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diff --git a/44419.txt b/44419.txt deleted file mode 100644 index de63a1d..0000000 --- a/44419.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8004 +0,0 @@ - THE ARCH-SATIRIST - - - - -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 Arch-Satirist -Author: Frances De Wolfe Fenwick -Release Date: December 13, 2013 [EBook #44419] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARCH-SATIRIST *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - -[Illustration: "The least we can do is to apologize, and we do -it--thus."--Page 299] - - - - - THE - ARCH-SATIRIST - - - BY - - FRANCES DE WOLFE FENWICK - - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - CHARLES COPELAND - - - - "Justice had been done, and Time, the Arch-Satirist, - had had his joke out."--THOMAS HARDY. - - - - BOSTON - LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. - - - - - Published, March, 1910 - - - COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD Co. - - _All Rights Reserved_ - - _Entered at Stationer's Hall, London_ - - THE ARCH-SATIRIST - - - - Norwood Press - BERWICK & SMITH CO. - Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. - - - - - *CONTENTS* - - -CHAPTER - - I. "Half Devil and Half Child" - II. A Visit to Agatha - III. "Forsaken Guts and Creeks" - IV. A Brilliant Match - V. "Blind Fools of Fate" - VI. "Life at its End" - VII. A Short Repentance - VIII. "Punchinello" - IX. "Just a Few of the Girls" - X. "A Fin-de-siecle Pair" - XI. Visitors and Disclosures - XII. The Views of Two Women - XIII. Rejected Addresses - XIV. A Decision to be Reached - XV. "Be Pitiful, O God!" - XVI. The Hockey Match - XVII. A Scandal Verified - XVIII. Mrs. Hadwell's Fancy Dress Ball - XIX. Agatha "Does Her Duty" and is Rewarded - XX. The Twins under a New Aspect - XXI. A Lie Which Is Part a Truth - XXII. Whispering Tongues - XXIII. When Love Is Done - XXIV. Mrs. Langham-Green Pays Her Debt; and Mrs. Waite, Hers - XXV. The Shadows Fall - - - - - *THE ARCH-SATIRIST* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *"HALF DEVIL AND HALF CHILD"* - - - "Then the preacher preached of Sin ... fair of flower and bitter - of fruit."--_Juliana Horatia Ewing_. - - -"To me the idea of slaving for a life-time in order to die rich is a -pitiful sort of insanity. That's the Italian in me, I suppose. I would -think it wiser to drink--drink deep and long and gloriously--and die of -it--die in a ditch if necessary! _Then_ I would have lived some sort of -life, anyway, and enjoyed it after my fashion. But I'm not going to -live or die that way. I'm going to take everything in life that's worth -having, and I'm going to enjoy--and enjoy--and enjoy! The devil, -himself, can't cheat me of it. I've long arrears of happiness to make -up and by God----_I'll make them!_" The speaker broke off, coughing -horribly; a gleam of intense rage shone in his great, wild eyes and his -thin nostrils quivered, furiously. Poor slight earth-worm! caught in -the whirlwind of Destiny and tossed hither and thither! compelled to -falsify his weak boasts even as he uttered them! The man who sat -opposite, smoking and lounging in the dim light of the studio, withdrew -his gaze with an effort from his visitor's frail form and frenzied face; -there seemed something indecent in gazing thus openly at the contortions -of a naked soul. - -"Have a little hot Scotch for the cough," he suggested, reluctantly. -"What's the use? I may just as well give it to him, here," he added to -himself. "The boy's trebly doomed and a drop more or less isn't going -to make any difference either way." He busied himself with a spirit -lamp and glasses and soon his visitor was gulping down the proffered -draught, greedily. - -"That's good!" he exclaimed. "That puts life in me. I feel as if I -could write something now--something worth while." - -"Something unfit for reading, I suppose you mean," returned his host, -cheerfully. - -The boy laughed easily and settled back among the cushions of his easy -chair with panther-like grace. - -"Not a bit of it," he answered, gaily. "I only write them after gin. -The best thing I ever did was gin--'Sin's Lure.' You read it?" - -"I did." - -"Strong, wasn't it?" - -"Strong, yes. So is a--so are various other things strong. Just the -sort of thing a diseased, vice-racked, dissipated young--genius--like -you might be expected to produce. What bothers me now is your prose. -Anything more uncharacteristic"-- - -The boy laughed and gazed at the older man, intently and mischievously. - -"Nothing morbid about that, is there?" - -"Nothing. Bright, dainty, unerringly truthful, delightfully witty--how -in thunder do you do it? You must have two souls." - -"Two! I've got a dozen." - -The boy lit a cigarette and puffed it, meditatively. The man smoked a -well-coloured pipe and gazed steadily at his visitor. Seen thus, they -were an ill-assorted pair. - -Gerald Amherst, the owner of the studio, was an artist, uncursed -overmuch by the artistic temperament. His strong, sane face and massive -figure suggested the athlete, the pose and substance of his attitude the -successful business man. Nor did the omens lie. He was an athlete in -his leisure moments, a business man at all times. Art was his -occupation, his delight; but he never forgot that she was also his -bread-winner. Amherst painted good, sometimes exceptional pictures; and -he demanded--and obtained--good, sometimes exceptional prices for them. -For the rest he was thirty-four, fine-looking, well-bred, honest--and -popular. Friends came to him as flies come in July to ordinary mortals. - -So alien was his visitor that he hardly seemed to belong to the same -world. Lithe, long-limbed, sinuous, with features of almost feminine -delicacy and charm and hands that made the artist soul in Gerald vibrate -pleasurably. The eyes--deep-set, hollow, passionate--were the eyes of a -lost soul; impenetrable, fathomless, and lurid. - -Strange, alluring, repellent personality! where the seeds of a thousand -sins--sown centuries before--bore hideous fruit. Madness, vice, disease, -and death--and, through them all, the golden fire of genius! This boy's -age was nineteen; and no second glance was needed to tell that the -fierce, straining spirit must soon leave its wretched tenement behind -and fare forth into darkness. In the meantime--Amherst puffed at his -pipe and thought. A year ago this boy had been a pet and idol of -Montreal society; to-day his open corruptness had closed all doors to -him save those of a few, who, like Amherst, forgave the madman in the -genius, and the beast in the dying boy. - -Then, too, our hero was an artist; and Leo Ricossia was a model such as -artist seldom sees. He was graceful as some young wild animal; his -delicately nervous body could form no pose that was not pleasing. As -for his face--thin-lipped, wide-eyed, luminous--"Ricossia will never -write a poem so wonderful as his face," a brother-artist had once -remarked; and Amherst fully concurred in the opinion. - -Ricossia spoke presently, his dark eyes heavy with thought. - -"You think it possible that one may have ten souls?" - -"I think it probable that one soul may have twenty outlooks, and all of -them vile, when he has soaked in sufficient gin. But how an unhealthy -mind can produce healthy stuff--that's beyond me. Your prose is -healthy, and what's more, it's fine. It ranks with"--He stopped -abruptly, amazed and confounded by the glitter in Ricossia's eye. - -"You--you don't think it better than my poetry? You can't!" - -"I think--in a sense--it is better!" Amherst spoke slowly and Ricossia -leaned forward to catch his words with an avidity which seemed -disproportioned to the matter in hand. "In another sense it's not so -good, of course. The poems are unhealthy, feverish, abnormal--but, in -their way, they're efforts of genius. The stories are simply very -unusually clever prose--healthy, witty, and clean. Personally I prefer -them." - -"You--you miserable Philistine!" - -The boy leaned back as though relieved and his scarlet lips parted in a -smile of startling sweetness. The eyes had lost their wild gleam now -and were simply wells of dusky kindness and fellowship; the eyes of an -intelligent, friendly brute with something added. Gerald noted the -change with unflagging interest; as a study the boy never palled. - -"You think I'm a bad lot, don't you?" - -"I think you're as bad as the worst. But a chap like you isn't to be -judged by ordinary standards." - -"Yet," pursued Ricossia, slowly, "you allow that I can write clean -stuff. Perhaps in spite of it all, underneath it all--my soul is clean." - -"I hope so; but I don't believe it for a moment. No, I can't account -for it that way." - -"Possibly," suggested the other, puffing fitfully, "possibly, then, my -unclean spirit has gained control of some healthy, human soul which it -dominates." - -"Possibly you're talking awful rot," returned the other, good-humouredly -but a trifle impatiently. - -"Possibly I am." - -The poet smiled softly and leaned back, making a lovely thing of the -corner where he lounged. - -"Healthy people often have a liking for me," he observed. "You, for -instance--the healthiest man I know. And the healthiest woman--Miss -Thayer." - -"That'll do." - -"What do you mean?" - -"That you mustn't speak of her." - -"Why?" - -"You ought to know." - -The boy stared, uncomprehendingly; then threw himself back, chuckling -inaudibly. - -"You didn't understand me," he said at last, his beautiful eyes bright -with amusement. "She has far too much sense to be attracted by me in -the ordinary way. I meant only"-- - -"I don't care what you meant. I don't like to talk to you about her and -I won't. If she did bestow a good deal of attention on you at one time -it was before she knew your real character; she regarded you just as a -sick, inspired boy. None of them ever speak of you, now; you ought to -know that." - -Ricossia fixed his great eyes on the speaker's face with an impenetrable -expression, then shook with silent laughter. - -"We'll talk on some less delicate subject," he said at last with a keen, -bright glance at the other man, replete with subtle mockery. "Still," -he added, softly, "you'll allow--leaving all personalities out of the -question--that I have a magnetic attraction for all women, good and -bad--even if I am ostracized from polite society." - -"I'll allow nothing--I don't want to discuss it, I tell you," said -Amherst, irritably. "There are some things and some people one doesn't -care to hear you mention, you young-- Can't you understand that?" - -"Perfectly!" returned the boy, laughing. His laugh was an uncanny thing, -so melodious and bell-like as to be startlingly unmasculine. Amherst -liked it no better than the rest of him--and found it equally -attractive. - -After all, he mused, his momentary irritation subsiding, our ideas of -what a man should be were arbitrary. Certainly there was a beauty of -disease; a beauty even of corruption, which, while no one cared to -imitate, no one, on the other hand, could deny the existence of. Here -was a living example; the scapegoat of heredity, laden down with sin, -weighted with disease, yet possessed of how many goodly gifts! And all -to end in--what? The passion of the hot heart, the sweat of the -over-active brain--all, all for nothing. An evil life and an early -grave. Retribution, yes; but retribution, really, for the sins of the -dead men whose deeds lived, poisoning the life and rotting the blood in -the veins of this, their human puppet. And these dead men, what of -them? What of their life, endlessly self-renewed, unceasingly sinned -against until this, the last representative of a name that had once been -great, went to fertilize the waiting earth. "About all he is fit for, -too," mused Gerald grimly enough, noting the signs plainly written on -the face of the boy. Then his mood changed. How pitiful! This -beautiful creature, in nature a cross between a satyr and an elfin, in -face, nothing short of a god; this "vessel of a more ungainly make" -"leaning all awry"; this marionette of the scornful gods, dancing gaily -enough, to every tune the devil chose to play him; this strange, only -half human being of the unbridled will, the untempered desires. And -only nineteen! - -The studio showed bright with candle-light and lamp-light. A fire of -wood and coal glowed and chattered on the hearth. It was all very quiet, -very restful. The boy still lingered among the rich-hued cushions and -his face showed an unwonted sense of peace. - -The poetic instincts which an Italian father, an Irish grandmother, had -bequeathed to him responded amazingly to this atmosphere of cosy, -sinless warmth. He was quite capable of rising to heights of -extraordinary mental spirituality at such moments, though quite -incapable of applying the first principle of morality to his daily life. - -Gerald Amherst thought, as he had thought many times before, of the -strange inequalities of life. Here was he, thirty-four, the possessor -of a sound body, a clear conscience, a healthy mind and a sufficient -income. He reflected on these various advantages with no sense of -personal merit, feeling that they had been bequeathed to him as truly as -had the old mahogany chest which formed one of the chief ornaments of -his room. He had certainly started as well equipped as most to play the -great game of life. - -What if he, too, had had this boy's heritage? He tried, smiling a -little, to imagine himself a Ricossia; a doomed, reckless, light-hearted -being who chose to spend his few remaining years in hopeless vice. As -he thought, a sudden pity for the boy overtook him as it had very often -done before, a sudden curiosity as to what really transpired behind the -black veil which we all hang between our inmost selves and the eyes of -our fellow-humans. Did the boy ever feel regret or shame or loathing -for himself or reluctance to continue in his vile career? Would he -confess to it if he did? Amherst, pressed by a sudden desire to know -more of his whimsical visitant, questioned him, soberly. - -"I say--Leo!" - -"Well, old man?" - -"You've been going it a bit, lately, haven't you? Drinking pretty hard? -Drugs, too, of some sort, I fancy. You look pretty seedy." - -The boy started and glanced hastily in a polished, steel mirror which -hung near. What he saw evidently re-assured him, for he tossed his black -head and smiled, carelessly. - -"I think I look pretty fit," he said, coolly. "I'd hate to think -otherwise. My word! I don't know what I'd do if--some fellows show -that sort of thing so. Swollen faces, purple round the nose and all -that--you know?" - -"I know." - -"But I'm not in that class, yet, thank the Lord." - -"Yes, but suppose the Lord went back on you and handed you the red nose -and the pimples and all the other ornaments which rightfully belong to -you--what then?" - -"Then?--oh, then, I'd end it very quickly. I can't bear to have an ugly -object in the room with me; do you think I could bear to be one myself? -Chloral's painless." - -"Yes, and cheap. The idea of suicide appeals to you, then?" - -"Not especially," answered the boy, beginning to stir, restlessly. "But -one must do something if the worst comes to the worst." - -"I wonder, if you feel like that, that you continue to live. Do you -really think your life's worth living?" - -"No," answered Ricossia, calmly. "Do you think yours is?" - -Gerald stopped half-way in an answer, struck by a sudden thought. _Was_ -his life worth living? It was a good life as lives go; but if he could -exchange it now, to-night, for total oblivion, absolute insurance -against future pain, old age, illness, sorrow--would he, or would he -not? He hesitated. - -"I ask you," pursued Ricossia, quietly, "because, just now, as I leaned -back here in your comfortable chair with your fire dancing in my eyes -and your good drink warming the very cockles of my heart, I thought of -you and, for a moment, envied you. Then I thought of your life. Your -tiresome routine of work, exercise, wholesome food, good air, sound -sleep--God! how do you stand it? I'd go mad!" - -"You think your own life preferable?" - -"My life _is_ life of a kind. My cough's a devilish nuisance but I can -always purchase oblivion with a few cents--oblivion! Have you ever known -what it is to want sleep? No? I thought not. Wait until you have. -Then know what it is to want sleep _and to get it_; to drop off to -slumber, lulled with pleasant thoughts, dreams, fancies, and to feel no -pain, no bother, nothing but a delicious drowsiness. Of course the -waking up is bad--but you don't think of that; if you did, I suppose -you'd take a bigger dose once for all." - -"I'm not paid to induce you to commit suicide, but, feeling as you do, I -wonder what on earth you live for?" - -"So do I. So do most of us. But of course there is only one answer to -that question; namely, that Nature has implanted in the breast of the -tiniest insect that lives and crawls on the face of this globe not only -the desire to live but the intention to live. It's an instinct. We all -have it. Life is a horrible thing, really. This world is an unspeakable -place. But none of us wants to leave it all the same. That may be -because it is the only life we have or it may be because there's a worse -life waiting. But I don't believe that, someway. Though the Creator -seems pretty cruel at times I think perhaps old Khayyam did him no -injustice. 'He's a good fellow and 'twill all be well.' And now, -Amherst, yarning always makes me restless and dry and the night's still -young. I'm going to get drunk." - -"Hold on!" expostulated Amherst, genuinely shocked and startled, he -could hardly tell why, at this most unexpected and unpleasant ending to -their talk. "Don't do it, Ricossia. How can you? What--what can you -expect from the 'Good Fellow' if you fly in his face, that way? It's -devilish, that's what it is. Stay and let me fix you up for the night, -you young fool, you!" - -Ricossia laughed. "You're a funny old boy, Amherst," he observed, -meditatively. "I wonder what it feels like to have a conscience. I'd -rather have a drink--a series of drinks! 'My Clay with long oblivion -has gone dry.' As for the 'Good Fellow'--I haven't seen anything of -him, yet. Have you? But the other old Boy is howling to be fed, so I'm -off. Good-night." - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *A VISIT TO AGATHA* - - - "This life of ours is a wild AEolian harp of many a joyous - strain-- - But under them all there runs a loud, perpetual wail as of - souls in pain."--_Longfellow_. - - -Agatha Ladilaw had made a pink dress and was embroidering it with roses. -Each of us has some particular talent; Agatha's was dressmaking. Her -parents were not wealthy and therefore she could not indulge in the -"creations" affected by many of her friends; but by dint of constant -industry, excellent taste and unusual skill, she contrived to be always -charmingly costumed. True, with a figure that might have stepped out of -a Fifth Avenue shop window and a face which any colour rendered lovely, -she did not confront the difficulties of ordinary mortals. - -As physical perfection is rare and as Agatha Ladilaw was, in her way, an -unusually fine specimen of purely mundane and limited loveliness, a pen -picture of her as she sat may be of interest. - -Nature in planning Agatha had done unusually well. She had not only -bestowed upon her a great amount of comeliness, but she had, apparently, -taken pride in finishing her work in a way that is not common. How often -a pretty face is spoilt by an irregular nose, a large ear, an imperfect -contour of cheek or brow! In Agatha's case, however, no pains had been -spared to produce a thoroughly bewitching whole. While face and form -were sufficiently classical in outline to satisfy the most exacting, -there was a warmth, a colour, a radiance about her, born partly of -exuberant youth, partly of brilliant health. Her eyes were wonderful; -purple pansies, black-lashed, white-lidded; her hair was a ripe -chestnut, deepening to auburn, lightening to gold. Her skin had that -pure satin whiteness peculiar to extreme youth; her hands were plump, -dimpled, tapering, with pink palms and transparent nails. Her teeth -were white, tiny and sharp; when she smiled, her pink cheeks broke into -enchanting dimples which added the last touch of enticement to her -kitten-like charms. - -Nature had planned her upon classic lines--a sort of pocket edition -Venus. Agatha, however, after a careful perusal of the fashion plates -every spring, moulded her figure in accordance with the latest "craze." -When long waists and narrow hips held sway, Agatha presented a -faultlessly correct outline; when the coquettish athlete adorned -magazine covers, Agatha might have passed for her sister. How all this -was accomplished with no injury to health is a mystery which only the -corsetiere can solve; Agatha at all times might have sat for a picture -of Hebe. - -For the rest, she was slightly under medium height, a fact which she -publicly deplored, but for which she was secretly grateful. She did not -admire tall girls; in fact, she did not admire anybody or anything which -differed very greatly from her extremely attractive self. She had an -intense and artistic appreciation of her various good points and looked -with pity on those to whom the fairies had been less lavish. One who -came in for a share of this ingenuous pity was her cousin, Lynn Thayer. - -This young lady had dropped in at the time the chapter opens, for a cup -of tea, in accordance with a long-deferred promise. As she sank into an -easy-chair and loosened her furs she smiled at Agatha with a smile which -held no tinge of envy. For Lynn, while cherishing in common with many -plain women an enthusiastic admiration for beauty, enjoyed it in much -the same way that she enjoyed music; intensely, even emotionally, but -impersonally. Notwithstanding, she attached an exaggerated importance to -it and affected her small cousin more than she otherwise might have done -because she possessed it in such unstinted measure. - -As she sat, idly watching Agatha's white fingers moving through the pink -draperies of the gown which she was embroidering, the thought of Leo -Ricossia occurred to her and she mentally compared them. Both were -beautiful to an extraordinary degree; but Agatha's beauty suggested -roses, kittens, Cupids, everything that was soft and appealing, -exquisite and empty, while Ricossia's beauty suggested storm, flaming -sunset, glorious music. His was, in short, the beauty of a young caged -tiger, Agatha's the loveliness of a very perfect white Persian kitten. -Lynn laughed as this simile presented itself to her mind; it seemed to -her singularly apropos. What different worlds they inhabited, these two -radiant young creatures! Ricossia represented the pagan element, Agatha -was the last word of civilized young-ladyship. The world was wide -enough to contain both; nay, this little, stately old city was wide -enough for that. They lived within an hour's distance of one another, -as far asunder in thought, life, knowledge, ideals as is this little -earth from "the last star's uttermost distance." - -Lynn Thayer's and Agatha Ladilaw's mothers had been sisters and both had -been beauties. Lynn, however, as her maternal relatives were fond of -remarking, had "taken after her father." Though her face was pleasing -it was rather plain; plain, not ugly; for its plainness consisted rather -in lack of positive beauty than in any particular defect. Her hair was -brown and abundant, her eyes deep-set and giving the effect of brown to -the casual observer, although, as a matter of fact, they were a dark -greyish green. Her skin was colourless, her mouth, large and -thin-lipped, her nose, ordinary. However, her figure was excellent of -its kind, tall, straight, flat-backed, and, while delicately -proportioned, giving the effect of considerable reserve strength. Her -movements, too, were graceful, but graceful somewhat as a young boy's -are graceful, alert, easy, noiseless and entirely lacking in effort or -self-consciousness. Perhaps her only positive beauty consisted in her -teeth which, though not dainty like Agatha's, were white and regular. -It would hardly be fair to say that her face lacked expression, but it -was not a mobile face; habits of self-control and repression had stamped -themselves too deeply in her nature not to show elsewhere. Her bearing -was dignified and even distinguished and her voice well-modulated and -soft. As a whole, she was the sort of girl whom one might meet any day -in any city of the continent; a girl who was no longer young, yet showed -no signs of age; a girl who could never be pretty, yet would hardly be -considered ugly; a girl who wore dark coloured tailor-made costumes and -looked like a lady in them; a girl who closely resembled scores of other -girls the world over. - -Lynn Thayer occupied a somewhat unusual position in Montreal. Her -mother had been a pretty woman of fashion, her father a well-to-do man. -However, her father dying shortly after his marriage and her mother -losing all her money in a way which shall be explained elsewhere, Lynn -had been left penniless. Her father's only living brother had offered -her a home and a dress allowance; but she had refused the latter, had -qualified as a public school teacher, and was earning a regular salary -in one of the Board Schools. As both her father's and her mother's -relatives were people of some wealth and much social standing, she -occupied an anomalous position in what is known as "society." As a -young girl she had "gone out" quite a little; now for reasons which -shall presently develop, she went only to the homes of intimate friends -and was seldom seen in public. - -Oddly enough Lynn Thayer possessed a considerable fascination for both -sexes. All men and most women liked her. She had never been pretty and -was no longer a young girl, but her attraction had rather augmented than -diminished as time went by. Debutantes, secure in the possession of -unimpeachable gowns and rosy cheeks, often looked with amazement at the -alacrity with which their partners left them for a dance with Miss -Thayer. Probably these same partners would have found it difficult to -explain why, themselves. Lynn always created the impression that she -was a nice girl; a positive "nice girl," not a negative "nice girl." -People liked her. Children "took to her" at once, dogs followed her; -cats jumped on her knee without waiting for an invitation. Beyond an -admirable figure and a pretty wit she possessed no surface charms; but -something about her attracted and inspired confidence and trust. It is -difficult to say why one excellent person is universally liked, another -excellent person universally detested, another excellent person -universally respected and shunned. Lynn Thayer belonged to the first -class, that was all. - -Certainly no two girls could resemble one another less than the cousins. -Lynn was at best "a nice-looking girl," Agatha was "a dream." She -showed to excellent advantage, too, in her mother's house where -everything had been planned with an eye to the petted daughter as the -central figure. - -It was a very pretty sitting-room where Agatha Ladilaw sat, this cold -January day. Without, the sharp air cut like a knife; within, all was -comfort, warmth, cosiness. It would be difficult to imagine Agatha in -anything but elegant and graceful surroundings. She was like a lovely, -white, Persian kitten who had fed on cream and lain on cushions all her -life; and, someway, one always knew that she would continue to feed on -cream and lie on silk even if she lost her fur and her teeth in the -course of time. If certain natures carry within themselves the elements -of tragedy, others carry within themselves not only the desire for the -soft things of life but the capacity for obtaining them. To the latter -class Agatha undoubtedly belonged. Her beautiful aunt, Lynn's mother, -had made rather a mess of her life, in spite of the fact that she had -had all and more than Agatha possessed in the way of beauty and -fascination. One knew instinctively that Agatha would never fall into -her mistakes. In the first place she would not wait till twenty-five -before marrying; in the second place she would never dislike any man who -fed and clothed her sumptuously; in the third place she would never be -carried away by any indiscreet and expensive infatuation. In short -Agatha was quite the most correct thing in young ladies, eminently -satisfactory and desirable. - -The room where Agatha liked to sit with embroidery or sewing was long, -low, light. The bay-window was filled with plants, and the fragrance of -mignonette and jasmine hung about the rose-coloured curtains which -draped the alcove and separated it from the rest of the room. The -furniture was light and artistic rather than costly; easy chairs -upholstered in rose-patterned chintz; mission-wood tables, bookcases and -"rockers"; the inevitable "cosy corner," cushioned to the last degree of -comfort; a green carpet displaying a border of various-coloured roses; a -silver-laden tea-table, a table containing books and magazines--mostly -uncut; another containing one beautiful vase of cut flowers. Presently, -when dusk arrived, the room would be suffused with rose-coloured -lamp-light, but, at present, the winter sun flooding the room and the -tiny fire which burned on the hearth gave a sufficient suggestion of -cheer. - -Agatha in her pink environment sewing on a pink dress gave one a -delightful sense of the eternal fitness of things. One forgot, for the -time being, the bitter January wind howling outside, the flock of black -cares that dog the footsteps of ordinary mortals. Agatha certainly had -her place in the scheme of the universe, just as the Persian kitten has. -If the kitten were thrust out into the world and told to earn its -cream--that would be another story. - -Agatha, as has before been stated, would never have to earn her cream, -otherwise than by existing and ornamenting. She would always be -cheerfully ready to pay for it whenever necessary in the coin with which -Nature had so richly endowed her. Therefore it will at once be seen that -Agatha was a most satisfactory girl; everything that a young lady ought -to be; just the sort of person who could be depended upon to give -Society no shocks and her parents no anxiety. - -Lynn almost wished that Agatha would not think it necessary to talk; the -fire-lit, rose-decorated room and the beautiful little occupant who sat, -absorbed in her draperies, were both so eminently satisfactory from an -artistic point of view that she would have preferred to lounge idly, and -enjoy them. Everything about Agatha was so attractive, so feminine, in -such charming taste. The delicate white fingers moving in and out of -the pink draperies; the graceful pose of the pretty figure in the easy -chair; the absorbed, almost spiritual expression of the great, violet -eyes; all charmed Lynn, even while she realized their misleadingness and -realized, too, that, by breaking into these absorbed meditations, one -was liable to disturb nothing more important than the set of an -imaginary train. Soon, however, Agatha spoke; slowly and with something -resembling an effort. - -"Lynn, what do you think of Harry Shaftan, the General's nephew?" - -"He's a nice boy." - -"Nicer than Howard Pyle or Jimmy Gresham?" - -"I believe I like him better." - -"What do you think of the others?" - -"Why? Are you engaged to any of them?" asked Lynn, laughing. - -"Oh, no! That is--I mean to say--yes. I mean, I'm engaged to them all." - -Lynn leaned back and gasped. Agatha continued to embroider. - -"And--may I ask which one you intend to marry?" - -"I don't know, exactly," confessed Agatha, poising her needle on her -pink lip and gazing reflectively heavenward. "They're all nice; but I -don't think I'll marry any of them." - -"Agatha Ladilaw! What do you mean?" - -"Why, lots of engagements are broken," said Agatha, looking surprised. -"Lots and lots of them. If I found that I didn't really love any of -these men--that the real passion of my life was yet to come--you -wouldn't advise me to marry them, would you?" She looked at her cousin -with an air of virtuous surprise and Lynn shouted. - -"Oh, Agatha, you're a treat!" she exclaimed, with intense enjoyment. "A -veritable, living treat!" - -"I really don't see why," said Agatha, coldly, proceeding to thread a -needle with an offended air. "And if you're going to laugh about -serious subjects like love and marriage, why, I won't talk about them, -that's all." - -This consummation was far from Lynn's desire; and by dint of earnest and -respectful entreaties she finally induced her small cousin to continue. - -"What made you accept them all in the first place?" she asked with -interest. - -"Why, they all wanted me," said Agatha, simply. "And it's so hard to -say no to a nice man. Even if he isn't nice, it's not easy. And you -said yourself that they"-- - -"But, Agatha?" - -"Yes?" - -"Doesn't it seem queer to--well, to let three men kiss you at the same -time?" - -"The idea!" said Agatha, haughtily. "Of course they don't all do it at -once. I very seldom see more than one of them in the same evening." - -"Oh, don't be silly, Agatha; you must know what I mean. Doesn't it -seem--isn't it a little hard to"-- - -"Why, no," said Agatha, staring, "it's the easiest thing in the world." - -"Dear me! You don't feel at all sneaky or confused about it?" - -"Confused? Why, no. You see, I've always been engaged to two or three -people more or less ever since I was fifteen; of course before that it -wasn't really necessary." - -"How do you mean?" - -"Why, to be engaged, you know! one didn't have to be. But after you're -fifteen, it seems rather fast, somehow, to let people kiss you that -you're not engaged to." - -"I had no idea you were so particular," murmured Lynn, bending down to -hide a smile. - -"Oh, I always think a girl can't be too particular about those things," -said Agatha, firmly. "Because suppose someone happened to see you! All -you have to do then is to say, 'To tell you the truth, I'm engaged to -Mr. ----,' whichever one it was. And there you are!" - -"And suppose the same person found you with one of the others--what -then?" - -"Oh, that would be very unlucky. I don't believe I would ever be so -unlucky as that. And, Lynn, now that I have taken you into my -confidence and told you things, won't you make a friend of me? and let -me give you a little advice?" - -"Why, yes," said Lynn, smiling. - -"It's about Mr. Lighton. You know he is so eligible and it would be so -dreadful if, by any mismanagement, you let him slip through your -fingers." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes, indeed; and men are so deceitful," continued Agatha, piously, "you -can't tell a thing about them, you really can't. Now there was a case I -knew; it was something like yours only not so disappointing, for the man -had only two thousand a year. But he kept running after this girl, just -the way Lighton does after you, and everybody thought he meant -something. People kept expecting to hear the engagement announced; but -it never came off." - -"What was the trouble?" - -"Why, you know, it was the queerest thing! he kept calling and calling -and every time you'd think he was going to propose; but _he never did_. -So the girl got mad. She said she simply wasn't going to stand it a -moment longer, so she packed her trunk and went off to stay with some -people in Toronto. She was not going to have any such nonsense. But it -didn't do any good, for he married some one else." - -"What a sad story!" - -"Isn't it?" agreed Agatha, oblivious of sarcasm. "But she was very -lucky, for she met someone who had quite six hundred a year more than -the first man had, and he proposed to her quite quickly, and so then of -course they were married, and I sent them a centrepiece that I had -embroidered, myself. It was a very handsome one but you see Toronto is -a nice place to stay in." - -"Oh, I quite see why you sent it. I also see why you told me the story. -It has a moral. If the man who is rushing you doesn't propose after a -reasonable space of time--go to Toronto! Isn't that the idea?" - -"You are so clever," said Agatha with an apologetic smile, "that -sometimes I don't quite understand you. But if you mean that you think -that I am advising you to go to Toronto, that isn't right, because any -other place would do as well. Except that, of course, there are quite a -good many men in Toronto." - -"And you think that one of them might be induced to accept me?" - -"Why not?" said Agatha, encouragingly. "But, of course, you wouldn't be -at all likely to make another match like Mr. Lighton. So that is why I -want you to be so particularly careful. You don't take these things -seriously enough, Lynn, you know you don't. You must remember that you -are getting on." - -"Every year brings me nearer the grave, but no nearer matrimony," -commented Lynn, assuming an appropriately funereal aspect. - -"Oh, don't say that!" cried Agatha, looking genuinely shocked. "Please -don't! It sounds so dreadfully as if it might be-- And I am sure Mr. -Lighton is most attentive and Mr. Amherst and two or three others call -pretty often, don't they?" - -"Yet," said her cousin, solemnly, "I think myself, Agatha, that there is -just one little thing which is going to effectually prevent Mr. Lighton -from marrying me. You mark my words! as sure as I stand here just so -surely will I never be Mrs. Lighton. This one little obstacle is going -to stand in the way." - -"Why, what can it be?" queried Agatha, with intense interest. - -"You have no idea?" - -"Why, no." - -"I thought that you wouldn't have," returned Lynn, very gravely. - -"It won't prevent him from proposing, will it?" - -"Not a bit of it. It will only prevent him from marrying--that is, from -marrying me." - -"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Agatha in genuine distress. "And to think of -all the men you have refused, Lynn! and I suppose that there isn't one -you could get back at a pinch." - -"I fear not. The majority are either dead or married and the Grave and -the Other Woman do not disburse." - -"No, indeed," sighed her mentor. "And it's so necessary for you to -marry, Lynn, for if Uncle Horace died to-morrow he would leave Aunt Lucy -everything and there would be nothing left for you. Oh, what a pity -that your mother's money was all spent." - -"Yes, it seems a little unfortunate." - -"That dreadful Italian! What a pity Aunt Clara married him after your -father died. And didn't they have a son? What has become of him?" - -"My dear Agatha, how should I know?" said Lynn, restlessly. "Don't you -remember that, when Uncle Horace adopted me, he did it with the distinct -understanding that I was to hold no communication with my mother and my -little half-brother?" - -"Oh, how dreadful! How could you bear to be parted from your own dear -mother for ever?" - -Lynn surveyed the questioner with a slight smile. - -"Oh, I enjoyed the feeling that I brought in six hundred a year. I knew -that it would procure my mother more pleasure than my society could, and -that, with six hundred a year, her baby boy, and an occasional kiss from -the biggest blackguard the Lord ever let loose on earth, she would be as -happy as she could ever be. Poor mother! she was pretty, they say, even -when she lay dead; her beauty didn't do her much good, but, on the other -hand, my ugliness hasn't profited me, greatly. On the whole, I wish I -looked like her." - -"Aunt Clara was so awfully pretty and that Italian she married was so -wonderfully handsome! the boy must have been a perfect little beauty." - -"He was." Lynn spoke without enthusiasm. - -"Weren't you fond of him? - -"Very." - -"Wouldn't you like to see him, again?" - -"No--yes"-- - -"I don't believe you cared much about him, really." - -Lynn looked at her and smiled. - -"I was nine when he was born. My own father had died when I was a baby -and my earliest recollections are those of seeing my mother crying half -the day because my stepfather was out and laughing and chatting wildly -because he was in. She never noticed me. I was an ugly little thing -and she worshipped beauty--as I do. Besides, there are certain people -who seem to suck the lifeblood of all who care for them, and my -stepfather was of these; her love for him was a feverish thing, a thing -that absorbed and tortured and finally killed her. Such is the perfect -justice of the universe! no good man or woman ever receives that -idolatrous love; it is only the vile, the utterly selfish, the -heartlessly cruel--oh, here! what am I saying? To return to my story; I -had a nurse till we grew too poor, then I looked after myself. Then ... -the baby came. The baby! Oh, Agatha, if you had seen him! He was so -beautiful, so utterly dear and heavenly, and no one had ever cared for -me, and he--the very first time I saw him he put out his tiny hand and -the little fingers twined about mine ... oh, my baby, my baby, how could -I ever love anything in earth or heaven as I loved you? Well! for three -years I was always with him and then--and then Uncle Horace wanted to -adopt me, to rescue me, as he called it. And--I went. I was twelve -years old at the time--in years--and I realized, in the bitterest moment -of my life, that to go meant money and comfort and pleasure for him--my -idol! All I could do for him was to leave him--I saw it plainly--and I -went without a word. I went. I wonder if any misery in after life can -ever compare with the agony of that last hour when I sat, holding him in -my arms and rocking him to and fro--and waiting. The carriage came at -last to take me to the station and I kissed the wonderful little face -and looked into the marvellous baby eyes and went! Oh, my baby, my -baby, if I ever have a child of my own, will he, can he, ever be to me -what you were, I wonder!--dear me, what a lot of nonsense I'm talking, -Agatha! You mustn't mind." - -"Not at all," said Agatha, politely, "it's interesting. I had no idea -that you were so fond of babies, Lynn. But it seems so queer that you -don't know where he is, now. What became of him when your mother died? -He was about ten, wasn't he? for I remember you were nineteen." - -"Yes, he was ten. Oh, he lived at school and then with his father till -the latter died of consumption. That was two years ago." - -"And now?" - -"Why, now--he is probably living somewhere else. He is a man, you see, -and able to take care of himself." - -"But, oh, Lynn dear, you show so little feeling," said Agatha, with -dainty reproach. "Not to care what has become of that boy--when you used -to be so fond of him." - -"Oh, we forget everybody and everything--in time," returned Lynn, -listlessly. "At least," she added in a lower voice, "I hope we do." - -"Yes, I suppose so," said Agatha, comfortably. "Lynn, did you ever see -anything so sweet as that last rosebud I've just made? And it's given -me such a lovely idea. The very next fancy dress ball I'm asked to, -I'll go as the Queen of the Roses. Don't you think that will be lovely? -Pale pink, you know, with garlands of rosebuds and a rose-wreath. Ring -for tea, won't you, please? I'm dying for a cup, and it's getting too -dark to work." - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *"FORSAKEN GUTS AND CREEKS"* - - - "If we have loved but well - Under the sun, - Let the last morrow tell - What we have done." - --_Bliss Carman_. - - -On an exceptionally disreputable Montreal street stood a particularly -unsavoury old studio building. Like other unsavoury things it had an -interesting history, having, in its palmy days, belonged to an English -duke. The duke was now dust and the studio building unpopular with the -constabulary. Yet an air of former greatness enveloped it and its -large, spacious halls and lofty ceilings bore mute and pathetic -testimony to the grandeur of former days. - -In an apartment which a duchess had once inhabited rats and spiders -revelled, unrebuked, save when, once a week, a wild-eyed slattern -clattered noisily in and attacked them with broom and scrubbing-brush. -Sometimes the heavy old-fashioned door was locked and she went away -rejoicing; sometimes it was merely closed, in which case she entered -fearlessly and performed her tasks as expeditiously and abominably as -possible. Frequently, during these revels, the lithe form of Mr. -Ricossia might have been discerned, stretched upon the studio couch in -deep and peaceful slumber. Even the prosaic and work-harrowed drudge of -the Chatham was wont to pause occasionally and gaze with something -approaching awe at the frail form and beautiful face of the -opium-drugged consumptive. A spiritual majesty lay on his brow and his -whole being seemed expressive of an unearthly peace and a sombre -loveliness. Like some dark, fallen star he lay quiescent in the dim -light of the studio; a thing to make one's heart ache when one reflected -that he, too, was born of a human mother. - -Mr. Ricossia's movements were uncertain, however; and one fine January -evening found him sitting at the studio table, smoking and scribbling, -busily. Presently the door opened; he looked up, pleasantly, showing no -surprise, and bent over his writing. - -"Just a minute!" he said, in a low voice. - -The visitor nodded, closed the door quietly, and stood as though -waiting. Presently she raised a thick veil and fixed her eyes intently -on the writer. They were sombre eyes, not over large but somewhat -expressive; and as she watched the other occupant of the studio, they -dilated and glowed in a way that was almost fierce and wholly human. So -might a fire-tortured martyr have regarded in death the symbol of his -faith, the cross for which he died. - -Presently the woman spoke. - -"I can only stay a few minutes, my darling," she said in a low voice, -vibrating with painful tenderness. "There is the money." - -The boy sprang to his feet and grasped it, his dark eyes aflame with -eagerness. Hastily, greedily, he counted it over, then put it in his -pocket and turned to the woman with a brilliant smile. - -"That is fine," he said, his flute-like voice making melody in the -studio and in his hearer's heart. "You must have done well, lately. -How much have you sold altogether?" - -"A long story to the 'Alhambra,' a funny skit to the 'Woman's Hearth' -and an article or two to some smaller concerns. Try to make it last, -for I had to spend nearly all my month's salary--oh, Liol, Liol!" - -A burst of coughing interrupted her and turned her wind-flushed face -white. She stood in silence, knowing that nothing infuriated the dying -boy like sympathy, and held her breath, waiting for the paroxysm to -pass. So long did it last, however, that she forgot all caution and, -rushing to the sick man's side, caught his hand and screamed aloud. - -"Oh, Liol, Liol, do you want to kill me? Won't you go to that retreat? -and try to live for my sake? Oh try, only try! I can't bear it! I -thought I could, but I can't. Oh, for God's sake, go! try it, only try -it for a little while"-- - -He snatched his hand away and flung himself on the couch, shaking with -weakness and fury. - -"Again?" he cried, raging. "You ask me again to go to one of those vile -cures? after all I've said and sworn? God in Heaven! how often must I -tell you that, if I've only a few months to live, I'm going to _live!_ -not die by inches. Fool that you are!" - -She covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. - -"Go to those beastly mountains," he snarled, venomously. "Go where all -that makes life worth living will be out of reach and I dogged by a pack -of vile, prying doctors and attendants! If you're tired of keeping me -I'll take an extra dose and end it to-night!" - -"Liol!" - -"Then don't madden me! Here! you said you couldn't stay long, didn't -you? My last poems are on the table. Send a couple more to 'Hosmer's -Monthly'--they asked for them--God! is this another fit coming on? ... -There! I feel better. It passes sometimes and I daresay I'll outlive -you all, yet." His face brightened and became luminous with hope and -defiance. The terrible paroxysm of coughing had flooded his dusky cheeks -with rose; his black hair curled limply back from his damp forehead; his -magnificent eyes expanded and fired with the consumptive's cheating -illusion of future health. Beside his glowing, burning beauty Lynn -Thayer seemed one of those daughters of earth who, in former ages, loved -the sons of God. She devoured him with her eyes in a silence so tense -and sorrow-laden that the very air seemed to vibrate with it. - -"Ah God, how I love you," she said at last, hopelessly. "And you--oh, -Liol, Liol, you never even kissed me, to-night." - -"What? Never even kissed you?" answered the other, good-humouredly. -"Well, but, my dear old girl, you must remember that the fool doctors -say that consumption's catching. They're right, too; I caught it from -my father, curse him! I wouldn't be where I am to-day if it wasn't for -him." His face darkened, moodily; then he shrugged his shoulders and -held out his arms with a smile that was more mirthful than tender. - -Lynn Thayer walked swiftly to the couch, dropped on her knees beside it -and buried her face in the frail shoulder of its occupant. She remained -thus for a few minutes while he wound thin arms about her and murmured -endearments which held a perfunctory note even to her love-deafened -ears. Presently she rose. - -"Leo Ricossia is making quite a name by his prose writing," she said -with forced cheerfulness. "I must try to keep it up, Liol. Do you -remember when I called you 'Liol' once, before some people and they -thought it so funny and we were so worried about it? Yet you see no one -has ever suspected anything." - -"No. If they did, I suppose it would have to come out," said the boy, -slowly. - -"What?" - -Lynn started and looked confounded. - -"What?" she cried. "Break my word to my dead mother? Tell who you are? -how she made me promise to keep you and watch over you until you died -and let no one know who you were?--What are you dreaming of, Liol?" - -"Why, it's nothing to me," returned the other, watching her composedly. -"Girls must go into heroics over something, I suppose; but you must see -for yourself that all this would look pretty badly if it came out and -wasn't explained, and it would hardly be worth while to lose your -reputation and your home and your position too, for an oath to a dead -woman. Too bad you have to come here by night, but, of course, day-time -is impossible, for people would be sure to see you, whereas the chances -are ten to one against it in the dark and dressed as you are. That -absurd oath! What was it now? And she was going to come back and curse -you, too, if you broke it, wasn't she?" He laughed. - -"Our mother, Liol!" said Lynn, in a choked voice. - -"Yes, our mother. I've almost forgotten what she looked like even, but -I suppose you remember her better than I do, though I don't see why you -should, considering the length of time that you were away from her -and--see here, Lynn, you've been here an ungodly time; I don't want to -hurry you, but--oh, I say! Amherst is puzzling his brains out as to how -I can write such healthy, humourous prose. You would have shouted if you -had heard him, the other night." - -"Perhaps. But I must go, directly." - -Lynn shivered and drew her fur a little more closely about her throat. - -"I must go now, Liol," she repeated in a low voice. "Good-bye. And -don't--but there! what's the use of talking? Do as you please, dear; -only try to love me a little if you can. You're all I've got." - -"Mighty little at that, too! You have but little here below nor will -you have that little long--there, don't look like that, old girl! I'm -only joking, you know." - -With this joke ringing in her ears Lynn left; passed down the rickety -stairs, through the dark doorway, out upon the noisy street. It was not -a savoury neighbourhood this, where her brother had elected to take up -his abode. In fact, it was not a place for a lady at any hour of the -day or night. In face of an overpowering compulsion, however, a woman -sometimes forgets that she is a lady, and this was what had happened in -Lynn's case. The love which, in the majority of instances, is divided -among parents, brothers, sisters, husband, children, had been -concentrated upon one object. A foolish vow exacted by a delirious and -dying woman had become the important thing in Lynn Thayer's life, the -keeping of it a sacred duty. - -We are usually punished both for our follies and our virtues, and Lynn -was certainly severely punished for hers. Ricossia, as he was called, in -Montreal, kept her on a constant rack of uncertainty and suspense. -Daily, hourly, she expected to hear of his death and, sometimes, in -moments of more than usual bitterness and grief, she almost wished that -he were safe in the grave and incapable of doing himself or her more -harm. The unworthiness of the loved object, moreover, made life -proportionately bitter; the necessity for constant deceit and stealth -was a cruel necessity to one of her nature, and the witty tales which -helped to procure her brother the luxuries he craved were frequently -written in anguish of heart and despair of spirit. Poor Punchinello, -dancing gaily on the night his love died and his heart was broken, has -many a modern prototype. - -Yet through all the disgust and grief which his nature and actions -caused her, her love never faltered. To her, the drinking, drug-crazed -youth in whose degenerate nature there was not a trace of anything high -or kind was the baby brother of early days; the baby brother whom she -had tended, adored, sacrificed and been sacrificed for during the most -impressionable years of her life. The tiny creature had crept into the -lonely heart of the child, satisfying every want, sweetening every -bitterness. There had been nothing else in Lynn's life that had held -comparison with this. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *A BRILLIANT MATCH* - - - "Love is a pastime for one's youth; marriage, a provision for - one's old age."--_Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler_. - - "For life is not the thing we thought and not the thing we plan, - And woman, in a bitter world, must do the best she can." - --_Robert Service_. - - -In order that the reader may more fully understand the foregoing -chapters and the predicament in which certain of the characters find -themselves, it is necessary to ask him to return with us to a period -some thirty years before, when a certain young lady, known as Clara -Brooks, had just made a most sensible match. - -Now, as this was the first sensible thing that Miss Brooks had ever been -known to do, it naturally attracted some attention and created some -discussion. For she was one of those impossible beings who want to be -happy and who, instead of viewing happiness in the light of a series of -discreetly conducted flirtations, ending in marriage with the most -eligible of the flirtees, had persisted in prolonging these flirtations -to a really indiscreet period of time and had even carried her folly so -far as to refuse two or three really desirable offers. She had a vague -yet fairly positive idea that marriage, in order to be at all happy or -satisfactory, must be based on mutual love and esteem, and, because of -this antiquated and most unfortunate notion, she had remained unmarried -until the age of twenty-five. - -This attitude of Clara's laid her open to much well-deserved censure. -There were two opinions about it; the first being that she had no common -sense, whatever; the second being that she was unfortunately romantic -and fanciful, yet somewhat to be commended in that her ideals were of a -slightly higher order than those of the average girl. There was not -much truth in either of these views. Clara Brooks, like most of the -rest of the world, was supremely selfish, though not unpleasantly so. -She loved love; she also loved money; she wanted to be happy, whatever -the price she paid for happiness; and she did not care to do anything -that she thought likely to militate against her happiness. That was -all. - -It seemed very hard to Clara, who possessed beauty of quite an unusual -order, a wheedling tongue, and a pretty taste in dress, that she could -not marry both for love and money. She would have preferred to marry -for love, however, if she had been obliged to make a choice. This was -partly because she had never known poverty and could not compute its -discomforts with any degree of accuracy; but, also, because she was one -of those women who are capable of an overpowering infatuation and who -are, therefore, instinctively on the watch for a possible object which -may awaken it. The object had not appeared; Clara was twenty-five, and -twenty-five, at the period of which I write, was not the twenty-five of -to-day. Only people of unusual fascination and prettiness, such as Miss -Brooks, dared to be unmarried at twenty-five. Already her enemies were -beginning to brand her with the awful stigma of "old maid," already her -friends were beginning to murmur plaintively, "What can she be thinking -about?" - -Clara's thoughts ended in a very usual fashion. As Prince Charming had -not arrived; as the time was fast approaching when she would be -relegated to the dreadful social lumber room where all such derelicts of -love were stowed by grieving relatives in the "good old days"; as -enemies were, as has before been said, beginning to murmur "old maid" -behind her back, and friends, "silly girl" to her face; for all these -reasons and for fifty others, Clara Brooks suddenly made up her mind to -accept a well-to-do and silent man, by name Lowden Thayer, who for some -time past had been obviously attracted by her undoubted charms. Now the -sky brightened for Clara. She, as a bride-to-be, received many handsome -wedding presents, a number of compliments on her most unexpected good -sense, and a vast amount of eminently imbecile advice from well-meaning -ignoramuses of both sexes. - -The wedding was a fine one; all Clara's relatives were pleased to know -that she was settled and would be provided for until the day of her -death no matter how ugly or unpleasant or incapable she became with age; -and all Lowden Thayer's relatives were pleased to think that he had -married at all, though the majority of them felt that he had made a most -unsuitable choice. Wherein they were undoubtedly right. - -After the honeymoon, the Thayers took up their abode in a handsome house -in a fashionable quarter of Montreal; the gentleman went to business -every day and the lady began to receive and return calls from the elite -of what is known as "society." - -She had many calls of all kinds to return, for she had fulfilled the -whole duty of civilized woman; she had married, and married well. -Within a year she further absolved herself of blame by bringing into the -world a little, helpless infant, bald and thin and red-faced, who howled -most objectionably and seemed as indignant at having existence thus -forced upon it as though it knew what existence really was. Probably it -was no prophetic instinct but some more prosaic ailment that led Clara's -infant daughter to make night hideous with her cries. Be that as it -may, its mother conceived something that almost amounted to dislike for -the ugly little voyager upon the sea of life for whose existence she was -responsible. She loved men and boys; why then should she give birth to -a daughter? She loved beauty; why should her first-born be devoid even -of hair? Besides ... the baby resembled its father; the "good match" -which Fate had compelled her to make, much against her wishes; the -detested crumple in her bed of roses; the hated benefactor to whose -unwise fancy she was indebted for board and clothing, place in society -and honourable title of "married woman"; the loathed necessity which -spoilt everything--even her child--for her. - -This much, however, must be said for Clara Thayer; though the child -meant less than nothing to her, she did not neglect it on that account. -She may have been an unnatural mother, but she was not a soulless brute, -and she therefore attended carefully to its wants and saw that it lacked -for nothing that she could give it. What she could not give it, it -necessarily went without; but she did her duty so far as she was able -and was unexpectedly and munificently rewarded. For when her little -girl was three years of age its father died, leaving her a wealthy and -beautiful widow. - -Now when Fortune is too kind to us Fate sometimes plays a grim joke, in -order to level us with the vast mass of toiling, yearning, disappointed, -suffering fellow-humans. This is what Fate did with Clara Thayer. - -She was young, rich, beautiful, able to marry whom she pleased and live -as she liked without let or hindrance. Fate had given her good coin -with which to purchase anything her vagrant fancy might light upon. She -might have chosen whom she would. Therefore she chose an extremely -good-looking scoundrel whose Irish mother and Italian father had -bequeathed to him, together with the light-hearted fascinations of their -kindred natures, the sum total of every vice of which both lands are -capable. The sweet kindness of heart and warm devotion to cause and -kindred which characterize the Italian and Irish races lay in the -softness of his dark eyes, the velvet smoothness of his voice, but were -quite absent from his nature. This Clara Thayer did not know; and, had -she known, it is more than probable that she would not have cared. For -the first time in her life she was in the grip of a perfectly irrational -fascination, an infatuation which drove her as a whirlwind might drive -wheat. The infatuation ended, moreover, only when her life did. - -This was, perhaps, a natural ending to Clara Thayer's career. It was -natural, too, that people should refer to her as that poor girl who made -"such a sensible first match" and "such an idiotic second one." As a -matter of fact it would be difficult to determine which of Clara's two -marriages was the more idiotic. Her first was for money, her second, -for love. Her first supplied her with good food, pretty clothes and -unlimited boredom. Her second gave her sharp rapture and equally -poignant pain. Possibly, if she had remained unmarried she might have -encountered worse things than any of these. Of the three wishes which -the bad fairy, Life, gives the average woman it is difficult to say -which is the least fraught with unhappiness. - -"Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can." Clara Brooks did -the best she could and bad was the best. - -However she died at forty-five, and many women live to be old. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *"BLIND FOOLS OF FATE"* - - - "Blind fools of fate and slaves of circumstance, - Life is a fiddler and we all must dance." - --_Robert Service_. - - -When Clara Thayer gave birth to a daughter she was, as has been before -stated, disappointed. When that daughter developed the appearance and -characteristics of its father Clara began to dislike it. In vain she -reasoned with herself, in vain upbraided herself, secretly and severely, -in vain called herself "an unnatural mother." The sad fact remained -that she did not care for the child. It had no pretty ways, no graceful -tricks; its eyes were dull, its skin was pale, its hair ordinary. If it -had resembled her she would have loved it; if it had resembled her -mother, her father, anyone for whom she cared, she would have idolized -it. It resembled no one, however, but her husband, and, although when -Clara had married Lowden Thayer she had been supremely indifferent to -him, that indifference had, unfortunately, deepened into a positively -appalling dislike. Not dislike for his character which she respected; -not dislike for his attitude toward her which left nothing to be -desired; no, dislike for the man, himself, dislike for his personality, -his manners, his way of entering a room, his way of brushing his hair, -his way of walking, talking, breathing. - -It is easy here for the reader to throw down this veracious account of a -real woman with the single comment that she was unreasonable and -ungrateful. It is true that she was unreasonable but not that she was -ungrateful. She knew all that she owed to her husband, she sometimes -hated herself for her lack of feeling, and she strove earnestly to hide -her dislike and to do her duty in a way befitting a wife and mother. It -was a bitter addition to what seemed to her an already difficult life -when the child, to whose advent she had looked with so much hope and -longing, turned out the counterpart of her husband. Instead of a -distraction it was a perpetual reminder of the galling chain; instead of -a delight it represented merely another disagreeable duty. - -Clara was generally considered a model wife and mother; every domestic -obligation was scrupulously performed, every connubial and matronly -demand upon her time, health and patience, uncomplainingly complied -with. When Mr. Thayer died, however, four years after their marriage, -Clara felt only an unspeakable relief; and when, nine years later, Mr. -Thayer's brother offered to adopt Lynn, on condition that her mother -gave her up, entirely, Clara felt only that a burden had been lifted -from her shoulders. - -She had one child by her second husband after she had been married to -him five years, and that child was a boy who combined his father's -picturesque, foreign beauty with his mother's refinement and grace. To -him, she was an adoring mother; he was second in her heart only to Guido -Allardi. Just as Lynn had been the image of the man whom Clara had -disliked, so Lionel was the image of the man whom she worshipped. There -was no wish or choice in the matter; she always felt sorry that she -could not care for Lynn, and she sometimes wished, in moments of -bitterness, that Lionel did not resemble his father so closely. It was -a rare retribution of Fate, this! the unloved child of the unloved -father who was all that a mother could wish and the idolized child of -the idolized father who inherited from him every trait that could break -a mother's heart. If Lowden Thayer could have looked into the future he -would have been amply revenged. It is improbable, however, that he -wanted revenge; he wanted his wife's love and, failing that, he wanted -rest. He never had the first but we may reasonably hope that he had the -latter. - -"Love's eyes are very blind," but they are never so blind as not to -perceive dislike on the part of the loved object, however -conscientiously that dislike may be hidden. Lowden Thayer was a just -man; he saw that his wife did her best and he, on his part, did his -best, hid his sorrow manfully, and, when he died, willed Clara all his -property, unhampered by any galling restrictions. - -The little daughter whom he left behind developed in a rather -interesting fashion. - -The widely diverse natures of Lowden Thayer and his wife mingled oddly -in her. She had her father's face but her mother's pliant, graceful -figure and movements. She inherited from her father a useful brain, -capable of assimilating considerable knowledge and of reasoning -accurately and carefully; but she had her mother's brilliancy and lively -wit. She had her father's industry, business ability, and sense of -justice, and her mother's love of popularity and social gayety. From -both she inherited one thing in overwhelming measure; the capacity for -any amount of silent, tenacious affection which no ill-treatment could -shake, no disillusionment alter. Another thing, too, she had from both; -the ability to suffer in silence, keeping a cool and careless front to -the world and hiding a bleeding heart and a broken spirit behind a -smiling face and manner. Lynn was thus, in many ways, not so unlike her -mother as that mother supposed. - -At the time when Lynn was adopted by her uncle Horace she was twelve -years of age. The next seven years were very busy ones. Child though -she was, she felt keenly the fact that her uncle had taken her into his -home in fulfilment of a sense of duty, rather than from motives of -affection. She determined that she would be indebted to him for nothing -more than was absolutely necessary. In pursuance of this idea she -begged to be allowed to train for a teacher and, on graduating, insisted -on taking a position which offered itself. Her uncle made little -objection; he cherished the common masculine delusion that women who -live at home have nothing to do with their time and he thought it rather -a good idea that some of this time should be occupied. The idea of his -niece being a public school teacher did not exactly appeal to his sense -of the fitness of things; but, after all, since the girl was bent on it, -"let her do as she likes" was his ultimatum. Therefore Lynn did as she -liked; and events which shortly afterwards transpired made her think -with horror of the fact that, had she followed her aunt's wishes, she -would have been without any money that she could call her own. - -It was when she was nineteen that she received a letter in an unknown -handwriting. Its contents were brief and pregnant. Her mother was -dying; would Lynn visit her in New York before she died? as there was -much that she had to say. The letter ended with an injunction to hide -the matter from her uncle and aunt, who would never allow her to travel -alone, and would insist on accompanying her, which her mother did not -wish. - -It would be difficult to describe the effect which this letter had upon -Lynn. She had always known that she held no place in her mother's -heart, and that knowledge was a settled grief, not an active sorrow. -The letter gave her a dull pain, almost like the pain which one would -experience, could the corpse of a dead friend whom one had mourned, then -almost though not quite forgotten, suddenly come to life and demand -recognition. - -Lynn had held no communication with her mother since she had lived with -her uncle in Montreal. To her literal and very punctilious mind the -fact that this correspondence was debarred as a condition of adoption -rendered it out of the question. Besides, it must be remembered that -there had been no tender, anguished parting of mother and child; Clara -had, as always, behaved prettily and politely, had kissed the plain -little face, distorted with difficult feeling, and had inwardly -congratulated herself that this child of Lowden Thayer had inherited his -silent, unemotional nature. Otherwise she would have felt more -hesitation about sending her among strangers. As it was--the child was -a good child, who could be depended upon to give little or no trouble to -her guardians, and she had so little feeling that one place was likely -to be much like another place to her. True, Clara reflected with a -slight qualm, true, the child was devoted to her little brother; but -children soon forget. It would be a criminal sentimentality and one for -which the girl would have a right to reproach her in the future, did she -neglect this excellent chance of having her provided for. So she kissed -her once again, trying to smile at her with affection and kindness, told -her that she must not altogether forget her mother and her little -brother, though it was not likely that she would see them again for a -little while; and watched the train steaming out of the crowded station -with mingled feelings of pity, relief, self-congratulation, and some -faint stirring of sorrow that she could not feel more spontaneous -affection for her own child. Her own child!--that recalled Lionel to -her mind and her eyes brightened and gleamed. How beautiful he was! how -dear! how sweet that Fate should give her this one lovely thing to -offset her disappointment in the other direction! And how delightful -that the six hundred which Horace Thayer had allowed her for the future -should be tied up so tightly that only she could have access to it. -Little Lionel need not lack for everything while she had that to fall -back upon. - -It may be asked if no thought of her dead husband, no perception of the -difference between him and Allardi ever caused her to draw painful -contrasts and inferences. Yes, these thoughts, these comparisons did -occur to her sorrowfully enough at times; she frequently bewailed the -ugly Fate which made the faithful dead abhorrent, the unprincipled and -worthless living dear to her. But facts are facts. The dead was -abhorrent, the living _was_ dear. So with her children. Despite the -fact that, although at the time of which we write, Lionel was a baby, he -already displayed traits which made her uneasy; despite the fact that -Lynn had been almost pathetically "good" from babyhood, humbly devoted -to her mother, utterly subservient to every whim of her baby brother; -despite these facts, Clara had for Lynn, at best, a sort of affectionate -tolerance, while for Lionel she had an overpowering love. - -Do not, dear reader, wholly bury poor Clara under the weight of your -virtuous indignation. She had an unfortunate disposition, that was all. -The worthless attracted, the worthy annoyed her. She was no more to -blame than the child who seizes some pernicious sweetmeat and refuses -even to look at the nourishing and expensive meal which awaits his -pleasure. - -This much, at least, it is desired that the reader keep clearly in mind -when judging Clara Allardi. Both in her "mariage de convenance" and in -her "love-match" she made the best of what she had; tried not to visit -upon Lowden Thayer the dislike which marriage with him had awakened; -endeavoured to bear patiently with Guido Allardi's vagaries and steadily -refused to leave him even when all her own money had been squandered and -when he was incapable of making enough to support her, comfortably. -This last, though, can scarcely be attributed to her for righteousness. -The real reason that she stayed with the Italian was because she could -not leave him; she was like a parasite, drawing her very breath through -him and unable to exist away from him. - -Poor Clara Allardi! "Blind fool of fate and slave of circumstance!" -When her unloved daughter responded to the letter which had caused her -such mingled pain and joy, she found the former favourite of fortune -living--or, rather, dying--in the modern equivalent of the historic -garret, a squalid tenement in an unfashionable and ragged quarter of the -great city of New York. Her mother's husband, Lynn did not see; the -strain of attending to his sick wife had proved unsupportable and, after -a short time, he had taken his departure, leaving no address. Lynn -hoped that he would not return until she had left New York; she felt, -seeing her mother and remembering what that mother had been in the past, -that she could scarcely have borne the burden of his presence. Her -fears, however, were unnecessary; Clara Allardi had been dead several -days before that husband returned and his absence had troubled Lynn more -than his presence could have done; for it was from him that she was -obliged to ask the boon which crippled her future yet filled her life -for many years. - -This, however, is anticipating. We must return to the time when Lynn -took up her abode in her mother's "home" once more and did what she -could for the comfort of that mother. She had complied with Clara's -request in so far that she had told her guardians of her destination; -she had gone to the principal of the school where she taught and had -asked for leave of absence, offering to pay a substitute; then had -packed a valise and left a note for her aunt, explaining her mother's -condition and begging that her uncle would not follow or bother about -her. This was merely a figure of speech on Lynn's part; Horace Thayer -was a man who never bothered about anything in the universe but himself. -Lynn realized, however, that her aunt, who had a real affection for her, -ought to know her whereabouts and the object of her journey; though, in -the face of her mother's strangely insistent entreaties, she was -strongly tempted to use a long-standing New York invitation from a -school friend, as a pretext. - -She found her mother delirious and very weak. She talked incoherently, -but recognized Lynn and greeted her with something like eagerness, in -the way that one would greet a useful friend rather than in the way that -one would greet a child whom one had not seen for many years. Lynn, -however, had steeled herself to bear what she had anticipated would not -be an especially joyous reunion and took stoically whatever arrows the -joyous fates chose to drive in her direction. - -Must the truth be confessed? It was not the thought of seeing her -mother before she died that had formed Lynn's chief object in hastening -to New York. While she would, in any case, have used every effort to -further her mother's dying wish, it must be confessed that there was -little more than a bitter, dull grief in the prospect of seeing the -latter, again. But there was another, darling prospect. The child! the -little boy who had been three when she left him, would be ten, now. Oh, -to see him, again! the one being who had always clung to her, loved her, -satisfied her. The dear, unutterably dear little mortal whose arrival -into the world had changed the face of life for her. How had she lived -without him all these years? she wondered; was he as beautiful as ever, -as full of life and sweetness? and--had he come to resemble his father -as much as he had promised to do? The thought depressed her for a -moment; she remembered how, as a child, it had infuriated her to hear -people remark upon the wonderful likeness between Allardi and his infant -son. Then her brow cleared. He was really more like her mother than his -father, she insisted to herself; as he had her high-bred clearness of -outline, so he would inherit her delicate refinement, her ineradicable -fastidiousness of mind. She lost herself in hopeful musing, almost -forgetting in the joy of seeing her little brother once more that her -mother's grave would probably be dug before she returned again to -Montreal. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *"LIFE AT ITS END"* - - -The April morning broke softly, implacably chill. There was a hint of -cruelty in the frolicsome spring breeze that danced through the -half-opened window, a hint of sorrow in the few faint tremulous notes of -"half-awakened birds," preparing once more to face the strange world of -which they knew so little. There was something ominous in the softness -of the spring air, something that chilled one's blood with a faint -terror. - -Over the dreary tenements and horrible, rearing buildings of New York -broke the pitiless day. The lovely rose of dawn softened all that was -bare and bleak and gave it a semblance of tenderness and repose. - -There was silence in the room where Death lay waiting. The body of -Clara Allardi lay stretched upon a bed in slumber, her wasted hand, -blue-veined, marble-white, plucking mechanically at the quilt, her -restless voice muttering vaguely of things that had long since passed -away; lips that had laughed, pulses that had leaped, hearts that had -broken, long, long ago. Death, itself, might have laughed to hear her; -but her daughter did not laugh. - -Clara's face was blue-veined now and hollow-eyed, but, even so, was -lovely; delicately, uselessly lovely, with the flawless pulchritude of a -marble statue, the sickening, unearthly hue of ivory. Clara Allardi had -been very beautiful in her day, had had her share of the kingdoms of -this world and the glories of them; she lay dying in a New York -tenement, unloved, uncared-for, an old woman at the age of forty-five. - -Nature "red of tooth and claw" is sometimes more horrible in tender mood -than in fierce; this riot of delicate colour and tremulous song in the -face of grisly Death seemed to Lynn Thayer insulting and indecorous. -The tragedy of the breaking day and of the ebbing life gnawed at her -heart. She sat silent, watching the dying with hungry eyes that held no -trace of personal grief, only a dumb heart-craving for something she had -never known. - -In the farther end of the room lay a child who slept peacefully, his -scarlet lips half-parted in a smile, his delicate arms thrust outside -the bed-clothes and half-bared. The long black lashes which lay on the -glowing dusk of his cheek; the thickness of the clustering curls which -shaded his low brow; the almost insolent regularity of his childish -features: all proclaimed him to be Guido Allardi's son. He was an ideal -and faithful representative of the old, Italian race to which his father -belonged; before the family, ruined and disgraced, had sought refuge in -America, many such a face had been seen in the family portrait gallery. -Probably none quite so beautiful; beauty such as this child's is rare -and the possessors of it are seldom quite human. Perhaps this fact may -have given rise to the old Greek myths of the gods descending in human -shape and proceeding to the performance of most ungodlike actions. - -Lynn's thoughts wandered sometimes to the cot where the boy lay, looking -as much out of place in the sordid setting which the room afforded as -some strange tropical plant. As she thought of him, her face insensibly -cleared. The baby brother of her childhood days had proved a fulfilled -delight. As beautiful as in infancy and with the same caressing, -clinging ways which had made him so dear to her then, he had justified, -to her, her loving remembrance of him. She cherished a hidden thought -of which she was half ashamed yet which held a very real sweetness; -namely, that, in spite of the long years of separation, the boy loved -and clung to her and, as of old, seemed to prefer her society to that of -his mother. She failed to realize that the stock of bonbons and toys -with which she had provided herself had induced the affection which the -child showed so freely; she did not know that he would have left his -dying mother with equal alacrity for anyone who would have fed him with -chocolates. So little do we comprehend what is passing in the minds of -those most near and dear to us; even in the crystal mind of a child -there are depths which it is just as well not to probe too deeply. - -In the bare and comfortless room where these three were congregated Life -and Death were present and one more--Judgment. Judgment, the dread -avenger who dogs the steps of Sin. Judgment which, after the fashion of -Judgment, would fall most heavily on the innocent head, most cruelly on -the undeserving. Could Lynn have looked into the future and seen the -awful harvest of corruption which the sleeping child would reap it may -be wondered whether she would not have killed him as he lay, out of -sheer pity. - -Ah, the tragedy of Life! Life that takes from us one by one all the -glittering baubles with which she has amused our childish hours--the -rose-hued hopes, the crimson loves, the golden ambitions--and gives us -in their place--what? The dying moaned as though these thoughts had -found an echo in her heart; then lay still, looking straight in front of -her with eyes which, though glazed and uncertain, held a certain -intelligence. - -"Mother--are you better? do you understand me?" asked Lynn very softly, -bending over the bed. - -Clara Allardi turned her head slightly; her lips moved. - -"There was something, something you wanted to say," cried Lynn, -desperately. "If you could only tell me now; it will not take long, will -it?" - -Her mother's face brightened into life; an anxious gleam shone in her -eyes which now held no uncertainty, but were the homes of an insistent -purpose, a keen desire. She struggled a moment, then spoke, faintly. - -"Your brother?"-- - -"Yes. Yes." - -"Not really--only your half-brother--but you always cared just as -much"-- - -"More. Oh, mother, a thousand times more. Don't waste time in saying -all this. Is it something you want me to do for Lionel? Surely you know -that anything I could do would be all too little--tell me, just tell me -what it is. I swear to do it, whatever it may be." - -"See to him. His father--you know"-- - -"I know." - -"--Doesn't understand children--the little fellow may be hungry, -cold"--Clara Allardi's voice broke into a pitiful quaver which shook -Lynn's composure, terribly. - -"Mother," she said, growing white and speaking distinctly, "you are -wasting time and you may not have much more time. You know--you must -know--that, while I live, Liol shall want for nothing that I can give -him. He can never be cold--or hungry--or -friendless--or--loveless--while I live. You must know all that. I have -my teacher's salary; if that is not enough I will get money in some -other way; I have some saved, I have some jewelry--oh, don't talk of -anything so trivial, so absurd, as the idea of Lionel ever wanting for -anything which I can give him. You understand all that, don't you, -mother?" - -Her mother's face cleared, then clouded. - -"You may marry--change?" she muttered, looking wistfully at her -daughter. - -"Never!" said Lynn, choking. "You don't understand me, mother. I could -never think of marriage while Liol was dependent on me; and, as for -change--if that is all, you can die happy." - -"Swear," said her mother, faintly. - -Lynn hesitated. "I don't like swearing," she returned, reluctantly, -"but, if it will make you any happier--I swear by everything in heaven -and earth--by God Almighty--by the memory of my father--that I will do -exactly as I have said. I will look after Lionel always, always, no -matter what it costs me. _Now_ are you satisfied?" - -"You won't be hard on him--he is," she winced, "he is--Guido's child. -We don't--don't always understand foreigners--women don't -always--understand--men. You will remember?--you will think of his -heritage--and be merciful? I have always had to be." Her voice dropped -and broke in a dry sob. - -"If he develops into what your husband is," returned Lynn, quietly, "it -will make no difference. You don't understand me, mother. Just as you -never left the other one, because you couldn't, because you wouldn't -have cared to live away from him; so I--I couldn't desert Liol. I have -always loved him; how dearly you have never even guessed. I shall -always love him and--and when he leaves his father and goes to a good -school and knows only good people"-- - -"It's in his blood," said his mother, faintly. "Already--already it -shows. You--you must make--allowances. Another thing!" she attempted to -raise herself in the bed and her eyes shone with a feverish glitter, -"another thing, Lynn! No one must know." Her voice grew firmer, her -hand more steady. "You remember the conditions--when your uncle"-- - -"I remember them well. But, dear mother, you don't think Uncle Horace -would hold me to them--now?" - -"Horace is hard--a hard man. When--if--Liol did take after his -father--they would never let you see him--or know him. No. If I am to -die in peace you must swear never to tell a living soul that he is your -brother. If anyone at all knew--your uncle might find out--oh, Lynn, -promise?" - -Lynn spoke, slowly. "You have not thought, mother. This secrecy will -lead to all sorts of complications. Uncle Horace is a hard man, but he -is just. He will grumble and think me a fool, but he can't refuse his -consent. At present--for a while--it won't matter, not telling anyone -about Liol; but later on--oh, mother, don't ask me to promise that. Let -me use my discretion about it, won't you?" - -Clara Allardi half raised herself in bed; her eyes shone with unnatural -lustre, her delicate features thickened with a sort of fury and fever of -determination. - -"You refuse?" she said with terrible distinctness. "You refuse? -Then--I curse you. _I curse you_. You--you're taking your revenge now -when I'm dying and helpless for the years that I've put him before you. -I curse you--why can't you let me die in peace? You'll tell--you'll -tell the Thayers; they'll make you give him up or turn you out of doors. -How will you look after him then on a miserable pittance that depends -upon your strength anyway and may fail at any moment? Ah, you're your -father in the flesh,"--she spoke, slowly and with a concentrated -bitterness that appalled Lynn. "Good--hard--hateful! Why did I ever -bring you into the world?" - -"That I might look after the child whom you love, I suppose," returned -Lynn with equal bitterness. "Have no fear, mother. You needn't curse -me. If nothing else will make you happy, I'll swear. You know, of -course, that you're making me deceive and lie to my guardians and all -the rest of the world and that you may land me in hopeless confusion and -trouble; but if you think that will benefit Liol and minimize the -chances of his being deprived of anything or annoyed in any way--why, of -course, there is nothing more to be said--is there?" - -But Clara Allardi had sunk back with a look of satisfaction and relief -at hearing her daughter's bitter promise to take the oath required, and -it is doubtful whether she even heard the rest. - -"Swear, then!" was all she answered. - -Lynn hesitated; looked imploringly at her mother; then slowly and -reluctantly repeated her former oath. "By God Almighty--by the memory -of my father--by all I hold sacred in heaven and earth--mother, mother, -mother!" - -Clara's fair face had turned the colour of parchment; no breath of life -seemed issuing from her blue lips. Struck by a deadly fear, a still -more poignant longing, Lynn Thayer bent over her mother's death-bed, -yearning with an intensity which surprised herself, for some word of -kindness, of recognition, ere the poor dust turned to dust. It almost -seemed as though her prayer had been answered, for Clara opened her eyes -and looked at Lynn, a lovely light of longing in them. Her lips moved -faintly. - -"My child!"--the whisper came softly--"my boy--my only child!" - -She did not realize, of course, what she was saying. Lynn understood -that. She rose from her knees, with lips firmly set. Her face was a -little white. - -"You want to see him again," she said, in tones which sounded clearly. -"I will bring him to you." - -Mrs. Allardi's face brightened. Lynn had divined her inmost thought. -She yearned for the child. She hungered to die, holding him. But Fate, -implacable as iron to the profitless wishes of poor foolish, failing, -mortal things, decreed otherwise. A change on the dying face, an ominous -rattle and choking, arrested Lynn's footsteps and brought her hurriedly -back. - -Clara Allardi gasped a little, a very little, then lay quiet. Lynn -stood and watched her, looking pinched and plain in the trying light of -early dawn. The other woman lay with eyes that stared a little. -Presently Lynn realized that she was dead; it did not come as a shock, -only as an added desolation. She leaned forward and touched the cold -cheek, timidly. - -"Mother!" she said in a low voice, "Mother!" - -There was a brief and bitter silence. Then Lynn took the cold head in -her arms and held it for a moment while her tears fell fast and bitterly -over it. - -"She was my mother," she said, weeping, "she--was--my mother!" There -was no complaint in her tones, only a dull pain. Her face held an -unconscious desolation as she laid the fair head back on the pillow and -settled it, decently. She shivered a little as one soft, scented tress -fell against her hand. She had never touched her mother's hair in life -and, oddly enough, this trifling remembrance cut her to the naked soul. -She gasped and looked away, choking down her rising sobs with a species -of horror and disgust. Life had taught her self-control, and she -disliked noise in the presence of the dead. - -Presently she rose and moved softly to the cot where the boy lay -sleeping. She looked at him in silence. He stirred in his sleep and -smiled a little. Her sallow face flamed into sudden life and beauty as -she stood, watching him, an adoring smile curving her thin lips. She -had forgotten the other silent inmate of the room who lay, smiling too, -the dead eyes which her daughter had forgotten to close, gazing in front -of her as though she saw nothing to fear in the eternity upon which she -had entered. - -Suddenly there was a burst of radiance, a riot of colour and fragrance -and song. The chill, pink light of sunrise streamed through the window -and lay on the dead face, making it very lovely. A delicate rose was -reflected in the icy cheek, a brilliant gold in the faded hair. Lynn, -who had turned, startled by the sudden light, was struck by her mother's -beauty. Despite anxiety, illness, sorrow, Clara Allardi made rather an -exquisite corpse; and, as her plain daughter sat watching her in the -trying light of early dawn, she reflected with a smile that held no -mirth that even in death it was well to have regular features and -abundance of soft hair. Then her face changed and softened. She moved -reverently to the side of the bed, veiled the staring eyes, crossed the -thin hands. Then she knelt and prayed; while far, immeasurably far -below, the slow wail of the sick child, the low moan of the hungry -animal, smote on the deaf ear, the cold heart, of great New York. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *A SHORT REPENTANCE* - - - "Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before - I swore--but was I sober when I swore? - And then and then came Spring and rose-in-hand - My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore." - --_The Rubaiyat_. - - -Nine years had passed since the events related in the last chapter. Lynn -Thayer had developed from a girl of nineteen into a woman of -twenty-eight. She had lived quietly in Montreal, never relinquishing -her position in the school, though, as the years went by, her aunt had -more than once begged her to remain at home and lead the life of an -ordinary young woman of her class. - -As has before been said, Lynn occupied a rather exceptional position in -Montreal. The average girl who teaches in the public schools makes up -her mind, sooner or later, to be a teacher, only. Her position is not -considered in the light of a disgrace, but, on the other hand, she -occupies a slightly lower grade than does the girl who remains at home. -The latter, provided she has the social connections and the time, may go -into any society she pleases. She may be unable to return any -hospitality except in a very simple fashion, but she may still figure as -a "society girl" and receive and accept invitations in the most -exclusive houses. - -Probably no other girl but Lynn, however, was ever successful in -combining the duties of a public school teacher and of a society girl. -Both her father and mother had been so well-to-do, so well-known in -Montreal; both had had so many rich friends, so many influential -connections, that their daughter was of necessity a figure of interest. -Then, too, she was connected with the nobility; and, what was more -important, her aunts on both sides of the family, who lived in Montreal, -received and returned visits from the most exclusive Butchers, Bakers -and Candlestick-Makers, and were generally accepted as "fixtures" in -society. Therefore Lynn had invitations of all kinds, not only from -people of gentle breeding, aristocratic birth and good character, but -also from that far more important section of "society" who lived in big -houses and got their clothes from Paquin. She never "came out," much to -her aunt's grief; but she "went out," which was more to the point and -which many girls who "come out" never succeed in doing. She was so -popular, so generally liked, that her obstinate determination to spend -her days in teaching was both admired and extolled. - -Meanwhile, what of her brother? - -On Mrs. Allardi's death Lynn had secured from his father, who appeared -supremely indifferent to the child and to his fate, a promise that she -was to have full control of him, on condition of paying for his board -and education. Lynn, after considerable thought, made arrangements for -him at a good but unfashionable school in the country, as far as -possible removed from his father. She was struck by the attitude of -father and son to one another. Allardi seemed to regard his small son as -an amusing kind of dog, to be patted on the head if he were in a good -humour, kicked out of the way if he were not; he was proud of him, in a -way, devoted to him; yet, apparently, never thought anything of his -present wants or of his future needs. He was quite capable of leaving -the child alone for days while he sought distraction elsewhere, and of -loading him with bonbons and caresses on his return. - -He felt that if this queer, silent step-daughter of his chose to -supplement a small allowance which Mr. Thayer had promised to make the -boy, he would be very foolish to stand in the way. He could make any -promise she chose to exact and break it with alacrity as soon as the -keeping of it became inconvenient. Therefore the readiness with which -he promised to see practically nothing of the boy in the future sprang -really from a defective sense of the value of a promise, rather than -from the total heartlessness with which Lynn credited him. He was -really fond of Lionel--in his way; and fully intended to see all that he -wished of him, whenever necessary. - -So the child went to school and Lynn returned to Montreal and worked -steadily for the extra sums which were needed for Lionel's maintenance. -The next few years were comparatively restful and pleasant ones. The -reports which she received of Lionel were not good, yet he seemed to be -progressing fairly well, and Lynn, remembering her mother's dying words, -tried not to expect too much in the beginning. When Lionel was fourteen, -however, he ran away and joined his father in New York. - -Lynn did not even know his whereabouts and had no way of discovering -them. The boy did not assuage her anxiety by writing, feeling that his -hiding-place might be ascertained if he gave any clue to it and that he -would then be compelled to return. However, Allardi wrote to Lynn after -a time, telling her that the boy was with him and asking that she would -not withdraw her help as Lionel already needed much that he could not -give him. - -Lynn exhausted entreaties, reproofs, and even threats. Allardi was the -boy's natural guardian in the eyes of the law; his will was absolute and -he refused to send the boy from him unless well paid for so doing. This -was out of the question. Lynn had already earned the reputation of a -miser for the scantiness and plainness of the wardrobe which Mrs. Thayer -felt herself constantly obliged to supplement. Naturally Mrs. Thayer -could not see why a girl with fifty dollars a month to spend on herself -alone--as she supposed--should lack for anything in reason. - -Here the inconvenience and absurdity of the oath which Mrs. Allardi had -made Lynn swear began to show itself most unpleasantly. The truth was -so simple, the secrecy made the whole matter so difficult. Lynn had -dreaded inquiries anent the boy when she first returned after her -mother's death, but none had been forthcoming. Mr. Thayer had expected -that Lynn would ask him to have an eye to the boy and see that the small -allowance he had promised to make him was fairly spent; when nothing was -said on the matter he assumed that Lynn disliked the child as she did -the father and preferred never to think or speak of them, now that the -one link between them and her was broken. Mr. Thayer was glad to forget -the existence of his sister-in-law's other child. He had never even -seen the father or the son; he had been intensely indignant at the -second marriage contracted while Clara was visiting friends in the -States; and, subsequent events having justified his indignation, he had -sedulously avoided meeting any of the people concerned. His offer to -adopt Lynn had been made by letter; he had sent money for the journey -when that offer was accepted, and settled the amount agreed upon his -sister-in-law; and had then endeavoured to drive the whole affair from -his mind. However, upon Lynn's return from New York, he did make some -gruff inquiries as to the child's whereabouts; and, on her replying that -the boy was at a cheap but highly respectable boarding-school in the -country, he had, with a feeling of relief, dismissed the whole matter -from his mind, thinking that "that Italian blackguard" had some sense of -decency after all. - -There seemed little that Lynn could do, now that Lionel had taken -matters into his own hands and openly declared his intention of -remaining with his father. Of course the rational thing was to break -her promise and take her relatives into her confidence. Only the most -scrupulous moralist could hold her bound by an oath which her mother, -could she have looked into the future, would have surely wished her to -break. Ah, if only logic ruled life, how simple life would be. -Unfortunately it does not. - -Lynn had inherited from both father and mother an overstrained sense of -honour and, though she had done her best to refrain from making the -unfair and ridiculous promise, the possibility of breaking it when made -never occurred to her. - -The Roman Catholic system of confession has its advantages after all. -Had Lynn gone to any confessional and asked for permission to break her -oath, and absolution for the sin of so doing, what sensible man, priest -or layman, would have refused to sanction such a procedure? Lynn, under -the circumstances, had no confidant, no adviser, no one to show her the -needlessness of her various sacrifices. - -Besides, it is to be feared that Lynn's sense of honour was so deeply -ingrained that it could not, under any conditions, have yielded to the -dictates of common sense. She would probably have done, in any -circumstances, just what she proceeded to do; kept the foolish oath in -its entirety, continued to help the ungrateful boy, in spite of the fact -that he, in defiance of her expressed wishes, continued to live in New -York with his father, and generally have conducted herself as over-fond -and irrational women do, under such circumstances. - -When Lionel was sixteen, however, his father died of consumption in a -tragic and horrible manner; and Lionel, temporarily sobered by the -occurrence, suddenly "turned over a new leaf," as he expressed it, and -wrote Lynn to that effect, declaring his intention of taking up literary -work and "making his name in it." Although his manner of supporting -himself did not seem very practicable to his sister, she hailed with joy -this indication that her work and care had at last borne fruit. - -And, for a short time, Lionel was a source of unmitigated joy and pride -to her. There are but a few poets in the world and he was one of them. -His work earned him instant recognition among a certain set and, -although his earnings were paltry, he, at all events, did earn something -and bade fair to earn more. All literary workers know how frequently a -certain amount of fame may be gained with very small pecuniary success -to back it. - -Then Lionel decided to live in Montreal. He was ill; New York did not -agree with him; he wanted new experiences and realized that Lynn could -give him one thing that he had never known--the society of rich and -fashionable people; and, more important than all, he knew well that he -could wheedle every penny of her earnings from her, provided he lived in -the same town. The boy was a degenerate, totally without gentle feeling -of any kind, his only approach to it being a sort of sympathetic and -artistic understanding of other people's emotions. His sister was, to -him, merely a cow to be milked dry. He was, to his sister, a demi-god -to be sacrificed to; she laid before him in the dust the burnt ashes of -her heart and life--and received the fitting and inevitable reward of -such folly. - -By reason of the oath sworn by Lynn and also because Lionel had won fame -under the name of Leo Ricossia, this was the name by which he chose to -be known in Montreal. As Leo Ricossia he was received with open arms. -He had secured letters of introduction to certain influential -Montrealers and soon contrived to be formally presented to his sister at -the home of one of these. His literary fame had preceded him, and this, -in conjunction with his extraordinary beauty, his extreme youth, and the -fact that he, already, lay under sentence of death made him, for the -time being, "the rage." No social gathering was complete without him; -all the debutantes cut out his poems, pasted them in albums, and -entreated his signature on the opening page; all the older women of -fashion petted, indulged and ran after him. - -It is extraordinary how rapidly and completely a certain person may -become "the rage" and still more extraordinary how rapidly and -completely this person may sink out of sight and be practically -forgotten in the space of a few months. For about a year Ricossia's -popularity was at fever height; then--murmurs of disapprobation, -shruggings of shoulders, a few hints here, a few direct words of -condemnation there--and, by the end of another year, Society knew -Ricossia no more. He had overstepped the limit of indulgence; much is -excused to a young and handsome man with charming manners and lung -disease; but not everything. In Ricossia's case, unfortunately, there -was everything to excuse and people finally and positively refused to -excuse it. Ricossia, who had tired very quickly of comparative -respectability, hastened the climax with a certain gay recklessness, and -abandoned himself with entire satisfaction to all that he had vowed to -relinquish when he came to Montreal. Taking up his abode in the -disreputable old studio building before-mentioned, he proceeded to -follow very literally the words of the Episcopal prayer-book, doing -everything that he ought not to do, leaving undone all that he ought to -do. - -Now, it will be supposed, Lynn's patience failed, utterly. Now, at last -she abandoned the wretched boy who was bound to her only by blood and -who had voluntarily relinquished every claim on her regard? Ah, no. -Again let us repeat, if only logic ruled life, how simple life would be. -As logic does not rule life, Lynn continued to support her half-brother, -denying herself everything that she could go without, refusing all -invitations that entailed expensive clothes, immolating herself on the -altar of self-sacrifice with most-admired indiscretion. Nor was this -all. As it was clearly impossible that the disgraced and ostracized -Ricossia should visit her in the respectable home of her irreproachable -relatives; as it was equally impossible that she should go by daylight -to the somewhat disreputable quarter of the town where he lived; as -everything within her denied the possibility of leaving him to die in -poverty, illness and loneliness; for all these reasons and for fifty -others equally excellent, Lynn hit on the brilliant plan of visiting him -by stealth, Nicodemus-fashion, of going ostensibly to dine with some -friend or friends, and of leaving early and driving to the Chatham in -order to see for herself whether the worthless life was still extant and -whether the cold heart craved anything that she could give it. A fool? -Oh yes, a very great and undoubted fool. - -Unfortunately the vast mass of humanity is composed of fools, and the -people apparently free from any trace of such folly are not just the -people whom we most admire and love. Casabianca, standing -flame-encircled on the sinking ship; Joan of Arc leading a handful of -peasants against the flower of the English army; Charlotte Corday giving -her life on the guillotine for the pleasure of making a martyr of an -inhuman hound; all these and all the other divine fools of history make -a curious appeal to humanity. Why? That is difficult to answer. -Perhaps because, deep in our hearts, we know ourselves to be fools and -are not, in moments of depression, quite convinced that we are even -divine fools. - -Be that as it may, Lynn Thayer qualified herself, as will be admitted, -for a high place in the picture gallery of fools; risking her -reputation, beggaring her life, breaking her heart, all for the sake of -a boy who had done nothing from childhood but grieve, torment and -disappoint her. Ah, but he had done a little more than this. He had -filled her life with his image; he had afforded her an object on which -to squander the treasures of her mind and heart. And what more does the -average fool want, whether she be an historical, or, as in this case, an -ultra-modern fool? - -Ricossia had hit on a way by which Lynn was enabled to supplement her -teacher's salary and provide for him more comfortably. Struck by the -humour and style of a little sketch which she had written for his -amusement, he made a few alterations in it and sent it to an editor with -whom he was personally acquainted, under his own name. It was accepted -and paid for; and, from that time on, Ricossia was known for his pungent -and witty society skits. Lynn was only too grateful for the addition to -her much-strained purse and delighted that her brother was pleased to -approve of her work. Had it not been for this new method of earning, -she would have found it increasingly difficult to account for the way in -which her money went, bringing her no apparent return. - -In her spare moments, therefore, she wrote, busily, and, moreover, -assumed the duty of amanuensis to her brother, who seemed more and more -indifferent, as his health declined and his energy waned, as to the -disposal of his brain-wares. Provided he could carouse all night and -sleep all day he seemed content; only varying this routine by complaints -if Lynn either came at inopportune times or failed to come when she -might have been of use. - -He absolutely refused all medical aid and scoffed at the idea of going -to a sanitarium. He knew that he must die and he wanted to die, happy. -And, if Lynn had but known it, this, under the circumstances, was about -the greatest kindness he could have done society in general and his -sister in particular. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *"PUNCHINELLO"* - - - "He laughed ... as gaily, - Dancing, joking every night, - 'He's the maddest, merriest fellow,' - Cried the people with delight. - Bravo, bravo! Punchinello! - Bravo, Punchinello!" - --Old Song. - - -Mr. Zangwell, in his clever "Serio-Comic Governess," has shown us a -young lady leading two very different lives at one and the same time. In -the day-time she is a highly respectable and decorous governess, at -night, a music-hall artiste. In both lines she is a success. - -Now this success is probably owing to the fact that this particular -young lady is gratifying her curiosity and her desire to lead a -conventional existence at one and the same time. She is, in short, -doing that which she wishes to do. - -There are many such "serio-comic governesses" in real life. Perhaps -you, who read, may be one; perhaps, unknown to you, the dear friend from -whom you have no secrets and who, you fondly believe, has none from you, -may have a personality which you have never even guessed at. - -In the case of our "serio-comic governess," however, we must draw a -distinction. Lynn Thayer liked neither of her lives, which clashed -horribly both with one another and with her sense of right. Since she -saw no way in which she could avoid it, however, she continued to lead -them to the best of her ability, sustained, if not comforted, by the -thought that one of them was bound to terminate with the death of the -one being whom she most loved. - -We have seen our "serio-comic governess" in one role; now we see her in -another. We have seen Punchinello with the mask off and the grin -absent; now we see him as he appears daily in the theatre of life. - -Lynn had returned from the school where she taught and sat in her aunt's -sitting-room, engaged on a shirtwaist and in conversation. If we listen -we shall be able to form a fair idea of the progress of the -conversation, if not of that of the shirtwaist. Mrs. Thayer was -employed in embroidering a collar and impressed the casual observer as -doing the exact thing for which Nature had fitted her. She was one of -those pretty, faded, querulous women with worthy hearts but limited -intellects of whom one almost instinctively speaks as "poor thing"; why, -it is hard to say, except that something in their appearance calls forth -the expression. No one ever called Lynn Thayer "poor thing," nor would, -whatever griefs or difficulties she might labour under. - -Mrs. Thayer was speaking. - -"Now, Lynn, _why_ is he not coming here, to-night?" - -"For one thing, because I don't want him; and, for another, because he -is changing his hotel. You know he is staying at the 'Hastings' while -his house is in the hands of the painters." - -"And he is moving from the 'Hastings.' Why?" - -"Oh, I think he said it was 'tough' and that he would have to leave it. -I tried hard not to compliment him upon the altruism of his action. -Certainly if one thing more than another is calculated to 'raise the -tone' of a hotel, it is his leaving it." - -"Lynn! you didn't tell him so?" shrieked her aunt. - -"No," returned her niece, rather sorrowfully. "I didn't. I wish I -had." - -"_Lynn!_" - -"I don't often neglect anything calculated to render me unpopular with -him," continued Miss Thayer, composedly, "and when I do I'm always sorry -for it, afterwards. You know that, Aunt Lucy?" - -"Lynn, dear, don't use all those long words," adjured her aunt, -piteously. "They do sound so clever. And men do so hate clever women. -I don't mean that you are clever, you understand, dear," she continued, -apologetically, "only that you appear so, sometimes." - -"I wonder whether Mr. Lighton would dislike it if he thought I were -clever!" queried Lynn with sudden interest. - -"I don't know. I am afraid--" - -"_How_ I would scintillate if I only thought it would annoy him," Lynn -said in a low voice. - -Mrs. Thayer started, indignantly. - -"I am thankful," she reflected in loud and severe accents, "that _I_ was -never afflicted with a desire to make myself unpleasant to estimable -young men." - -"Estimable! Aunt Lucy!" - -"It is true," said Mrs. Thayer, putting two diminutive stitches in the -collar which she was embroidering, "it is undeniably true, Lynn, that -the poor boy has been a little wild. But he wants to settle down." - -"If he wants to settle down with me, Aunt Lucy, he can want." - -"Lynn, is that the remark of a lady?" - -"It is; and, furthermore, it is the remark of a lady who knows her own -mind." - -Mrs. Thayer raised a tiny handkerchief to her eyes and deposited two -tinier tears, thereupon. Long practice had made her an adept in the -gentle art of weeping, by which art she had succeeded in establishing an -absolute monarchy in her own home. - -"Oh, Lynn, what a way to talk," she wept, gently, "when the poor boy is -so fond of you and has such a good salary and a house of his own, -besides. How few young men have houses of their own that you can walk -right into as soon as you marry them! What are you laughing at? And -anyway he is much too good for you and besides Eva Holt would jump at -him." - -"Let her jump." - -"Ah, Lynn, you have no natural, womanly instincts." - -"I am afraid I am lacking in some." - -"Such a nice house as it is, too," sighed her aunt, "and all being done -over--new plumbing, electric light and everything! Electric light is so -nice to read by. How fortunate it is that his uncle di--that is to say, -how fortunate it is that his uncle left it to him." - -"Yes, indeed. There's something very attractive about electric lights," -returned her niece, gravely. - -Mrs. Thayer looked slightly puzzled and changed the subject. - -"Mr. Lighton is really in many ways a very nice young man," she -ventured, timidly. "And not a bit worse than lots of others." - -"Not a bit!" assented the other. Her voice was still cheerful but her -face had clouded a little. "The trouble is," she went on, rather -absently, after a moment's pause, "the trouble is, he's worse-looking. -Vice, pure and simple, one might tolerate; but vice, in conjunction with -a vermilion nose"-- - -"Lynn!" interrupted her aunt with righteous indignation. "Mr. Lighton -is as the Lord made him." - -"The Lord! Brandy and soda!" - -Mrs. Thayer had her answer ready in her pocket; she drew it out and -deposited three more tears upon its snowy surface. Lynn hesitated; she -had a truly masculine aversion to tears, an aversion which had cost her -many a domestic battle. - -"Please don't cry, Aunt Lucy," she burst forth at length. "I don't see -why you are so very anxious to get me married. I thought you liked -having me in the house. If you don't"-- - -"Of course I like having you," said the older woman, reproachfully. -"But I must confess that it makes me feel dreadfully to think of having -you, always--that is, I mean that it makes me feel dreadfully to see you -throw away such good chances. For you know, Lynn, you are not in the -least pretty." - -"Dear Aunt Lucy, you have told me that so often," returned her niece, -patiently. "But I cannot for the life of me see why the fact of my not -possessing a Greek profile should make me want to marry Mr. Lighton." - -"That is just where you are so incomprehensible. And, besides, he has -such a lovely horse." - -"His horse is certainly a dream. Unfortunately, though, it was not his -horse who proposed. If I could marry the horse and lock the gentleman -up in the stable, I'd do it with pleasure. O dear, why will you talk -about it and make me say such horrid things. The plain truth of the -matter is that I do not like the man and I hate talking about the whole -affair. It irritates me, someway. I hate to see anything wasted." - -"Then why do you"-- - -"Oh, Aunt Lucy, _don't_ start it, again! after all I've said." - -"I perceive at last," said Mrs. Thayer with dignity, "that I may as well -let the matter drop." - -"You might have seen that at first, if you had wished to," thought Lynn. - -"I only hope you may never regret this." - -"I hope so, too. By the way, I am going to drop in at Estelle's for tea -at five. A lot of the girls are going there. Have you any message?" - -"None, whatever; but, as you are going there, I trust that you will talk -this matter over with her. You could not have a better confidante. -Talk it over with her, won't you?" - -"I don't think it is necessary to promise that," replied Lynn, wearily, -"for she is quite certain to talk it over with me, which comes to the -same thing in the end." - -Mrs. Thayer compressed her lips and continued to embroider. Lynn -departed to make some change in her toilet and, that being concluded, -left the house. Once on the street her face changed and contracted a -little, making her look curiously older. - -"There are times," she said slowly, regarding the little terrier which -gambolled joyfully at her side, "there are times, Bob, when I find the -society of the four-legged portion of humanity infinitely more congenial -than that of the two-legged. This is one of them. How I wish sometimes -that Aunt Lucy were dumb or I deaf! How thankful I am that you can't -talk reason with me or advise me for my good or do any other unpleasant -thing of the kind, Bob. If they only knew what they were talking about! -if they only knew why I can't marry Lighton or--or anyone else"--She -broke off, abruptly, biting her lip as though in pain. "What's the use -of thinking?" she went on, presently. "I've got to face Del and twenty -other women nearly as sharp in five minutes' time and I can't show my -feelings here in this horrible street, either. Oh, to get away from it -all!--here, don't be a fool! You have about two minutes to pull yourself -together in, you weak, whining--I'll put it out of my mind, entirely. -Whom has Del asked, I wonder. If it's one of those vile functions where -you're wedged tightly between layers of fat, stupid women who gabble -inanely and continuously and spill ice-cream and coffee over your good -clothes, I'll never forgive her. No, she said distinctly that it was -just a few of the girls and she always tells the truth to me, if she -doesn't to anyone else. Oh, Del, Del! I wonder if you are the right -person to go by. I wonder what you would say if I were to tell you of -all this miserable coil of deception and misery. Of course I know what -you would say; you would say that I was a fool and so I am; that -wouldn't help matters, much. What _could_ you, or anyone suggest? -Nothing, nothing that would be of any use; anyway, if I were dying for -advice, I am not free to obtain it. If I had an unfailing fund of -common sense and a heart of stone what would I do, I wonder? God knows. -Being myself I'll do what I'm doing--and God grant it can't last -forever." She set her lips firmly and walked along until she reached -Pine Avenue. - -Pine Avenue lies at the foot of Mount Royal and, in fact, is built upon -its slope. It is a broad, fine street and some of the handsomest -residences in Montreal are situated upon, or, rather, directly above it. -At all seasons of the year it is largely frequented and, in winter, is a -favourite haunt of snowshoers and "skiers." At the present hour, -however, it was practically deserted; and Lynn drew a long breath of -relief as, leaving the crowded city streets behind, she sought its -solitude. For some little time she walked on in silence. - -The golden January sun turned Mount Royal into a mass of shining marble, -flecked with skeleton-like maples and crowned with dark green pines. -Beyond--behind its towering whiteness--lay the dead of Montreal. Lynn -winced at the thought of them and fiercely refused to let her thought -dwell on their impenetrable peace. - -"I'm going to an At Home, Bob," she said, half-aloud, trying to laugh. -"There will be about twenty other women there--and, in all probability, -half of them are wearing veils over their faces like the minister in -Hawthorne's story. 'I look around me and lo! on every visage a black -veil.' Only people don't go in for black veils unless they're cowards; -they go in for scarlet and gold, which makes a far better disguise and -renders life more cheerful. What's the use of making a fuss? Anyway, -whatever happens, whatever nasty knocks Fate may hand me, there is one -thing she can't do--she can't make me whine." She threw her head back -and laughed; then called the dog to her side and smiled as he licked her -gloved hand. - -"Del doesn't like you, old boy," she said, fondly. "But I'll hide you, -somewhere, and I won't stay any longer than I can help. Ah! there's the -house, already. It's just as well. I don't feel like being alone, -to-day, more than I can help. I wonder why it is that things seem so -much worse at some times than they do at others." - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *"JUST A FEW OF THE GIRLS"* - - - "'I must be my own Mamma,' said Becky."--_Thackeray_. - - "She was clever, witty, brilliant and sparkling beyond most of - her kind but possessed of many devils of malice and - mischievousness. She could be nice, though, even to her own - sex. But that is another story."--_Kipling_. - - -Mrs. Hadwell's home, whither her friend, Miss Thayer, was bound, -contrived to be both home-like and imposing. Situated on a slope of the -"mountain," as all loyal Montrealers call Mount Royal, it commanded an -unsurpassed view of the city and harbour and was surrounded by a -picturesque garden, unspoilt by overcultivation. In summer it assumed -an appearance of fairy-like charm: and even when, as now, devoid of -verdant ornament and encompassed only by the sighing branches of bare -trees, it had an appearance of creature comfort, oddly at variance with -the bleak, snow-crowned hills that rose behind it. Mount Royal, the -pride of every Montrealer, boasts many another such home; but few -combine dignity and cosiness in the measure which Mrs. Hadwell's did. - -"Del's house is really awfully like her in many ways," Lynn Thayer -reflected as she rang the bell. "It is so expensive and in such good -taste and so comfortable and so cold--is Mrs. Hadwell in, Ella? Yes, I -know she is, but see here! can you smuggle Bob somewhere where he won't -be in the way of the girls? You know Mrs. Hadwell doesn't like dogs." - -She divested herself of some of her wraps and crossed the hall. The -perfume of roses pervaded the air and the soft strain of violins was -faintly heard beneath the hubbub of voices as she made her way toward -the large old-fashioned drawing-room whence the sounds of festivity -proceeded. This room, hung with crimson velvet and panelled in dark oak, -was almost sumptuous in its comfort. Beautifully carved Turkish lamps -hung from the ceiling: a splendid wood fire burned on the hearth: great -vases of dark red roses and carnations were disposed wherever -opportunity offered: and, at the further end of the room, one caught a -delicious glimpse of cool green ferns and various-coloured blooms. The -room was filled with daintily dressed girls and young women: and behind -a superlatively dainty tea table sat the hostess who hastily pushed -aside a cream jug and rushed in the direction of her latest guest. - -"Help yourselves, girls," she exclaimed. "I want to speak to Lynn. Why -are you so late, child? and where have you been, lately? I haven't seen -you for an age." - -"Which, being interpreted, means four days," said Lynn, laughing and -returning her hostess' kiss. "How lovely the rooms look, Del! and what -a sweet frock that is! I do like you in mauve." - -"I think it _is_ rather successful," said Mrs. Hadwell, contentedly: and -both women laughed. In their girlhood days they had entered into a -compact which had ever since been observed faithfully; namely, to tell -no useless lies to one another. "Only don't let us forget to tell them -to other people, Lynn," Mrs. Hadwell had remarked, solemnly. "Don't let -it get us into bad habits." It had never got her into bad habits: she -had lied her way successfully into public esteem, riches and an old -man's heart; and, even on reaching the giddy pinnacle of social success -where rudeness is frequently condoned, she had faithfully followed the -policy of telling the truth only to her one intimate friend, Lynn -Thayer. - -"Edie, do pour Lynn some tea," she cried, now, turning to a pretty -brown-eyed girl who hovered near, watching her adoringly. "And put piles -and piles of cream in it and five lumps or so of sugar--that's the way -she likes it, the incomprehensible creature! ... Another of those -sickening debutantes," she observed in a confidential undertone, turning -to Lynn and gently propelling her in the direction of a couch, "simply -worships me, you know! follows me around like a dog and--that's right, -dear! how sweet of you to save me the trouble! now get her an Italian -cream and a nice cake, will you? like an angel!--I don't know what I -shall do if it keeps up: you know I can't bear bread and butter misses -and she actually asked me for a lock of my hair the other day. I felt -like telling her that I paid eighty dollars for my switch in New York -and that my own hair was too precious to--oh, _thank_ you, dear! Lynn, -this is the sweetest girl; she saves me all sorts of trouble and her -name is Miss Roland; Edie, this is my friend, Miss Thayer, of whom you -have often heard me speak--oh, dear! there are all the girls coming up -to speak to you, Lynn, and anyway I ought to go and pour out some more -tea. When you have done the polite, do come and keep me company at the -tea-table." - -"Little Mrs. Hadwell," as her friends usually called her, fled, casting -a bewitching smile at the group of girls who were clustering about Lynn. -Estelle Hadwell's teeth were her strong point, a fact which she never, -for an instant, lost sight of. She had no complexion worth terming -such, her features were irregular and her figure decidedly angular. Yet -she contrived to be considered a beauty, as any woman can who has time -and money to devote to her appearance. - -Lynn watched her curiously as she settled herself at the tea-table with -a coquettish little flirt of her silken skirts, and marvelled anew at -the unconscious dramatic instinct which enabled this tiny creature to -play the role of a beauty with such unfailing success. As "Little Mrs. -Hadwell" sat pouring the tea with one pretty arm gracefully raised, she -was a vision for an artist. Her mauve gown fell about her petite form in -folds that were almost statuesque in their grace: her beautiful -hair--which looked just as beautiful as though it had not grown on an -Irish housemaid's head--was arranged with such taste as to make her -small head a thing of beauty: her really pretty neck and arms were set -off by a fichu and falling cuffs of rich yellow lace. A cluster of -violets was carelessly tucked in the front of her fichu: and a long -chain of amethysts outlined her slender waist--which had hardly been so -slender, had it not been for the skill and strength of her French maid. -Altogether, as she sat there, Lynn recognized for the fiftieth time--and -with precisely the same sense of wonder--that, in spite of Estelle's -entire lack of beauty, she was the daintiest and most fascinating thing, -imaginable. - -Among the girls who surrounded Lynn were several whose beauty was -sufficiently apparent to make them noticeable, anywhere. Edith Roland, -the adoring debutante, had big, brown eyes, a pretty colour and a figure -whose slenderness and grace owed nothing to artificial aid; yet, beside -her diminutive hostess she sank into insignificance. Erma Reed was a -beautiful girl, tall, splendidly proportioned with the features of a -Greek statue and the air of a grand dame; but, after the first -admiration which her almost flawless pulchritude provoked, one's eyes -wandered instinctively to the sinuous figure and piquante, appealing -face of Mrs. Hadwell. "Magnetism--that is the only word for it, I -suppose," thought Lynn. "Yet she didn't always have it as she has it -now. Can that sort of thing be cultivated, I wonder?" - -"Lynn, we never see you, now," declared Joan Cadding, one of her -friends. "What's the reason?" - -"Old age, laziness and lots to do. At twenty-eight one can't be always -gadding. Besides, a teacher must keep early hours." - -"Oh, aged one, it is not so many years since a certain teacher was out -every night in the week until one or two o'clock and absolutely refused -even to lie down for half an hour when she left school at three. Mrs. -Thayer used to say to mother, 'Really, Lynn must have the constitution -of a horse; she comes home from school, skates for an hour, rushes into -calling costume and drops into a dozen things before dinner: then, as -soon as that is over, prepares for a dance or a tobogganing party.'" - -"As you say, I was a few years younger, Joan." - -"But why have you given everything up so? You can't complain of being -shelved. Why, at the only dance where I've met you this winter your card -was filled to overflowing before you had been in the room five minutes. -You certainly can't worry about lack of attention." - -"No, I have no beauty to fade and no youthful fascinations to take wing, -so the people who liked me ten years ago are just as apt to like me, -now." - -"Then why do you slip out of things so? Even Del says she never sees -you." - -"Del means that I don't live here as I used to. I see her three or four -times a week: any one but Del would be sick of me. But, seriously, -girls, this idea of combining public school teacher and society girl -isn't the best in the world. As far as I know, I am the only woman who -has ever done it successfully for years and I'm getting tired of it. -And that reminds me! Do you want to hear a good story? I went to a -man-tea at Mrs. Dean-Everill's the other day--you see I'm not altogether -a hermit yet--and I met a Mrs. Howden there--a very common woman with -money. No one else wanted to talk to her and she seemed a good-natured -soul and anxious to be affable, so I sacrificed myself as usual. She -simply beamed on me--till, in the course of conversation, it transpired -that I taught from nine to three five days out of the seven. Then she -froze: suddenly and completely did she freeze: and took the earliest -opportunity of sidling away from my contaminating presence. A little -later on I was talking to some of the other people when Dick Ashe, who -has just returned from Europe, you know, rushed up to me and said in his -usual boisterous way, 'Oh, Miss Thayer, you should see the lovely pin -that your cousin, Lord Haviland, has entrusted to me for you.' I caught -sight of the woman's face; she looked like a devotee who had unwittingly -slapped a seraph. I felt so sorry for her that I hastened to murmur, -'Oh, Harry's only my third cousin, you know!' but even that didn't seem -to wipe the tortured look from her fat face. Think what it must be to a -social climber to have snubbed an earl's third cousin." - -In the burst of laughter and talk which followed this, only Mrs. Hadwell -noticed that Lynn had made a definite effort to turn the course of -conversation from discussion of herself. - -"Well," said Agatha Ladilaw in her flute-like voice, "I don't see what -is amusing you all so. It couldn't have been very pleasant for Mrs. -What's-her-name to think that she had been rude to an earl's third -cousin: and, on the other hand, if Lynn were an ordinary teacher you -couldn't expect her to be treated in the same way." - -"Why not?" asked some one. Lynn merely laughed and looked at the first -speaker with covert yet kindly mirth. - -"I don't see why you laugh," said Agatha, with soft stubbornness. - -"Why, you see, Agatha," said Lynn, looking at her thoughtfully, "this -Mrs. Howden liked me till she found I was a teacher. Then she couldn't -endure my society till it transpired that I was related to an earl. -Then she loved me once more." - -"And why shouldn't she?" asked Agatha, lifting her lovely lashes. -"Earls are not so common." - -"Not so common as snobs, no. Still having an earl for a cousin is no -reason why people should like one." - -"But you see, Lynn, it is a reason. You say, yourself, that she liked -you as soon as she found it out." - -Lynn abandoned argument. - -"She liked me in the first place, too," she said, laughing. - -"Oh, but then she didn't know you were a teacher," Agatha explained, -very sensibly. - -"She liked me until I was found out, in other words." - -"Exactly," said Agatha, pleased to find that her logic had penetrated. -"It often happens so. Look at that young Italian with the lovely eyes -who wrote the magnificent poetry that you weren't allowed to read! and -had to smuggle into the dormitory at night after the lights were out! -Now everybody raved about him until they found that he took opium and -drank." - -"And then they promptly dropped him: just as this Mrs. Howden did Lynn, -when she found that she taught. It's an exactly parallel case," agreed -Mrs. Hadwell, looking straight at Lynn with a perfectly innocent face -and inwardly wondering how her friend could preserve such a stony -impenetrability of countenance. - -"Certainly it is," said Agatha, triumphantly, "except that of course -it's wicked to drink and it's quite respectable to teach. But it comes -to the same thing in the end." - -"So many things do," said Lynn with a little laugh. "Still, Agatha, -it's not necessarily wickedness that makes people drink. Some people -drink in the same way that they breathe--because to stop would be to die -or to go mad." - -"What unpleasant people," said Agatha, virtuously. "I'm glad I'm not -like that. Still, even if I were I'm sure that I could stop it--I can't -understand people being so weak. And, speaking of that -Ricossia--whatever became of him? He was so wicked and he did look so -nice in evening clothes. I used to be awfully gone on him and so were -all the girls in the Sixth. It wasn't because he was wicked, you know," -she added hastily. - -"No, indeed; the wickedness of Beelzebub would have availed him nothing -if he hadn't also been decorative in evening clothes. Agatha, don't you -want this little chocolate cake with the nut in the top?" - -Agatha did: and she also wanted some information on the subject of -Ricossia. - -"Why are you so determined not to talk about him? He was your protege -from the start. You took him up--you and Mr. Amherst--I don't believe -he would ever have been so popular and run after if you hadn't started -it." - -"Yes, what has become of that boy?" queried Mrs. Hadwell with sudden -interest. "Of course he has gone to the dogs, we all know that: but what -particular dogs and where?" - -"I am not his keeper," answered Lynn, lightly. "Do you know that it's -about time I left, Del?" - -"Oh, no!" cried Mrs. Hadwell, starting up. "You mustn't. Why, you -don't even know why I asked you to come here, this afternoon: you simply -must stay long enough to hear that." - -"Well, I'll stay five minutes"-- - -"Very well, five minutes!" returned Mrs. Hadwell, who knew quite well -how long a period of time five minutes can cover. "Now, girls, attend! -You knew that Henry's brother Carl settled in the States and that he has -a grown-up family. Well, the third child is twins--I mean the third -children are twins--well, never mind! what's the use of explaining when -you all know what I mean, anyway. The point is that I've invited them -one and all to visit me, every year: but they've consistently refused -because the brother is indignant at Henry's marrying a young wife, just -when they had quite come to count on getting his money. These twins, -however, seem to have a mind between them--they're only nineteen, too, I -believe--very young to have a mind, even if it is only half a one--and -they have written with gusto, accepting my invitation and telling me -that they're dying to see something of the Canadian sports. Now, as you -know, I've no taste for sports and I thought some of you might help me -out. They are only going to be here for a week or so, as they both go -to college, and I want to give them what our American friends call 'a -real good time.' I have thought of several of the ordinary things--a -tea for the girls and a bridge the night after they arrive: and a little -later on, I am going to give a fancy dress ball--yes, consider -yourselves all invited--but I thought it would be nice if I got a few of -you girls together and organized some parties for tobogganing and -ice-boating and so on." - -"Don't forget the Conquerors-Wales hockey match." - -"No, detestable thing! they'll want to see that, I suppose. I can't -stand hockey. Lynn, you're not going?" - -"I must. It's getting very late." - -"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mrs. Hadwell, piteously: and at that moment, the -clang of the doorbell, followed by the advent of a fresh visitor, seemed -to give the lie to Miss Thayer's assertion. - -"Mrs. Langham-Greene! Lynn, forgive me. I swear I didn't ask her," -murmured the hostess: then glided forward eagerly. - -"So glad to see you. What good genius prompted you to drop in this -particular afternoon? _All_ the girls have done the same. (And if that -doesn't pacify her," reflected the ingenuous hostess, "nothing will.") - -The newcomer laughed, a pretty, soft, disagreeable laugh, and glanced -about her. - -"So I see," she rejoined, smoothly. "We old married women will have to -entertain one another. These young girls," her glance wandered from -Lynn Thayer to two or three others and she smiled thoughtfully, "these -young girls have their own topics of conversation." - -"Now that," said Mrs. Hadwell to herself with unwilling admiration, "is -neat, distinctly neat. Insult to me, insult to my best friend and -insult to half a dozen of my guests and all in one short breath. Lynn, -you're not going?" she added, aloud. - -"I am indeed. Bob will be wondering what's become of me." - -"_Bob_! You didn't bring him here?" - -"I did, Del. You know I'm away all day and Aunt Lucy never takes him -out. Poor little fellow! it's pathetic, the way he greets me when I get -home." - -"Miss Thayer is such an attractive person, isn't she?" murmured Mrs. -Langham-Greene with a peculiar gleam in her lazy cat-like eyes. "She -has such a fascination--for dogs and cats." - -"You, Mrs. Langham-Greene," returned Lynn with equal sweetness, "can -have _no_ idea how nice it is to be able to fascinate something." - -With that, she left. Mrs. Hadwell was delighted with the Parthian shot -and indignant at Mrs. Langham-Greene's impudence in classing herself -with her hostess under the title of "old married women." She therefore -launched forth into a eulogy of her absent friend which, judging from -appearances, went far to spoil the elegant widow's enjoyment of her cup -of tea. - -"Lynn is such a favourite with men, too," she concluded. - -"Really," rejoined the green-eyed siren, carelessly. "But girls who -teach do age so rapidly, don't you think so, Mrs. Hadwell? and they are -apt to become soured and to mistake rudeness for repartee." - -"A mistake that is frequently made," said Mrs. Hadwell, inwardly -furious. "But, when one has such a clever tongue as Lynn, don't you -think one is apt to take advantage of duller people than one's self?" -Agatha broke in. - -"Isn't it funny, Mrs. Hadwell, how Lynn never will talk about Mr. -Ricossia? She used to like him so much. And I am sure she must know -what has become of him." - -"Dreadful creature!" purred Mrs. Langham-Greene, arching her delicate -eyebrows. "Your friend wasn't really infatuated with him, was she, Mrs. -Hadwell? People do talk so." - -"Don't they?" assented Mrs. Hadwell, looking grieved. "I daresay even -you and I don't escape. Poor Lynn presumed on her twenty-eight years -and her plain face to take a sisterly interest in an eccentric genius, -little more than a child in years; and people immediately assume that -she must be in love with him. So absurd! As if a girl who--oh, they -are all going! what a shame! How I wish you had dropped in a little -sooner, Mrs. Langham-Greene. We've had a delightful chat but such a -short one!" - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *"A FIN-DE-SIECLE PAIR"* - - - "I have seen Hayes argue with a tough horse--I have seen a tonga - driver coerce a stubborn pony--I have seen a riotous setter - broken to gun by a hard keeper--but the breaking-in of Pluffles - ... was beyond all these."--_Kipling_. - - -"But, Henry, you should be glad to see your brother's children." - -"I don't see why. A pair of young ragamuffins who'll pull the house -about my ears." - -"My dear Henry! They're nineteen." - -"Worse and worse! The boy will be certain to fall in love with you." - -"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Hadwell, eagerly. - -"I think it won't be your fault if he doesn't," responded her husband -with acerbity. - -"Well, at all events the girl won't fall in love with you," said Mrs. -Hadwell with a twinkle in her eye. - -Her spouse grunted something unintelligible. - -"Not if she sees you with that expression on your face," went on Mrs. -Hadwell, rather sadly. "It always seems so strange to me that a man of -your experience and charm--a finished man of the world, in other -words--should give way to these useless moods." - -Mr. Hadwell's brow slightly cleared in spite of his efforts to hide the -fact. - -"If I had seen when I first met you," went on Mrs. Hadwell in chastened -accents, "that, beneath the mask of courtly politeness and delicate -flattery, you concealed the nature of a gloomy tyrant." - -"Da--I mean, confound it all!" said Mr. Hadwell, much affected, "what on -earth do you want, Estelle?" - -"Why, I'm afraid I don't quite understand you," said Mrs. Hadwell, -raising her pretty eyebrows in pained surprise. - -"My dear little girl, you know I am not a tyrant," said Mr. Hadwell, -miserable at the thought of being so misunderstood, yet, at the same -time, secretly delighted at the reference to his "courtly politeness." -His delight was natural when one considers the fact that, at no time of -his life, had his manners surpassed those of an average groom. - -"No--perhaps not," said Mrs. Hadwell, softly. "Yet, Henry, there are -times when--when--" - -"When what, darling?" inquired Mr. Hadwell, abjectly. - -"When," said Mrs. Hadwell with sorrowful dignity, "when, Henry, I am -actually afraid to ask you for the little extra money which will provide -for the entertainment of your brother's children." - -"Must they be so much entertained?" asked Mr. Hadwell, humbly yet -uneasily. He was a kind old man, but the prospect of parting with a -dollar never failed to cause him acute agony. - -"They need not be entertained," responded Mrs. Hadwell with feeling. -"Those unfortunate children may come here and stay with us three weeks -and return to Ohio to tell their father and mother that the woman who -has deprived them of their uncle's fortune, grudges them a ball or a"-- -She wept: and Mr. Hadwell writhed in agony. There were only two things -in life that he really loved: his big income and his small wife. Of the -two, he really preferred his wife: and after a few moments' silent -struggle, he succumbed to her tears and her fascinations and drew out -his cheque book. - -"How much?" he inquired, hardily. - -Little Mrs. Hadwell dried her eyes. - -"How much?" she inquired, innocently. "How mu--oh, Henry! were you -thinking of giving me some money?" - -Mr. Hadwell regarded her with perplexity. - -"Isn't that what you wanted?" he inquired looking puzzled. - -Mrs. Hadwell buried her eighty-dollar head in her pretty hands. - -"I wanted you to show some interest in these children--your own -brother's children!" she wept. "And you--offer--me--money!" - -Mr. Hadwell groaned, feeling that he was a tactless brute yet not quite -seeing why. Suddenly a bright thought struck him: he tore out a blank -cheque, signed it and tossed it playfully to his wife. - -"There, there!" he observed, soothingly. "Don't cry any more, Estelle. -Of course these children must be entertained--of course I am pleased -about their coming. But, you see, we business men have so much to worry -us." - -Mr. Hadwell's business consisted in driving to his office every morning, -receiving the obsequious greetings of his manager--and drawing his -handsome income. Mrs. Hadwell knew this as well--better than he -did--therefore---- - -"Of course," she cooed, drying her eyes and regarding her spouse with -mingled awe and wonder. "Of course, dear. You must forgive me if I -seem a little unreasonable, sometimes; but it did hurt me so when you -seemed to think that all I wanted from you was money"---- - -"Of course--of course!" said her husband, hastily. "Now I must be off. -What are you going to do, to-day?" - -"Well, let me see! Lynn is coming to dinner and we are going for a -drive first." - -"Ah!" said Mr. Hadwell, looking pleased. He heartily approved of Lynn -and took great pleasure in the thought that this exceptionally "nice" -young woman was his wife's best friend; feeling that Estelle's evident -devotion to Lynn overbalanced her quite as evident love of flattery and -attention. Mr. Hadwell never forgot that Lynn insisted on teaching in -the public schools rather than allow her uncle to support her, wholly: a -piece of unselfishness that went straight to his heart. Needless to -say, he did not know that Estelle had talked him over with Lynn from -every point of view, both before and after his marriage to the former. - -Estelle Harding had been the granddaughter of a wealthy man who had died -when she was sixteen, leaving her penniless. For the next five years she -had lived with different relatives, positively refusing to follow the -example of her friend, Lynn Thayer, who was preparing at the High and -Normal schools, to earn her living as a teacher. Being tremendously -popular both with girls and boys, she was deluged with invitations and -love affairs; but at twenty-one, she met Mr. Hadwell, a wealthy and -retiring bachelor of sixty-three, and, from that time on, she paid -assiduous and tactful court to him. The net result of this campaign was -that, in six months from the time she had first met him, Mr. Hadwell was -a married man. It speaks well for our small heroine's tactics that her -husband, to his dying day, believed that he had fallen madly in love -with her when he saw her first and that nothing but his overpowering -fascinations had induced the shy damsel to become his wife. "You were -the first man who had ever cared for me," Estelle would say to him, -sometimes. "The others--oh, they were just boys! I couldn't look up to -them, dear: they were on a level with myself." This was a particularly -tactful lie on Mrs. Hadwell's part: she knew well that among her -admirers had been young men whose intellect and strength of character -had far surpassed her husband's. But tactful lying was Mrs. Hadwell's -forte. - -Many and varied were the comments on Miss Harding's engagement. "Little -cat! how clever she is," said some. The majority, however, murmured -feelingly, "So glad that sweet girl will have her reward." - -"That sweet girl" had had her reward. All that she cared for in -life--money, social position, unlimited flattery and envy were hers -without stint. And, much as I hate to grieve the moralists, Estelle -Hadwell was a supremely happy and contented woman. If she had been -childless it is possible that her lot might, at times, have palled on -her: but two pretty, healthy children occupied what little heart she -had. Her husband, though in a vague way proud of his children's beauty -and brightness, cared little for them: what heart _he_ had was occupied -by his wife who played upon his affections with the hand of a practised -artist. - -She let the cheque lie by her plate, now, as she rose and kissed her -better half, affectionately. - -"What a delightful visit those dear twins will have, thanks to your -generosity," she said, smiling at him, affectionately. - -Mr. Hadwell waved a patronizing disclaimer. - -"Oh, I shall be glad to do what I can for Carl's children," he said, -magnificently. - -"That is so like you, dear," returned his simple little wife, gently. - -She was giggling softly to herself over this conversation in the -afternoon as she pinned an expensive little hat over her still more -expensive tresses. "I really do think I am cleverer than most women," -she mused. "I get just what I want and I never hurt the dear old -thing's feelings." She was really fond of her husband whose absorption -in her satisfied her vanity and whose jealousy served to render life -interesting. When Lynn Thayer arrived she entered into a long and -detailed account of her morning's work, ending by triumphantly -displaying the cheque. Lynn laughed, unwillingly. - -"I do hate that sort of thing, Estelle," she said. "I know you're -awfully clever at getting your own way, but I can never understand why -you don't get Mr. Hadwell to allow you a certain sum, monthly. Then you -wouldn't have to stoop to this sort of thing." - -"Oh, but I like stooping," said Estelle, placidly. "And, besides, if I -knew just how much I was going to get every month it would be awfully -tame. You haven't a bit of the gambler in you, Lynn." - -"Not a particle." - -"Then there's another side to the question. If Henry had to make me an -allowance he would only allow for necessities. For instance, if I wanted -to run down to New York for a week or two it would have to come out of -my dress allowance. That would be horrid. Oh, I had such a time -getting a few hundred dollars out of him the last time I went. He -wrangled over every detail--actually wanted me to stay in the suburbs -because hotels were cheaper there, quite forgetting that my fare in and -out would amount to something. As I said to him, 'I suppose I could -walk to the ferry--it's only twenty miles or so each way and exercise is -good for one--but I really couldn't walk across the water; I'm not -_quite_ divine yet!'" - -"You absurd child! What did he say to that?" - -"Oh, he mumbled something to the effect that I ought to be a Christian -Scientist. That was meant as a joke. He always jokes when he feels -ashamed. So I said, 'Yes, if I were a Christian Scientist I could walk -over anything, yourself included; but because I am only your poor, -stupid, little wife, I must humbly beg you for money for this little -trip.' Then he tried to be pompous, the way he always does when I -pretend to knuckle down. He said, 'If I don't want you to go to New -York, that ought to be enough for any well-regulated wife.' And I said, -'You dear old stupid! I'm not a well-regulated wife. Don't be so -ridiculous. Anyone would think I was a watch to hear you talk!' Then I -looked cute and rolled my eyes at him and he caved right in. Dear me, -Lynn, what a pity it is I can't bestow some of my superfluous cleverness -on you. Your aunt tells me that you are positively discouraging Mr. -Lighton. You must be mad." - -"I am mad--thoroughly mad about the whole business. Why in the world -should I marry this man simply because he asks me? Really, I have been -so advised and dictated to and badgered about him that now the very -thought of his face makes me feel angry." - -"Then why do you think of his face?" inquired Mrs. Hadwell, opening her -grey eyes, innocently. "Why don't you forget about his face and think -about his figure at the bank? That is what any sensible girl would do." - -Lynn groaned. "I'm not a sensible girl, unfortunately," she said. -"Now, Del, if you're going for a drive before dinner you had better -hurry." - -"Very well. I'm ready. Dear me! I must just see Mrs. Waite before we -go and tell her to have dinner at seven. Oh, Lynn! that woman is such a -comfort to me. She's a regular automaton, knows how everything in the -house should be done--and does it! Of course she is absolutely -heartless, but--what are you giggling at? Oh, my dear, I may not be -particularly intense or passionate, but I assure you I am a volcano -beside Mrs. Waite. She doesn't care for the children, she doesn't even -care for me. Now you know there must be something radically wrong with -any one who doesn't care for me--I may have my faults, but no one can -deny that I am the most fascinating person!--and in her case it is the -stranger as she is a decayed gentlewoman and I have gone out of my way -to show her kindness. Why, I even asked her to dine with Henry and me -once when we had people who knew her coming to dinner: and she looked at -me with her Medusa-like countenance and refused. But as a housekeeper -she is a jewel and, as long as she runs my house like clockwork, I can -excuse her lack of geniality. Here she is. Oh, Mrs. Waite, will you -tell Sarah to put off dinner till eight. I am going out with Miss -Thayer. By the way, you don't know Miss Thayer, do you? Miss Thayer, -Mrs. Waite. Don't forget about dinner. - -"There, isn't she a Gorgon, Lynn? She is always just like that--neat, -accurate, frigid, freezing. Ugh! What a lovely day for a drive, isn't -it? I'm going to Mr. Amherst's to take a look at my portrait. It is -going to be so nice and I want you to see it. I am sure it will be hung -in the Art Gallery at the Spring Exhibition. What a nice man he is, -isn't he? By the way, speaking of Mrs. Waite, I am going to tell you -why I always make a point of introducing her to all my friends and -having things just as pleasant for her as possible. It's because she's -like that much-talked-of 'skeleton at the feast'; she's a perpetual -reminder to me of how lucky I am. I wish you would compare us and take -a lesson, my friend. I'm the bright example, she's the awful warning. -I might have been just where she is to-day if I hadn't had my wits about -me. She might be where I am if she had made the most of her -opportunities. Don't waste time telling me that she's plain and -uninteresting. I would be plain if I didn't dress properly and eat good -food and take good care of myself; and, as for 'interesting,' _every_ -woman is interesting to a man if she impresses him as being sensible and -womanly--that is, if she enjoys his conversation and tells him that she -likes dusting. Every man likes a woman who is fond of dusting. I don't -know why. And, as for sweeping, there is no surer passport to a man's -affections than to tell him that you sweep out your own room every -morning. It never fails to have the desired effect. It doesn't matter -if the man is a multi-millionaire with an army of housemaids and -footmen; he still thinks it is womanly and domestic to sweep. If I ever -found my hold on Henry's affections becoming a trifle slack, I should -immediately start sweeping." - -"Del, I don't think I ever met anyone who could talk more nonsense than -you, in a given space of time." - -"Nonsense! Oh, Lynn, if I could only get you to understand that what I -am saying, although delivered as if it were the merest airy persiflage, -is the soundest common sense. If you want to be admired and respected -by the male sex--sweep! Or, if you don't like sweeping, don't sweep; -but talk about sweeping as if it were the one thing that you doted on; -convey the impression that you would rather sweep than go motoring any -day. The man in question may have thought you a charming girl before, -but, after that, his feelings will take a deeper tinge; you will advance -in his mind to the status of a womanly woman. Delicious! Instead of -these lectures girls are always attending at Y.W.C.A.'s and colleges, -about Browning and the Pyramids and the condition of the poor and the -prevalence of frivolity, what a pity it is they can't attend lectures -given by some past-master in the art of flirting--such as I, for -instance! Wouldn't those lectures be crowded, though; that is, if girls -knew what was good for them. And here you have all the advantages of a -private course of instruction and you won't take the trouble to learn -the first rules of the game. Ah, the golden words of wisdom wasted! the -opportunities lost. Ah me!" - -"Del, I strongly object to your speaking as though I had no -opportunities. Haven't I always at least one person who wants to marry -me? even though I do tell the truth occasionally?" - -"You have. But that's by good luck, not by management. You might have -twenty if you exerted yourself properly." - -"You make me feel as though I were a sort of derelict. It's a horrid -feeling." - -"If I succeed in making you feel a derelict I have succeeded beyond my -wildest expectations. Don't you know, my dear child, that you are -experiencing in a faint degree what you will experience all your life if -you don't hurry up and settle yourself. Don't you know that for the -next fifty years you will, not only feel, but be a derelict if you don't -accept Lighton and marry him before he changes his mind." - -"Thank goodness, this drive can't last forever," exclaimed Lynn, -laughing. "Otherwise I should be compelled to get out and walk. You are -perfectly unendurable sometimes, Del, and this is certainly one of the -times." - -"I'm going to be unendurable again and to better purpose, I hope, a -little later on," said Mrs. Hadwell, darkly. "But now I suppose we'll -have to descend--or ascend, if you like it better--from practical life -to pictures. Mr. Amherst paints well, doesn't he? And what a nice man -he is. I don't know anyone who doesn't like him, do you?" - -"No, I don't think I do. He's nice and very popular." - -"And a great friend of yours too, isn't he? I haven't heard you speak -of him, lately. I thought at one time"-- - -"Oh, Del, do think of something else!" exclaimed Lynn a little crossly. -"Men, men, men--and marriage, marriage, marriage! _Do_ let us think and -talk of something else." - -"Very well, my dear, we'll talk of myself. I wanted to get up a -flirtation with Mr. Amherst this winter and he didn't seem to respond at -all. So I immediately thought that he must be interested in someone -else and, as he was always calling on you, naturally I thought"-- - -"Men again!" - -"Not men but a man. Don't you perceive the delicate distinction? Well, -as I was saying, Mr. Amherst didn't seem a bit interested in me, -charming though I am and was--what a mercy old Tom is stone deaf!--and I -was extremely puzzled. I didn't like to be too pointed in my -attentions"-- - -"I do wish, Del, that you wouldn't talk in that way. It sets my teeth -on edge to hear a married woman speak in the way you do. Why don't -you"-- - -"Stay at home and attend to my house and children? So I do; but not -being altogether a fossil yet I want to do something else at times. -Isn't that natural at my age?" - -"Quite natural at your age, and there is just the weak point of a -marriage like yours. If you had married somebody you really cared -about, other men wouldn't interest you." - -"Not for the first year or so, no. After that, they would. I might not -like them so well as I did my husband, but I should like them and want -them to like me. Yes, and I should want them to fall in love with me, -too, so long as they didn't tell me about it and insist on making -unpleasant scenes. Of course, in that case, they would go, just as they -do, now. You know that, Lynn." - -"Yes, I know that. You are very careful, Del. I suppose it is all -right and quite harmless in its way, but I can't say that I approve of -it. What is the sense of having two or three men always sighing around -because they can't marry you?" - -"What's the sense of music or flowers or strawberry tarts? I like them -and they agree with me. You know there is a lot of misconception with -regard to the real tastes of a young woman after she marries. If she is -a person who grows and develops she must, of necessity, like many things -besides her husband and children. Now here is a case in point. Because -I am devoted to my own children is that any reason why I should not be -fond of other people's children? As a matter of fact, I don't care much -for any children but my own; but, if I did, wouldn't that be blameless -and even praiseworthy? So with men. I should always like them all even -if I were eighty and had been married all my life." - -"It's a funny thing, Del, but some way you never seem married, to me." - -"I was married, I assure you. I remember it very distinctly. White is -not becoming to me, so I wore a dark blue cashmere dress and a stunning -black toque with little feathers--you remember? And Henry thought I was -so sensible and so above feminine frivolities." - -"It is awfully hard to know what is right and wrong, I must say. You -certainly make Mr. Hadwell perfectly happy and you are an ideal mother. -Perhaps you are more in the right than I think." - -"My dear, I have read somewhere that there are certain plants which die -just as soon as they have propagated. That is all they exist for; just -to reproduce their own life and then die. Now there are a good many -women in the world who are like these plants. They are not half as good -mothers, not half as satisfactory wives as I am; but they are devoid of -all possibility of offending because, to all intents and purposes, they -died with the birth of their first child. Henceforth they exist in a -modified form. They are no longer individuals but vegetables. All the -young plant needs is air and light; but, as the young human needs food, -clothes, exercise and various other things, they exist solely for the -purpose of furnishing it with those things. They are incapable of -holding an opinion or formulating a thought; they all think exactly -alike on all subjects--which means, practically, that they do not think -at all--their education, intellectually, stopped when they graduated -from school, their education, emotionally, when they married. Are they -more commendable than I? What do they do that I don't? Only I do other -things in addition. I am a living woman, not a maternal cipher. I have -a heart and a mind and a life of my own and these develop side by side -with the development of my children. Of course the mere fact of life -existing means that there are possibilities of mistakes being made, -faults being committed; but isn't it better to live than to die? Lynn, -I didn't know I was so clever! Aren't you proud of me?" - -"Proud of you, all round, Del, except that I still wish you didn't -flirt. Even if you are not in love with your husband it is bad form to -publish the fact. And the very fact that you are still alive--very much -alive--and capable of leading a life apart from your children makes your -way of acting dangerous. I am always afraid that some day you will"-- - -"That some day I shall fall in love and make a fool of myself? Don't -worry. Some women are dominated by one of the great primal instincts, -some by another. I am a mother, first and last and always. Men are only -things to play with, but my children are necessities. I could never do -anything that would cause them a moment's anxiety or difficulty in the -future. No, my dear! When little Aileen is enjoying her first season -her mother will be the same irreproachable, if frivolous, matron that -she is at present. What a serious conversation we have drifted into, -haven't we? I don't like it--seriousness! Dear me, Lynn, what in the -world should I do if anything were to happen to you? You're the only -person whom I dare to be myself with. Catch me trusting another woman. -What makes you so unlike other women, Lynn?" - -"Possibly the lack of sense for which you were upbraiding me so heartily -a little while ago," said Lynn, slyly. "By the way, Del, that name, -'Waite,' is strangely familiar to me. Oh, of course! I know, now. I -had a little pupil, once"-- - -"Oh, Lynn, please don't start to talk about those ragamuffins of yours. -I should think you would be glad to put them out of your mind for a few -hours." - -"He was a most unfortunate child," pursued Lynn, unheeding. "He was -plain and stupid and he knew it: and he came from a different social -class from most of the others, which seemed to put the final touch to -his isolation. I was glad when he died, poor little chap! He was -devoted to me and I made a great pet of him because he seemed so lonely. -I wonder if"-- - -"Oh, a Gorgon-faced, icebergy automaton like Mrs. Waite never had a -child in her life, I'm sure. Here we are at last." - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *VISITORS AND DISCLOSURES* - - - "Knowledge comes but wisdom lingers."--_Tennyson_. - - "I would that you were all to me. - You that are just so much, no more, - Nor yours, nor mine, not slave nor free! - Where does the fault lie? What the core - O' the wound, since wound must be." - --_Browning_. - - -"I love studios," announced Mrs. Hadwell with effusion, "and I love -artists. Not you, only, Mr. Amherst, but all artists. They're so -interesting." - -"Don't, please don't, Mrs. Hadwell," implored Amherst, laughing. "I -have always hoped that my habit of keeping my head closely cropped and -my face carefully shaved would save me from being thought 'interesting.' -You have no idea what visions that word 'interesting' conjures up in the -mind of the average man. Dinky velvet coats, unkempt beards, dirty -hands, soulful eyes--don't, whatever else you do, call me 'interesting.' -You might as well call a spoilt beauty a 'nice, sensible girl.'" - -"That is something that no one ever called me," said Mrs. Hadwell -thoughtfully, tugging at her gloves. "You needn't look at me, Mr. -Amherst; I feel like staying here a while and I'm going to stay, no -matter how busy you are--there, don't apologize or waste time in saying -you'll be glad to see me and have me stay. Of course you will--a -sensible man like you! What were we saying when you interrupted me--I -mean, when I interrupted myself? Oh, yes! I was saying that no one had -ever called me a 'nice, sensible girl.'" - -"The reason is obvious," declared Amherst, laughing. - -"Why--oh, I see! Thank you. You mean that I don't look sensible. No, -I should hope I didn't. I should hate to!" - -"I don't know whether I look sensible," said Lynn, wheeling suddenly -round from the contemplation of a picture, "but people must think I do, -for I so often hear myself referred to as 'that nice, sensible girl.' -Is it an insult? I never thought of it in that light." - -"Not an insult, dear," said Mrs. Hadwell, composedly, "but an undoubted -lie. Of all people who lack the first elements of sense you certainly -head the list. Doesn't she, Mr. Amherst? But no, of course, you -wouldn't think so, naturally. You're a man, and anyway, you don't know -her." - -"I should have said I knew Miss Thayer pretty well," said Amherst, -looking surprised, "and I should certainly have thought that she was -very sensible. I don't see what you mean." - -"Of course you don't. As I previously remarked, you're a man. You -think she's sensible and I have little doubt but that, in your heart of -hearts, you think I'm a foolish little thing. Yet there's more sense in -my little finger than there is in all of Lynn's tall body. _I_ know." - -"What you call sense I call lying and cheating," returned Lynn, -composedly. - -Amherst burst out laughing. - -"You and Miss Thayer are certainly the most candid pair I have ever run -across," he cried. "Do you always give and return these insults in -perfect good faith? or does one or the other sometimes get annoyed?" - -"Never," replied Lynn. "I can't imagine anything happening to make Del -and me quarrel. In fact, I don't believe we could quarrel. I don't -know what other people fight about, anyway. Do you, Del?" - -"Why, yes," said Mrs. Hadwell. "They fight because one has a better hat -than the other or because one likes red and the other likes blue, but, -generally, because they both want the same man. Isn't that so, Mr. -Amherst? But, you see, in this case, Lynn and I never like the same man, -so we don't clash." - -"But even if we did," said Lynn, emphatically, "I can't imagine either -of us doing anything so vulgar as to quarrel, Del. I'm sure if the man -preferred you, you could have him; and, if he preferred me, I'd give him -up to you without a moment's hesitation." - -"I wonder!" said her friend, teasingly. "Suppose I had taken a fancy to -that absurd boy with the black eyes and the unpronounceable Italian -name--would you have given him up to me, Lynn? I doubt it. Do you -remember him, Mr. Amherst? Wasn't it funny, the way our dear sensible -Lynn bowed down before him? I think it must have been her attentions -that drove him to drink, don't you? he probably thought that he was in -imminent danger of being dragged to the altar." - -Lynn smiled a little but stirred restlessly and did not make any comment -on this. - -"What has become of that boy?" cried Mrs. Hadwell, suddenly. "There, -now! I'm so glad I thought to ask you. You ought to know if anyone -would; you were quite pals, weren't you, Mr. Amherst? Is the boy dead?" - -"Unfortunately, no," returned Amherst, dryly. - -"Then what's become of him?" - -"Are you, too, interested in his fate, Miss Thayer?" asked Amherst, -turning to where she stood looking intently at him, as though something -hung on his answer. "You used to be very good to him, as Mrs. Hadwell -says. Would you like to know where he is, now?" - -"Yes--no--yes, I should like to very much," said Lynn in a low voice. - -"Well, he is within a few minutes' walk of this place." - -"You don't say so! And what is he doing?" asked Mrs. Hadwell with much -excitement. - -"Going to the devil as fast as he possibly can." - -"How? Why? Wherefore? Lynn, I shall shake you in another minute if -you don't show a little more interest. This is positively the most -exciting thing. Think of it! Ricossia!--going to the Devil with a big -D!--within a few minutes' walk of this place. What's his address, Mr. -Amherst?" - -"I--I don't feel at liberty to tell you that," responded Amherst, after -a slight hesitation. "I don't think he would like to have it known." - -"Oh, he must be a terribly shady character," said Mrs. Hadwell with a -delighted chuckle. "I think all this is thrilling. Do tell me his -address. I won't hurt him. I only want to see for myself what he is -doing and how he is. I'll--I'd like to take him a glass of jelly and -some grapes. What's the matter, Mr. Amherst?" - -"Excuse me. The idea of Ricossia in conjunction with the glass of jelly -and the grapes upset me for the moment, that is all." - -"I'd take him some champagne if Lynn wasn't with me. In my most -abandoned moments I never forget that I am a chaperon so I'm afraid the -champagne will have to be left behind. But I will go and see him--Mr. -Amherst, do tell me." - -Amherst smilingly shook his head. - -"He wouldn't like it, I know." - -"You're quite right," said Lynn, regarding the speaker, gratefully. -"I'm sure he wouldn't like it. I wouldn't, in his place. Do--do you -ever see him, Mr. Amherst?" - -"Often. I frequently run over and just have an eye to him. I always -expect to find him frozen or burnt to death or something of that sort. -But Providence always looks after people of that kind. He'll die in his -bed, no fear--the little brute!" - -Lynn started and flushed. - -"I thought you liked him," she said with involuntary reproach in her -tone. - -"Well--fact is, I don't. What's more, I don't know anyone who does. -The boy's unfit to live and about equally unfit to die--poor little -chap! It's wonderful, though, the way he lasts. He's a living example -of a theory I've always held, namely, that consumption doesn't really -kill, no matter what the hardships may be, until the consumptive loses -interest in life and living. Then, he goes very quickly." - -"You may be right," said Lynn, tonelessly. - -"Now, while Mrs. Hadwell is absorbed in the bald man with the red nose -who is hanging at the other end of the room," said Amherst, hastily, "I -want to ask you something. How is it that I never see you, now? It -must be a month since I last had a real talk with you. What's the -matter?" - -"The matter? Why, nothing." - -"You're not offended with me about anything?" - -"Why, no." - -"In the last few weeks I must have rung you up a dozen times, but you -have always been out or engaged. You must lead a busy life." - -"I do," said Lynn, smiling faintly. "But I am sorry you thought I didn't -want to see you. It wasn't that." - -"Wasn't it?" - -Amherst's voice changed. - -"Do you know that you have avoided me ever since that night at the -Burns'?" - -"I--I hadn't thought about it." - -"Is that the truth?" - -Lynn was silent: then-- - -"Not exactly," she said with a faint effort. - -"I tried to say something to you that evening--you remember?" - -"Yes." - -"Why wouldn't you let me say it?" - -"I thought you had better not," said Lynn in a low voice. - -"Don't say that; not unless you mean me to understand that"-- - -"Mr. Amherst," broke in Mrs. Hadwell, imperatively, "you are a horrid -man! First you refuse to give me Ricossia's address, next you stand and -talk to Miss Thayer in a low voice without giving me a chance to show -her my portrait. She's dying to see it, aren't you, Lynn? and it's -getting so dark. Can't you drive back with me and take dinner? then you -can talk to Lynn as much as ever you want and Mr. Hadwell and I will sit -by like deaf-mutes and play propriety. Won't you?" - -"Awfully sorry!" said Amherst with genuine regret in his voice. "I have -an engagement of long standing, so it's impossible. But if you'll only -repeat the invitation, I'd love to come. Will you?" - -"I will," responded Mrs. Hadwell. "I'll look up my engagement book and -see if we can find an evening when we shall all be free. In the -meantime, let me ask you what this means, this little wrinkle in my -brow? I've puzzled over it for at least ten minutes and I demand to have -it explained. If it is copied from life, you must simply paint it out, -that's all!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *THE VIEWS OF TWO WOMEN* - - - "Is it your moral of Life? - Such a web, simple and subtle, - Weave we on earth here in impotent strife, - Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, - Death ending all with a knife." - --_Browning_. - - -"The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things," quoted -Mrs. Hadwell, settling back in her easy-chair with intense satisfaction. -If, as the poet asserts, "a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering -happier things" certainly a joy's crown of joy may be remembering -unhappier things. One principal reason for Mrs. Hadwell's calm and -unlimited enjoyment of her life lay in the fact that her youth had been -spent in other people's easy-chairs. It is noteworthy that it had been -spent in easychairs; women of her type always do spend their lives in -easy-chairs, metaphorical and literal; but an easy-chair bestowed upon -one by a doting husband, and an easy-chair occupied by sufferance in -other people's homes are, as will readily be perceived, two very -different pieces of furniture. - -"What do you want to talk about in particular?" Lynn asked, regarding -her hostess lazily. Dinner was over; Mr. Hadwell had betaken himself to -his club; and the two sat at their ease in a softly shaded luxurious -library, filled with unread books in half-calf. Polished mahogany, -heavy damask curtains, thick, soft carpets, scent of mignonette and -roses, all added to its comfort. - -"I want to talk about all sorts of things," returned Estelle, in answer -to her friend's question. "Interesting things--things that -matter--yourself for instance! I wonder why it is that so few people -talk interestingly about ordinary things! I believe it must be because -they simply will not tell the truth about them; they stick to platitudes -for fear of blundering on some thought they feel they oughtn't to have. -Don't you think that is it? Now we always look things right in the face -and say just what we think about them; and that is why we're so -queer--and so nice--and so interesting to one another. And this is such -a good opportunity for a talk. We've had such a lovely dinner--wasn't -that soup delicious? and, as for that muscatel! Don't you simply dote on -things to eat? I do. I never agree with that man--Solomon, wasn't -it?--who said that he would rather have a dinner of herbs and peace than -a stalled ox and strife therewith. Let him have the herbs! and give me -the stalled ox every time. If it were nicely served and properly cooked -I wouldn't care if there were seven bad-tempered married couples and -sixteen cross cats and twenty squalling parrots all rowing together at -my elbow. That's what it is to be practical. Give me things to eat and -a good appetite and I don't care much what happens. There's something -about a dinner which appeals to me in a way that sunsets and sonatas -don't. And yet some one described me the other day as being -'spirituelle.' Fancy!" - -"Some one who didn't know you very well, evidently." - -"Some one who has called me 'Estelle' all his life except the four years -of it when I wasn't born; but, as you say, some one who doesn't know me -very well because he happens to be a man and a man who used to be in -love with me. Poor thing! And yet he's happy in his way and I'm happy -in mine. He has his ideals and I have my dinners. The only really -happy people are the people who have the sense to prefer dinners to -ideals and who steadily set to work to get them." - -"I suppose you are happy. If dinners could make anyone happy you ought -to be. But, tell me, Del, do you never want anything else?" - -"Oh, yes. I want silk dresses and diamond brooches and the feeling that -every snob in town will kow-tow as soon as my snub nose appears. And -I've got them all--thank goodness! I very easily might not have, you -know. There are so many others looking out for just the opportunity I -seized. And every one said that Henry wasn't a marrying man. -Ridiculous! As if every one wasn't a marrying man as soon as the right -woman came along; the woman who made love to him unremittingly and -tactfully without letting him see that she was doing it. It was an -awful bore, sometimes, to make love to Henry. It had to be done so -carefully. O dear, he was so surly and snubby and so scared of being -hooked. But it didn't do any good: _I intended to marry him and I -married him_--and so could you if you had any gumption!" she exclaimed, -veering around and fixing Lynn with a look of intense determination. - -"What? Marry Henry?" - -"Not my Henry, no; but some other Henry. There are plenty of them and -if you don't take them somebody else will. They all like to be admired -and courted. And oh, lucky girl! Fate has dropped an ideal Henry right -in your lap." - -"Don't, Del! My poor lap! And as for 'ideal,' why, he has green teeth -and goggly eyes." - -"I am sure you are not so good-looking, yourself." - -"Now, Del! Have I goggly eyes and green teeth? Let us be accurate -before we are aggravating. Besides, it was horrid of me to speak of his -appearance. Only his appearance is so exactly like him that it grates -on me, some way." - -"He is a great deal too good for you," said her friend, indignantly. - -"So every one has already told me. Anything is too good for an old, ugly -school-teacher, I dare say; but I don't want him, even if he is too good -for me." - -"Now, Lynn, we'll talk this over. I want to have the whole thing out -with you." - -"As you please." - -"Very well, then. We will assume that you are quite determined not to -marry Lighton. Two other courses are open to you; the first, to go on -teaching all your life; the second, to marry some one else. We will -examine these two alternatives--with your permission." - -"Or without it!" - -"Or, as you say, without it. Let us begin then. We will suppose that -you stay as you are and go on teaching. You are not at all young, -now--you needn't grin. I know I am two years older, but that has -nothing to do with it; I'm married. You are not, I repeat, young. -Every year you become a little older and a little older." - -"The truth of your remarks is only equalled by their unpleasantness." - -"I don't care. You go on getting older and older. Your aunt, who has -been good to you and of whom you are fond, will be very much -disappointed in you. She feels that it is disgraceful not to marry and -criminal not to marry Lighton, and I am strongly inclined to agree with -her. So, as the years go by and you get older and plainer and less -desirable your aunt will grow less and less fond of you. You are not a -great favourite with your uncle; to be sure, he has only one supreme -favourite in the universe and I needn't say who that is!--and your aunt -will probably die in time. What a happy home you will have, then! -Suppose on the other hand, that he should die. You wouldn't have money -enough to live in that big house and you would have to be cooped up in a -flat and come home, after teaching all day, to listen to your aunt's -lamentations about the nice establishment you might have had"-- - -"Thank fortune there are always the poison and the dagger." - -"There are; but they're the refuge of the coward, and ordinary -respectable people don't commit suicide, however much they want to. -Now, having fully disposed of that alternative, let us turn to the -other--that you marry some one else. Who else is there? You are a -general favourite and lots of men like to talk to you; but who, besides -Lighton, is in love with you? I mean of course, that is in a position -to marry. We will suppose, though, that you have several other -proposals in the next few years--what then? Whom would you rather -marry?" - -Lynn said nothing and turned her head away. - -"The fact is that there is no one you would rather marry and there are -very few who could offer you what he does. The trouble with you is that -you don't face things. You know that, if you don't marry him, you have -nothing in life to look forward to; yet, because it isn't an ideal -arrangement, you refuse to consider it. Surely you have outgrown the -silly, pretty, childish idea of marrying for love? Look at the people -who do marry for love! How many of them are as happy as I am? I, who -deliberately angled to catch the richest man of my acquaintance and did -it. You could not have managed matters for yourself in the way that I -did; and then, Fate, instead of punishing you for being stupid, offers -you a prize--and you throw it away. Why?" - -"It is a little hard to explain why, Del," returned her friend, slowly. -"I don't know whether I could make you understand." - -"I don't know that I have much heart, Lynn, but I have a mind. Try me." - -"Long ago, then, I 'faced things' as you call it. I looked right at -them hard and baldly and I saw that Life is very hard on woman. Life, -Society--even Nature--all seem to be leagued against her. Her one -chance of happiness is to make a happy marriage; and in order to make a -happy marriage how many things are needed--and how few are forthcoming! -Even then she must make up her mind to face certain torture and possible -death; and when, after bearing two or three children, she loses her -youth, her strength, her good looks, she has the satisfaction of knowing -that her husband is as attractive as he was the day she married him. -So, practically, in the majority of cases, she has nothing but her -children. I am not thinking of you, you monkey; you are a great -exception. Of course the children must be worth a great deal to her, -but, apart from them, the average woman has precious little. Her -husband is usually fond of her--I am speaking, now, of happy -marriages--but all the idealism and the romance die very quickly. If, -on the other hand, she does as so many do and marries some one who is in -love with her but for whom she cares little--what then? All the usual -hindrances and no compensations. There is left only spinsterhood. -Putting aside the lucky few who have some art, some profession, which -means everything to them, unmarried women are, as you have said, simply -incumbrances and not happy incumbrances at that. The one happy thing -for a woman is to fall in love when she is young, marry some one who -adores her, and become so absorbed in her children that she won't mind -the rest. Of course there are a few ideal marriages here and there; -cases where people fall in love and stay in love and have satisfactory -children and enjoy life; but you know as well as I do how many of these -there are. Four altogether; and I have sometimes doubted the fourth." - -"Well, of all the cynics"-- - -"Not a bit of it; I don't cherish useless illusions in the face of -facts, that's all. Well, as I began to say, long ago I 'faced things' -and saw them as they were. The best thing to do was to fall in love and -make a happy marriage; that I couldn't do. The next was to marry some -one I didn't want, or to do something that would support me, and remain -unmarried. Of the two, the last seemed the only possible thing. I can -get along for the present just as I am and I do not look into the -future. As far as I can see, it is bound to be a wretched one, anyway; -but I may die--a thousand things may happen. In the meantime I do not -worry because of realizing that life is a tragic thing; and I take -things very coolly and don't make a fuss about anything that can't be -helped. When I feel down in the mouth I always console myself with the -reflection, first, that it can't last forever; and, secondly, that -however industriously Fate may knock me, she can't compel me to squeal -about it." - -"What a truly cheerful and comforting reflection." - -"Well, do you know anyone more cheerful than I?" - -"No, I can't say that I do; but appearances are certainly deceptive. -Then you really prefer unmarried unhappiness to married -unhappiness--that is your final choice?" - -"That is my final choice." - -"It is an extraordinary one, that is all I can say, when one thinks of -all the money that is thrown in with the married unhappiness." - -"Money can't buy happiness." - -"No, but it can buy some mighty good substitutes for it, my dear. And -as far as I can see, you are not going to get anything at all with the -unmarried unhappiness." - -"Nothing at all? Freedom, a peaceful mind and an independent income. -I'd rather have my liberty than all the houses in Christendom and all -the men. Of course I am human; I should prefer to make a happy -marriage; but how many people do, and why should I be picked out for a -happy fate when so many kinder and better people than I have nothing but -trouble from beginning to end of their lives? No; I complain of -nothing." - -"Don't you think you will be sorry for this, some day?" - -"If I am, no one will ever know it." - -"If you think all this about your future, why do you want to live?" - -"I don't want to live. Do you? Does any mature person? But I must -live and so must you. There is probably some reason for the world and -for Nature and for Sin and for all the other queer works of God and of -the Devil. Perhaps we shall find it all out some day and then again -perhaps we shall sleep so soundly that we shall not care to find out -anything at all. That would be nice. It would be still nicer, though, -to find out that everything was for the best, really, and that -everything about the world was necessary. 'God's in his heaven, all's -right with the world,' you know, and all that sort of thing. That -phrase about the 'best of all possible worlds,' when applied to this, is -such rubbish and such inhuman rubbish at that; such an insult to the -intelligence and humanity of mankind; yet one can't help hoping that -there will be a 'best of all possible worlds' and the mere fact that we -want it and look forward to it so instinctively shows that there must be -one, somewhere, I think. What do you think?" - -"I think I should like to have a brandy and soda," said Mrs. Hadwell, -forlornly. "Positively you have given me the blues. I do hate thinking -of heaven and poets and metaphysics and things. This earth is all right -if you only have sense. The trouble is, you haven't any. Oh! I have -just thought of something. I have a lovely box of Huyler's that I -haven't touched. We'll eat that and Thomas shall light us a little fire -and you can have the latest magazine and I'll read the book of that -woman's--you know! the one that they are making all the fuss about. -It's frightfully amusing and very improper and it doesn't make one think -the least little bit. That's the sort of book I like, and it's the sort -of book most people like, too, only they won't say so. Yes, it is, Lynn. -You needn't say it isn't. Else why is it always out at the library, -though they have seven copies, and why is its author able to travel all -over the world on her earnings? You don't understand human nature. All -it wants is to be amused and _not_ to be improved. We all like to slide -down hill, comfortably, without being obliged to climb up again. And we -would all slide down much faster if it wasn't that the company at the -foot of the hill is so unpleasant and the people at the top throw things -at you and you can't throw them back. And the reason that the people at -the top throw things is that they are so cross because they don't really -like being stuck up there and they have to pretend they do." - -"Well, you're not at all cross, yet, Del, and you haven't slid down hill -very fast," said Lynn, laughing. - -"Oh, yes, I have. Anyway I didn't have far to slide from. I began -pretty low down, you know. Oh, I have no illusions about myself. But, -even so I have slidden. But you see, if you are clad in gold armour, -you can slide as much as you like; for that renders you bullet-proof. -If I were a nursery-governess slaving over spoilt brats for the sake of -getting a miserable living, I should be thought a very shady character. -Just suppose I had said what I said just now about only liking improper -things that didn't make me think! Why, I should be turned out of doors -without a character, I suppose. But I am Mrs. Henry Hadwell and so I -can slide just as much as I please--within limits. Perhaps it is just -as well that there are limits to everything. Otherwise I dare say I -should be even worse than I am. And I'm pretty bad, you know. I -haven't any conscience and very little affection. And I have _no_ -ideals. But then, as I said before, I have dinners--lovely dinners! -How glad I am to think that I am going to have another one to-morrow. -Some way, when I think of that, I quite forget all the horrid things you -have put into my head to-night. Just think! I--_I_ might have been a -nursery-governess. _I!_ I hadn't brains or industry enough to become a -teacher. Ugh! Oh, what horrible lives there are in the world and how -lovely to think that I have a lovely home and a doting husband and three -darling children _and_ my dinners! What are you thinking about, now?" - -"I was just thinking that we were awfully like the lower animals, -really," replied Lynn, with a half-laugh. "A little more complex, but -just about like them, otherwise. What does the average bear want? A -mate, cubs,--and dinners. If he gets them he is happy; if he doesn't, -he is miserable. If Bob could talk, he would say just about what you -have been saying, now." - -"Bob is a sensible dog," said Mrs. Hadwell, solemnly. "I don't like -dogs and I do like you but justice compels me to state that Bob has a -lot more sense than you have. Never mind! you will get wise when it is -too late and then you will wish that you had had the sense to imitate me -and Bob and all the other practical people in the world. You needn't -think I mind being called a lower animal. If being a lower animal means -getting what you want and being a higher animal means getting what you -don't want,--well, I want to be a lower animal, thank you! Lynn! these -marron glaces are simply the most delicious things you ever thought of. -_Do_ have one!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *REJECTED ADDRESSES* - - - "The Heart's Desire hath led me - In barren lands and vain." - --Theodosia Garrison. - - -"I suppose it sounds brutal to say so," said Lynn Thayer, "but you know -you ought really to be very grateful to me for refusing you. You will -thank me for it, ten years hence." - -Mr. Harold Lighton, who was sitting opposite, frowned angrily and made -no response. - -"We are not in the least suited to one another," she continued, gently. -"You--I would make you very unhappy. You are young and rich, and when -you get over this, you will be able to marry some nice, young, pretty -girl." - -"I don't want a nice, young, pretty girl," returned Mr. Lighton, glumly. -"I want you." - -Lynn's eyes suddenly danced but she very properly refrained from -comment. - -"Oh, I say, won't you think this over?" burst forth Mr. Lighton, quite -unconscious of the doubtful compliment he had just paid the object of -his affections. "I'm most awfully in love with you, indeed I am. You -know that, don't you?" - -"I know that you think you are in love with me, just now," answered -Lynn, gravely. "But, in my twenty-eight years of life, quite a few -people have told me that they were in love with me and would never be -happy without me. And they have married some one else in a few years' -time and have never thought of me, again." - -"I'm not like that," said Mr. Lighton, eagerly. "Upon my soul, I'm not. -You may think I'm fickle or easily suited. I'm not. I don't like -anybody but you and I never will. It seems pretty hard when a fellow's -waited until over thirty before he has run across any one he -fancied--and then to be turned down, after all." - -"It has happened before." - -"Why, no, it hasn't!" said Lighton, indignantly. - -"I mean to other people." - -"Oh! See here, why won't you have me? I suppose I'm not clever enough -for you. Is that the trouble?" - -"No, no indeed. I'm stupid, myself, frightfully stupid in lots of ways. -That isn't it, at all. It's just that I don't care enough about you." - -Mr. Lighton regarded her with some perplexity. - -"I say--I'd like awfully to say something if you won't think it rude." - -"Very well--what is it?" - -"You're twenty-eight--you don't mind my mentioning it, do you?" queried -Mr. Lighton, tactfully. "You've always spoken so openly of it, -yourself." - -"Oh, I can never keep even the most damaging facts about myself hidden," -said Lynn, solemnly. - -"Eh?--what's that? Oh, well, never mind! What I wanted to say was -this: Don't you mean to marry?" - -"I haven't quite made up my mind, yet. Perhaps I may marry somebody a -few years hence--but not you," she hastily added, seeing Mr. Lighton -look up with sudden interest. - -"Why not me?" - -"I have told you twenty times over why not." - -"And you're serious about it? You're sure you won't change your mind? -Well, what I wanted to say was this. Suppose, a few years hence when -you've decided that you will marry--now, you won't be offended?" - -"I don't think I will. What you want to say is, what will I do if no -one wants to marry me, then?" - -"Yes," confessed Mr. Lighton, looking a little embarrassed but sticking -to his guns, manfully. "You're an awfully stunning girl, but a girl -often doesn't get another offer after thirty; and what if you don't?" - -"I won't marry." - -"But--but"-- - -"I won't marry, anyway, unless I see some one I like better than I do -you," said Lynn, deliberately. "It is best to be explicit, isn't it? I -don't want to hurt you, but this is the plain truth of the matter. The -idea of marrying just for the sake of being called 'Mrs.' doesn't appeal -to me, at all; and I could not marry you for any other reason. Oh yes, -of course I might marry you for the sake of living in a nice house and -getting my clothes in Paris; but I don't care much about that, either. -You see what I mean?" - -"Oh, yes, I see. I thought, some way--you see I have a fairly good -income and you're fond of horses"-- - -"You thought I might marry you for the pleasure of seeing something of -your horses; is that it?" - -"Oh, I say, Miss Thayer, let up! It's bad enough to be refused without -being made game of." - -"I suppose it is," said Lynn, slowly. She looked at him as though a new -idea had occurred to her. "I wonder why you want to marry me," she said -at last. - -"Why I want to marry you?" - -"Yes. I'm not very young, I'm not at all pretty and I have no money. -It seems a most curious thing that you should have taken this violent -fancy to me. Why did you? Do you know?" - -"I say! you _are_ a queer girl." - -"In other words I'm not a sheep," returned Lynn, composedly. "Don't you -think most people are very like sheep? They travel in flocks and all -bleat in unison at the same things and get up in the morning and eat and -drink and go to sleep, again--and, in time, they die. I suppose they -might as well be doing that as something else, but if it amuses me to do -something else, why shouldn't I? Now, for instance, if I had been a -well-regulated, conventional sheep I should have bleated out, 'Oh, Mr. -Lighton, this is so sudden!' and then I should have thought lovingly of -your good house and your nice furniture and should have simpered and -accepted you. But, not being a sheep, I want to know why on earth you -did it." - -"Because I--like you so awfully," explained Mr. Lighton, eagerly. - -"But why on earth should you like me?" - -"I don't know," said Mr. Lighton, doubtfully. "Why does any one like -you?" he inquired, brightening. "You've had lots of other chaps." - -"Oh, but that's different. You see I'm a man's woman by instinct and -training. I do my very utmost to please and be nice to every man I meet -except you; and the consequence is that they all like me and the ones -who like me enough to call on me, often, usually end by proposing: not -because I'm so remarkably attractive but for the reason that a man, for -some occult reason, cannot see much of a woman without proposing to -her." - -"I say! You're gassing!" - -"I'm not. But the queer thing is that you took this fancy to me at the -very start without any help whatever from me." - -"What a funny girl you are to give yourself away like that. Girls -generally say that they don't encourage anybody." - -"Yes, but, as you remarked, I am a funny girl; I tell the truth, -sometimes. How do you suppose a plain, poor person like me would ever -have had so many men friends if she hadn't done something? It's -wonderful," said Lynn, meditatively, "wonderful! how easy it is to -fascinate men. Just look at each man and talk to him as if you thought -he was the most handsome, brilliant and fascinating creature extant--and -the thing is done! The man doesn't live who can resist it." - -"Ha, ha! you _are_ funny." - -"Yes. I can remember when I was a young girl that I used to be terribly -afraid that no one would ever fall in love with me because I was so -ugly. I used to wish so that I had curling eyelashes and rose-leaf -complexions and things: and, lo and behold! before I was eighteen the -great beautiful truth dawned upon me. Just let a man talk about himself -until he is black in the face and he will never tire of your society, no -matter what you look like. Nothing else is necessary. A man thinks any -eyes gazing admiringly into his are beautiful eyes: he considers any -voice that murmurs timely flatteries in his good right ear a sweet -voice: and any woman with intelligence enough to laugh heartily at his -stale jokes and listen respectfully to his dull anecdotes, has all the -intelligence that any female needs, in his opinion. So there you are. -Having this knowledge, what else did I lack? I promptly became a belle -of the first water and have remained so for ten years. Pretty girls -have lost their beauty, rich girls have lost their money, lively girls -have lost their vivacity; but I remain perennially attractive because I -have grasped the great truth that every man prefers himself to anything -else on earth and, next to himself, admires the woman who acts as though -she agreed with him. I'm in a candid mood to-night, am I not, Mr. -Lighton? What is the matter? you don't look very happy." - -"I can't help wondering," confessed Mr. Lighton, rather ruefully, "why, -if you're so fond of having men like you, you've never been nicer to -me." - -"Because," she returned, slowly, "I very soon received the impression -that you were more or less in earnest. Now my puppy days have passed -and I take no pleasure in causing pain; and it must be more or less -painful to want some one who doesn't care anything about you. So I -thought it best to be flippant and unpleasant in the hope that you would -get disgusted. Why didn't you?" - -"I--I don't know"-- - -"Yes, I've been most hateful," continued Lynn, thoughtfully. "I wonder -if it would do any good if I were to tell you all the harsh things I've -said about you to Aunt Lucy." - -"I don't think," said Mr. Lighton, hastily and firmly, "that it would do -a bit of good." - -"Then I won't. But will you tell me just as a matter of curiosity--what -it was that you liked about me?" - -"In the first place," her companion said, pondering, "I suppose I liked -you because you didn't chase me and it was such a change. You see when -a fellow has a good position and money coming to him"-- He wiped his -forehead and looked scared and reminiscent. - -"I see," exclaimed Lynn. "I must make a note of that. There are men -who tire of being 'chased.' Then there must be men who tire of tobacco, -I suppose." - -"I don't know about that," said Mr. Lighton, dubiously. "You see, when -one has smoked long enough, one can always throw one's cigar out of the -window. So one doesn't get as sick of it as one does of women." - -"No, I suppose not. I never thought of that," said Lynn, gravely. -"Well, let me see! you liked me in the first place because I didn't -'chase' you: and why did you like me, in the second?" - -"You're a fine sport," said Mr. Lighton, pondering, "you're always ready -for any thing, and you dance like a streak, and you're never tired, and -you do make a fellow roar so. I suppose that's why." - -"So these are my assets. Dancing like a 'streak'--whatever that may be: -always being ready to skate and toboggan: and 'making a fellow roar so.' -It doesn't sound attractive: however I never pretended to understand -men. What a funny thing it is! No money, no beauty, no particular -brains and one of the most eligible young men in the city begging me to -marry him!" - -"Your aunt likes me," said Mr. Lighton. - -"She likes you very much; but she always confuses you with the new -plumbing and the electric lights in your house. She can't conceive how -I can withstand such fascinations. Poor Aunt Lucy! I wish I were a -little more satisfactory: but I really cannot fall in love to order even -to please her--not with a whole galaxy of electric lights." - -"I don't know exactly what you're driving at," said Mr. Lighton, looking -sullen, "but I think your aunt's a very sensible woman." - -"So do I. I only wish I were half as sensible. I'm a great grief to -her. You see, she feels rightly that a single woman with no independent -income should struggle valiantly to avert the awful doom of old maid. -Now, the deeper I sink in the mire of old-maiden-hood, the less I -struggle." - -"Is your aunt very fond of you?" asked Mr. Lighton curiously. - -"No. She is much pleased at my popularity, which she doesn't understand -in the least, and she regards it in the light of a personal reward for -her goodness in adopting me. That is all." - -"And your uncle? You don't mind my asking, do you?" - -"Not a bit. My uncle hates me, but he thinks I'm a good girl and tries -not to show it more than he can help. You see he can't endure children -and he is prejudiced against me because I was a child when he first knew -me and he has never forgotten it." - -"Then I suppose you're not awfully fond of them?" - -"I am--most grateful to them, both: but I do not love them. I have -never really loved but one person in my life--no, two. The first love is -much stronger than the second: but the second is--profound and lasting. -I am not an affectionate person: I do not suppose that there will ever -be more than just those two." - -"Neither of them's me," interposed Mr. Lighton, gloomily and -ungrammatically. - -"Neither of them's you, no," returned Lynn, firmly. - -"Oh, look here, Miss Thayer, can't you reconsider it? I'm--I'm most -awfully in love with you, upon my word I am: and--and, after all,--I -don't like to say this exactly--but you know I can give you everything -you want and--don't you like the idea of having a little money?" - -"Immensely." - -"Then"---- - -"But, unfortunately I do _not_ like the idea of having you. There is -the plain English of it. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but there -doesn't seem to be any way of making you understand." - -"Oh, I understand, all right!" muttered Mr. Lighton, ruefully. "But I -can't say I'm pleased. You might have given me a hint before letting me -make a fool of myself." - -"A hint! Man! how many hints have I given you?" - -"A dev--I mean a great many," returned the consistent Mr. Lighton. "But -I thought you were trying to draw me on." - -"I have no talents for man-hunting," said Lynn, rather crossly. "I -never try to 'draw people on' or anything like that. It does not amuse -me: I'm a man's woman in one sense but I am not a flirt"---- - -"Flirt! You can't flirt any more tha--than that mantelpiece," said Mr. -Lighton, desperately. "But I like you--I can't help liking you, some -way." - -"No--I suppose you can't--not just at present, anyway. But you'll get -over it in time." - -Mr. Lighton said nothing, but his face was not cheerful. - -"I have a good mind," said Lynn, slowly, "to tell you something about -myself--something that will show you the hopelessness of asking me. It -is this: even if I liked you very much I couldn't marry you." - -"But why?" - -"Because--because I have a duty to perform; a duty which demands all my -time and strength and--and thought; and which marriage would interfere -with." - -"But--but do you mean that you are going to perform this duty--whatever -it may be--all your life?" - -"N-n-no. In a few years--perhaps sooner--it will be--finished." - -"And then?" - -"And then--oh, don't talk about it! I was foolish to speak about it, -anyway--but, do you know, I felt sorry for you. I can't understand why -people like having proposals from people they don't want to marry. It -always seems to me such a pity that anything should be wasted, that any -feeling should burn itself out, without result. That may be a queer way -to look at it--but I suppose I am queer. People seem to think so and, -perhaps, they are right." - -"Well, I'd better go, I suppose," said Lighton, gruffly, after a short -pause. "If anything turns up--I mean, if you should change your mind, -you know, or anything like that--why"-- - -"Thank you; but I never shall. Good-night, Mr. Lighton. I'm sorry, -really I am. It all seems too bad, but you know it's not my fault." - -Left to herself, she drew a long sigh; then rose and moved about the -room mechanically straightening the furniture and patting the sofa -cushions. Finally she leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece and gazed -earnestly into the mirror, above. "Curious what he sees in me!" she -said, slowly. "Curious what anyone sees in me! I have nothing to -recommend me in the way of looks; it is hard to understand. In spite of -all that I have done for--for the boy, he--he doesn't really care very -much about me, even now. And yet this man--whom I have done everything -to discourage"-- - -She stared slowly at herself: then turned away. - -"Time to go to bed," she said, reluctantly. "And high time to -stop--thinking.... Oh, Liol, Liol, Liol!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *A DECISION TO BE REACHED* - - - "'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, - And matter enough to save one's own." - --Browning. - - -Mr. Albert and Miss Bertha Hadwell having arrived at Hadwell Heights -their aunt had promptly issued invitations for the "bridge" of which she -had spoken at her "tea." Hadwell Heights was "en fete." The guests had -arrived and were playing, busily, though not for money. Apart from the -fact that the guests of honour were young, Mrs. Hadwell disapproved of -"bridge-gambling." - -"I never win at games," she confided to Lynn. "And I don't enjoy losing -money even if I can afford it. And it's such a nice, cheap way of -getting a reputation for steadiness and sobriety and high morality and -all that. I love to be known for things that I haven't even a bowing -acquaintance with. And it seems so delicious to say with a perfectly -straight face, 'No, I never play for money. I don't approve of it.' It -seems such a rebuke to the worldly-minded and the frivolous and all that -lot." - -Mrs. Hadwell, though, might be depended upon to furnish very pretty -prizes. Besides which her house was famed for its delightful -entertainments of all descriptions. For which reasons, and for several -others, her pretty drawing-room was thronged. - -Lynn Thayer had refused to play, offering to bear her hostess company, -however, and to help her in any way she could. She sat now in an alcove -of the great old-fashioned bay-window, watching the players absently, -and trying to straighten out several matters which threatened to become -hopelessly entangled in her mind. This was hardly the place to solve -these problems, but, as they became daily and hourly more imminent, she -felt that she might as well face them at one time as at another, so far -as she was able. - -Her reflections chimed oddly with the scraps of conversation which were -wafted to her ears from time to time. - -"What shall I say if Gerald does ask me to marry him?" she thought, her -face darkening. "How can I accept him? And then again--how can I -refuse him? If he would only wait--but it is not reasonable to suppose -that he would. How can I--how shall I answer him?" - -"We-ll," interposed a voice, faintly, "I make it diamonds." - -"Oh, why, Mrs. Hall?" - -"Oh, did you have a good suit? Oh, dear! well, never mind!--I suppose -we can't take it back, can we?--no? well, I suppose not. That's the -worst of"-- - -"He must have meant that; he can't have meant anything else. Of course -I have always known, but I thought I could keep it off a little longer. -And I didn't realize till lately how much it would mean to me if--I -can't give him up. No, I can't give him up. Yet how can I do anything -else under the circumstances? Could I explain in any way--give him any -inkling of my position? no, I don't see how"-- - -"Oh, are we playing 'no trumps'? Why, I didn't know that. Why didn't -you tell me when you saw me playing out my king and ace"-- - -"He has no idea--naturally it will seem incomprehensible to him if I say -that I do care for him but that I can't marry him for years. If I were -five years younger; but, even so--no, I cannot say that. What can I -say? If I ask him to trust me and to let me tell him when I shall be -free to give him my answer--no, the case is hopeless. I had better tell -him baldly and plainly that it is impossible for me to marry--and -then?"-- - -"Not at all, Mrs. Willing, not at all. Of course it was my trick already -but I saw that you hadn't noticed that--why, don't think of it for a -moment. Of course, generally speaking, it _isn't_ supposed to be a good -thing to trump your partner's trick, but"-- - -"He is not the sort of man to let it rest there; he will ask questions, -all sorts of questions, he will insist on knowing what I mean, what I -intend to do. How will it end? The only thing that he can never think -of is the truth. He will think of everything else under the sun. Oh, -the thing is too hopeless! I shall have to let him think that I don't -care for him--oh, but if I do that he will go away, I shall not see him -again; in time he will marry some one else--how could I bear that? He -must not go. I'll say anything, anything, short of giving my secret -away. Ah, that horrible oath! So needless, so useless! and to think -that, on top of all the rest, this should come! and that I may be -compelled to give up my only chance of happiness in the future. I won't -give it up! I won't! Life is too cruel. I'll do anything to prevent -him leaving me. And then there is not only my pain if he did--but he -would suffer, too. No, it is not to be thought of for a moment. He -must stay." - -"Well, I suppose I really shouldn't have thrown away my ace when hearts -hadn't been played at all, but then you know I never stick to rules." - -"If only he hadn't written that note, asking to see me to-night. If -only I could have put off answering him a little longer. If I refuse to -let him go home with me it will be equivalent to refusing him, -altogether. It is out of the question. I must settle it one way or -another at once. What is it to be?" - -"Oh, don't tell me the queen hasn't been played, yet? Why, I thought it -was out ages ago--oh, I really think I ought to have that back"-- - -"What will he say when I answer him--that is, if I tell him the truth? -How will it sound? 'I do care for you but I can't marry you just now, -perhaps not for several years, I can't say exactly when.' The thing is -incredible. A woman of my age, presumably sane, to answer a proposal of -marriage in that fashion. Ah, if only I were indifferent to him how -easy things would be; and yet what would I have then in life? When -Liol--dies--oh, I can't think of that! Where is he to-night, I wonder? -What is he doing? Liol, Liol! if only you were dead! and yet, oh, I -can't wish that. What will my life be when he is gone? Gone! Think of -it! How can I marry, then? what will my life be worth? how shall I live -and hide my grief? oh, Liol, Liol!" - -"Upon my word, Mr. Coote! where were your eyes? Didn't you know that -the nine of clubs wasn't out?" - -"One thing is certain; much as I love Gerald, nothing and nobody can -ever be to me what Liol was and is. Is that very strange? am I entirely -different to all other girls. How could any strange man, however dear, -be as much in your life as a person like Liol, with whom your very -heart-strings were entwined; who came when your heart was empty and -filled it? My Lionel! my little brother! my last charge from my dead -mother! Oh, if the years could only be wiped out and if I could see him -again as he once was, the same sweet dear child, how happily I could -die--yes, how happily I could give up everything--Gerald, everything. -But--I must live; and Lionel is--oh, I can't say, I can't think what he -is; and he is dying by inches; and there is only one other person in the -world for whom I care, only one other person for whom I ever shall care -but him; and I may have to give him up. If only Lionel didn't need me -so; if only he didn't need all my money, all my thought, all my -care--imagine my deserting him and starting to choose a trousseau. A -trousseau! when any day he may need a shroud." - -"A penny for your thoughts, Lynn." - -Mrs. Hadwell had come up, unnoticed and was standing at Lynn's side. - -"Did I startle you?" she asked, brightly. "You were looking straight in -front of you like Cassandra or Joan of Arc or some other unpleasant -historical character. What was it? Indigestion?" - -"A fit of the blues, perhaps," said Lynn. "Don't mind me, Del. It was -most ungrateful of me to cast a shade over the festivities and, to tell -you the truth, I wasn't aware that I was doing it. Who has the highest -score?" - -"Erma Reed, so far. Isn't she a beauty? Lynn, what's the matter with -you?" - -"Nothing, silly!--that is, nothing much. You know we all get a little -despondent at times." - -"But not you, that is, not until lately. What has come over you?" - -"Age, I suppose." - -"If you don't want to confide in me, don't--" - -"I don't!" - ---"But I think it's most unkind, when I always tell you everything." - -"There's nothing that I can confide in you, silly-billy!" said Lynn, -rousing herself and speaking with forced cheerfulness. "Nothing in the -world. Now, will that satisfy you? You know practically all my affairs -except those which concern other people and which I have promised not to -tell." - -"Is that true?" - -"There is just one thing which I might tell you--but, after all, it's -nothing to tell"-- - -"Oh, what is it?" - -"A man--but this is silly for there is really nothing to tell and, -anyway, I don't want to discuss it." - -"How logical you are," said Mrs. Hadwell, calmly. "But I know all about -that, so you needn't bother. He is going to propose to-night, he told -me so. And he begged me to make sure that he wasn't deputed to take -anyone else home, as you had not answered his note and so he couldn't be -sure"-- - -"He told you! How queer! How very unlike him!" - -"I skated with him to-day and we had tea together. And you know how I -can always make any man tell me the inmost secret of his heart if I can -once get him alone for five minutes. And you're the inmost core of -his." - -"Del!" - -"He as good as told me so. And I promised to put in a good word for -him. So this is the good word. If you _will_ be so foolish as to -refuse Lighton--who is, by far, the better match of the two--why, you -might do worse than Amherst." - -"Thank you." - -"But I can't help hoping, of course, that you will never be so foolish -as to refuse Lighton." - -"Mr. Amherst would be delighted if he could only hear your warm advocacy -of his cause." - -"Oh, I told him what I was going to say. I was perfectly frank. But I -felt constrained to admit that you were such a hopeless idiot that I was -very much afraid that you were going to refuse Lighton, if you had not -done so, already. However, as I said, you were quite capable of -committing the lesser idiocy of refusing him, afterwards. I don't know -that I was quite so nice a confidante as usual; but then you must -remember that Gerald Amherst absolutely refused to sanction my efforts -at flirtation with him, this fall, and you can't expect me to forgive -that all at once. I told him that, too." - -"Del!" - -"Oh, he's a good sort. He said that, once you accepted him, his mind -would be free and, if I would then renew my attentions, he would accept -them most gratefully--always provided you didn't kick. Well, he didn't -put it just that way, but that was his meaning. Only he didn't mean a -word of it. Lynn, if ever a man was hopelessly enamoured of a woman, -you are that woman. You're doing pretty well, all things considered. -Two proposals in one winter and one a good catch--a _particularly_ good -catch--don't glare so, Lynn, it's rude! and the other an extremely nice -man and not too poor, either. My goodness! but you ought to be -thankful. Look at the way some people work and work and then don't get -much at the end; and here you just sit with hands folded, so to speak, -and watch the desirables canter in. At your age, too! only you mustn't -dally any longer, you know; it's time to make up your mind." - -"Yes, you're right. It's high time I made up my mind." - -"Good. Now then, make it up." - -"My dear, my mind isn't like a bed that can be made up while you wait. -I must think a bit." - -"What do you want to think about, I should like to know? Are you -weakening on the idea of refusing Lighton?" - -"No. To tell you the truth--I may just as well tell you, I -suppose--I've refused him, already." - -"_What_? When? Where? No, never mind telling me, either. Let's stick -to the point. Now that you have refused him, there is only one thing -left to do--marry Amherst and thank your stars that he proposed just -when he did. Otherwise, everyone would say that Lighton had neglected -to 'come up to scratch.' Gracious! how fortunate that you had two -strings to your bow." - -"You know that old proverb about 'falling between two stools,' don't -you?" Lynn asked, smiling faintly. - -"Yes, and it's perfect rubbish. The people who talk about 'falling -between two stools' are the people who've never had but one stool in -their lives and who've sat firmly down on that to prevent it getting up -and running away. Two stools, indeed! Twenty, if you can get them! But -two will do very nicely indeed, when they are two like these. One being -gone, you grab the other just as quickly as you know how. Now don't stop -to tell me that I am getting vulgar; practical people always seem vulgar -to visionaries. The question is, what are you going to say to Amherst -to-night?" - -"I'm not going to say anything, Del, for I simply can't let him take me -home. I must have a little more time to think. No, don't argue; I am -serious. Tell him that I am frightfully tired--which is literally -true--and that you have asked me to spend the night here; but that, if -he will be so good as to take me home after the hockey match to-morrow -night, I shall be eternally obliged. Or no, don't put it like that; say -that--oh well, say what you think best, Del, you always know how to put -these things. Really I am so tired that I simply can't think to-night. -Will you arrange it for me? and you won't mind putting me up for the -night, will you?" - -"No, dear child, I shall be delighted to have you. And I'll give him -the message though I think you are foolish to postpone the thing. But I -won't tease you, for I am sure you are going to be sensible in the end; -and we won't talk any more about it if you don't want to. See here, do -look at that table! and please listen to the conversation between Agatha -and that unfortunate wretch of a Haldern. I know who won't be Agatha's -'latest.' _Do_ listen." - -"But--excuse me for asking, Miss Ladilaw--but what did you make it 'no -trumps' on?" inquired a masculine voice. - -"Why--why--why, I'll tell you, Mr. Haldern," said Agatha looking up at -him, confidingly. "My own hand was so perfectly awful--so -appalling--that I felt sure Dummy must have a lot of aces and things. -But you see it didn't." - -"But, in that case, why didn't you leave it to me?" - -"Because I--I was _so_ afraid that you would make it spades. And I had -quite good diamonds." - -"But don't you see?"-- - -"Oh, I _always_ believe in trusting something to Dummy," Agatha -interrupted gently but with an air of finality. "Don't let us discuss -it any further, Mr. Haldern." - -"Del," whispered Lynn to her hostess, "I may not be very kind-hearted, -but I would not inflict Agatha on any man." - -"Oh, they'll change partners at the next table. And I think it's good -for men to play with Agatha: they appreciate the next partner they get -so much more than they otherwise would. Well, Lynn, how do you like my -twins?" - -"Charming; and they do seem to enjoy everything so. Did they only get -here to-day? They look so cheerful and fresh. I thought they would -probably want to rest, the first evening; but they seem to be enjoying -it." - -"Yes. They're nineteen. At nineteen one enjoys everything but rest. I -knew that and so I determined to start in without a moment's delay. I'm -perfectly delighted with them, myself. I don't see how in the world -that old curmudgeon of a brother of Henry's ever contrived to have two -such good-looking, good-humoured children. And their names are so -cute--Bert and Bertie; and the likeness is something extraordinary." - -It was. Lynn, who had elected to remain outside the game and keep her -hostess company, glanced from the cosy corner where she was ensconced to -a table in the middle of the room where Miss Bertha Hadwell was sitting: -then a little further on to where Mr. Albert Hadwell was scooping up -tricks with a dexterity which bespoke long practice. The boy was -slightly, very slightly taller than the girl; but, apart from that, one -might have fancied that one was the other's double. The same olive -cheeks, slightly tinged with rose-red: the same impish, restless dark -eyes: the same long, thin mouth, ever parting to show gleaming, -irregular white teeth. - -They were an attractive pair: and Lynn's eyes rested on them for several -moments before they wandered slowly over the rest of the room. The -usual company was present: the pretty girl who never counted the tricks -and continually appealed to her partner to tell her "what was trumps"; -the stout woman who remembered everything and berated her confrere -soundly if he forgot the thirteenth card; the mild-looking man who -smiled sweetly as his lady partners trumped his tricks and cursed them -bitterly on his way home; the pompous man who never failed to instruct -all the rest of the table; the excitable debutante who invariably -dropped the wrong card on the trick, then shrieked aloud and sought -permission to "take it back" on the ground that she "hadn't been -thinking"; and, last but not least, the bad-tempered man who regarded -bridge as a religion, and burned to slay the sacrilegious ones who -violated its tenets. - -"Oh, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell with a sigh of contentment, "aren't -people a treat? I wonder if they're getting hungry. Do you think I had -better give orders to have supper served?" - -"It mightn't be a bad idea. Let me go with you, Del." - -"Such a queer thing has happened to-day, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell, -confidentially, as they went out together. "You remember my speaking to -you of my prize housekeeper? the one beside whose frigid nature my own -showed in the light of a volcano? Well, she has actually shown signs of -being human for once. To-day she approached me with a request for an -extra night out: at least she didn't call it that, but it was -practically what she wanted. Under the circumstances--the twins arriving -and the bridge people coming here, to-night--I demurred a little and -asked if to-morrow wouldn't do. She then told me--with an air of -wishing she didn't have to--that General Shaftan--_the_ General -Shaftan--had been an old friend of hers in childhood days; and that she -had just received an urgent message, asking that she go without fail to -his house to-night. He must be better; it is queer, for I understood -that he had been quite given up: he has two nurses and is never left for -a moment, day or night. Imagine! Of course I told her to go--but what -in the world do you suppose it means? You know the story about the -General and the bewitching Langham-Greene, of course? They were engaged -to be married some twenty years ago when Langham-Greene--who was plain -Bill Greene, then--hove upon the scene with his half a million: and 'the -scene was changed.' My lady dropped Shaftan like a hot potato and -transformed Bill into a Benedict and a Langham-Greene. Then she drove -him to drink: at least they say so! I don't believe, myself, that he -took much driving. At all events he was thoughtful enough to drink -himself to death: and thoughtless enough to speculate and leave her very -poorly off--comparatively speaking, of course! Shaftan, in the -meantime, had left the city and gone to India: and just about the time -that Bill Greene drank his last glass, he blossomed out as a General and -dear knows what all. Wasn't it rich? Poor Julia thought she had only to -hold out a welcoming hand, when he returned; but to every one's -surprise, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven. If he had even refused -to meet her it would have been some solace to her vanity, but he was -quite ready to go so far and was extremely polite when he did: only he -would never talk to her if he could help it. She gave him up at last as -a bad job. Now, when the papers can talk of nothing else but the career -of the famous General Shaftan and his approaching death he sends for my -housekeeper--and by the way, Mrs. Waite knew the Langham-Greene well -when she was a girl, for the latter told me so, adding in her pleasant -way that the poor thing had never had but the one offer which she -accepted." - -"I wish she had said that to me." - -"She knows your tongue too well, my dear. And you make a great mistake -in not conciliating the creature. Never make an enemy of a cad, male or -female; for 'it' can use weapons which you would disdain to touch, and -those weapons are frequently poisoned. If you must make enemies, make -them of honourable people, who will simply let you alone, and not be -trying to injure you; and be careful to see that every obnoxious kind of -human reptile loves you. But what's the use of talking? one can't teach -you common sense." - -When the business of ascertaining the highest scores had been attended -to Miss Erma Reed was found to be the winner of the lady's prize. Mrs. -Hadwell was much amused by the warmth of Mr. Bert Hadwell's -congratulations. Such plaudits as he bestowed upon her are rarely -called forth by the most amazing skill: and his aunt by marriage laughed -and pinched Miss Thayer's arm as she listened to them. - -"When one considers Erma's height and proportions and the almost -unnatural whiteness of her skin, one sees that it is merely to be -expected that such a slender and brown individual as Bert should be -impressed by her cleverness at bridge.... Here is your prize, dear! I -am so glad you won it and I think it will go nicely with your pretty -dress." - -"It" was a pearl pendant which Erma received with something as nearly -approaching animation as that stately and somewhat shy damsel ever -showed. She was, beyond all doubt, one of the most beautiful girls in -Montreal; her absolutely flawless skin and generous though graceful -proportions instinctively recalling the masterpieces of Grecian -sculpture. Yet it was a cold beauty, unlit by intellectual or mirthful -fires: and some of the unthinking who merely assimilate the general -effect without noticing details had been heard to say openly that they -preferred Mrs. Hadwell's vivacious prettiness to the younger woman's -more stately charms. No one had laughed more freely at this than Mrs. -Hadwell, herself. She was well aware that, devoid of artificial -advantages, she would be a most insignificant little nonentity, but that -fact gave her no uneasiness and diminished nothing of her graciousness -toward the younger and prettier girls who thronged her entertainments -and sang her praises without stint. Yet she could not bear "green -girls." - -"Lynn," she would say to her friend, "you have no idea what a comfort it -is to feel that I can get away from them sometimes and take a rest with -you. After these giggling, insipid debutantes you are like a--a -cocktail! Yet it is the thing for nice women to be adored by young -girls and so I must be adored, worse luck!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *"BE PITIFUL, O GOD!"* - - - "O God! to clasp those fingers close and yet to feel so lonely, - To see a light within those eyes that is the daylight only-- - Be pitiful, O God!" - --_E. Barrett Browning_. - - -Amy Waite walked swiftly down the path which led from Hadwell Heights to -Pine Avenue. The night was a cold one; the moon hung bright and -glittering in the starlit heavens and the white, still earth seemed to -her as cruel as Life, as inexorable as Time. She shivered as she walked -and drew her shabby fur more closely around her throat. When would this -cruel walk end? When would this crueler interview be over? - -She reached her destination at length and rang the bell. General -Shaftan had no relatives in Montreal, but his fame and character had won -him many friends. Yet he lay dying alone in his handsome house; alone, -save for the ministrations of a hired nurse. Mrs. Waite's thin lips -curved in a smile more tragic than most tears are as she stood on the -doorstep of the silent house while the keen winds blew dismally about -her. Alone! What freak had made him send for her at such a time? - -A silent man-servant admitted and conducted her upstairs. Amy paused -long enough to remove her wraps and, while she waited, the nurse came -out from the sickroom and spoke, softly. - -"The General is failing fast," she whispered. "He was determined to see -you this evening and so I sent you that urgent message. This afternoon -he saw his lawyer on business connected with his will and I wanted him -to wait till to-morrow for this, but he would not. He seemed to fear -that he might not live to see another day." Her voice trembled; she was -a kind-hearted soul and the General had a way of endearing himself to -all with whom he came in contact. Mrs. Waite, however, stood erect and -tearless, and the nurse, after a half-wondering, half-resentful glance, -directed her to enter. - -"He wants to see you, alone," she said, reluctantly. "But, if any -change should take place in him, be sure to let me know at once." - -Mrs. Waite gave the required promise and left her. The General lay, -half-propped up with pillows; his bronzed face was pale with the pallor -of approaching dissolution, but his eyes were the eyes of twenty. Amy's -dead youth sprang to sudden life beneath them and something akin to the -hopeless, useless rapture of thirty years ago awoke and cried in her -heart. Her face was set and pallid, and the hands which clasped the -dying soldier's were cold as his own. They looked at one another in -silence which the woman could not break. The man spoke at last, a -little disappointed at her lack of feeling. - -"Well, Amy?" he whispered, half-quizzically. - -"You--wanted to see me, Arnold?" - -"I did--very much. I'm dying--I suppose you know that, eh?" - -"I had heard so. I didn't know"---- - -"Oh, it's true enough. Don't I show in my looks that I am?" - -Amy did not answer immediately nor did her face betray any especial -interest in the statement. The General, after scrutinizing her closely, -almost anxiously for a moment, relinquished her hand and laughed, half -in amusement, half in disappointment. - -"You're a cold-blooded little creature, Amy," he cried. "You always -were. But you're a faithful little soul--I'd trust you through thick -and thin--and I want to do something for you before I go. Also I want -you to help me to pay off old scores and spite my lady Julia--you won't -mind lending a hand in that, I'll wager." His still brilliant grey eyes -twinkled significantly. - -Amy watched him passively and smiled a little, wondering why an ugly, -faded woman of forty-eight with a sordid past should feel as keenly and -cruelly as an untrained girl of eighteen. No answer suggested itself -and she sat in silence, watching the dying man and wishing that she, -herself, had died long ago. - -The General laughed feebly as he looked at her. She was, as he had told -her, such a cold-blooded little thing--rather unpleasantly like a -fish--but, after all, poor little soul! she had had a beastly hard time -of it; why, she looked like an old woman at fifty. He could do one good -turn to a friend before he died, at all events. - -"Amy," he said at last, "give me your hand, little woman! I want to -know if you will marry me. Don't look surprised: this is no freak. You -see if we are married I can leave you all my money--I am not poor, -though I am not rich--and it's only right that you should have some -comfort before you die. Then, too, I want to prevent Mrs. Julia from -saying what she will say as soon as I am dead--that I always wanted her -and died of grief as well as of my wound, because of her refusal. She -shan't say that, by---- She spoilt my life and I'll not die till I've -paid her back a little. It seems queer," he went on, with the radiant, -mischievous smile that had made his listener's heart ache in the old -days, "it seems queer to die a married man, Amy, after living a single -one all my life. But it's never too late to mend. How thin your hand -is, you poor little thing! You've had hard luck, haven't you?" He -relapsed into silence, staring steadily at the wall at the foot of his -bed. His eyes grew glazed and feverish. - -"Don't leave me," he muttered. "Julia! Julia!" - -Amy started and winced. - -"You're a beastly little flirt," he went on, angrily, gripping her hand -till she with difficulty refrained from crying out with pain, "a -heartless, despicable little flirt and I despise you from the bottom of -my soul--but, O God! I can't help loving you. No other woman has ever -been to me what you were--and you--threw--me--over," he went on, slowly, -with a hard, cruel expression, "for Greene. Greene! the miserable, -worthless sot! Well, you made one mistake, my lady, didn't you? ... But -don't turn away, Julia!" he went on, imploringly, "don't turn away from -me! I can't stand it.... Your hand is cold--you don't care--O my God! -you don't care!" His voice rose almost to a wail. "Julia!" he cried. -"Julia! my darling, my darling!--say it's a mistake! You're not what you -pretend to be--you can't be!--Julia!" - -He sank back exhausted and his face relaxed. A look of intense relief -overspread his features and his lips formed a smile of great beauty and -tenderness. - -"_Julia!_" he murmured softly. Then he died. - -Amy sat quite unmoved and looked at the rigid figure. She showed no -particular emotion; yet the peace which made the dead face so beautiful -was lacking in the living. Some minutes elapsed. She rose at last and -stood for a moment, looking down. About that lifeless thing on the bed -had clustered all her poor, starved life had held of love and romance. -She bent slowly toward it; then straightened, a faint red colour in her -sallow cheek. - -"No!" she said, almost proudly. - -She rang the bell. - -"The General has just died," she said in level, unemotional accents. -"It was very sudden. It was impossible to call you. I am sorry." - -The big-hearted nurse looked at her with hearty repulsion and dislike -and burst into a flood of tears. There seemed no particular reason for -waiting further; Amy moved mechanically to the door and down the steps; -and so passed quietly into the bitter night. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *THE HOCKEY MATCH* - - - "The day is short, the evening cometh fast; - The time of choosing, Love, will soon be past; - The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last. - Love, let us love ere it be late--too late! - * * * * * - Once, only, Love, may love's sweet song be sung, - But once, Love, at our feet life's flower is flung; - Once, Love, once only, Love, can we be young." - --Anon. - - -The Montreal Arena is a building of considerable size, capable of -accommodating many thousands. It has been the scene of many a revel; -horses, prima donnas, vegetables, all have exhibited here at one time or -another; from Calve, who raved with indignation at the idea of singing -in such a place, to Emperor, the finest horse in Canada, who made no -objection, whatever. Only a hockey match, however, can count positively -on filling it from wall to wall. - -To-night was the Wales-Conquerors match: and many a business man of -mature years had sent his office boy days before to "stand in line" from -nine to eleven on a bitter winter morning in order to procure tickets. -Mrs. Hadwell had secured six seats and had organized a party to escort -her American guests thither. She, however, had not accompanied them, -frankly acknowledging the obvious fact that she was "no sport." - -"I do love to be fin-de-siecle," she had said. "But, when it comes to -hockey or pug dogs--well, I simply can't, that's all." Then she had -told a plaintive tale of how, when a girl, she had been taken to a -hockey match. Her escort had been an enthusiast of the most virulent -type; and she had been obliged to feign a joy which she by no means -felt. - -"It was ghastly," she observed, "ghastly. There I sat, huddled in -grandmother's sealskin which wasn't a bit becoming, and watched a lot of -weird things dressed like circus clowns knocking a bit of rubber round a -slippery rink. And all those poor misguided beings who had paid two, -three and five dollars to see them do it yelled like mad whenever the -rubber got taken down a little faster than usual--oh, you may laugh! but -I can tell you that when one of those silly men whacked another silly -man over the head when the umpire wasn't looking because the second ass -had hit that absurd bit of rubber oftener than he, the first ass, -had--why, I felt sorry to think that the human species to which I -belonged was so devoid of sense. And that great goat who stood at one -end and tried to stop the thing from getting between two sticks! why did -everyone think he was a hero when he managed to get his two big feet -together in time to stop the rubber from getting through? I don't see -anything very clever in putting your feet together and letting a rubber -thing come bang against your toes, do you? - -"But what's the use of talking! You must think it clever. You must! or -why should you go? Where is the attraction? Do you _like_ hearing those -wild-looking men shouting insults at the men who don't play on their -team? Does it amuse you to hear them snarling, 'Dirty Smith! -Putimoff!' 'Butcher Brown! Knockiseadoff, Robinson!' It is -incomprehensible to me. I shall always remember Alice Mann's proud face -as she watched her brother chasing round while the crowd hailed him by -the dignified and endearing title of 'Dirty Mann.' I think that, if I -had a brother and heard him called 'Dirty Mann' in public, I should want -to leave the city." - -Accordingly Mrs. Hadwell had stayed at home; but a merry and expectant -party had met at Hadwell Heights and had driven to the Arena, where they -sat now, awaiting the fray. It would be some time before this began, so -the young strangers had time to look about them and comment on the -various spectators. Ladies wrapped in costly furs sat side by side with -shabbily dressed men, who, in spite of the printed reminder that smoke -was forbidden, ejected a constant stream in the air, the while they -hoarsely sang the merits of their favourite team and the demerits of the -opposing one. Small boys perched on the rafters, looking as though a -finger touch would hurl them to instant destruction. - -"If one of them did fall," inquired Bertie, with a shudder, "wouldn't he -be instantly killed?" - -"If he were lucky," returned her companion, a young McGill professor -named Donovan, cheerfully. "Otherwise he might only injure himself for -life." - -"But"---- - -"But you see, Miss Hadwell, none of them ever do fall. Not one boy has -ever lost his hold, as far as I know. If one of them did get killed of -course it would be stopped." - -"But don't they get awfully excited?" - -"Excited! They go mad. But they don't fall." - -"You see," interposed Gerald Amherst, "they never think about it. If -one of them stopped clapping and wriggling and began to measure the -space from his airy perch to the ice, below; and furthermore meditate on -the consistency and solidity of the aforesaid ice and the probable fate -of anyone whose head came in contact with it after a fall of seventy to -a hundred feet--why, he would drop, that's all. They are occupied with -more important matters, however; the merits of Smith as a goal-keeper, -the demerits of Brown as a forward--they have no time to muse upon their -latter end and the thin veil that lies between them and eternity." - -"I'm glad they haven't; for my part I'm convinced that I shall have -nightmare after seeing them. Is that your--what is the band playing -for? Oh, is that the Vice-Regal party? Dear me! what is every one -rising for? Must I get up, too?" - -Her voice was drowned in the strains of the National Anthem which was -howled enthusiastically by boxes and rafters, alike. As, "God save the -King" died into silence the Governor-General bowed and took his seat; -while his daughters gazed with interest about the Arena which they were -visiting for the first time. - -"Observe his coat," said Mr. Donovan. "Feast your American eyes on it. -That coat was bought by Lord Dufferin, and left by him to be worn by his -successors. The sleeves are quite out of style by this time; but you -see 'This is a man!' What's your opinion of him, on the whole?" - -"Why, I think--good gracious, what's that!" - -A roar that shook the roof arose as the opposing teams emerged from the -waiting room and skated upon the ice. The scarlet sweaters and caps of -the Conquerors stained the crystal ice with daubs of blood: and the more -sombre hues of the Wales showed with almost equal effect. - -"Oh, are they beginning?" cried Bertie in ecstasy. - -They were. The whistle blew and both sides skated to the centre to -receive the customary warning. - -"They both seem pretty cool," remarked Mr. Amherst. "No signs of -nervousness that I can see." - -"Not a particle. Look! who has won the toss? The Conquerors? Hurrah! -You must say 'Hurrah!' too, Mr. Hadwell, whenever anything nice happens -to the Conquerors. It's no fun unless you choose a team." - -"Why is the Conquerors your team?" - -"Because--oh, because the captain's father was baptized by my -grandfather, I believe. There is some such reason, but, for the moment, -I forget just what it is. Any reason will do, you know; the point is -that you must have a favourite team and shout whenever it scores and -groan with indignation whenever the other team does. Do you see?" - -"I see. When am I to begin? and how am I to let the public know what I -am groaning about?" - -"Oh, the public will know if you groan in the right place--that is, when -the other team does well. Oh, look! there goes the puck!" - -It dashed across the ice, followed by a mass of skimming, pursuing -forms; and, for the next few moments, silence reigned. Then a shout -arose, "Off-side!" - -"Off-side" it was; and the indignant audience hurled insults impartially -at both teams; no one seeming very sure as to which was "off-side," but -each assuming that it could not be a member of his favourite team. The -Conquerors lost to the Wales this time and the latter passed to one of -his team who succeeded in sending the puck flying toward the goal. -Intense excitement reigned: would he succeed in getting the puck past -the goal-keeper? No: the latter deftly turned it aside; and a roar of -mingled delight and disappointment arose which made the American girl -start and put her hands to her ears. - -"Do they often make such a noise?" she asked, involuntarily. - -"I should think so," answered Donovan, staring. "You don't mind it, do -you? Oh, shame on you, Parton! what are you thinking about, -Umpire?--don't mind me, Miss Hadwell, I'm just--Hurray! Bully for you, -Marsh! oh, good work, old boy. You're the stuff! Push it -along--_Hurray!_" - -The puck had passed and the Conquerors had drawn first blood. In the -first wild shriek that rose Bertie was conscious chiefly of one -thing--everybody's mouth was wide open. No individual shriek could be -distinguished, yet, judging from appearances, every one, from the -Governor-General in his box to the smallest imp on the highest rafter, -was shouting himself hoarse. Slowly the excitement subsided; slowly the -spectators sank back into the seats which they had vacated; and, after a -minute or two of preparation, the game recommenced. - -"Never tell me again that the English are a cold race," Bertie remarked -solemnly as the party took their seats in Mrs. Hadwell's carriage at the -close of the evening. "I have read of such things, but I never expected -to see them in Canada. I could go to a hockey match every night in the -week. It's grand! And, Mr. Donovan, if the Wales had won--as I thought -at one time they would--I believe I should have cried myself to sleep. -Oh, you needn't laugh! I mean it." - -An hour or so later, after the assembled guests had partaken of a supper -at Hadwell Heights, Lynn and Gerald Amherst left together and walked -slowly in the direction of the city. It was midnight and the streets -were practically deserted. For a short time they walked on in silence, -neither caring to speak of anything except the subject which was -uppermost in the minds of both. Finally, however, Gerald broke the -silence. - -"Lynn," he said, very quietly, "I have tried to tell you something -several times. You have always turned the subject in one way or another. -This has been going on now for a long time, for a very long time. I -can't have it. I must know to-night, what it is to be. You don't -understand, I think, how hard this is on me; if you did, you wouldn't be -vexed with me for speaking so plainly." He paused. - -"I--am not vexed with you. I had rather you spoke, plainly--but"-- - -"But--there it is, again. You seem uneasy, almost unhappy about the -matter. Yet I don't think you altogether dislike me; in fact--in fact -there have been times when I was sure you cared--then when I saw you -next, you were quite different, altogether different. You seemed to -avoid me. I know it is quite impossible to understand a woman, but, -some way, I can't help hoping. You are so sincere in other ways that I -think you would be sincere even about a thing like this. Now tell me! -There is some trouble, some difficulty, I know. Won't you tell me what -it is?" - -"Oh, no--I can't." - -"Why not? Is it that you are thinking of some one else--of Harold -Lighton, for instance--and that you can't be sure as to which you -prefer"-- - -"No, that is not it. You have been frank; and I will be frank in -return. I prefer you to any other man that I have ever known." - -"Then"-- - -"No, stop! You don't understand me. I did not say that I wanted to -marry you and"-- - -"You mean that you--don't care enough, is that it?" - -"N-no. I can't say that, exactly." - -"What then?" he asked, eagerly; but Lynn was silent, staring at the -lights of the distant city. - -"Lynn!--what in God's name do you mean? Think! Think of what you have -said. In one breath you almost allow that you care for me; and, in the -next, you say, practically, that you can't marry me. What does it all -mean?" - -"I can't tell you." - -"You must. Try." - -"I know that I must sound ridiculous and unreasonable to you, but the -fact remains. I do love you; I can't bear to let you go away without -telling you so. But for reasons which--which I can't explain--I don't -think that I can marry you." - -"But, Lynn, what in the world can you mean? You have no ties! nothing -that can bind you down or prevent you from doing as you please. What do -you mean?" - -Lynn walked on in silence for a little while, then turned. Her face was -white. - -"I can't marry you, Gerald," she said, distinctly. - -"Why not? There's some one else?" - -"No--not in the way you mean." - -"Then it's just that you don't care enough. It must be." - -She said nothing, but bit her lips and quivered. - -"You do care," he burst forth, suddenly. "Lynn, you do care. I know it. -I feel it. You have taken some crazy notion in your head, some fanatical -idea or other. Tell me! I insist on knowing what it is. If you care -for me you will confide in me about this. You must see how cruelly -unfair it is to tell me that you can't marry me and to refuse to even -let me know the reason. Tell me! Even if it is something which -prevents our marrying now, the difficulty may be surmounted in a few -years' time. Tell me." - -Lynn started and turned toward firm, her face suddenly illuminated. - -"Do you?" she cried, breathlessly, "do you--oh, it isn't right, I -oughtn't to ask it--but do you care enough to wait--to wait--perhaps, -for a year, or even two years and keep our--the engagement secret?" - -"Why, of course I do. What's two years against a life-time? But, Lynn, -I don't like secrecy. Can't you tell me what all this means?" - -She paused, then spoke, weighing each word, carefully. - -"I have a trouble, a care; something which prevents me from even -thinking of marriage. It concerns other people and I can tell you -nothing about it. But, at any time, I--may be released from it. Perhaps -in a week--perhaps not for years--but eventually--I shall be -free--broken-hearted and old with grief--but free. Till then. And even -then, understand clearly, Gerald, I can explain, nothing--nothing. Now I -have told you the truth so far as I am able; and you see for yourself -how hopeless it is. Leave me. I am plain and sad and old. Marry some -one else, Gerald, and forget me." - -"Some one else! Lynn, my dear, dear girl, you don't know what nonsense -you're talking. Only say that you'll marry me--promise me that--and -everything else may slide. To-morrow--a year--three years--what does it -matter, as long as you come to me in the end?" - -"But--no one must know--oh, Gerald, it can't be right to hold you. I -shouldn't." - -"Perfectly right and perfectly wise; if, for any reason, you are obliged -to keep it secret. Only, Lynn, you must promise me one thing. The -moment that you are released from your obligation, whatever it may be, -you must tell me. Promise me that you will let no false motives of -delicacy stand in your way, but will come and tell me that you are ready -to marry me, the instant that the obstacle is removed. I won't even ask -what it is; I shall only ask that you promise me this." - -And Lynn promised. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *A SCANDAL VERIFIED* - - - "I'm not denying that women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em - to match the men."--_George Eliot_. - - -"Gracious, man! do give those unfortunate eyes of yours a rest. I should -think they would ache, the way you roll them. Besides, it's such a -waste of time to make eyes at me." - -"I don't think so." - -"I suppose it keeps you in practice," Miss Bent remarked, sardonically. - -"I beg your pardon?" - -"I said," repeated Miss Bent, slowly and deliberately, "that I supposed -that--it--kept--you--in practice--to--make--eyes--at--me!" - -"It does. But that's not the only reason I do it." - -Miss Bent eyed him with extreme disfavour. - -"How silly you are," she said, snubbingly. - -"Now that's unworthy of you," her companion returned. "Its rudeness is -worthy of you, but not its stupidity. Ordinarily your remarks are -witty, even when they are rude, but this"-- - -"Has only truth to recommend it." - -"I don't care for verbal gymnastics." - -"Your likes and dislikes are not"-- - -"A matter of interest to you? no, I suppose not. And you see that -relieves me from considering yours. Take the present case, for -instance. I feel like making eyes, as you rudely call it, at you: -therefore I make them"-- - -"And make them very badly!" interpolated the well-bred Miss Bent. - -"You are no judge, being by nature incapable of doing anything in the -eye-making way at all." - -"Ah!" said Miss Bent, reflectively, "there is no saying how well I might -make eyes if I saw anything worth making eyes at. But, I say, don't be -cross." - -"I'm not!" - -"No, of course not: but don't, anyway, for I want to tell you something -and some way I can't talk to cross people"-- - -"But I tell you I'm not"-- - -"Dear, dear! there you are again with a face flaming with rage, -interrupting me and contradicting me." - -Mr. Ogden opened his mouth; then shut it with an air of determination, -as though he really might have replied, had he chosen. - -"And now you're glaring at me as if you were beside yourself with rage. -Why don't you try to be reasonable?" - -The unhappy Mr. Ogden stared wildly but ventured no remark. - -"I suppose I may go on now," Miss Bent said in a rather pointed manner -when a moment of silence had elapsed. "What I began to tell you half an -hour ago--only you would keep interrupting me--was that Mrs. Hadwell is -giving all sorts of things for those cousins, or whatever they are, of -hers from the States. And she has asked me to a theatre party and a -tobogganing party, so I think I ought to give something for them. What -would you suggest?" - -Mr. Ogden looked perplexed. - -"Surely you're not sulking all this time!" said Miss Bent, rather sadly. - -"I don't know what you mean. I never sulk." - -"Then, perhaps, instead of sulking, you will answer my question," said -Miss Bent with asperity. - -Mr. Ogden laughed. - -"I should suggest a drive," he hazarded. "A drive by moonlight and a -supper afterwards." - -"Perhaps that would be the best plan," said Miss Bent, thoughtfully. -"Who would you ask?" - -"Me, for one." - -"Oh, yes, I suppose so, but--O dear! has my snowshoe come off, again?" - -"Let me fix it." - -"What do you suppose is the reason?" - -"The reason? You didn't let me do it at the start." - -"I suppose you think you can attend to my snowshoes better than I can -myself." - -"I do, indeed." - -"Well, don't start to argue about that, please don't. I haven't seen -you for such a long time and there are such a lot of things that I want -to say, but some way, whenever I am going to start, something happens to -prevent me." - -"Your snowshoe, for instance?" - -"Yes, or you. You begin to argue about something. Now don't be cross! -I suppose I really shouldn't have said that, but"-- - -"Oh, it's quite true that I occasionally make a remark." - -"Occasionally!" - -"Very occasionally, yes. When people are with you they don't talk much -as a rule. Queer, isn't it?" - -"I suppose," said his companion after thinking deeply for a moment, -"that what you mean is that they don't get much chance." - -"That was my meaning, exactly." - -"I can't help talking a little sometimes, you know," said Miss Bent, -icily---- - -"You can't, indeed!" - -"No. I come by it honestly. _My own father was a man!_" - -Silence reigned, unbroken and long. The snowshoers trudged on in -silence, the lady chuckling delightedly to herself. - -"I had two things to tell you," she remarked, presently, perceiving that -her companion was unmoved by her silence and getting very tired of -preserving it. - -"Yes?" - -"Yes. The second one is gossip, so I suppose I shouldn't"-- - -"Oh, but you will." - -"Not," said Miss Bent, impressively, "not unless you promise solemnly -never to tell a living soul about it--especially not Agatha!" - -"Why is Agatha to be debarred from hearing what no living soul may -know?" - -"Because," said his companion, seriously, "Agatha is not to be trusted. -She can't keep a secret. Oh, you needn't laugh. The person who told me -this said the same thing to me. 'Don't tell anyone about this,' she -said, most earnestly, 'and whoever you tell, don't tell Agatha.'" - -"What lack of confidence you two secretive people do show in Agatha. -Why is it?" - -"In the first place because she's a cat." - -"Doesn't seem conclusive. I've known cats who talked less than some -ladies." - -"--And in the second because she's her cousin." - -"Whose? The cat's?" - -"No. Lynn Thayer's." - -"My golf-balls! Where are we at?" - -"Why, I'm sure I've made myself plain enough," said Miss Bent, looking -surprised. - -"On the contrary you've made yourself awfully pretty in your sporting -togs but you have _not_ made yourself explicit." - -"You silly thing! Don't you see what I mean? It's Lynn Thayer that the -gossip's about." - -"Oh, Miss Thayer," said Ogden. "Then I hardly think it's true." - -"Oh, it must be. This person saw her. It seemed so queer she could -hardly believe her eyes." - -"What did?" - -"Why, Lynn's being there alone at that time of night. Not that it was a -proper place for a lady at any time"---- - -"What place wasn't?" - -"Dear me, Neil, you are stupid, sometimes. Why, St. Eustache St."---- - -"Whew! St. Eustache St.!" - -"Yes, and at eleven o'clock at night." - -"Nonsense." - -"It isn't nonsense. Mabel saw her--there! I let out the name, but you -won't tell anyone, will you?--at all events you won't mention that it -was Mabel"---- - -"Mabel be--wait a moment. Your friend saw Miss Thayer--at eleven -o'clock at night on St. Eustache St."-- - -"Yes. Coming out of that rackety studio building on the south side, -where unspeakable beings congregate." - -"What? Oh, look here, Kitty, you mustn't say that. You don't know what -you're saying. Your friend, whoever she is, made a mistake--a big -mistake. It was not Lynn Thayer she saw at all--it could not possibly -have been--and she does a very wrong and wicked thing in spreading such -stories. Now what I want you to do is"---- - -"Neil, one would think I was fifteen. Do you suppose Mabel would say -such a thing if it wasn't true? She didn't think at first that it could -be Lynn, though she saw her distinctly; and so she followed her." - -"Oh! Well, Kitty, all I can say is that if your friend's a woman, I'm -glad I'm a man. By the way, was this paragon alone?" - -"Certainly not. She and her husband had been to the French theatre: -and, as it was a fine night they decided to walk home. Then they began -talking about how these awful old streets used to be fashionable, and he -said that he would show her an interesting old house in St. Eustache St. -So they went there and he pointed it out to her and told her how it used -to belong to the Duke of ---- and how now it had degenerated into the -haunt of all sorts of people. Just as he was saying that only confirmed -drunkards and opium eaters and things ever went there the door -opened--and, to their infinite astonishment, Lynn Thayer came out." - -"Your friend's a"---- - -"She isn't. She's a nice woman and so is her husband--at least I mean -he's--well, anyway, they followed her for a block or two and she called -a closed sleigh and, just for fun, they got into another and drove -behind her. She went up to Pine Avenue and so they began to think that -they must be mistaken when--what do you think?--she got out, paid the -cabman and walked back to her aunt's house! There was no possible -mistake about it." - -Neil trudged along in silence for a few moments. - -"Kitty," he said at last, "there seem to be only two interpretations -that can be put on that story. The first is that Lynn Thayer, a girl -who has always been considered one of the nicest in Montreal, has done -an unpardonable thing; the second, that your friends are liars. I -prefer to think the latter--hello! do you want to run over us? Where's -your light?" - -"Beg pardon, sir. I've just been driving a lady who asked me to put it -out while I was up here. I'll light it right away." - -"It's not right, a sleigh going at that rate without light: what on -earth could the woman have meant by telling him to put it out. She must -be--well, Kitty, what on earth is it?" - -"Hush! Look!" - -He looked. A woman clad in a long dark cloak and wearing a heavy veil -passed them with averted head and hasty steps. Her walk and figure were -unmistakable. She shrank into the shadow of the leafless maples and -descended rapidly citywards. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *MRS. HADWELL'S FANCY DRESS BALL* - - - "When Youth and Pleasure meet - To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." - --_Byron_. - - -There is a fascination about a fancy dress ball which appertains to no -other form of entertainment. The excitement of seeing one's common-place -acquaintances blossoming out, under the magic influence of costume, into -fairies, kings and cavaliers is one which never palls. - -Interesting it is, too, to observe the characters impersonated and to -note how clearly the character of the impersonator is expressed in his -choice. Thus Mrs. Hadwell, on the evening of her famous ball, appeared -as Titania, clad in a fluffy, shimmering robe of mousseline, which was -further embellished and beautified by various shining ornaments and -clusters of hothouse blooms. A sparkling diadem crowned her rich auburn -tresses and a necklace of some value glittered on her neck. Her pretty -arms were covered with bracelets and her prettier feet were adorned by -diamond-studded sandals. She moved among her guests a shining, odorous, -"form of faery," followed by ejaculations of admiration and murmurs of -delight. - -Erma Reed, on the other hand, had wisely chosen the dress of ancient -Greece: and her chiselled features showed clearly cut and noble beneath -the chaplet of green leaves which lay lightly on her smooth, dark locks; -while her flowing robe added distinction and grace to her splendid form, -beside which the puny, slender figures of more modern beauties seemed -mean and artificial. - -Lynn Thayer came, dressed as a Red Cross nurse. "Nothing about me -suggests the heroine of history or romance," she said, "and I should -make myself ridiculous by attempting to personate anything but an -ordinary, everyday woman." She made a noble-looking nurse, however, and -many turned from the more fancifully attired dames to watch her -sympathetic countenance: some thinking, as they did so, that hers was a -face that they would like to see in moments of illness or depression. -Others there were, though, who watched her covertly and whispered -stealthily to one another as she passed: and Lynn noted with surprise -that Neil Ogden, who was standing by Kitty Bent, looked down hastily as -he saw her approaching and made no sign of recognition. Nor did Kitty -seem anxious to return her bow. - -The twins in whose honour the affair had been contrived attracted more -attention than all the other guests put together. They were in mad -spirits and seemed unable to keep apart, hurrying to one another's side -as soon as each dance was finished and whispering and laughing together -in unrestrained fashion. Bert was attired as Mark Antony in flowing -Egyptian robes, donned, as he explained, after he had made the -acquaintance of the Serpent of the Nile: and he handled the crimson, -voluminous garments with a grace which called forth more than one -admiring comment from his partners. Their compliments were invariably -received with a stifled giggle: in fact Bert's manners, as a whole, did -not show their usual reserve and good breeding. Still the handsome, -boyish face above the crimson draperies was so alight with good humour; -the black eyes were so unaccountably mischievous and the olive cheeks so -becomingly flushed that the most exigeant of his uncle's guests could -not find it in her heart to be really severe until--but that, as Mr. -Kipling says, is another story. - -As for his sister, it is safe to say that no other girl created such a -sensation. It was not only her appearance, though that was sufficiently -striking, but the wild gayety and vivacity of her demeanour that made -her the cynosure of every eye. She was dressed as a lady of the French -court in a tightly fitting gown of French brocade with trailing -draperies: and her eyes looked even darker and brighter than their wont -beneath the high structure of powdered hair which the dress demanded. -The pink and white brocade and the crimson robe of Egypt were so -frequently seen in absorbed conversation that the twinly devotion of -Mrs. Hadwell's connections was a favourite topic of conversation at the -beginning of the evening. Later on, I regret to say--but here again I -anticipate. - -Agatha Ladilaw, dressed as the Queen of the Roses, received her usual -meed of praise and attention. Her three lovers followed her around with -dog-like devotion; and many others, seeing what a magnet she was for -three of the conflicting sex, hastened to make her acquaintance in order -to discover for themselves what the attraction was. Agatha, in -consequence, became more than ever convinced that she was bound to make -the best match of any girl who had come out that year; and considered -more seriously than before the advisability of adding a still more -eligible fourth to her list of fiances. Among the many who sunned -themselves in her smiles was Harold Lighton, who found her gaze of -respectful attention and her eager and smiling responses so soothing -after his late reverses that he insisted on sitting out several dances -with her in order that he might give her further particulars of her -cousin's cruelty; which cruelty she almost wept over. - -"She's such a queer girl, Mr. Lighton," she said, shyly yet impulsively, -"oh, I know she's my own cousin and perhaps I oughtn't to say so but"-- - -"Isn't she?" inquired the disconsolate lover, eagerly. "As you're her -cousin, I suppose I can say so"-- - -"Anything you say," said Agatha, dimpling seraphically, "is quite safe -with me, Mr. Lighton--anything!" She raised her deep, soulful eyes to -him with an air of rapt attention and Mr. Lighton found himself -murmuring involuntarily, "What a charming girl!" - -"All I was going to say was," he continued, returning to the attack, but -half forgetting his griefs in the joy of finding such an intelligent -listener, "that your cousin really doesn't treat a fellow fairly. Now -she won't listen to anything a fellow tries to tell her. All she will -say is, 'Surely we have discussed this often enough, Mr. Lighton; do -talk of something else!' Now, hang it all, Miss Ladilaw, that's rude!" - -"I should think it was," exclaimed Agatha, looking appropriately shocked -and grieved and inwardly wondering whether any man _could_ spend an hour -in her society and bestow a thought afterwards on a plain girl like -Lynn. - -"And then, when I tell her she is rude, all she will say is, 'I wonder -you come to see me so often when I am so unpleasant and there are so -many nice girls in the world.'" He paused. - -"Ah!" said Agatha, softly, wondering inwardly why he did; and wondering, -moreover, whether it was too soon to ask him to drop in some quiet -evening when she was quite sure of having no other callers, in order -that they might the more fully discuss her cousin's iniquities. - -"And then to have her add the finishing touch by refusing me outright -after all the time I've spent on"---- - -"What?" said Agatha, startled, for once, out of all semblance of good -manners. Was the man in earnest? Had he actually proposed? and had the -fool--for no other word seemed appropriately to describe her cousin--had -the fool refused him? Agatha gasped and caught her breath. Refused -him! refused a horse and carriage and a nice house and a trip to Europe -if she wanted it? Agatha could scarcely regain her composure. - -"Yes, indeed, she refused me," reiterated the Rejected One, indignantly. -"And she not only refused me but she told me that I would thank her for -her refusal ten years hence." - -"Mr. Lighton," Agatha's voice was solemn--"Do you--I don't suppose you -do, but--excuse my asking--_do_ you still want to marry her?" - -"I should rather think I did," rejoined Mr. Lighton, staring. "Never -was so dead gone on any girl in my life. But it's no use; I may as well -make up my mind to"---- - -"Mr. Lighton, if it is any satisfaction to you, I shall speak to my -cousin. I cannot feel," Agatha continued, raising her big eyes almost -tearfully to her companion's face, "I cannot feel that it is right to -let my cousin refuse such an offer--I mean, such an honest and manly -love as yours--without, at any rate, trying to show her how--how -_wicked_ it is. For," said Agatha with righteous indignation, "for what -is Lynn, anyway? A public school teacher! And whom else is she going to -get if she refuses you? Nobody! And I don't care whether she likes it -or not I'm going to put her conduct before her in the right light." - -"That's the stuff," said Mr. Lighton, delightedly. "You're a fine -little girl, that's what: and I tell you what it is, if you do make any -impression on her--which," said Mr. Lighton, relapsing into despondency, -"which you won't, for she's as stubborn as a--but, if you should--why, -all I can say is, I'll never forget it." - -Agatha had, as all ladies who follow the time-honoured sport of -man-hunting must have, an eye to all contingencies. She impulsively -clasped her companion's big hand in her two small ones now as she -murmured, feelingly: - -"Don't think that I am intruding, Mr. Lighton, but, if this _should_ be -a failure--and no one can tell anything where Lynn is concerned--always -remember that you have one friend, anyway." - -"I won't forget it," responded Mr. Lighton with alacrity. Nice little -thing! Pity her cousin wasn't more like her, that was all he could say. -And yet, confound it all! there was something about the other--he -couldn't help liking her in spite of everything--but, whatever happened, -this little thing was worth cultivating. He wondered, as Agatha with a -sympathetic smile and an air of stern resolve gathered up her pink -draperies and departed in search of her cousin what the outcome of it -would be. Well! he would soon know, at all events. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *AGATHA "DOES HER DUTY" AND IS REWARDED* - - - "Shall a woman's virtues move - Me to perish for her love? - Or her well-deservings known - Make me quite forget my own? - If she slight me when I woo - I can scorn and let her go." - --_G. Wither_. - - -Past Boadicea, reclining against a marble heater and conversing with -Mephistopheles; past Joan of Arc, flirting vigorously with Torquemeda; -past the Queen of the Fairies, chatting to a miscellaneous group of -knights and demons; past every variety of hero and lady fair went the -self-sacrificing Agatha, intent on her altruistic aim. "For," as she -muttered to herself, "if he has proposed to her, already, it isn't very -likely that he will change for a little while, anyway, and I want to be -married before any of the other girls. Besides it wouldn't be half so -nice to marry a man who had been refused by your own cousin; though -every one would think you had cut her out and Lynn is so funny that she -would probably just giggle and say nothing, so it wouldn't matter much. -But, as matters stand, I think it would be really wicked to let Lynn -actually refuse him, particularly when I can get so many others: and, -once they are married, she will be grateful to me as well as he and they -will have a nice home and entertain a lot and I can be their bridesmaid -and everyone will say how much prettier I am than the bride and"--At -this moment she caught sight of her quarry. - -Lynn had been dancing and had just come out to the hall in search of a -vacant chair or stair when she saw a vision of pink tulle gazing at her -with such an unusual amount of feeling and expressiveness that, with a -hasty excuse, she dropped her partner's arm and hurried to her small -cousin's side. - -"Agatha," she exclaimed, wonderingly. "What is it? Is anything the -matter? Do you want me?" - -"Indeed I do," responded Agatha, solemnly. - -"Then just let me speak to Mr. Barnes a moment and explain why I am -going: then we can run upstairs to Del's little sitting-room and talk -quietly." - -This programme was carried out; and, when they were safely ensconced -behind closed doors, Lynn turned eagerly to her cousin. - -"Now, Agatha!" she said. - -Agatha turned and looked at her. - -"Lynn," she said with portentous solemnity, "I don't know what you will -think of me and I don't care. Some one has got to talk to you." - -Lynn stared in amazement, wondering if her thrice-engaged cousin -objected to her dancing twice with the same man: she could think of no -other enormity of which she had been guilty that evening. - -"I have been sitting out a couple of dances with Mr. Lighton, and he -became unusually confidential," went on Agatha, turning almost pale: -"and he tells me," pausing impressively, "he tells me that -you--have--refused--him." - -"He tells the truth," responded Lynn, looking annoyed, "and all I can -say is, Agatha, that if you have torn me away from the dance"-- - -"Wait a moment," said Agatha, earnestly. "This is very important to me, -Lynn. It isn't only that I feel sorry that you, being my cousin, should -be so foolish as to refuse him, once; but what I want to know is,--did -you mean it?" - -"Assuredly I did," said Lynn, staring. - -"You meant," said Agatha, pathetically, "you really meant, Lynn, to -refuse that nice house and"-- - -"Yes, and that nice horse, too," exclaimed Lynn, turning red. "Upon my -word this is too much! I can stand Aunt Lucy and Del, but when it comes -to you, Agatha--understand once for all that I meant to refuse that nice -house and that good-sized yard at the back and that commodious stable -with all that it contains--not even excepting the horse which every one -seemed to think that I would accept with tears of rapture, despite the -fact that it was encumbered with a master whom I should have to accept, -likewise, as they are inseparable." - -"Oh, Lynn, dear! such a lot of long words and such a temper and all -because I tried to advise you for your own good." - -"Agatha, I give you fair warning that I shall gently but firmly -assassinate the very next person who tries to advise me for my own -good." - -Agatha sat for a moment, absorbed in thought. - -"Lynn," she said, presently, "does anyone know that you have refused Mr. -Lighten?" - -"Not unless he has chosen to tell anyone. I am not in the habit of -publishing every offer I receive in the daily papers, which is one -reason why some people suppose that I never get any." - -"Then," said Agatha, thinking deeply, "I suppose, Lynn, you will not -mind if I advise you not to--not to tell anyone? Do you remember what -you said to me about those things--proposals and engagements and things, -you know!--well, at the time I did say I thought it was foolish not to -tell when people proposed to you because then lots of people, as you -say, think you never get any--but since then I have changed my mind; I -really think it is more sensible not to--particularly in your case where -it would be so embarrassing for Mr. Lighton if he were attentive to some -girl." - -Lynn burst out laughing. - -"I never in my life told on any man who was misguided enough to ask me -to marry him. I have always felt that the pain of feeling that he had -so lowered himself was punishment enough for any crime." - -"Why, Lynn, I don't quite see what you mean," said Agatha, patient but -bewildered. - -"This is all I mean," said Lynn, gravely. "If you have any idea of going -in for Lighton--and certainly his house is all that could be -desired--why, don't feel as you walk up the aisle in veil and orange -blossoms that I am whispering to my nearest acquaintance, 'I could have -had that man if I had wanted him.'" - -"But," said Agatha, timidly, "suppose such a thing _did_ happen--it -would not be very nice for you, Lynn, to think that people were saying -that I had cut you out. That is the first thing that Mrs. Langham-Greene -would think." - -"I can think of nothing at the moment less likely to worry me than Mrs. -Langham-Greene's thoughts concerning me." - -"Oh, how queer you are!" said Agatha, opening her eyes widely. "Then, -Lynn, if you should hear--well, anything! you won't mind. For there is -still time for you to change your mind, you know; and really he's very -fond of you, and his house"-- - -"Has only one drawback! Now don't dare to tell him I said that, Agatha, -or"-- - -"Why, I don't know what you did say," responded Agatha, patiently. "You -say such queer things, Lynn, that half the time I don't know what you're -driving at. At all events, however, as I understand, you are quite -determined not to accept Mr. Lighton." - -"Quite." - -"Then," said Agatha, dimpling bewitchingly and adjusting her rose wreath -with an air of satisfaction, "then, Lynn, I must just go and tell him -so, I suppose." - -She found the Rejected sitting where she had left him, and gazing -disconsolately into space. He brightened a little as she sat down -beside him. - -"You had no luck, I suppose?" he remarked, tentatively. - -"Mr. Lighton," cooed Agatha, softly, "she is not worthy of you. She is -my own cousin, but I can't help saying so." - -Mr. Lighton turned a rich, ripe tan colour, the nearest approach to a -flush of rage that his skin was capable of attaining. - -"Made fun of me, I suppose?" he queried in tones of stifled fury. "Oh, -you needn't try to smooth it over, Miss Ladilaw! I know that tongue of -hers too well." - -"Well," said Agatha, commiseratingly, "I must say, Mr. Lighton, that she -might have been nicer. It's one thing to refuse a man and another to -make jokes about it. Not that she said much, you know, but there was one -speech about your house having only one drawback"-- - -"That," exclaimed Mr. Lighton in a burst of horrible enlightenment, "was -Me!" - -"I am afraid so," said Agatha, softly. "But please don't tell any one I -repeated it, Mr. Lighton. I really shouldn't have, you know. But I -felt so disturbed and angry at the idea of any one belonging to me being -so heartless"-- - -Six months later when Miss Agatha Ladilaw, "the prettiest debutante of -the former season," made "the match of the year," Lynn felt rather hurt -at the demeanour of both bride and groom toward her. - -"I was disagreeable," she reflected, "but he brought it on himself and I -can't understand why the mention of my name should invariably produce a -chill in the Ladilaw household. Agatha, at least, has nothing to blame -me for." - -Agatha and Agatha's husband, however, agreed in seeing as little as -possible of Agatha's cousin and in acting as coldly as was consistent -with politeness whenever they did meet her. This, Society thought, was -owing to the fact that poor Miss Thayer had cherished useless -aspirations in the direction of the Lighton house, herself. Poor Miss -Thayer! - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *THE TWINS UNDER A NEW ASPECT* - - - "Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee - Jest and youthful jollity." - --_Milton_. - - -The fun was at its height. The most delightful waltz of the evening had -just concluded and streams of gaily dressed forms poured in the -direction of the balcony. It was mid-winter and the thermometer stood -at five below: yet more than one couple strolled out on the balcony and -stood, contracting lung trouble and pneumonia, while they gazed -enraptured at the beautiful panorama which spread beneath them. The -city was a mass of glittering lights, seen through the delicate -pencilled branches of bare maples and willows; and seemed to the -watchers as though lying hundreds of feet below Hadwell Heights. At the -foot of the high hill on which the house was built lay Pine Avenue, -thronged with couples arrayed in sporting garb and bent on their way to -the toboggan slide at the back of the mountain. Less often a party of -snowshoers would rush past on their ungainly footgear: an object of -little amusement to the Canadians but one of never-failing interest to -the Americans: and, less frequently still, a couple of men on skis. The -twins, who never thought of colds or of precautions against them, spent -most of their time between the dances in standing in the most exposed -part of the balcony and watching the passers-by until the icy winds -which whirled around drove them indoors, shivering but happy. - -Bertie seemed to-night as though possessed of some demon of mischief and -unrest. She confessed to a rather bad cold already, but it detracted -nothing from her appearance though it affected her usually sweet voice, -rendering it hoarse and strained. No entreaties could keep her from the -icy balcony, though, and her partners soon stopped making them and -devoted themselves to carrying on the flirtations which she seemed -determined to push to the utmost limit. Never had any of her Canadian -admirers seen her in such a mood; her usual gay, but rather reserved -manner had given place to the one commonly attributed to the American -girl in foreign fiction. Her partners were at first amazed, then -flattered at her open and eager anxiety for their attentions; but some, -including Donovan, her companion of the hockey match, who had come to -like and admire the pretty Ohio girl, were rather repelled and disgusted -at the change in her. Toward the end of the evening his disgust reached -a climax. An extremely shy and painfully proper youth to whom Bertie -had begged him to introduce her at the beginning of the evening, had -just emerged from sitting out a dance with her and had asked Donovan to -have a smoke with him in Mr. Hadwell's "den," which, for this night, was -given over to the needs of the dancers. On Donovan's assenting, Mr. -Simcoe, the shy youth, had unfolded a tale of horror. He had come up -for his dance with Miss Hadwell when she, without a word of apology, had -piloted him in the direction of the stairs, murmuring, as she did so, -"We don't want to dance, do we? We can do better than that." On his -expressing his willingness to do as she wished she had squeezed his arm -and informed him in an ecstatic whisper that he was a duck, a perfect -duck, and that she was going to show him a nice little cubby hole behind -some curtains at the end of the hall which she was sure Mrs. Hadwell -must have fixed expressly for them. "Of course," Mr. Simcoe had -remarked, nervously, "of course I couldn't refuse to go, Donovan." -Donovan, looking very grim, had agreed with him: of course he could not. -So, it appeared, they had gone. Mr. Simcoe had seemed unwilling to -divulge the secrets of his prison house but had gone so far as to hint -that ladies who asked fellows to kiss them on so short an acquaintance -were not in his line. Donovan had informed him here that gentlemen did -not, as a rule, "kiss and tell": and had refused to listen further, -regardless of Mr. Simcoe's anguished explanation. "But I didn't, -Donovan! hang it all, it was she who insisted, you know, and she can't -blame me for speaking of it." Donovan had walked off in a furious rage, -awakened, not so much by Mr. Simcoe's lack of gallantry as by Miss -Hadwell's lack of common sense and good breeding. - -If Miss Bertie's conduct gave rise to comment, what shall be said of Mr. -Bert's? It is safe to say that never before in a Montreal drawing-room -had any gentleman disported himself with such amazing freedom. Before -many dances had transpired ominous whispers might have been heard among -the young ladies who had been honoured with his partnership; and it was -a matter of common observation that, toward the end of the evening, -several of his companions flatly refused to "sit out" dances which he -had engaged, earlier. The most amazing snub which he received came from -Miss Reed, who, on his reminding her that she had promised him the -eighteenth dance, had answered in tones of ice, "So sorry, Mr. Hadwell, -but I never dance--except with gentlemen!" This was merely the climax -of a series of unpleasant remarks which had been showered upon him; but, -coming from Miss Reed, who was known to have absorbed all his time and -attention until that evening, it was expected to have had a chilling -effect upon him. This, however, was far from being the case. "I may -not be exactly a gentleman, Miss Reed," he had returned with the utmost -sangfroid, "but"-- At this moment he had caught sight of his sister's -eye, fixed on him with a look in which rage and consternation were -strangely blended; and breaking off abruptly, he had left Erma's side, -his manly shoulders shaking visibly. Bertie had held a hasty and -agitated conversation with him; and the twinly devotion which had so -impressed the assembled company when the dance commenced was apparently -conspicuous by its absence. - -In the midst of the dance Mrs. Hadwell was seen to leave the room, -hastily, in response to a whispered message from a housemaid. When she -returned her eyes were sparkling mischievously and her whole demeanour -was charged with importance. Presently she beckoned confidentially to -Mrs. Langham-Greene, who stood, resplendent in pale green draperies and -water lilies, a most pleasing and graceful Undine. Undine approached and -Titania linked her arm in hers. "My dear," she cooed, "you haven't an -idea--oh, how shall I begin? You know my housekeeper, don't you? -Wasn't she an old school friend of yours?" - -"Not a friend, exactly," answered the elegant Undine, rather -deprecatingly. "An acquaintance, rather. Such an ugly little thing and -so lacking in any sort of brightness and attractiveness"-- - -"To us yes!" purred Titania. "But only think of a man like General -Shaftan having cared so much for her that he was unable to die without -seeing her and imploring her for the last time to become his wife"-- -She paused and viewed the crimsoning Undine with a countenance -absolutely devoid of guile. - -"General Shaftan?" inquired her guest, turning from crimson to scarlet. -"General Shaftan? Why, my dear Mrs. Hadwell"-- - -"I know," murmured Titania, sympathetically, casting a demure glance at -the infuriated water nymph, "I know! we all thought it was you--and, no -doubt, he made you think so as well! men are such dreadful -deceivers--but he sent for Mrs. Waite on his death-bed and wanted to -marry her." - -Undine found her breath. - -"My _dear_ Mrs. Hadwell," she laughed, lightly. "Does it sound a -probable story?" - -"No; and if the poor woman, herself, had told me about it, I regret to -say that I should have doubted her. But the General told his nurse and -trusted her with the secret contents of his will. It was drawn up three -hours before he sent for Mrs. Waite and, in it, he says that he leaves -all of which he dies possessed to Amy Marion Waite in the belief that -that lady will, in the next few hours, become his wife, as he hopes and -intends she shall." - -Mrs. Langham-Greene said nothing, but turned white and twisted the fan -which she held in her long, snake-like fingers feverishly. Titania, -looking at her, felt a sudden twinge of compassion and compunction. She -left her with some hurried excuse. - -"So," she said, slowly to herself, "so even that unscrupulous, wheedling -serpent is capable of caring for somebody: and caring for him all those -years, too. Am I the only woman living who--who"---- - -Something wet and glistening fell on her chiffon dress. She hastily -wiped it away and stared in amazement. - -"Getting sentimental at my age?" she inquired in stupefaction. "Here, -Estelle Hadwell, don't be a fool! You've got everything you ever wanted -and you're ten times happier than anyone else you know. Think of your -dresses and your jewelry and your friends and your--n-n-no, I don't know -that you need think of him--not just now, at all events! But think -of"-- - -She looked up, up the long, broad stairway, up to the big, quiet -nursery. Then she smiled and tossed her head. - -"I have everything, practically everything," she said, defiantly. -"Everything but a sentimental experience which disappears, anyway, after -six months of married life. I'm a fool, that's what I am! a -discontented, ungrateful fool. The trouble with me is that I've got too -much. If only--if only one of them doesn't"---- - -A spasm of agony crossed her face at the unwelcome thought; then she -resolutely crossed the hall and opened an animated conversation with one -of her numerous admirers. Lack of self-control was not one of the -pretty Titania's failings. - -Presently Lynn Thayer joined her, looking grave and perplexed. "May I -have Mrs. Hadwell to myself for a few moments?" she asked, smiling in a -rather forced way: then, putting her hand on Mrs. Hadwell's arm, she -drew her aside. - -"Del," she said in a low voice, "you know I am no prude and I don't make -a fuss, unnecessarily, about anything; but I tell you plainly that you -must speak to those young connections of yours." - -"Why, what have the poor things been doing?" asked Mrs. Hadwell in -amazement. "I noticed that they were awfully lively but, surely, at -their age"-- - -"My dear Del, their conduct is outrageous. Particularly Bertie's. After -all, if a boy of twenty chooses to act like a fool he simply gets -severely snubbed and, in time, comes to his senses and is forgiven. But -when a girl of the same age, a girl who has had every advantage, starts -to act in her uncle's house like an extremely fast barmaid, why, you -know as well as I do that it won't be forgotten in a hurry. What has -got into them to-night I don't know; but the whole room is talking of -their actions. Imagine Bertie asking that shy little recluse of a Simcoe -to kiss her and pretending to weep when he hesitated"---- - -"_Lynn!_" - -"My dear, that isn't the worst of it. She has taken about half her -partners to that little alcove in the second floor hall, which is -curtained off, and has treated them to a course of hoydenish flirtation -which is, to say the least of it, in the poorest taste. Silly little -Simcoe was bad enough, but, when it comes to Parham, one of the fastest -men in the city"---- - -"Surely not!" - -"She has been sitting up there with him for the last two dances; and she -is evidently taken with him, for, when she showed me her programme and I -remarked on her having promised him three dances in succession, she -giggled in the most affected manner and said, 'Oh, I simply adore those -sad-eyed, soft-voiced men with reputations yards long!' and danced off -before I had a chance to suggest that"---- - -"Why, Lynn, what can I have been thinking about to allow it? Oh, the -silly child! If she must act like a goose, why couldn't she do it a -little more privately? Don't laugh, Lynn: you know what I mean. And you -tell me that Bert?"---- - -"Has been acting like a perfect fool. He even wanted to kiss me." - -"Lynn! the boy must have taken leave of his senses." - -"I was afraid myself that he was drunk. In fact I took the liberty of -asking him if he was. He was quite angry for a moment. 'What do you -mean by saying that I am drunk?' he asked. 'Oh,' I said, 'I didn't say -that you _were_ drunk: on the contrary I said I hoped you weren't.' -'But why should you think I was?' persisted my gentleman. So I told him -that when people tried to make love to me I always thought they must be -drunk. He shouted at that and explained that he was in good -spirits--animal, not vegetable--and wanted to enjoy himself. I treated -him to a piece of my mind, but it didn't seem to do much good." - -"Isn't it extraordinary? With all their high spirits and love of fun I -thought those twins were as well-bred a pair as you would want to meet. -Well! I must do my duty, I suppose. Where are the miscreants, Lynn?" - -"Bert is in the ballroom, trying to pacify his partners, most of whom -are not pleased with him for reasons best known to themselves. Bertie, -as I told you, is sitting behind a fairly thick curtain with a man who -shouldn't be admitted into any respectable house." - -"My dear child, don't start to lecture about that! I have enough on my -hands." - -She mounted the stairs with a determined but bored expression and -presently descended, followed by the unrepentant Bertie who winked -joyously at the stony and disapproving visage of her aunt's friend. -Behind them strolled the redoubtable Parham, apparently highly amused. - -Mrs. Hadwell entered the ballroom and looked about for Bert. He was -presently discovered in the act of fanning an indignant-looking lady who -pretended to ignore his efforts at small talk. Mrs. Hadwell beckoned -and he sprang to his feet with alacrity. - -"Bert!" said his aunt by marriage, sternly, "there are limits to my -forbearance. I am sorry to say that you have transgressed those limits. -I am still sorrier that you have no better taste than to take pleasure -in showing impertinence to my guests." - -Bert's face worked for a moment: he said something in an aside to his -sister, then spoke. - -"Aunt Del," he said, humbly but with an irrepressible twinkle in his -black eyes, "we have acted like a couple of demons, I must admit, but, -if you'll only forgive us this once, I swear we'll straighten things -out. Every one is going to supper, now; well, Bertie and I are going in -together and, just as soon as the people are seated, you will see what -will happen." - -"I will not," was Mrs. Hadwell's unexpected rejoinder. "I have had -quite enough nonsense, Bert. It must end, here." - -Bert consulted his sister with his eyes; then, catching his diminutive -aunt by the waist, he whirled her down the room and whispered something -in her ear. She gasped, then suddenly laughed and looked relieved; and -Bertie approached and entered into an animated conversation with her. - -Five minutes later, when the assembled company was seated at supper, the -unruly and ostracized pair walked solemnly in and stood for a moment at -the head of the room. Then Bert raised his crimson-decked arm with a -mute request for silence. A hush of surprise fell on the revellers. He -spoke. - -"My dear friends," he said, gravely, "my sister and I have acted so -badly to-night and have laid ourselves open to so much well-deserved -censure that we think the least we can do is to apologize, and we do -it--thus!" - -He deliberately laid hold of his companion's snowy locks and, with a -vigorous pull, exposed a close cropped head. Then he doffed his crimson -headgear and a dark tress fell athwart his nose. - -When the prolonged shrieks of amazement and laughter had died into -silence Bert--the real Bert--spoke. - -"My sister says that if all the girls whom she has kissed will forgive -her she will never do it, again," he said. "And, as for me," he paused -and cast a glance of pure delight in the direction of Messrs. Simcoe and -Parham, "as for me, while I must confess that I am a horrible flirt"-- - -He could get no further. - - -An hour later Undine, looking paler than her wont, sat whispering behind -a large fan to two or three other women. One of them, a pleasant-faced -middle-aged woman, looked distinctly sad and uncomfortable. - -"The poor girl!" she said. - -"Such people should be exposed," returned Undine, coldly. "The idea of -her being here at all. Mrs. Hadwell cannot associate with fast women -and expect to keep her own character. Personally I never think there is -any real harm in Mrs. Hadwell, though"-- She paused tentatively while a -venomous gleam lit her large, pale eyes. - -"Oh, no, no!" cried the others in horrified unison; and Mrs. -Langham-Greene saw that it would be dangerous to venture further. She -bade an affectionate farewell to her hostess and ordered a closed -sleigh. - -"My dress is so thin," she explained, smiling. - -As the sleigh drove away she crouched among the fur rugs and bit her -naked arms and writhed. - -"I'll pay them for this," she whispered, catching her breath in torture. -"He sent for her--for her! and that little cat dared to tell me to my -face--oh, I can't reach her, not yet; but I can hurt her through her -friend, anyway. She really cares for the Thayer girl; it'll make -trouble with her pompous old husband when she insists on supporting -her--oh, I'll do what I can! it may help me to forget." She groaned. -"Oh, I can't bear it: I didn't mind his death as I mind this! it's like -losing him all over again--I'll pay her for what she's made me suffer -to-night! _I'll pay her!_" - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - *A LIE WHICH IS PART A TRUTH* - - - "A lie which is part a truth is ever the blackest of lies, - A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, - But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight." - --_Tennyson_. - - -Mrs. Langham-Greene's pretty town house possessed a drawing-room as -elegant as its mistress, and far less harmful. It was flanked by two -bay windows, admirably adapted for gazing on the peccadilloes of one's -neighbours, the while one ruminated contentedly on one's own virtues. -Here its fair owner loved to sit on winter afternoons, dispensing -excellent tea and gossip: and here one bright January day found her -brewing the witching potion for a waiting guest. This was no other than -Gerald Amherst, who happened to be painting the lady's portrait. When -the daylight faded she had insisted on his accompanying her home and -joining her in a cup of five o'clock tea. The fair widow was not an -especial favourite of the artist's; but his stock of excuses had been -exhausted on previous occasions and he had therefore submitted meekly. - -Mrs. Langham-Greene was a woman who wore well, as the saying is. Her -figure was straight and supple as a girl of twenty's and her delicate -features had escaped the pinched look which frequently accompanies -thinness in a woman of fifty. Her skin had always been colourless and -now resembled fine ivory; her hair, which she wore parted in the middle -in the Madonna style, was only very slightly flecked with grey. Julia -Langham-Greene was a distinguished woman, an interesting woman, an -elegant woman. When, at thirty-five, she had first donned widow's -weeds, she had created such a furore that it was many years before she -found herself able to relinquish them. However, when a woman reaches -forty and finds herself capable of wearing pale blue and scarlet to -advantage--she usually does. - -Mrs. Langham-Greene was now forty-seven, yet she could attend a fancy -dress ball attired in Nile green and pearls and look the part of Undine -to perfection. Small wonder, then, that she wished to transfer such -lasting charms to still more lasting canvas; and Amherst had attained -distinction as a portrait painter years before. She smiled delicately -on him now, as she sugared his tea and inquired in tones of melted honey -whether he took cream or lemon; and pondered inwardly how best to land -the shaft she held in store. - -"You are too good," she purred, in response to a perfunctory compliment -on his part. "Far too good. Among so many young and pretty girls I -fear I must have been quite unnoticed. Miss Reed, for instance! What -regular features she has; quite ideal! What a pity that she has so -little conversation! and such poor taste in dress. And is it true that -her father has fits and that her mother was a house-maid before he -married her?" - -"I never heard that," returned Amherst, opening his honest eyes in -amazement. "Miss Reed is a striking looking girl, but, to my mind, Miss -Ladilaw is far prettier." - -"But so uninteresting, don't you think?" - -"Not more so than the majority of very young girls." - -"Still," pursued Mrs. Langham-Greene, thoughtfully, "she is a nice -lady-like little thing. I daresay she will marry young; she is so naive -and pretty. It is not likely that she will hang on year after year like -that poor, plain cousin of hers." - -"Surely you don't mean Miss Thayer?" - -"I mention no names," said the widow, archly: then her face dropped, -pathetically. "I should not like to say one thing about that poor, -misguided girl that might sound unkind,--poor creature, she has enough -to bear." - -"I don't understand you," said Gerald, flushing angrily. - -"Ah, you men are so gallant," commented the widow, smiling a little -sorrowfully. "I am told that the things gentlemen say about Miss Thayer -when they are alone could not be repeated in a lady's hearing." - -"Whoever told you that, Mrs. Greene," replied Gerald, forgetting the -hyphened adjunct in his fury, "is an uncommonly first class liar. The -things that _gentlemen_ say about Miss Thayer could be repeated in the -hearing of St. Peter." - -"My dear Mr. Amherst, you have lifted a weight from my mind. Is it -possible that there are men in this world so--so kindly that they -refrain from unpleasant comment on a woman of that kind even when the -refining influence of ladies' society"---- - -"A woman of that kind! Unpleasant comment! I don't know what in -the--what in thunder you can mean, Mrs. Greene; and, if you will kindly -inform me in as few words as possible"---- - -"I?" - -Mrs. Langham-Greene drew her slender figure up haughtily and regarded -her interrogator with stately yet grieved amazement. - -"_I? I_ repeat scandal--I spread scandal about another woman? a woman, -too, who, in spite of the fact, that she must be fully thirty, has not -yet been able to secure a husband to protect her? Indeed, Mr. Amherst, -you must not think that you can drag me into this. You quite forget -yourself if you suppose that I am willing to discuss such questionable -things. If you choose to delve into these unpleasant matters it shall -not be in my drawing-room." - -Mr. Amherst surveyed her in silence. - -"Pardon me, Mrs. Greene," he said, courteously, "but was not the matter -first referred to in your drawing-room, and by you?" - -"If," said Mrs. Langham-Greene, rather sadly, "if I allowed an -expression of sympathy for the unfortunate girl to escape me, I did not -expect to be reproached for it, Mr. Amherst." - -Amherst, despite his indignation, began to feel a little abashed. After -all, the woman _had_ done nothing but mention Lynn pityingly; but why -she or any one else should---- - -He pulled himself together and spoke, quietly. - -"I gained the impression from what you said, Mrs. Greene, that there -were unpleasant rumours afloat concerning Miss Thayer. Won't you tell me -what they are?" - -"Oh, no, Mr. Amherst," murmured the lady, distressfully. "I couldn't, -really." - -"Can't you give me an idea of them?" - -"But, Mr. Amherst, you must know something. Why, the very servants talk -of it. My butler and housemaid"---- - -"Yes? Not having the pleasure of either your housemaid's or your -butler's acquaintance, I am still grievously in the dark. Has anyone -else mentioned the matter to you?" - -"Why, everyone. I supposed, of course, that you knew, that you had -heard of it long ago or, believe me, I should never have mentioned it. -Of course if it were another man--if it were even a gentleman--it would -not be quite so awful. But a villainous, sickly little foreigner like -Ricossia"---- - -"What?" - -"There. You have actually dragged the name out of me," cried Mrs. -Langham-Green, indignantly. "I declare! Men are perfectly horrid. -They _will_ not let you be charitable and kind and keep things to -yourself. That poor girl! I suppose you will be just as hard on her as -all the others. I was so indignant, the other day, with Mr. Parham. He -said--but really I had better not repeat it"---- - -"Stop!" - -Amherst rose to his feet, breathing heavily. - -"Parham, was it? I'll remember that," he said in quiet, metallic tones. -"In the meantime, Mrs. Greene, you must tell me what you mean. What is -this story?" - -"Oh, my dear Mr. Amherst, I _cannot_ spread scandal," cried his hostess, -anxiously. "Do sit down and have another cup of tea. Tea is so -soothing when one--I felt just as you do when I first heard it. It does -seem so strange that such a plain girl couldn't conduct herself like a -lady. Of course if she were at all good-looking so that people noticed -her and sought her out it might--oh, you're not going, already?" - -"Yes, I'm going to hunt up Mr. Parham," said Gerald, searching blindly -for his hat. - -"No, oh, no. Oh, but I insist. Well, rather than have you run off like -that I'll tell you the whole truth--all that I know, that is. It seems -that--you know that Miss Thayer and Ricossia were always together when -he came here first, two years ago. It was quite a joke; such a -difference in their ages, you know; and he so handsome and she, poor -girl, so plain! and it does seem as though it must be her fault, for -certainly he never appeared to encourage her"---- - -"Go on, for God's sake!" - -"Mr. Amherst, I must beg of you not to use profane language," observed -Mrs. Langham-Greene with dignity. "Well, where was I? oh, yes! well, -when he disappeared from polite society and we were all obliged to give -him the cold shoulder because he was so openly depraved--not like some -people whom one _can_ know because they keep quiet about it--but he had -no savoir faire, that is to say, no shame"---- - -"Mrs. Greene," shouted Amherst, "won't you please skip Ricossia and get -to Miss Thayer?" - -The widow reared herself like a black-and-golden snake, about to strike. -Her green eyes gleamed; then she recollected herself and smiled, subtly. - -"Dear Mr. Amherst, pray allow me to tell the story in my own way. I -really cannot be interrupted in this abrupt fashion. I was coming to -Miss Thayer. It seems that the wicked girl, instead of dropping him -when he was found out, as all the rest of us did, continued to meet him -secretly. He evidently was not sufficiently enamoured to pursue her -very much, but you know how it is! a woman of that age who has never -succeeded in marrying frequently loses all hope and simply doesn't care -what she does; so she used to visit him at night in some awful slum -where he lived"-- - -"What utter absurdity!" - -"My dear Mr. Amherst," said the widow with angelic patience, "you may be -sure that I should not readily believe such things of another woman. -Unfortunately, however, the misguided girl was seen and recognized, not -only by my butler but by people of her own class; people who could -hardly believe their eyes and who, in their anxiety not to condemn her -rashly, followed her home--at a safe distance, of course. Not that she -went home, directly: I am told that her practice was to take a sleigh to -a lonely part of Pine Avenue, dismiss it there and walk to her uncle's -house. Very dangerous, too! fancy a lady walking alone after dark. -Once, when I first lost my husband, I was compelled by some mischance to -traverse two blocks one evening without an escort. Some men passed me -and one of them made some remark about the 'bewitching widow.' I don't -know how I ever reached home; but, as soon as I did, I retired, -immediately. Next morning I sent for my doctor: he advised rest and -plenty of light nourishment--what, you're going? Good evening, Mr. -Amherst: so sorry we drifted into these unpleasant subjects. _Good_ -evening!" - -Ten minutes later Gerald rang the Thayers' bell. - -"No, Miss Thayer is not at home. I don't believe she will be in -to-night, for she is dining at Mrs. Hadwell's. Certainly, sir: I'll -tell her." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *WHISPERING TONGUES* - - - "Whispering tongues can poison truth, - And constancy dwells in realms above, - And life is thorny--and youth is vain-- - And to be wroth with one we love - Doth work like madness on the brain." - --_Coleridge_. - - -"Yes, the dear twins have gone at last. Whether or no they are leaving -their young hearts here I can't say, but they are certainly carrying two -very nice ones away with them. Except that the female one is chiefly -ice; but really, Erma quite thawed toward the end. Odd that he preferred -her to Agatha: she's no better looking and not half so popular--by the -way, Lynn, talking of Agatha reminds me! what in the world have you done -to Lighton?" - -"My dear Del!" - -"Refused him, again?" - -"He has not, thanks be, compelled me to do so." - -"Then what has happened? I've seen him six times with Agatha in the -past ten days. Oh, Lynn, why can't you be sensible? To let such a thing -slip through your fingers! Upon my word you make me feel sometimes like -a donkey boy with a goad." - -"And you, my love, make _me_ feel like Mephisto with a pitchfork." - -"Oh, Lynn! And, at all events, if you don't want to marry him, now, why -tell him so? You may be very glad of him a few years hence. Why not -keep him hanging on?" - -"Because, dear friend, I am neither a liar nor a cheat." - -"Well, why aren't you? What's the use of trying to be honest in a world -of liars and cheats? What do you expect to gain by it?" - -"I really can't say. The reward of virtue, perhaps." - -"The reward of virtue, dearest, is usually a whack over the head." - -"So I have observed." - -"Is that why you are so desperately anxious to obtain it?" - -"Not exactly." - -"What do you propose to do when it arrives?" - -"Look and act as though it were the one thing on earth I had always -longed for. Unless it is violent enough to stun me, in which case I -shall set my teeth and say nothing." - -"Lynn, you're a fool!" - -"I have frequently suspected as much." - -"And oh, Lynn, I chatter and chatter--and all the time there is -something I must say to you." - -"Say it." - -"Do you know what it is?" - -"No; but, whatever it may be, Del, hurry up and tell me. You know -suspense is the one thing I can't bear." - -"Will you let me ask you something?" - -"Anything--but I won't promise to answer." - -"Will you answer me this? Have you ever cared for anyone?" - -"Yes." - -"Any man, I mean!" - -"Yes." - -"Much?" - -"Very much." - -"Enough--well, enough to do anything foolish for?" - -"Enough to do things that you would consider would qualify me for a -madhouse." - -"Ah!" - -Mrs. Hadwell drew a long breath and her face fell. - -"You might have told me, dear," she said, gently. - -"I couldn't, Del. But, anyway, it's not what you think. Why do you ask -me all this?" - -"Was that why you refused Lighton?" - -"No--yes; I would have refused him, anyhow." - -"But the other had something to do with it?" said Mrs. Hadwell, leaning -forward, breathlessly. - -Lynn said nothing but her face was sad. Although she felt that her -secret must die with her brother she longed to-night for the sympathy -which she could so easily obtain from this, her oldest and dearest -friend. - -"I--I would have liked to tell you, Del," she said in a low voice. -"But--I had promised to tell no one. It was not that I didn't trust -you. The circumstances were peculiar. I had others to consider." - -"Oh, Lynn, Lynn, it was some one that you couldn't marry, then?" Mrs. -Hadwell's voice rose almost to a wail. - -"Yes. But, Del, the more you say, the less you understand. Let us talk -of something else." - -"Lynn, I can't! Oh, do tell me just one thing more: you know that you -can trust me. Have you done anything that was unconventional? stupidly -unconventional? that might expose you to scandalous comments if it were -known?" - -"I--yes, I am afraid I have. But don't talk of it, Del. I don't feel -very cheerful to-night." - -"But I must. Lynn, will you promise solemnly never again to do anything -foolish--you know what I mean?--anything improper or reckless?" - -Lynn was silent. - -"Promise. Oh, Lynn, promise! You don't know what danger you're in. -You have enemies; you are already talked about in certain circles. I -won't ask a question, dear, not a question: only promise"---- - -"Del, I can promise nothing." - -"You--you would do foolish things again?" - -"Yes." - -"But, why--oh, Lynn, why?" - -It was some moments before Lynn answered and, when she did, her voice -was hard. - -"Because all my happiness on earth--everything in life that -counts--depends on my outraging certain very sensible conventions. -Don't worry if you can help it: I'm a fly, caught in the web of Fate: -you can't help me, I can't help myself. If I--stopped, I should never -forgive myself: I should never know another happy moment." - -"Lynn, I see I shall have to tell you--and it's a thing I hate to do. -There are stories afloat concerning you--I don't know what, -exactly--coupling your name with that of Ricossia." - -Lynn grew slowly white. - -"Have you nothing to say, Lynn?" - -"Nothing, Del." - -"You won't explain--not even to me?" - -"Del," said her visitor, suddenly, bending forward and gazing intently -in Mrs. Hadwell's face, "if you had to face some personal trouble or -misunderstanding, amounting to disgrace, even--or break a solemn and -sacred oath--which would you do?" - -"Break the solemn and sacred oath," returned Mrs. Hadwell, promptly and -cheerfully. - -"Ah," said Lynn, despairingly, "what's the use of asking you, Del? You -have no conscience about those things." - -"No, indeed; yet I am rich enough to afford one if I really wanted it. -But you, my dear, have no business with so costly and useless an -appendage. Can't you get rid of it--for the present, anyway? It's -going to land you in a perfect sea of trouble; and, beyond, shining -faintly, is that whack over the head of which we spoke. When you have -tormented yourself sufficiently Society will hand you that; and then I -suppose you will have nothing left to wish for?" - -"Only death; and I'm pretty healthy!" - -"And you will not explain? in spite of all I can say or do?" - -"No, I'm very tired, Del. I'm going now, if you don't mind." - -Half an hour later Amherst left Hadwell Heights, scowling unhappily. -Miss Thayer had just left; she had had a headache and had returned -early. He could not, in decency, call on her at her home after hearing -this, much as he wanted to. He must wait until to-morrow. - -He walked along Pine Avenue with his hands in his overcoat pockets. -Lynn was the best girl that ever lived; but, after all, there was no -smoke without fire, that was certain. She had committed some -imprudence; what, he must find out before he took any steps to -circumvent these slanders. Of course one thing was undeniable; she had -bestowed a good deal of attention on Ricossia when she first met him. -It was through her and her warm eulogies of his genius and beauty that -he, himself, had first become interested in the young--but, after all, -the boy couldn't live a year and he must not call him what he really -was. What beauty he possessed! the beauty of the very devil! and how -women did go mad over him! It wasn't wonderful if-- - -Then suddenly, like poison, Ricossia's low, bell-like laugh at their -last meeting rang in his ears. And his words--what were they? He had -said that Lynn was not attracted by him in the ordinary way--bah! any -one a degree above a cur would say that. Lynn loved him, Amherst, that -was certain; but there were different kinds and degrees of love. Had he -not seen a kind sweet woman, a devoted wife and mother, leave home, -husband, children, everything that made her life; had he not seen her -ready to pay with a life-time of odium and desolation for the feverish -joy of a few anxious months? Lynn had a stronger nature than the -majority of women; that was nothing; she would be likely to go to -greater extremes for that very reason. She was so sensible, so logical, -so prudent--were they not the very women who forsook all caution when -vitally interested? Ricossia was a boy, a child; yes, and had it not -passed into a proverb, the love of a woman of thirty for a youth?--what -was he thinking of? where had his fancies led him? Doubt Lynn! Lynn, -whom he had known from a child!--yes, known! the mockery of the word! -Who ever knew another human being? Strangers we wandered into life; -strangers we left it; strangers we were, each to other, always; husband -to wife, child to mother--above all, lover to beloved. He groaned as he -walked, but no feeling of resentment toward his betrothed held place as -yet. Lynn, as he had told her, was the one woman on earth to him: he -would abide by her explanation. If--he turned cold and faint at the -thought--if, in the past, she had been infatuated with that "half-devil -and half-child," Ricossia; and, if she had done foolish things, mad -things ... yes, even wrong things--he could forgive them, knowing that -she loved him, and him only, now. After all, when one considered -Ricossia's reputation, merely to be seen with him was enough; and she -had, probably, traded unduly on her social position and good name. -Perhaps it was nothing more than pity; the boy was dying and he was so -young, so friendless. On the whole Amherst decided that he was probably -acting like a fool; one might almost as well be jealous of a corpse as -of Ricossia, who might be one at that moment for anything he knew to the -contrary. With a sudden rush of compunction and self-reproach Amherst -left Pine Avenue and, descending to the city, hailed a passing car. He -would look the boy up; confound it all, the young fool might be dying a -miserable death at this very moment while he maundered away like a -simpleton in a melodrama. He would see how Ricossia was holding out, -anyway; this last cold spell wasn't just the best thing for a -consumptive, and he would like to see the cub spend his last months on -earth in comparative comfort, whether he deserved to or not. And, -perhaps--but no! he couldn't touch on that--not with him! - -The car took him within a few blocks of his destination. He walked -slowly on, feeling cheered and comparatively happy. When one has writhed -in doubt and misery for a certain number of hours the reaction is -usually strong; and Amherst wondered how he had ever come to attach so -much importance to the babblings of a green-eyed tabby cat and the -insults of a hound. He inhaled the clear night air with calm enjoyment; -to-morrow he would see Lynn and then--and then-- - -He had nearly reached the Chatham when the door opened quietly and a -woman descended the steps. As she advanced toward him she raised her -head in a blind, unseeing sort of fashion. The light of a flickering -gas jet shone clearly and pitilessly on her upturned face; a face which, -though drawn and hollow-eyed, was strangely familiar--the face of his -intended wife, Lynn Thayer. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *WHEN LOVE IS DONE* - - - "The mind has a thousand eyes, - And the heart but one-- - Yet the light of the whole life dies - When love is done." - --_Old Song_. - - "I love--but I believe in love no more."--_Shelley_. - - -Lunn recognized him almost immediately and stood quite still, looking -into his face with a curious deliberation and intentness. - -"One would almost think you had expected me," said Amherst, -involuntarily. One seldom says what is uppermost in one's mind on these -occasions. - -"I think I did," said Lynn with equal quietness. "When I awoke this -morning something told me that this would happen." - -"There is a cab-stand a few blocks away," he continued, courteously. -"May I take you there and see you into one?" - -"I shall be--grateful for the attention," said Lynn, dully: then she -laughed. - -They walked in silence for a block or two. - -"Have you anything to say to me, Lynn?" said Amherst at last. - -"I--nothing!" - -"You prefer to say nothing?" - -Lynn was silent for a moment; then she spoke very distinctly. - -"On the night that you asked me to marry you, I said all that I was at -liberty to say." - -"Ricossia is rather exacting, isn't he?" - -The sneer escaped Gerald, wrung from him by his pain. Lynn started -slightly but made no answer. - -"I should ask your pardon," Amherst went on, presently. "I had no right -to say that. I do not even know that it is Ricossia on whom you paid -this late call. Possibly you have other friends in the Chatham." - -"I have not." - -"It--it is Ricossia?" - -She threw back her head and laughed. - -"Exactly--it is Ricossia. And, by the way, Mr. Amherst, although I know -that when one does an unconventional thing, 'gentlemen' are quite -justified in insulting one; yet, as there is a policeman on the next -corner, and as even a homeless cur isn't obliged to stand still while -some one throws a rock at it--will you leave me?" - -"No. Lynn, forgive me. I'm crazy; I don't know what I'm saying. If it -were anyone else--if it were any other man--anyone, anyone but that -villainous little blackguard"---- - -"Stop!" - -Lynn turned on him like a tigress, her eyes blazing with fury. - -"How dare you call him that?" she cried. "A genius! a god of beauty! -and dying at that! What sort of man do you call yourself to insult -first the woman who was to have been your wife and then a dying man." - -Amherst gasped and caught his breath in painful amazement. - -"Oh, my God!" he groaned like a hurt animal, "how you must love him, -Lynn!" - -They had passed the cab-stand now and had turned toward home, but -neither noticed this. Amherst's face was ghastly and his steps -unsteady; but Lynn walked erect and stately like a sable figure of doom. - -When some blocks had been traversed in silence Amherst spoke, slowly and -humbly. - -"Lynn, I should not have spoken as I did. We're all human and I'm not -your judge. If I didn't love you--if I hadn't believed that you loved -me--I should not have been so harsh. Will you let me walk home with -you? We probably shan't see one another again very soon and there is so -much I want to say." - -"No." - -"You won't let me? You compel me to--very well, I'll go to Ricossia, -then; I'll make him listen to reason and, and if he won't, I'll"---- - -"Gerald!" - -Lynn's voice was alive with a sudden, horrible fear. - -"Gerald," she said swiftly, clasping his arm with her hands, "you loved -me once, didn't you? For the sake of that, because of that, will you do -me a favour? Deal with me, alone. I'm strong, I can stand anything. -Say what you please to me, do as you think best--but let him alone. -He's so young, he--he's so weak--and he's dying, Gerald, dying. He may -be dead, to-morrow. While he lives, let him alone. Oh, Gerald, promise -me!" - -Amherst could not speak for a moment. When he did his voice had altered. - -"Lynn," said he, gently, "why did you promise to marry me?" - -"Because I loved you, Gerald." - -"You still say that--now?" - -"Yes. My love for him was quite another thing. I can't explain, and I -don't expect you to understand." - -"I see--I think I see. The other was a--well, a sort of obsession." - -"Exactly. You could hit on no better word." - -"Yet you believed that you loved me. You think that you could care for -two men at once?" - -She moistened her dry lips and spoke, feebly. - -"If I had not been so alone in the world, Gerald, I might have loved -several. There are so many different loves, you know; differing in kind -and in degree. The love for a father, for a son, for a brother"--her -face lightened with sudden hope,--"that was really what I felt for him, -Gerald; the love that a mother has for a son, the love that a sister has -for a brother--don't you, oh, can't you, understand? I loved you in -quite another way--it's so different--and, if I tried to explain any -more, I should break a solemn oath--I should bring a curse on my -head"---- - -Amherst's face lit with a sudden, heated gleam. He turned and spoke -fiercely. - -"Lynn! Don't insult my intelligence by telling me stuff of that sort, -but listen! Promise that you'll never see him again, and that you'll do -your best to forget him! Promise that he'll be nothing to you in the -future! and I'll forgive all the rest. Come to me! I want you. I -won't ask you a question, not a question. Marry me to-morrow and I'll -kill the first man--or woman--who breathes a word against you. Lynn!" - -She held her breath and looked at him as though fascinated. - -"Lynn! Promise!" - -She spoke, slowly and with difficulty. - -"Until he dies, Gerald--my life is his." - -"Then"---- - -Amherst's face flushed, a dark, purplish flush, ugly to see. - -"You prefer him then to reputation, honour, common sense and decency." -His breath came heavily. "You prefer him--to me!" - -As slowly and deliberately as before she answered him. - -"I love you--as a woman loves the man she means to marry. I love -L--Ricossia--as I love no other being on God's earth--as I do not -believe any other man was ever loved from the beginning of time. You -say rightly. I prefer him--and the oath at which you sneer--to -reputation--honour--common sense--decency--and you! Good-bye, Gerald; -try to forget me." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *MRS. LANGHAM-GREENE PAYS HER DEBT; AND - MRS. WAITE, HERS* - - - "The long-necked geese of the world that are - ever hissing dispraise - Because their natures are little." - --_Tennyson_. - - -Estelle Hadwell was sitting by a blazing fire in her husband's library -when she heard voices in the hall below, followed by the banging of a -door. Then Mr. Hadwell called loudly: - -"Estelle! are you there?" - -"Yes, dear," replied his wife, somewhat surprised. "Have you visitors?" - -"Yes. Mrs. Langham-Greene and Mrs. Tollman are here. Can you come -down?" - -"Yes, indeed!" replied Mrs. Hadwell with effusion. She rose slowly from -her chair by the fire, grimacing disgustedly as she did so. The library -was so nice and Mrs. Greene so horrid and Mrs. Tollman such a bore. - -She hurried down and advanced with extended hands and a delighted smile. -She had got as far as "A most delightful surprise--an unexpected -pleasure!" when she caught sight of her husband's face. - -"Henry!" she exclaimed in genuine consternation. "What in the world is -it?" - -Her husband was standing with his back to the fireplace and a portentous -frown on his brow, looking, as Mrs. Hadwell reflected to herself, for -all the world like the British Matron in trousers. - -"Henry, what is it?" she asked, again. - -"These ladies," returned Mr. Hadwell with a majestic wave of his hand, -"can tell you better than I." - -Estelle glanced from one to the other, wonderingly. Mrs. Tollman, a -stout, pleasant-faced woman, wore a somewhat distressed expression and -sat stiffly upright. Mrs. Langham-Greene, delicately lovely in dark blue -velvet and ermine, leaned gracefully back in an easy chair, her fine -features composed to an expression of decorous sorrow. Neither lady -made any immediate effort to enlighten her hostess until Mrs. Greene -swept a meaning glance at her companion from beneath her long, light -lashes. Then Mrs. Tollman spoke. - -"It's such a delicate matter, Mrs. Hadwell," she said in a flurried way. -"I disliked coming to you about it, very much; but Mr. Hadwell insisted, -saying that only an eye-witness could convince you." - -"Of what?" - -"This is so hard on us, both," Mrs. Langham-Greene murmured, soothingly. -"And it was so careless of me to mention the poor thing; for then Mr. -Hadwell simply dragged the whole story out of me. I am most distressed, -I am indeed!" - -"But at what, dear Mrs. Greene?" cooed her hostess. - -"Oh, at the whole affair--the poor girl so well connected and all! and -Ricossia so common and dreadful." - -"Oh, some new scandal about young Ricossia," exclaimed Mrs. Hadwell with -sudden enlightenment and a corresponding sinking of the heart. - -"But he is not common; no one could call him that. Dreadful, certainly; -but rather fascinating in his way, don't you think?" - -"Apparently others have found him so," drawled the older lady, -meaningly. - -"What others?" - -Mrs. Langham-Greene looked deliberately at Mrs. Hadwell and spoke, -regretfully. - -"I am afraid, dear Mrs. Hadwell, that your friend, Miss Thayer"---- - -"How dare you say so?" - -"Estelle," said her husband, reprovingly, "is it likely that these -ladies would speak without proper authority?" - -"Very likely indeed," thought their hostess, but her heart was sick -within her. Lynn's interest in Ricossia; her lack of interest in other -men; her sorrow, her preoccupation, her confession of having outraged -propriety; all these ranged as witnesses against her in her friend's -heart. - -"I knew--I told Mr. Hadwell that you would take it in just this way," -murmured the widow, sympathetically. "So he insisted that we bring an -eye-witness to convince you. Of course the thing has been going on for -an indefinite space of time; but, just lately, Mr. and Mrs. Tollman, -when returning home late one night, saw Miss Thayer leaving the Chatham. -They followed her. She took a sleigh to Pine Avenue, dismissed it there -and walked home. Isn't it so, Mrs. Tollman?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Tollman, fluttering. "It is undeniably true. But I -don't know how it ever got out, for I only told my most intimate friends -about it." - -"That was cheaper than having it printed in the 'Daily News' and -certainly quite as effective." - -Mrs. Hadwell had lost her usual calm and diplomacy. - -"Really," she continued with a sudden burst of candour, "really how I do -hate women! They're every bit as nasty as men, and nothing like so nice -into the bargain. I wish I need never see a woman again--except Lynn." - -This coming from the politic and tactful Mrs. Hadwell had the effect of -a thunderclap. Before her listeners had recovered the housemaid -announced Mrs. Waite and that lady entered. - -Since inheriting her legacy, Mrs. Hadwell's former housekeeper had hired -a small furnished house and was living there alone. General Shaftan's -house, her property, was advertised for sale; a proceeding which had -roused some interest in Montreal society. - -"How funny of her not to live there until it sells or rents! Can it be -that that sourfaced woman is afraid of ghosts?" some had asked. - -She stood now in the doorway, looking from one to the other with her -peculiarly cold and expressionless manner. "Excuse me," she said -without preliminary, "but as I was walking through the hall just now I -heard what you were saying; I could not help hearing. Is it true that -Miss Thayer is in trouble?" - -"Are you interested in Miss Thayer?" inquired Mrs. Langham-Greene with -courtly insolence. - -"Yes." - -The two women faced one another in silence; the one beautiful, -patrician, elegant; the other, plain, sad-faced, and, apparently, old. -A whole world lay between them; nor was the chasm bridged by the fact -that both had loved the same man. Mrs. Hadwell, with her usual quick -intuition, could feel the air charged with import and longed to know -what lay beneath these different exteriors. Instead she turned to Mrs. -Langham-Greene with a question. - -"May I ask what your object was in laying these slanders about Miss -Thayer before me?" she said. - -"I wished," said the other slowly, "to see what could be done to help -the wretched girl. Of course she cannot stay here; and I understand -that there is a great dearth of teachers in the North-West; they are not -particular there as to character and"-- - -"You cat!" screamed little Mrs. Hadwell, losing all control of herself. -"How dare you come to my house and compel me to be rude to your very -face? How dare you speak so of my best friend? Who wants to hear your -opinion of her? why, it's an impertinence on your part to have an -opinion about a girl like Lynn. Let me tell you that Miss Thayer need -not go to the North-West for a refuge; she will always find a welcome in -my home whenever she needs one"-- - -"Not in mine!" - -Mrs. Hadwell started and looked at her husband with amazement. - -"You wish me to drop Lynn? My dear Henry, if you are thinking of -setting up in the ostracizing business I can supply you with a long list -of far more deserving cases." - -"I don't say that the girl is actually bad, but she has been proved to -be utterly devoid of sense or decency. She shall never set foot in my -house again." - -"In that case," Mrs. Hadwell's voice was calm--"I leave your house -to-night and take my children with me." - -"What?" - -"They are all under seven and until that age the mother has full -control. I shall take them to my grandmother in Lachine; there, at -least, I can receive my friends--my one friend, I should say! I haven't -another." - -Mr. Hadwell stamped out of the room in a fury. Mrs. Tollman and Mrs. -Greene followed him quietly, the former almost in tears, the latter -composed and cheerful. When the door closed on them Mrs. Hadwell sat -down and burst into tears. - -"Oh, Lynn, Lynn, how could you?" she sobbed. - -"Mrs. Hadwell, can you give me this Mr. Ricossia's address?" - -Mrs. Waite's cold, thin voice sounded unpleasantly at Estelle's elbow. - -"Yes, I believe it's the Chatham, either 10 or 12 St. Eustache St.," -answered the younger woman, staring through wet eyes in sheer amazement. -"Are you there, still, Mrs. Waite? I thought you had gone." - -"Don't--don't mind so much," said the "Gorgon-faced automaton" with -difficulty. "Perhaps something can be done." - -"Oh, nothing, nothing, I am afraid, except to stand by her." - -"You believe this story?" - -"No!" lied Mrs. Hadwell, firmly. - -"Neither do I. I am sure there is some explanation if one could only -find out what it is. And I have plenty of money, now; money can do a -great deal sometimes in cases of this kind, and there is nothing I would -sooner spend it on"---- - -"You--you? But, Mrs. Waite--if you don't mind my asking--why should -you--what is Lynn to you?" - -Mrs. Waite moistened her dry lips and spoke, faintly. - -"I had a child once. He died.... She was his teacher and--and she was -good to him. But don't tell her; she might try to talk to me about him -and--and I couldn't stand that"---- - -Mrs. Waite stopped; her plain face contorted ludicrously. The next -moment the cold Mrs. Hadwell and the woman beside whose frigid nature -her own showed in the light of a volcano were weeping bitterly in one -another's arms. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *THE SHADOWS FALL* - - - "All the dreaming is broken through, - Both what is done and undone I rue, - Nothing is tender, nothing true, - In heaven or earth save God and you." - --_Arthur Sullivan_. - - "But still the faces gaped and cried, - 'Give us the dream for which we died!'" - --Charles G. D. Roberts. - - -Mrs. Hadwell, having hypnotized Mr. Hadwell into apologizing profusely -for his conduct, promised to forgive him if he would go away for a week. - -"You have been talking for years of paying a visit to your sister in -Toronto," she said. "Suppose you go now, Henry. She will be delighted -to see you, and I--after a week of absence I shall be so glad to see -you, again, that I shall not even think of this. Otherwise"---- - -He went. When Estelle had seen him safely in the train she drew a long -breath of relief and telephoned to Miss Thayer. Until then she had not -dared to risk an encounter between her friend and her husband, knowing -that the former was a keen observer and the latter, a poor actor. - -"Come to me, to-morrow, as soon as school is out, dear," she said. "I -shall be in all afternoon. Promise!" - -"Oh, yes, I shall come, Del," assented the other, quietly. Mrs. -Hadwell, listening sorrowfully, thought she could detect a note of -unaccustomed grief in Lynn's voice. She endeavoured to forget it, -however, and, giving orders to admit no visitors that evening, sat in -front of the library fire, cudgelling her brains for some method of -rehabilitating her friend in public favour. Although a woman of great -resource and audacity none occurred to her; the case was too hopeless. - -"Let me see," she said, judicially, "what are the facts--the known -facts? First: Lynn, who is a great favourite with men but who shows -partiality to none, develops an enthusiastic fancy for an unknown genius -who arrives in Montreal two years ago. She works night and day to induce -her friends to take him up; she takes long walks and drives in his -society; and is frequently seen holding absorbed conversations with him -in out-of-the-way places. She puffs his writings untiringly; she -persists in ignoring his open faults; she makes excuses for his bad -habits. True, he is only a child in years. Then he turns out to be -utterly depraved; everyone drops him; she grows white and thin, refuses -to discuss him even with me and is seen talking with him after he has -been practically ostracised by all reputable people. This is a year -ago. She, who has hitherto loved society and revelled in every sort of -outdoor exercise, suddenly takes to refusing all invitations and losing -interest in all sports. To-day half a dozen unimpeachable -witnesses--and dear knows how many others--are ready to swear that they -have seen her leave his extremely dubious place of residence, late at -night. Oh, Lynn, Lynn, my dear stupid child, how could you? What _can_ -I do for you? If they were even people who could be bought--who could -be bribed to swear that they had lied!--oh, I give it up! I may as well -telephone to Mrs. Waite and see if she has any ideas." - -"Is that you, Mrs. Waite? Yes, it is I, Mrs. Hadwell. No, I have not -seen Miss Thayer yet but she is coming up to-morrow afternoon. I don't -know; I am most unhappy about it. Yes, to-morrow afternoon. Oh, why?" - -"Because," answered Mrs. Waite, quietly, "I think I have discovered -something. Do not, on any account, let Miss Thayer know, or you may -spoil everything. No, I can tell you nothing. I have your permission -to bring him? then I shall say good-night." - -"Most tantalising," muttered Estelle as she hung up the receiver. -"Still, as everything is as bad already as it can well be, nothing can -make it much worse. How truly comforting! Who is the person she wants -to bring, I wonder! and how can he help poor Lynn? A plea of insanity -is the only solution that occurs to me. But I'll stand by her--and, in -the meantime, I'll drink a pint of porter and see if that will make me -sleep." - -It did; and at four o'clock the next day Mrs. Hadwell greeted her friend -with an intensity of feeling that was almost solemn. - -"You poor child!" she said, as she kissed her. - -Lynn returned the kiss, listlessly, and sat down. She looked rather -tired. - -"So you have not yet deserted me, Del?" she said, quietly, as she -loosened her wraps. - -"Deserted you! Oh, Lynn, Lynn, I wouldn't desert you if you had -committed murder and sacrilege. But, my child, how could you be so -foolish? Why weren't you content with doing a wrong thing without going -further and doing it in such a way that it had to come out? I won't -reproach you for the thing, itself; I am too sick, too sorry; but why, -oh why, had you"---- - -"Wait!" - -Lynn put her hand to her forehead as though bewildered. - -"Just a minute, Del. I don't quite understand. What is it that you -think?" - -"Don't fence with me, dear, any longer. That green-eyed harpy of a -Langham-Greene has got hold of the whole affair. You have been seen -leaving the Chatham late at night; you have been seen dismissing a -sleigh on Pine Avenue and walking home." - -"Yes." - -"You know! But, Lynn, how can you take it so coolly? Don't you realise -what a terrible thing it is?" - -"In what way?" - -"Why, my dear, dear girl, your reputation is gone if we can't refute -these statements; you must know that." - -"Yes, I know." - -"You--know!" - -"Yes. The fact is, Del, that I have had so many real troubles lately -that the loss of that intangible thing, reputation, affects me little. -I can get along without it." - -"Lynn, you don't know what you are saying. A woman's reputation is like -her clothing; it's a great bother, it's ruinously expensive and it's -sometimes distinctly uncomfortable. The sad fact remains, however, that -she must either have it or emigrate to the Sandwich Islands." - -"My reputation, as you call it, Del, is gone because two or three people -say that they have seen me doing an unusual thing. It is true; I did it. -Yet, if I had immersed myself in a nunnery and never stirred outside -unless accompanied by an army of chaperons and escorts, my reputation -might be gone, just as effectually. The first man who took a dislike to -me could leave me without a shred of character provided he went to a -little trouble and didn't mind a few lies--what man does? What is more, -I might never have heard of the matter till years after; it merely -happens that I am aware of this. There may be fifty scandals about me -in other circles for anything I know to the contrary. No, Del; I have -several troubles, but my lost reputation is not one of them." - -"My dear Lynn, are you absolutely indifferent to the opinions of others? -You must be mad." - -"Possibly. I don't say that I am not sorry to think that many nice -women must have a wrong idea of me: but as for men--pah! What does it -matter what _they_ think? It is not so very long ago since a certain -engagement was broken off in this very city; the 'gentleman' took his -former fiancee's letters to the club and read them there aloud amid -shouts of laughter. There are men for you! the men that you and I know! -Who would want the good-will of a pack of hounds like that? No; let -them have my reputation to tear to pieces if it amuses them; I have -other things to think of." - -"But Lynn, what are you going to do?" - -"Stay here and face the music." - -"_Stay here?_" - -"Certainly. What do you take me for?" - -"A madwoman. You mean to stay in a place where everyone knows--where -the man is still living--where"-- - -"Why not? I've done nothing to be ashamed of, even granting that I have -acted foolishly. I'm not going to skulk off!" - -"Nothing to be ashamed of! Lynn! Why do you persist in maintaining this -attitude? You compel me to speak plainly. You have done what is -unforgivable--you have done"-- - -"Wait a minute, Del! You mean?"-- - -"I mean--oh, Lynn, Lynn, don't you see that if you had only kept this -dreadful thing secret; if you only hadn't allowed people to know, -positively, that you had done the one thing that is never pardoned in a -woman--if you had only"-- - -"Ah!" - -Lynn rose, slowly. - -"I didn't know, Del--I knew what men were like--I didn't know--what you -have taught me! Good-bye." - -"Lynn. Wait! Where are you going?" - -"Home--to tell my uncle and aunt that I have been seen leaving the -Chatham at night. If they won't have me in their house--I'll go, -elsewhere. I have proved the worth of the two people, man and woman, -who professed to love me best on earth; now I want to rid myself of all -the rest. Good-bye." - -"Good heavens! You don't mean to say that you are trying to deny?"-- - -"I am denying and trying to deny nothing. I refuse to discuss the -subject. I suppose I must make up my mind to expect insults from -strangers, but I am not compelled to receive them from my friends--or -from those who were once my friends. I have no friends, now; I never had -father or mother or--or--and now I have neither friend nor lover. -Knowing what I now know of love and friendship--I am glad!" - -"Oh, Lynn, Lynn! This to me! when I would move heaven and earth to help -you!" cried Mrs. Hadwell, miserably. "How can you doubt my friendship? -I tell you that if, to-morrow, everyone threw you over my house would -still be open to you." - -"Your house! Do you think I would ever enter it again? Fool! We've -known each other from childhood up, and yet, to-day, you think you can -insult me and be forgiven. The sight of you makes me feel sick. Don't -stop me, don't speak to me"-- - -Mrs. Hadwell had risen to intercept her. Lynn hastened past her to the -door. There stood Gerald Amherst, white as death. - -For a long moment the three stood in silence. Lynn was the first to -break it and her voice was mocking. - -"You interrupted an affecting farewell, Mr. Amherst. I was saying -good-bye to my bosom friend, just as, not long ago, I said good-bye to -my devoted lover. Having done what politeness demands I shall now take -my departure." - -"No!" exclaimed Estelle, rushing forward. "Don't let her, Mr. Amherst. -She doesn't know what she's saying or doing and I _must_ keep her till -she understands. Lynn, wait! Let me explain." - -Lynn, with a gesture that was almost majestic, motioned Amherst from the -doorway where he still stood. He hesitated, trembling and uncertain; -and while he hesitated, steps sounded in the hall behind and Mrs. Waite -spoke. - -"Mr. Amherst, don't go away! nor you, either, Miss Thayer. I wish very -much to see you, both. I am sorry to be late, but"-- - -Amherst moved aside, mechanically, and Amy Waite entered, followed by -Ricossia. The two women stood where they were, unable to speak or move; -and Ricossia spoke, pleasantly. - -"Mrs. Waite has brought me here in order that I may explain"-- - -"_Liol!_"-- - -"Don't be absurd, Lynn! The fact is, good people," said the boy -carelessly, "that Lynn's mother was also mine; and Lynn, as a child, -contracted some crazy affection for me which seems to have got her into -general trouble. In the first place, she swore an insane oath to my -mother--you see the latter was dying and sent for her secretly--it's -hard to explain! but Mr. and Mrs. Thayer, knowing what a bad lot my -father was and judging rightly that I would be likely to take after -him--which I certainly did!--made it part of the bargain when they -adopted Lynn that she was to have nothing to do with the lot of us. -Lynn, however, had always remembered me, it seems, and so, when my -mother sent for her and explained that my father would see me starve to -death before he would spend a penny on me, Lynn undertook to provide for -my upbringing out of her earnings as a teacher. That was all very well; -but what does my mother do but get excited and make her swear that she -will never tell anyone that I am her brother, in case it may get to the -ears of the Thayers and make them throw her over. Lynn tries to get out -of it but finally swears and--and then--I'm not over strong, and I fancy -I'll sit down if you'll allow me. For God's sake, Lynn, don't look like -that! what on earth's the matter with you?" - -No one spoke and Ricossia leaned back wearily in the chair which he had -taken, his beautiful face haggard, his great eyes hollow and emptied of -expression. Lynn stood like a statue; since her first exclamation she -had remained silent but her face had changed. Something resembling hope -had crept into her eyes and mingled with the fierce love that illumined -them whenever they rested on her brother. As he lay back, breathing -faintly, she moved toward him and stood, looking down. - -"God is not all cruel," she said, as though to herself. "He has taken -all the rest--but He has given me this, at least, before you die--the -knowledge that you do care a little, Liol. Else, why should you have -done this?" - -Her tired face softened with a beautiful peace. - -"I don't know what on earth you are muttering to yourself about," said -the consumptive, shrugging his shoulders, whimsically, "but, if you -imagine, my dear girl, that I dragged myself up this infernal hill to -save you from the consequences of your own folly, you're mistaken. Why -shouldn't you break the fool oath? However, you'll be glad to hear that -you'll be able to keep your own earnings in the future. I've made a -haul that"---- - -"Mr. Ricossia," broke in the metallic voice of Mrs. Waite, "refused at -first to explain the object of Miss Thayer's visits. I therefore"-- - -"She therefore paid me well to do it--as I surmised she would," said -Ricossia, composedly. "What _are_ you looking like that for, Lynn? -Thank goodness, I'm dependent on your vagaries no longer; the doctor -tells me that, if I reach California alive, I may live a month or so -longer--he doesn't promise that I _will_ reach it,--but if I do!"-- He -sprang to his feet, irradiated and glorious--"_if I do_--by God, I'll -see Life before I die!" - -"You infernal young scoundrel!" broke in Amherst, unable to contain -himself longer, "you d----d ungrateful young blackguard! is this your -return to your sister for all she has done and suffered? Have you no -shame?" - -"Not a particle!" answered the other, laughing. "No shame and no love -in my composition! I never cared for any living thing but myself--not -even my mother. As for Lynn, I'm going to do her one kindness before I -die; and that is to tell her the truth. Lynn, you have never been -anything to me at any time but a necessary evil; I had to have money to -live, and from you, only, was I able to obtain it; therefore I tried to -feign a little affection for you which I never felt in the most remote -degree. I've allowed you to sacrifice time, money, and finally -reputation to me; and now that I'm going off alone to die--riotously and -wickedly and happily as I've always wanted to--I leave you this piece of -advice. Marry Amherst and forget all about me. I'll forget you as soon -as I'm out of your sight, which will be very soon, I promise you." - -Something approaching horror showed in the faces of his hearers; they -looked uncertainly at one another, doubtful whether to still the cruel -voice or no. Lynn, only, remained motionless; her face was grey and her -hands twitched a little. Gerald, who stood nearest, alone heard her -whisper: - -"Not this! Oh, God, not this!" - -"Lynn," he burst forth, "what can I say? Come with me, forgive me; I'll -spend my life in making amends. Don't mind him; he doesn't know what -he's saying; he's sick, crazy, mad! they all get like that when they -take drugs. Lynn!" - -She turned very slowly and looked at him. - -"You--want me?" she asked, dully. "Think!--the best of me is dead; -you've helped to kill it, all of you. I'm an old woman now; I'll never -be young, again, never be young or light-hearted or gay again, while -this life lasts. Are you sure you want me?" - -"Come!" - -Lynn looked at him ... then slowly, very slowly, put her hand in his. - -"The little boy I loved is dead, too," she said, rather lifelessly. -"That--that is a ghoul that has taken his beautiful form. Oh, my baby, -my baby! my little dark-eyed angel that I loved so! to think that you -should die and I not know it. Or perhaps you never lived, really.... -Let us go, Gerald! let us go away from it, all! I'm tired. You--you'll -not fail me?" - -"Before God, I will not." - -They moved toward the door. On its threshold Lynn paused and turned. -The red evening sunlight was streaming through the window and its -scarlet flame lay strangely on the deathless beauty of her brother's -face. She surveyed it in silence ... the face that had held all heaven -and all hell for her since the moment when she, a lonely, loveless -child, had seen and worshipped it first. - -"Good-bye, Liol!" she said at last, very softly. "You've been my idol -all my life, and I'm never going to see you again in time or in -eternity, and I thank God for it.... Good-bye." - -Gerald drew her gently away and the door closed behind them. - - - - THE END. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *The Potter and the Clay* - - *A Romance of To-day* - - -By MAUD HOWARD PETERSON. Bound in blue cloth, decorative cover, rough -edges, gilt top. Four drawings by Charlotte Harding. Size, 5 x 7-3/4. -Price $1.50 - -One of the strongest and most forceful of recent novels, now attracting -marked attention, and already one of the most successful books of the -present year. The characters are unique, the plot is puzzling, and the -action is remarkably vivid. Readers and critics alike pronounce it a -romance of rare strength and beauty. The scenes are laid in America, -Scotland, and India; and one of the most thrilling and pathetic chapters -in recent fiction is found in Trevelyan's heroic self-sacrifice during -the heart-rending epidemic of cholera in the latter country. The story -throughout is one of great strength. - -Margaret E. Sangster: "From the opening chapter, which tugs at the -heart, to the close, when we read through tears, the charm of the book -never flags. It is not for one season, but of abiding human interest." - -Minot J. Savage: "I predict for the book a very large sale, and for the -authoress brilliant work in the future." - -Boston Journal: "One of the most remarkable books of the year. -Brilliant, but better than that, tender." - - - - * * * * * - - - - *THE LITTLE GREEN DOOR* - - _By MARY E. STONE BASSETT_ - - Eight illustrations by _Louise Clarke_ and twenty-five decorative - half-title pages by _Ethel Pearce Clements_ - - 12mo Cloth $1.50 - -A charming romance of the time of Louis XIII. The door which gives the -title to the book leads to a beautiful retired garden belonging to the -King. In this garden is developed one of the sweetest and tenderest -romances ever told. The tone of the book is singularly pure and -elevated, although its power is intense. - -"This is a tale of limpid purity and sweetness, which, although its -action is developed amid the intrigues and deceptions of a corrupt -French court, remains fine and delicate to the end. There is power as -well as poetry in the little romance, so delicate in -conception."--_Chicago Daily News_. - -"Tender, sweet, passionate, pure; a lily from the garden of -loves."--_Baltimore Herald_. - -"The story is exquisitely pure and tender, possessing a finished -daintiness that will charm all clean-minded persons."--_Louisville -Courier-Journal_. - -"This book carries with it all the exhilaration of a beautiful nature, -of flowers, birds, and living things, and the beauty of a winsome -personality of a pure, beautiful girl. It is a romance entirely of the -fancy, but a refreshing one."--_Chicago Tribune_. - -"The little romance is charmingly wrought, and will be sure to find its -way to the heart of the reader."--_Boston Transcript_. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *MISS BILLY* - - *A NEIGHBORHOOD STORY* - - By EDITH K. STOKELY and MARIAN K. HURD - - Illustrated by CHARLES COPELAND - - 12mo Cloth 1.50 - -"MISS BILLY" deserves more than passing notice in these days of civic -improvement. It is a story of what an irrepressible young woman -accomplished in the neighborhood into which her family felt obliged to -move for financial reasons. The street was almost as unpromising as the -celebrated "Cabbage Patch," and its characters equally interesting and -original. The happy common-sense of Miss Billy and the quaint sayings -and doings of her new neighbors form a capital story. - -"The story abounds in humor with a hint of tears and an overflowing -kindness of heart bubbling over in infectious gayety."--_Boston Herald_. - -"The book is sure to have an immense number of readers."--_St. Louis -Star_. - -"The plan of the tale is original, the conversation very bright and -witty, the style smooth, and the characters true to life."--_Boston -Transcript_. - -"It is a human interest story which appeals to the heart, and at one -juncture to the eyes of the sympathetic readers."--_Pittsburg Chronicle -Telegraph_. - -"'Miss Billy' is a charmingly bright, clever little story, full of -spontaneous humor and frankly inspirational."--_Chicago Daily News_. - -"This is an ideal story."--_N. Y. Times_. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *The Lions of the Lord* - - By HARRY LEON WILSON - -Author of "The Spenders." Six illustrations by Rose Cecil O'Neill, -bound in dark green cloth, illustrated cover, 12mo. $1.50, postpaid. - -In his romance of the old West, "The Lions of the Lord," Mr. Wilson, -whose "The Spenders" is one of the successes of the present year, shows -an advance in strength and grasp both in art and life. It is a -thrilling tale of the Mormon settlement of Salt Lake City, with all its -grotesque comedy, grim tragedy, and import to American civilization. -The author's feeling for the Western scenery affords him an opportunity -for many graphic pen pictures, and he is equally strong in character and -in description. For the first time in a novel is the tragi-comedy of -the Mormon development adequately set forth. Nothing fresher or more -vital has been produced by a native novelist. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *The Spenders* - - By HARRY LEON WILSON - - 70th Thousand - -Author of "The Lions of the Lord." Red silk cloth, rough edges, picture -cover. Six illustrations by Rose Cecil O'Neill. 12mo. $1.50, -postpaid. - -Mark Twain writes to the author: "It cost me my day yesterday. You owe -me $400. But never mind, I forgive you for the book's sake." - -Louisville Courier-Journal says: "If there is such a thing as the -American novel of a new method, this is one. 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