battersea Park, the patient cabman suddenly received an -order to go quickly to Clarkson's, the wigmaker. At the shop, the -hansom was discharged, and it was a very different-looking fare which -another cab picked up at the same door somewhat later. - - - - -CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - - -About half-past five, a plump old country-woman, with a brown tissue -veil over her ruddy, wrinkled face, waddled into a green-grocer's not -far from South Audley Street. She bade the young man in the shop a -wheezy "Good day," and asked if she might be bold enough to inquire -whether Lady Henry Borrowdaile's housekeeper were a customer. Yes, the -youth admitted with pride, for anything in their line which was not sent -up from the Marquis of Wastwater's, in the country, they had the honour -of serving her Ladyship. - -"Ah! I thought how it would be, your place being so near, and the -nicest round about," said the old country-woman. "The truth is, I have -to go to the house on a disagreeable errand. I volunteered to do it for -a friend, and I've forgotten the number. I've to break some bad news to -one of the housemaids." - -"Not Miss Jessie Adams, I hope!" protested the young man, blushing up to -the roots of his light hair. - -"Yes, it is poor Jessie," said the old woman. "You know her?" - -"We've been walking out together the last six months. I suppose her -father's took bad again, or--or worse?" - -"He's living--or was when I left; but----" and the old-fashioned bonnet -with the veil shook ominously. "Well, I must go and do my duty. I hope -she'll be able to get home for a week or so." - -A few minutes later, Joan, delighted with her disguise and the detective -skill she was developing, rang the servants' bell at the Borrowdailes'. -She had learned what she had hoped to learn, the name of one of the -maids, and she had also learned something more--the fact that Jessie -Adams had a father whose state of health would afford an excuse for -absence; and the existence of a lover, who would probably urge immediate -marriage if there were enough money on either side. - -The old countrywoman with the brown veil was voluble to the footman who -opened the door. She explained that she had news from home for Jessie -Adams, and was shown into a servant's sitting-room, where presently -appeared a fresh-looking girl with languishing eyes, and a full, weak -mouth. - -"Oh, I thought perhaps it would be Aunt Emmy!" exclaimed the young -person in cap and apron. - -"No, I'm not Aunt Emmy, but you may take it I'm a friend," replied the -old woman. "Don't be frightened. Your father ain't so very bad, but -your folks would be glad to have you at home if you could manage it. -And, look here, my gell, here's good news for you. You may make a tidy -bit of money by going, if you can get off at once--this very night. How -much must you and that nice young man of yours put by before you can -marry?" - -"We can't marry till he sets up in business for himself, and it will -take a hundred pounds at least," said the girl. "We've each got about -ten pounds saved towards it. But what's ten pounds?" - -"Added on to ninety it makes a hundred, and you can earn that by lending -your place here for one fortnight to a niece of mine, who wants to be a -journalist and write what the doings inside a smart house are like. -She'd name no names, so you'd never be given away. All you'd have to do -would be to tell the housekeeper your father was took bad, and would she -let you go if you'd bring your cousin Maria in your stead--a clever, -experienced girl, with the best references from Lord Northmuir's house?" - -"My goodness me, you take my breath away!" gasped Jessie Adams. "How do -I know but your niece is a thief who'd steal her Ladyship's jewels?" - -"You don't know, except that I say she isn't. But, anyhow, what does it -matter to you? You don't need to come back or ever be in service again. -Here's the ninety pounds in gold, my dear. You can bite every piece, if -you wish; and you've but to do what I say to get them before you walk -out of this house. You settle matters with the housekeeper, and I'll -have my niece call on her within the hour." - -The girl with the languishing eyes and the weak mouth had her price, -like many of her betters, and it happened to be exactly ninety pounds. -Joan had brought a hundred, and considered that she had made a bargain. -Jessie consented to speak to the housekeeper, and the countrywoman -departed. By this time it was dusk. She took a four-wheeler and drove -to the gates of the Park. In a dark and lonely spot the outer disguise -was whisked off, and the paint wiped from her face. Underneath her -shawl she wore a neat black dress, suitable for a housemaid in search of -a situation. This, too, Joan had thoughtfully obtained at Clarkson's, -whence her pale blue cloth had been despatched by messenger to Woburn -Place. The bonnet was quickly shaped into a hat; the stuffing which had -plumped out the thin, girlish form was wrapped in the shawl which had -concealed it, and hidden under a bush. Joan's own hair was combed primly -back from her forehead, and strained so tightly at the sides as to -change the expression of her face completely. "Cousin Maria" was as -different from Miss Joan Carthew as a mouse is from a bird of Paradise. - -Cream could not be more velvety soft than Joan's voice, the eye of a -dove more mild than hers, as she conversed with Lady Henry Borrowdaile's -housekeeper. And she was armed with a magnificent reference. There had -been a Maria Jordan at Lord Northmuir's, as housemaid, in Joan's day -there, but the real Maria had gone to America, and it was safe and -simple to write in praise of this young person's character and -accomplishments, signing the document Mercy Milton. At worst, even if -Lady Henry's housekeeper sent the reference to Lord Northmuir's -housekeeper, the imposition could not be proved. Maria might have had -time to come back from America, and Miss Milton, now departed, might -have consented to please the housemaid by giving her a written -recommendation. - -But Maria Jordan's manner as an applicant to fill her cousin's place was -so respectful and respectable, and the need to decide was so pressing, -that Lady Henry's housekeeper resolved to accept Jordan, so to speak, on -face value. That same night Jessie Adams went home (or somewhere else), -and her cousin stepped into the vacant niche. - -Meanwhile, Joan had, on the plea of picking up her luggage, driven to -one or two cheap shops in the Tottenham Court Road, and provided herself -with a tin box and a suitable outfit for a superior housemaid. She was -thankful to find that she would have a room to herself, and delighted to -discover that Jessie Adams and Mathilde, Lady Henry's own maid, had been -on terms of friendship. Their rooms adjoined; Jessie had been teaching -Mathilde English in odd moments, and Mathilde had often obligingly -carried messages to the enamoured greengrocer. - -Joan lost not a moment in winning her way into Mathilde's good graces, -wasting the less time because she had already made preparations with a -view to such an end. She had bought a large box of delicious sweets, -which she pretended her own "young man" had given her, and this she -placed at the French girl's disposal. It happened that Lady Henry was -dining out and going to the theatre afterwards that night, and Mathilde, -being free, visited Maria easily in her room, where she sat on the bed, -swinging her well-shod feet and eating cream chocolates. Maria, in the -course of conversation, chanced to mention that her "young man" was the -partner of a French hairdresser in Knightsbridge; that the two were -intimate friends; that the hairdresser was young, singularly handsome, -well-to-do, and looking out for a Parisienne as a wife. This Admirable -Crichton was in France at present, on business, Maria added, but he -would return in the course of a fortnight, when Maria's "young man" -should effect an introduction, as she was sure that Monsieur Jacques -would fall in love at first sight with Mathilde. - -Mathilde pretended indifference, but she thought Maria the nicest girl -she had met in England, far more _chic_ than Jessie; and when she heard -that her new friend longed to be a lady's maid, she offered to coach her -in the art. Maria was gushingly grateful, for though she had (she said) -already acted as maid to one or two ladies, they had not been "swells" -like Lady Henry, and lessons from Mathilde would be of inestimable -value. - -"I suppose," she went on coaxingly, "that if I showed you I could do -hair nicely, and understood what was wanted of a lady's maid, you -wouldn't be took ill, and give me a chance to try my hand on Lady Henry? -Practice on her Ladyship would be worth a lot of lessons, wouldn't it? -My goodness! I'd give all my savings for such a chance in a house like -this! Think of the help it would be to me afterwards to say I'd been -understudy, as you might call it, to a real expert like Mathilde, Lady -Henry Borrowdaile's own maid, and given great satisfaction in the part! -It might mean a good place for me. I ain't jokin', mademoiselle. I've -got twenty-five sovereigns saved up, and if you'll have neuralgia so bad -you can't lift your head from the pillow for three or four days, those -twenty-five sovereigns are yours." - -"_Mais_, for me to have ze neuralgia, it do not make that milady take -you for my place," said the laughing Mathilde. - -"No, but leave that to me. You shall have the money just the same." - -"All right," said Mathilde, giggling, scarce believing that her friend -was in earnest. "I have ze neuralgia _demain_--to-morrow." - -Joan sprang up and went to the new tin box. She bent over it for a -moment, with her back to Mathilde; then she turned, with a stocking in -her hand--a stocking fat in the foot, and tied round the ankle with a -bit of ribbon. "Count what's there," she exclaimed, emptying the -stocking in Mathilde's lap. - -There were gold and silver, and even a little copper. Altogether, the -sum amounted to that which Maria had named, and a few shillings over. - -Mathilde was dazzled. What with this bird in hand, and another in the -bush (the eligible hairdresser), she was ready to do almost anything for -Maria. Later that night, in undressing Lady Henry, she complained of -suffering such agony that she feared for the morrow. Luckily, should -she be incapacitated for a short time, there was a girl now in the house -(a young person in the place of the first housemaid, absent on account -of trouble in the family) who had been lady's maid and knew her -business. Lady Henry was too sleepy to care what might happen -to-morrow--indeed, scarcely listened to Mathilde's murmurings; but when -to-morrow was to-day, and a sweet-faced, sweet-voiced girl announced -that Mathilde could not leave her bed, the spoiled beauty remembered -last night's conversation. After some grumbling, she consented to try -what Jordan could do; and while the second housemaid pouted over Maria's -work, Maria was busy ingratiating herself with Lady Henry--ingratiating -herself so thoroughly that Mathilde would have trembled jealously for -the future could she have seen or heard. Joan was one of those rare -creatures, born for success, who set their teeth in unbreakable resolve -to do whatever they must do, well. Being a lady herself, with all a -lady's fastidious tastes, she knew how a lady liked to be waited upon. -She was not attracted by Lady Henry, whom men called an angel, and women -"a cat," but she was as attentive as if her whole happiness depended on -her mistress's approbation. Mathilde was efficient, but frivolous and -flighty, sometimes inclined to sulkiness; and Lady Henry, superbly -indifferent to the sufferings of servants, decided that she would not be -sorry if Mathilde were ill a long time. - -Two or three days went by; Joan kept the Parisienne supplied with -_bonbons_ and French novels, and carried up all her meals, arranged -almost as daintily as if they had been for her Ladyship. Mathilde was -happy, and Joan was--waiting. But her patience was not to be tried for -long. - -On the third day, she was told that her mistress was dining at home, -alone with Lord Henry. This was such an unusual event that Joan was -sure it meant something, especially when Lady Henry demanded one of her -prettiest frocks. A footman, inclined to be Maria's slave, was smiled -upon, intercepted during dinner, and questioned. "They're behaving like -turtle-doves," said he. - -Joan had expected this. "That little cat has guessed or discovered that -everything is settled, and she means to get the truth out of him this -evening, so that somehow she can give the news to _The Daily Beacon_ -to-night, in time to go to press for to-morrow," the girl reflected. - -She was excited, but the great moment had come, and she kept herself -rigidly under control, for much depended upon calmness and fertility in -resource. "They will have their coffee in Lady Henry's boudoir," Joan -reflected, "and that is when she will get to work." - -She thought thus on her way upstairs, carrying a dress of Lady Henry's, -from which she had been brushing the marks of a muddy carriage-wheel. -She laid it on a chair, and saw on another a milliner's box. Her -mistress had not mentioned that she was expecting anything, and Joan's -curiosity was aroused. She untied the fastenings, lifted a layer of -tissue paper, and saw a neat, dark green tailor-dress, with a toque made -of the same material and a little velvet. There was also a long, plain -coat of the green cloth, with gold buttons, and on the breast pocket was -embroidered an odd design in gold thread. - -Joan suddenly became thoughtful. This dress was as unlike as possible -to the butterfly style which Lady Henry affected, and all who knew her -knew that she detested dark colours. Yet this costume was distinctly -sombre and severe; and the name of the milliner was unfamiliar to Joan. - -"It's like a disguise," the girl said to herself, "and I'll bet anything -that's what it's for. She went to a strange milliner; she made a point -of the things being ready to-night; she chose a costume which would -absolutely change her appearance, if worn with a thick veil. And then -that bit of embroidery on the pocket! Why, it's a miniature copy of the -design they print under the title of _The Beacon_. It is a beacon, -flaming! She means to slip out of the house when she's got the secret -safe, and somebody at the office of the paper will have been ordered to -take a veiled woman with such a dress as this up to Portheous' private -office, without her speaking a word. Well--a woman will go there, but I -hope it won't be Lady Henry." - -Without stopping for an instant's further reflection, Joan caught up the -box and flew with it to her own room, where she pushed it under the bed. -She then watched her chance, and when no one was in sight, darted into -the boudoir, where she squeezed herself behind a screen close to the -door. She might have found a more convenient hiding-place, but this, -though uncomfortable, gave her an advantage. If the two persons she -expected to enter the room elected to sit near the fireplace, as they -probably would, Joan might be able to steal noiselessly away without -being seen or heard. - -She had not had much time to spare, for ten minutes after she had -plastered herself against the wall, Lord and Lady Henry came in. They -went to the sofa in front of the fire and chatted of commonplaces until -after the coffee and _Orange Marnier_ had been brought. Then Lady Henry -took out her jewelled cigarette-case, gave a cigarette to her husband -and took one herself. To light hers from his, she perched on Lord -Henry's knee, remaining in that position to play with his hair, her -white fingers flashing with rings. She cooed to her husband prettily, -saying how nice it was to be with him alone, and how it grieved her to -see him weary and worried. - -"Is the old Russian Bear going to take hands and dance prettily with -little Japan and big China, darling?" she purred. "You know, precious, -talking to me is as safe as talking to yourself." - -"I know, my pet. Thank goodness, the strain is over. England and -France together have brought such pressure to bear, that Russia was in a -funk. The ultimatum we issued----" - -"Oh, then, the ultimatum _was_ sent?" - -"Yes. If Russia had held firm, nothing could have prevented war. But -for obvious diplomatic reasons, the papers must not be able to state -officially that any negotiations of the sort have ever taken place. -There has been a rumour, but that will die out." - -"Ah, well, I'm glad there won't be war; but as _you're_ not a soldier, -and can't be killed, it wouldn't have broken my heart. Kiss me and let's -talk of something amusing. Your poor pet gets a headache if she has to -think of affairs of State too long." - -Joan did not wait for the end of the last sentence. She began with the -utmost caution to move the farther end of the screen forward, until she -could reach the door-handle. With infinite patience she turned the knob -at the rate of an inch a minute, until it was possible to open the door. -Then she pulled it slowly, very slowly, towards her. At last she could -slip into the corridor, where she had an instant of sickening fear lest -she should be detected by a passing servant. Luck was with her, however; -but instead of seizing the chance to run upstairs unseen, she stopped, -shut the door as softly as it had been opened, and then knocked. Lady -Henry's voice, with a ring of relief, called "Come in!" Joan showed -herself on the threshold, and announced that a person from Frasquet's, -of George Street, had called to say that by mistake a costume ordered by -Lady Henry had been sent to the wrong address, but that search would at -once be made, and the box brought to South Audley Street as soon as -found. - -Lady Henry sprang up with an exclamation of anger, and called down the -vengeance of the gods upon the house of Frasquet. - -"Might I suggest, your Ladyship, that I go with the messenger, and make -sure of bringing back the box, if the dress is a valuable one?" asked -Joan. - -Lady Henry caught at this idea. Joan was bidden to run away and not to -come back till she had the box. "I will give you a sovereign if you -bring it home before midnight," she added. - -Joan walked calmly out with the box from Frasquet's, took a cab, and -drove to Woburn Place, where, in her own room, she dressed herself as -Lady Henry had intended to be dressed. The frock and coat fitted -sufficiently well, for Jordan and her mistress were somewhat of the same -figure. An embroidered black veil, with one of chiffon underneath, -completely hid her features; and, heavily perfumed with Lady Henry's -favourite scent, at precisely a quarter to eleven she presented herself -at the office of _The Daily Beacon_. A gesture of a gloved hand towards -the flaming gold on the coat was as if a password had been spoken. She -was conducted to a private office on the first floor, and there received -by a bearded, red-faced man, who sprang up on her entrance. - -"Well--well?" he demanded. - -The veiled and scented lady put her finger to her lips. - -"'Sh!" she breathed. Then, disguising her voice by whispering, she went -on. "Russia China, and Japan have signed the alliance, in spite of -England and France, whom they have defied very insolently, and it's only -a question of a short time before the storm breaks. There! That's all, -in a nutshell. I must run away at once." - -[Illustration: "'Sh!' she breathed."] - -"A thousand thanks! You're a brick!" Mr. Portheous pressed the gloved -hand and left a cheque in it. "We shall go to press with this -immediately." - -Joan glanced at the cheque, saw it was for seven hundred pounds, and -despised Lady Henry for cheapening the market. Her waiting cab drove her -a few streets farther on, to the office of _The Planet_. A card with -the name of Miss Carthew, and "Important private business" scrawled upon -it, was the "Open, sesame!" to Sir Edmund Foster's door. - -"Have you your cheque-book handy?" she nonchalantly asked. - -"What for?" - -"_Quid pro quo._" Joan rushed into her whole story, which she told from -beginning to end, proving its truth by showing Mr. Portheous' cheque -made out to Mrs. Anne Randall. "Lady Henry, no doubt, has an account -somewhere under that name. She's too sharp to use her own," added the -girl. "Do you believe me now?" - -"Yes. You're wonderful. I shall risk printing the news exactly as you -have given it to me." - -"You won't regret your trust. But I don't want your cheque to-night. -I'll take it to-morrow, when I can say: 'I told you so.'" - -"Would you still like to come on our staff--at a salary of ten pounds a -week?" - -"No, thank you, Sir Edmund. I've brought off my big _coup_, and -anything more in the newspaper line would be, I fear, an anticlimax. -Besides, I want to play with my fifteen hundred pounds." - -"What shall you do now?" - -"Go back to the house which has the honour of being my home, change my -clothes, hurry breathlessly to South Audley Street, and inform Lady -Henry that her costume can't be found. She will then, in desperation, -decide to send a note to _The Daily Beacon_, which, my prophetic soul -whispers, she will order me to take." - -"Shall you go?" - -"Out of the house, yes--never, never to return, for my work there is -done. But not to the office of _The Beacon_. Lady Henry's box shall be -sent to her by parcel post to-morrow morning, and Mrs. Randall's cheque -will be in the coat pocket. That will surprise her a little, but it -won't matter to me; for, after having called here for my cheque, I think -I'll take the two o'clock train for the Continent. I shall have plenty -of money to enjoy myself, and I feel I need a change of air." - -"You are wonderful!" repeated Sir Edmund Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - - -"Now, where on earth have I seen that girl before?" Joan Carthew asked -herself. - -It was at Biarritz, where she was enjoying, as she put it to herself, a -well-earned holiday; and she was known at her hotel, and among the few -acquaintances she had made, as the Comtesse de Merival, a young widow -with plenty of money. She was a Comtesse because it is easy to say that -one has married a sprig of foreign nobility, without being found out; -she was a widow because it is possible for a widow to be alone, -unchaperoned, and to amuse herself without ceasing to be _comme il -faut_. - -Joan had amused herself a great deal during the six weeks since she had -left England, and the cream of the amusement had consisted in inventing -a romantic story about herself and getting it believed. It was as good -as acting in a successful play which one has written for oneself. - -At the present moment she was walking on the _plage_, pleasantly -conscious that she was one of the prettiest and best-dressed women among -many who were pretty and well-dressed. Then a blonde girl passed her, a -blonde girl who was new to Biarritz, but who, somehow, did not seem new -to Joan's retina. Her photograph was somewhere in the book of memory, -and, oddly enough, it seemed to have a background of sea and blue sky, -as it had to-day. - -The girl was pretty, as a beautifully dressed, golden-haired doll in a -shop window is pretty. She was also exceedingly "good form," and she was -vouched for as a young person of importance by a remarkably -distinguished-looking old man who strolled beside her. - -They turned, and in passing the "Comtesse" for the second time, the girl -looked full in Joan's face, with a lingering gaze such as a spoiled -beauty often directs upon a possible rival. - -Then, all in an instant, Joan knew. - -"Why," she reminded herself, "it's the girl I saw at Brighton--the girl -I envied. I know it is she. That's eight years ago, but I can't be -mistaken." - -Somehow this seemed an important discovery. If Joan, a miserable, -overworked slavey of twelve, nursing her tyrant's baby, had not been -bitten with consuming jealousy of a child no older but a thousand times -more fortunate than herself, she might have gone on indefinitely as a -slavey, and might never have had a career. - -The little girl at Brighton had looked scornfully from under her softly -drooping Leghorn hat at the shabby child-nurse, and a rage of resentment -had boiled in Joan's passionate young heart. Now, the tall girl at -Biarritz looked with half-reluctant admiration from under an equally -becoming hat at the Comtesse de Merival, who was more beautiful and -apparently quite as fortunate as she. Nevertheless the old scar -suddenly throbbed again, so that Joan remembered there had once been a -wound; and she knew that she had no gratitude for the girl to whom, -indirectly, she owed her rise in the world. - -Joan was usually generous to women, even when she had no cause to love -them, for, with all her faults, there was nothing of the "cat" in her -nature; yet, to her surprise, she felt that she would like to hurt this -girl in some way. "What a brute I must be!" she said to herself. "I -didn't know I was so bad. Really I mustn't let this sort of thing grow -on me, otherwise I shall degenerate from a highwayman (rather a gallant -one, I think) into a cad, and I should lose interest in foraging for -myself if I were a cad." - -As she thought this, the girl and her companion were joined by a man. -Joan glanced, then gazed, and decided that he was the most interesting -man to look at whom she had ever seen in her life. Not that he was the -handsomest, as mere beauty of feature goes, but he was of exactly the -type which Joan and most women admire at heart above all others. - -One did not need to be told, to know that he was a soldier. As he stood -talking to his friends, with his hat off, and the sun chiselling the -ripples of his close-cropped hair in bronze, his head towered above -those of the other men who came and went. His face was bronze, too, of -a lighter shade, blending into ivory half way up the forehead, and his -features were strong and clear-cut as a bronze man's should always be. -He wore no moustache or beard, and his mouth and chin were self-reliant, -firm, and generous, but Joan liked his eyes best of all. As she passed -slowly, they met hers for a second, and their clear depths were brown -and bright as a Devonshire brook when the noonday sun shines into it. - -It was only for a second that the man's soul looked at her from its -windows, but it was long enough to make her sharply realise two facts. -One, that she was far, far beneath him; the other, that he was the only -man in the world for her. - -"To think that _that_ girl should know him, and I not!" she said to -herself rebelliously. "He is miles too good for me, but he's more miles -too good for her, because she hasn't any soul, and I have, even though -it's a bad one. Again, after all these years, that girl passes through -my life, taking with her as she goes what I would give all I own, all I -might ever gain, to have. It's Kismet--nothing less." - -"_Ah, Comtesse, bon jour_!" murmured a voice that Joan knew, and then it -went on in very good English, with only a slight foreign accent: "You -are charming to-day, but you do not see your friends. They must remind -you of their existence before they can win a bow." - -"I have just seen some one who was like a ghost out of the past," -returned Joan, with a careless smile for the handsome, dark young man -who had stopped to greet her. - -"What!" his face lighted up. "You know that young lady you were looking -at? That is indeed interesting, and I will tell you why, presently, if -you will let me. If you would but introduce me--at all events, to the -father. The rest I can do for myself." - -"I don't know her," said Joan, "although an important issue of my life -was associated with the girl. I can't even give you her name." - -"I can do as much as that for you," said the Marchese Villa Fora. "She -is a Miss Violet Ffrench, and the old man is her father, General -Ffrench. Not only is she one of the greatest beauties, but one of the -greatest heiresses in England." - -"Ah!" said Joan, "no wonder you are interested." - -"No wonder. But what good does that do to me, since I have not the -honour of her acquaintance, and since she is to marry that great, bronze -statue of a fellow?" - -A pang shot through Joan's heart, and she was ashamed because it was a -jealous pang. "She is to marry him! How do you know that, since you -are not acquainted with her?" - -"It is an open secret. I saw the father and daughter in Paris three -weeks ago, and fell in love at first sight--ah! you may laugh. You -Englishwomen cannot understand us Latins. It is true that I proposed to -you, but you would not take me, and my heart was soon after caught in -the rebound. It is very simple." - -"You thought that you fell in love with me at first sight, too; at -least, you said so, and without any introduction except picking up my -purse when I dropped it in the Champs Élysées." - -"I got an introduction afterwards." - -"Yes, a lady who was staying at my hotel." - -"At all events, she vouched for me. She has known my family for years, -in Madrid." - -"She warned me against you, Marchese. She said that you were a -fortune-hunter, and that you fancied I was rich. When you had proposed, -and I had told you frankly that my fortune was but silver-gilt, -warranted to keep its colour for a few years only, you were very much -obliged to me for refusing you, as it saved you the trouble of jilting -me afterwards. You are still more obliged to me now that you have met a -genuine heiress who has all other desirable qualifications as well." - -"You are cruel," exclaimed Villa Fora, to whose style of good looks -reproaches were becoming. "Cannot a man love twice? What does it matter -to the heart whether there has been an interval of weeks or of years? I -am madly in love with Miss Ffrench, and as you promised to be my friend -if I would 'talk no more nonsense,' I have no hesitation in confessing -it to you. I followed her here from Paris, and arrived only this -afternoon. She is at the Hotel Victoria; therefore, so am I." - -"So am I, but not 'therefore,'" cut in Joan. "And the--the man you say -she is to marry?" - -"Colonel Sir Justin Wentworth? He is at the Grand. But he has come for -her. I know the whole story--I have it from a gossiping old lady who is -_au courant_ with every one's affairs if they are worth bothering with; -and she does not make mistakes. She has told me that General Ffrench was -the guardian of this Sir Justin, that the father--a baronet--was his -dearest friend. The match has been an understood thing ever since -Wentworth was eighteen and the girl five; for there is quite thirteen -years' difference in their ages." - -"Then he is about thirty-four or five," said Joan thoughtfully. - -"Yes, but in that I am not interested. The awful part for me is that the -girl is now of age, and the obstacle of her youth no longer prevents the -marriage. Any day the worst may happen. If I could only meet her, I -might have a chance to undermine the cold, bronze statue, even though he -has a great reputation as a soldier, and is a V.C. But how to manage an -introduction? The father has the air of a mediaeval dragon." - -Joan's heart said: "The man is not a cold statue," but aloud she -remarked: "I see now why you hoped that I knew Miss Ffrench. You wanted -_me_ to manage it. Well, perhaps I can, even as it is. I have -undertaken more difficult things and succeeded." - -"Oh, if you would! But why should I hope it, since you have nothing to -gain?" - -Joan dropped her eyes and did not answer. - -"Yet you will try?" pleaded Villa Fora. - -"Yet I will try, on one condition. You must be a connection of the late -Comte de Merival." - -"Your husband!" - -Joan smiled as she nodded. - -"I am Spanish; he was, I understand, French. But then that presents no -difficulty. There are such things as international marriages." - -"Yes. Your mother's sister married an uncle of my husband's, didn't -she?" - -"Quite so. It is settled," agreed the Marchese gravely. - -"Well, then, that is the sharp end of the wedge. I will do my best and -cleverest to insert it," said Joan. "As you have just arrived, it will -be the easier. We are cousins. It can appear to all those whom it does -not concern (meaning the gossips of the hotel) that you have run on to -see your cousin. For the rest, you must trust me for a day or two, or -perhaps more." - -Joan had tea--with her cousin--at Miremont's; and they saw the Ffrenches -and Sir Justin Wentworth, also having tea. Violet Ffrench looked at -Joan with the same side-glance of half-grudging admiration as before, -and Joan looked, now and then, at Violet Ffrench with a charming, frank -gaze, which seemed to say: "You are so sweetly pretty that I can't keep -my eyes off you, and I like you for being pretty." In reality it said -something quite different, but it was effects, not realities, which -mattered at the moment. - -Thus the campaign had begun, though the enemy was blissfully ignorant of -the activity upon the other side. - -Joan went back to the hotel rather earlier than she had intended, and -going straight to the large, empty dining-room, rang for the head -waiter. When he appeared, she asked if it were yet arranged where a new -arrival, General Ffrench, was to sit with his daughter. The waiter -pointed out a small table or two, near the centre of the room; but -before his hand withdrew from the gesture, it was turned palm upward in -answer to a slight, silent hint from Joan. Finally, it retired with a -louis in its clasp. "I want you to put my table close to theirs," said -she. "It shall be done, madame," replied the man; and it was done. -Therefore Joan and Violet could scarcely help exchanging more glances -from between their red-shaded candles that night at dinner, which Joan -ate alone, unaccompanied by the wistful Villa Fora. - -The Ffrenches appeared to know nobody in the hotel, and of this she was -glad. There was the more chance for her. - -After dinner there was conjuring, and Joan contrived to sit next to Miss -Ffrench. Villa Fora was on the opposite side of the big drawing-room, -where he had reluctantly gone in obedience to his "cousin's" -instructions. The conjuring made conversation, and Joan was not -surprised to find the heiress open to flattery. When the performance -was over, she kept her seat; and by this time, having introduced herself -to Miss Ffrench, the introduction was passed on to the father. He, good -man, was too well-born to be actually a snob, but he had no objection to -titles, even foreign ones, and the Comtesse de Merival was so pretty, so -modest, altogether such good form, that he had no objection to her as, -at least, an hotel acquaintance for his daughter. - -It seemed that General Ffrench had been ordered to Biarritz for his -health, and that he hoped to do some golfing; but Miss Ffrench hated -golf, and as she had no friends in the place, she expected to be very -dull. - -At this, Joan reminded her gaily of the friend with whom she and her -father had been walking in the afternoon. - -"Oh, but he is such an old friend, he doesn't count," exclaimed Violet, -blushing a little. - -"She isn't a bit in love with him," thought Joan. "What a shame! -But--_tant mieux_. She is vain and romantic; often the two qualities go -together in a woman. The ground is all prepared for me." - -By and by, Sir Justin Wentworth strolled in from his hotel. Though she -was dying to stay and meet him, and perhaps have a few words, Joan rose -and walked away. This course was approved by General Ffrench. He would -have known what to think if the beautiful Comtesse had made herself -fascinating, at such short notice, to his son-in-law elect. - -Joan talked with her "cousin," who had been in the smoking-room, and -Violet Ffrench had time to be intensely curious as to the connection -between her charming new acquaintance, the Comtesse de Merival, and the -handsome, dark young man who had been in her hotel at Paris. He had -looked at her then; he looked at her now. What was he to the Comtesse? -what was the Comtesse to him? - -Next morning, both General Ffrench and Sir Justin Wentworth walked off -to the golf-links, leaving Violet to write letters in the glass room -that looked out on the sea. Presently Joan came in, with a writing-case -in her hand, and Violet stopped in the midst of the first sentence of -her first letter. Joan did not even begin to write, nor had she ever -cherished the faintest intention of doing so. - -Violet rather hoped that she would mention the dark young man, but she -did not; and then, of course, Violet hoped it a great deal more. The -two girls drifted from one subject to another, and finally, by way of a -favourite author and a popular novel of the moment, they touched the key -of romance. - -"I used to think that romance was dead in this century, but lately I -have been finding out that it isn't," said Joan. "Oh, not personally. -Romance is over for me. I loved my husband, you see, and he died the day -of our wedding; I married him on his death-bed. That is not romance; it -is tragedy. But I am speaking of what I should not speak of, to you, so -let us talk of something else." - -"Why?" asked Violet. - -"Oh, because--because I have an idea that you are engaged." - -"How can that matter?" - -"It does matter. I oughtn't to explain, so you mustn't urge me." - -"You rouse my curiosity," said Violet; but this was not news to Joan. - -"Engaged girls shouldn't have curiosity about anything outside their own -romances," replied the Comtesse de Merival mysteriously. - -"I've never had a real romance," sighed Violet. "I've always been more -or less engaged to Sir Justin Wentworth ever since I can remember. He -is a splendid fellow, as you can see." - -"I hardly noticed," said Joan; then added, in a whisper, but not too low -a whisper to be heard: "I was so busy pitying someone else." - -Violet's colour rose, and she was really a very pretty girl, though -vanity made her eyes cold. - -"Sir Justin's father and mine were old chums," went on Violet. "Our -place and his lie close together in Devonshire. We have even some of -the same money-interests--mines in Australia. He has heaps of money, -too, so there's no question of his needing to think of mine." - -"As if any man could think of your money when he had you to think of!" -exclaimed Joan. "No doubt you will be very happy. Such a long -friendship ought to be a good foundation for the rest, and yet--and -yet--it's a pity that you should have to marry and become a placid -British matron without first knowing some of the wild joys of _real_ -love, real romance." - -"I thought you doubted there being any left in the world?" - -"No; I said I had found at least one case which had built up my faith -again; a case of passionate love, born at first sight, and strong enough -to carry the man across the world, if necessary, to follow the woman he -loves." - -"Such love isn't likely to come my way." - -"It has come your way. It is here--close to you. Oh, I have done -wrong! I should not have spoken. But I am so sorry for him--my poor, -handsome cousin." - -"Your cousin!" This was a revelation, and Violet's eyes were not cold -now, but warm with interest. - -"Yes, the Marchese Villa Fora, the best-looking and one of the best-born -young men in Spain. But indeed we must not talk of him. What a lovely -day it is! I must have my motor-car out this afternoon. How I should -love to take you with me!" - -Violet would ask no more questions; but all that had been dark was now -clear, and she could think of nothing and no one except the Comtesse's -cousin, the Marchese Villa Fora. - -Joan had been in the hotel at Biarritz for ten days, and by the trick of -"being nice" (she knew how to be very nice) to the unattached old ladies -and middle-aged dowagers, she had been accepted on her own valuation. -She did not flirt, she had a title, she appeared to be rich, she owned a -motor-car, therefore none of her statements regarding herself was -doubted. General Ffrench made an inquiry or two concerning her, was -satisfied with the replies, and therefore consented to let his daughter -join an automobile party arranged by the Comtesse for the afternoon. - -Somehow, in the motor-car, Violet sat next to the Marchese Villa Fora, -who gazed at her sadly with magnificent eyes and said very little. It -was extremely interesting, she discovered, to sit shoulder to shoulder -with a man who was dying of hopeless love for you, and had followed you -across France, though he had never spoken a word to you until to-day. -It was he who helped her out when they came back to the hotel, and the -thrill in her fingers after his had pressed them almost convulsively for -an instant remained for a long time. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - -Now, the thin end of the entering wedge, of which Joan had hinted, was -well in, and after this day events moved swiftly. The Comtesse de -Merival and Miss Ffrench were close friends. Violet opened her heart to -Joan and told her everything that was in it--not a long list. Joan -sympathised and advised. She did so want dear Violet to be happy, she -said, for happiness was the best thing in the world; and love was -happiness. She wanted her to have that. - -The two girls were together constantly, and this meant that Joan soon -began to see a good deal of Sir Justin Wentworth. Quickly she diagnosed -that he cared nothing for Violet Ffrench, except in a kindly, -protective, affectionate way, but that he had a deep regard for her -father. He would never try to free himself of the tacit understanding -into which he had drifted as a boy; if any change were to come, the -initiative must be taken, and firmly taken, by Violet. - -Meanwhile, two things were happening. If Violet was not precisely -falling in love with Villa Fora, she was in love with the idea of him -which was growing up in her mind; and Justin Wentworth had discovered -that he craved for something more in life than Violet Ffrench could ever -give him. - -He had gone on contentedly enough for the several years during which he -had definitely thought of the marriage. There had been the Boer war, -and then the interest of coming home to England and his beautiful old -place in Devonshire, which he loved. But now, quite suddenly, he had -awakened to the fact that contentment is no better than desperate -resignation; and though he was hardly aware of it yet, the awakening had -come to him when looking into Joan's eyes. - -He would not confess to himself that he loved her, but he thought that -she was the most vivid creature he had ever met, and he could not help -realising how curiously congenial they were in most of their thoughts. -Often he seemed to feel what she was feeling, without a word being -spoken on either side, and unconsciously he was jealous of the handsome -Spanish cousin with whom (General Ffrench innocently suggested) the -Comtesse would probably make a match. - -Joan, on her part, cared too much by this time to be able to see -clearly, where her own affairs were concerned. She had begun the little -comedy she was playing not for the sake of Villa Fora, but for her own, -with the deliberate intention of separating Violet Ffrench from Justin -Wentworth, even though she might never come any nearer to him herself. -All the machinery which she had set going was running smoothly. Violet -was fascinated by Villa Fora, was meeting him secretly and receiving -notes from him; he was determined to bring matters to a climax soon, and -was sure of his success. General Ffrench played golf all day, bridge -half the night, and suspected nothing; nor, apparently, did any one -else. Still, Joan was more miserable than she had ever been in her -life--far more miserable than when Lady Thorndyke had died without -making a new will and left her penniless. - -The girl saw herself at last as she was, unscrupulous, an adventuress, -living on her wits and the lack of wits in others. She hated herself, -and worshipped more and more each day the honourable soldier from whom -her own unworthiness (if there were no other barrier) must, she felt, -put her irrevocably apart. - -Even as Joan talked to Violet of Wentworth and Villa Fora, outwardly -agreeing with the girl that the one was cold, that it was the other who -knew how to love, her whole soul was in rebellion against itself. "He -does not think of me at all," she would repeat over and over again, -despite the secret voice of instinct which whispered a contradiction. -"He doesn't think of me; and even if he did, he would only have to know -half the truth to despise me as the vilest of women." - -Then, one day, there was a great scandal at the hotel. The Marchese -Villa Fora had run away with Miss Violet Ffrench, in the Comtesse de -Merival's motor-car, which lately he had been learning to drive. Even -Joan was taken by surprise, for she had not known that the thing was -going to happen so soon. She was actually able to tell the truth--or -something approaching the truth--when she assured the father and the -deserted _fiancé_ that she was innocent of complicity. So candid were -her beautiful, wet eyes, so tremulous her sweet voice, and so pale the -delicate oval of her cheeks, that both men believed her, and one of them -was so happy in this sudden relief from the weight of a great burden -that he could have sung aloud. - -General Ffrench was far from happy; but he determined that, rather than -give fuel to the scandal, he would make the best of things as they were. -To this course he was partly persuaded by the counsels of Justin -Wentworth. Villa Fora was undoubtedly what he pretended to be, a -Spanish marquis of very ancient and honourable lineage, though it would -take many golden bricks to rebuild the family castle in Spain. The girl -had gone with him, and gone too far before the truth came out to be -brought back with good grace, therefore it were well to let her become -the Marchesa Villa Fora quietly, without useless ragings. - -The thing Joan had set herself to accomplish was done; she had separated -Justin Wentworth and Violet Ffrench for ever, and now the end had come. -She was hurt and sore, and could hardly bear to see her own face in the -glass, for she imagined that it had grown hard and cruel--that Justin -Wentworth must find it so. - -General Ffrench openly announced his daughter's marriage to the Marchese -Villa Fora, and told all inquirers that he was going to join her in -Madrid; but Justin Wentworth would not, of course, accompany his old -friend on such a mission. He would set his face towards England, and -with this intention he said "Good-bye" to the Comtesse de Merival. - -"This has hurt and shocked you, too," he said. "There is one thing I -must say to you, and it is this: it is only for her father that I care. -I want her to be happy in her own way. We did not suit each other." - -"I used sometimes to think not," Joan answered in a voice genuinely -broken. "I used to be afraid that--if you should ever marry--you would -not have been happy. Perhaps she--wasn't the right one for you." - -Her eyes were downcast, but the compelling power of love in the man's -caught them up to his and held them. - -"I have known that she wasn't the right one for a long time," he said. -"I have known the right one, and it is you. I love you with all my -heart. I want you. You are the one woman on earth for me. I hadn't -meant to say this now, but--I can't let you go out of my life. I must -do all I can to keep you always." - -"Don't!" gasped Joan. "Don't! it will kill me. Oh, if you only knew, -how you would hate me!" - -"Nothing could make me hate you." - -"Yes. Wait!" And then Joan poured out the whole story--not only of -this last fraud, but of all the frauds; the story of her "career." - -He listened to the end, without interrupting her once. Then, at last, -when the strange tale was finished, and the pale girl was silent from -sheer exhaustion of the hopeless spirit tasting its punishment in -purgatory, he held out his arms. - -"Poor, little, lonely girl!" he said. "How sorry I am for you! How I -want to comfort and take care of you all the rest of your life, so that -it may be clear and white, as your true self would have it be! And--how -glad I am that you're not a widowed Comtesse!" - - ---- - -She was in his arms still when a knock at the door roused them both from -the first dream of real happiness the girl had ever known. - -A servant brought a card. She took it from the tray and read it out -mechanically: "Mr. George Gallon." - -"Tell the gentleman----" she had begun; but before she could go further -with her instructions George Gallon himself had entered the room. - -"Well, Miss Carthew," he said, "I heard from an unexpected source that -you were here, swaggering about as the widow of a French Comte. I -needed a little holiday, and so I ran out to see whether you were a -greater success as a Comtesse than you were as a typewriter in my -office. Oh! I beg your pardon. You're not alone. I'm afraid I may -have surprised your friend with some disagreeable news." - -"Not at all," said Justin Wentworth calmly. "Miss Carthew has not only -told me of that episode in her life, but how it became necessary for her -to take up the position of a typewriter. Your treatment of her seemed -almost incredible--until I saw you. No wonder it was necessary for Miss -Carthew to adopt an _alias_, if this is the sort of persecution she is -subject to under her own name. But in future it will be different. As -Lady Wentworth she will be safe even from cads like you; and though she -is not yet my wife, I'm thankful to say I have even now the right to -protect her. When do you intend to leave Biarritz, Mr. Gallon?" - -[Illustration: "'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"] - -George opened his lips furiously, but snapped them shut again. Then, -having paused to reflect, he said: "I am here only for an hour. I'm -going on to Spain." - -"Pray watch over your tongue in that hour," returned Wentworth. - -Then George Gallon was gone. - -"I'll worship you all my life on my knees," said Joan. "I'm not worthy -to touch your hand. But I will be. I will be a new self." - -"Only the best of the old one, that is all I want," answered her lover. -"The past is like a garment which you wore for protection against the -storm. But there will be no more storms after this." - -"Because you have forgiven me, because you believe in me," cried Joan, -"you will make of me the woman you would have me!" - -"The woman you really are, or I would not have loved you," he said. - -And so it was that Joan Carthew's career ended and her life began. - - - - - Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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