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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6daa8f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55454 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55454) diff --git a/old/55454-8.txt b/old/55454-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3941fea..0000000 --- a/old/55454-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8453 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Lambert, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny Lambert - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: August 29, 2017 [EBook #55454] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -FANNY LAMBERT - -A Novel - -BY - -HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE - -AUTHOR OF "THE CRIMSON AZALEAS" -"THE BLUE LAGOON" ETC., ETC. - -[Illustration: Decoration] - -R. F. FENNO & COMPANY -18 East 17th Street, New York - -T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON - - - - -CONTENTS - - -PART I - -CHAP. PAGE - I. MR LEAVESLEY 1 - - II. A LOST TYPE 4 - - III. A COUNCIL OF THREE 12 - - IV. HANCOCK & HANCOCK 26 - - V. OMENS 31 - - VI. LAMBERT _v._ BEVAN 36 - - VII. THE BEVAN TEMPER 41 - -VIII. AT "THE LAURELS" 48 - - IX. "WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" 62 - - X. ASPARAGUS AND CATS 76 - - -PART II - - I. A REVELATION 86 - - II. THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE 113 - - III. TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT 125 - - IV. THE DAISY CHAIN 131 - - -PART III - - I. AN ASSIGNATION 141 - - II. THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER 150 - - III. AN OLD MAN'S OUTING 159 - - IV. A MEETING 169 - - V. THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER 171 - - VI. A CONFESSION 176 - - VII. IN GORDON SQUARE 185 - - -PART IV - - I. "THE ROOST" 194 - - II. MISS MORGAN 207 - - III. A CURE FOR BLINDNESS 223 - - IV. TIC-DOULOUREUX 235 - - V. THE AMBASSADOR 245 - - VI. A SURPRISE VISIT 251 - - VII. THE UNEXPLAINED 263 - -VIII. RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR 269 - - -PART V - - I. GOUT 274 - - II. THE RESULT 283 - - III. THE RESULT (_continued_) 299 - - IV. "JOURNEY'S END" 301 - - - - -FANNY LAMBERT - - - - -_PART I_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MR LEAVESLEY - - -"You may take away the things, Belinda," said Mr Leavesley, lighting his -pipe and taking his seat at the easel. "Nobody called this morning, I -suppose?" - -"Only the Capting, sir," replied Belinda, piling the tray. "He called at -seven to borry your umbrella." - -"Did you give it him?" - -"No, sir, Mr Verneede's got it; you lent it to him the night before -last, and he hasn't brought it back." - -"Ah, so I did," said Mr Leavesley, squeezing Naples yellow from an -utterly exhausted looking tube. "So I did, so I did; that's the -fifteenth umbrella or so that Verneede has annexed of mine: what does he -_do_ with them, do you think, Belinda?" - -"I'm sure _I_ don't know, sir," replied the maid-of-all-work, looking -round the studio as if in search of inspiration, "unless he spouts -them." - -"That will do, Belinda," said the owner of the lost umbrellas, turning -to his work, and the servant-maid departed. - -It was a large, pleasant studio, furnished with very little affectation, -and its owner was a slight, pleasant-faced youth, happy-go-lucky -looking, with a glitter in his grey eyes suggesting a touch of genius or -insanity in their owner. - -He was an orphan blessed with a small competency. His income, to use his -own formula, consisted of a hundred a year and an uncle. During the -first four months or so of the year he spent the hundred pounds, during -the rest of the year he squandered his uncle; that is to say he would -have squandered him only for the fact that Mr James Hancock, of the firm -of Hancock & Hancock, solicitors, was a person most difficult to -"negotiate." - -Art, however, was looking up. He had sold several pictures lately. The -morning mists on the road to success were clearing away, leaving to the -view in a prospect distant tremulous and golden the mysterious city of -attainment. - -He would have whistled as he worked only that he was smoking. - -Through the open windows came the pulse-like sound of the omnibuses in -the King's Road, the sleigh bells of the hansoms, the rattle of the -coster's barrow, and voices. - -As he painted, the sounds outside brought before him the vision of the -King's Road, Chelsea, where flaming June was also at work with her -golden brush and palette of violet colours. - -He saw in imagination the scarlet pyramids of strawberries in the shops. -The blazing barrow of flowers all a-growing and a-blowing, the late-June -morning crowd, and through the crowd wending its way the figure of a -girl. - -He was in love. - -In the breast-pocket of his coat (on the heart side) lay a letter he had -received by the early morning post. The handwriting was large and -generous and careless, for no man living could tell the "m's" from the -"w's," or the "t's" from the "l's." It ran somewhat to this effect: - - - "THE LAURELS, HIGHGATE. - - "Father is worrying dreadfully, and I want your advice. I think I - will be in the King's Road to-morrow, and will call on you. Excuse - this scrawl.--In wild haste, - - "FANNY LAMBERT. - - "How's the picture?" - - -Occasionally as he painted he touched his coat where the letter lay, as -if to make sure of its presence. - -Suddenly he ceased working. There was a step on the stairs, a knock at -the door. Could it be?---- - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A LOST TYPE - - -"My young friend Leavesley," cried the apparition that had suddenly -framed itself in the doorway; "busy as usual--and how is Art?" - -"I don't know. Come in and shut the door; take a seat, take a -cigarette--bother this drapery--well, what have you been doing with -yourself?" - -Mr Verneede took neither a seat nor a cigarette. He took his place -behind the painter, and gazed at the work in progress with a critical -air. - -He was a fantastic-looking old gentleman, dressed in a tightly-buttoned -frock coat. A figure suggestive of Count d'Orsay gone to the dogs. -Mildewed, washed, and mangled by Fate, and very much faded in the -process. - -He said nothing for a moment, and then he said, after a long and -critical survey of the little _genre_ picture on which our artist was -engaged: - -"Your work improves, decidedly your work improves, Leavesley--improves, -very much so, very much so, very much so." - -The artist said nothing, and the irresponsible critic, placing his hat -on the floor and tightly clasping the umbrella he carried under his left -arm, made a funnel of his hands and gazed through it at the picture. - -"Decidedly, decidedly; but might I make a suggestion?" - -"Yes, yes." - -"Well, now, frankly, the attitude of that man with the axe----" - -"Which man with the axe?" - -"He in the right-hand corner by the----" - -"That's not a man with an axe, that's a lady with a _fan_, you old owl." - -"Heavens!" cried Mr Verneede. "How could I have been so deceived, it was -the light. Of course, of course, of course--a lady with a fan, it's -quite obvious now. A lady with a fan--do you find these very small -pictures pay, Leavesley?" - -"Yes--no--I don't know. Sit down, like a good fellow; that's right--look -here." - -"I attend." - -"I'm expecting a young lady to call here to-day." - -"A young lady?" - -"Yes, and I wish you'd wait and see her." - -"I shall be charmed." - -"You will when you see her--but it's not that. See here, Verneede, I -want to explain her to you." - -"I listen." - -"She's quite unlike any one else." - -"Ha!" - -"I mean in this way, she's so jolly and innocent and altogether good, -that upon my word I wish she wasn't coming here alone." - -"You fear to trust yourself----" - -"Oh, rubbish! only, it doesn't seem the thing." - -"Decidedly not, decidedly not." - -"Oh, _rubbish_! she's as safe here as if she were with her -grandfather--what I mean to say is this, she's so innocent of the world -that she does things quite innocently that--that conventional people -don't do, don't you know. She has no mother." - -"Poor young thing!" - -"And her father, who is one of the jolliest men in the world, lets her -do anything she likes. I wish I had a female of some sort to receive her -here, but I haven't," said Mr Leavesley, looking round the studio as if -in search of the article in question. - -"I know of an eminently respectable female," said Mr Verneede -meditatively, "who would fall in with your requirements; unfortunately, -she is not available at a short notice; she lives in Hoxton, as a matter -of fact." - -"That's no use, might as well live in the moon. No matter, _you'll_ do, -an excellent substitute like What's-his-name's marmalade." - -"May I ask," said Mr Verneede, rather stiffly, as if slightly ruffled -by this last remark, "is this young lady, from a worldly point of view, -an _éligible partie_?" - -"Don't know, she's a most lovable girl. I met them in Paris, she and her -father, and travelled back with them. They have a big house up at -Highgate, and an estate somewhere in the country, but, somehow, I fancy -their affairs are involved. Mr Lambert always seems to be going to law -with people. No matter, I want to get some cakes--cakes and tea are the -right sort of things to offer a person--a girl--wine is impossible. -What's the time? After two! Wait here for me, I won't be long." - -He took his hat, and left the studio to Mr Verneede. - -Verneede was one of those _bizarre_ figures, with whose construction -Nature seems to have had very little to do. What he had been was a -mystery, where he lived was to most people a mystery, and what he lived -on was a mystery to every one. Some tiny income he must have had, but no -man knew from whence it came. Useless and picturesque as an old -fashion-plate, he wandered through life with an umbrella under his arm, -ready to stand at any street corner in the chill east wind or the -broiling sun and listen to any tale told by any man, and give useless -advice or instruction on any subject. - -His criticisms were the despair and delight of artists, according to -their liability to be soothed or maddened by the absolutely inane. - -For the rest, he was quite harmless, his chiefest vice, after a taste -for beer, a passion for borrowing umbrellas and never returning them. - -Mr Verneede seated, immersed in his own weird thoughts and -contemplations, came suddenly to consciousness again with a start. - -A dark-haired girl of that lost type which recalls La Cruche Cassée and -the Love-in-April conceptions of Fragonard, exquisitely pretty and -exquisitely dressed, was in the studio. He had not heard her knock, or -perceived her enter. Had she descended through the ceiling or risen from -the floor? was it a real girl, or was it June materialised in a gown of -corn-flower blue, and with wild field poppies in her breast? - -"God bless my soul!" said Mr Verneede. - -"You were asleep, I think," said the girl. "I'm so sorry to have -disturbed you, but I want to see Mr Leavesley; this _is_ his studio, I -think." - -"Oh, certainly, yes, this is his studio, I believe. Pray take a seat. -Ah, yes--dear me, what a strange coincidence----" - -"And these are his pictures?" said the girl, looking round her in an -interested way. She had placed a tiny parcel and an impossible parasol -on the table, and was drawing off a suede glove leisurely, as she -glanced around her. - -"These are his pictures," answered the old gentleman, "works of -art--very much so, the highest art inspired by the truest genius." - -Miss Lambert--for the June-like apparition was Miss Lambert--followed -with her little face the sweep of the old gentleman's arm as he pointed -out the highest art inspired by the truest genius. Rough studies, -canvases turned face to the wall, and one or two small finished -pictures. - -Then, realising that he had found an innocent victim, he began to -expatiate on art and on the pictures around them, and she to listen, -innocence attending to ignorance. - -"He is very clever, isn't he?" put in Miss Lambert, during a pause in -the exordium. - -"A genius, my dear young lady, a genius," said Mr Verneede, looking at -her over his shoulder as he replaced on a high bracket a little picture -he had reached down to show her. - -"One of the few living artists who can paint light. I may say that he -paints light with a delicacy and an elegance all his own. _Fiat -Lux_"--the shelf came down with a crash and a cloud of dust--"as the -poet says--pray don't move, I will restore the _débris_--as the poet -says. Now the gem of my young friend Leavesley's collection, in my mind, -is the John the Baptist." - -He went to a huge canvas which stood with its face to the wall, seized -it with arms outstretched, and turned it towards the girl. - -It was a picture of a semi-nude female after Reubens that the blundering -old gentleman had seized upon. - -"Observe the sunlight on the beard," came the voice of the showman from -behind the canvas, "the devotion in the eyes, the--ooch!!" - -A pillow caught from the couch by Frank Leavesley who had just entered, -and dexterously thrown, had flattened canvas and showman beneath a cloud -of dust. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A COUNCIL OF THREE - - -"Now, let's all be happy," said Miss Lambert; they had finished tea and -Belinda was removing the things, "for I must be going in a minute, and I -have such a lot of things to say--oh dear me, that reminds me," her -under-lip fell slightly. - -"What?" asked Leavesley. - -"That I'm perfectly miserable." - -"Oh, don't say that----" - -"My dear young lady----" - -"I mean I _ought_ to be perfectly miserable," said Miss Lambert with a -charming smile, "but somehow I'm not. Do you know, I never am what I -ought to be. When I ought to be happy I'm miserable, and when I ought to -be miserable I'm happy. Father says I was addled at birth, and that I -ought to have been put out of doors on a red-hot shovel as they used to -do long ago in Ireland with the omadlunns, or was it the changelings--no -matter. I wanted to talk to you about father--no, please don't go," to -Verneede, who had made a little movement as if to say "Am I _de trop_?" -"You are both so clever I'm sure you will be able to give me good -advice. He's worrying so." - -"Ah!" said Mr Verneede, with the air of a physician at a consultation. -He was in his element, he saw a prospect of unburthening himself of some -of his superfluous advice. - -"It's this Action," resumed Fanny, as if she were speaking of a tumour -or carbuncle, "that makes him so bad; I'm getting quite frightened about -him." - -"Was that the action he spoke to me about?" asked Leavesley. - -"Which?" asked Fanny. - -"The one against a bookseller?" - -"Oh no, I think that's settled; it's the one against our cousin, Mr -Bevan." - -"Ah!" - -"It's about the right-of-way--I mean the right of fishing in a stream -down in Buckinghamshire. They've spent ever so much money over it, it's -worrying father to death, but he _won't_ give it up. I thought perhaps -if _you_ spoke to him you might have some influence with him." - -"I'd be delighted to do anything," said Leavesley. "What is this man -Bevan like?" - -"Frightfully rich, and a beast." - -"That's comprehensive anyhow," said Leavesley. - -"Most, most--most clear and comprehensive," concurred Mr Verneede. - -"I hate him!" said Fanny, her eyes flashing, "and I wish he and his old -fish stream were--boiled." - -"That would certainly solve the difficulty," said Leavesley, scratching -the side of his hand meditatively. - -"And his beastly old solicitor too," continued the girl, tenderly -lifting a lady-bird, that had somehow got into the studio and on to her -knee, on the point of her finger. "Isn't he beautiful?" - -"Most," assented Leavesley, gazing with an artist's delight at the white -tapering finger on which the painted and polished insect was balancing -preparatory to flight. - -"Who is his solicitor, by the way?" - -"Mr Hancock of Southampton Row." - -"Mr Who?" - -"Hancock." - -"Why, he's my uncle." - -"Oh!" cried Fanny, "I _am_ sorry." - -"That he's my uncle?" - -"No--that I said that----" - -"Oh, that doesn't matter. I've often wished him boiled. It's awfully -funny, though, that he should be this man Bevan's solicitor--very." - -"I have an idea," said Verneede, leaning forward in his chair and -pressing the points of his fingers together. - -"My dear young lady, may I make a suggestion?" - -"Yes," said Fanny. - -"Two suggestions, I should have said." - -"Fire away," cut in Leavesley. - -"Well, my dear young lady, if my advice were asked I would first of all -say 'dam the stream.'" - -"Verneede!" cried Leavesley. "What are you saying?" - -"Father's always damning it," replied Miss Lambert with a laugh, "but it -doesn't seem to do much good." - -"My other suggestion," said Verneede, taken aback at the supposed -beaver-like attributes of Mr Lambert, "is this, go in your own person to -the friend of my friend Leavesley. I mean the uncle of my friend. Go to -Mr Hancock, go to him frankly, fearlessly, tell him the tale you have -told us; tell it to him with your own lips, in your own manner, with -your own charm; say to him 'You are killing my father--cease.' Speak to -him in your own way, smile at him----" - -"_That's_ not a bad idea," said Miss Lambert, turning to Leavesley, who -was seated mouth open, aghast at this lunatic proposition. - -"That's a _splendid_ idea, and I'll _do_ it." - -"Say to him 'Cease!'" continued Verneede, speaking in an inspired voice. -"Say to him----" - -"Oh, shut up!" cried Leavesley, shaken out of politeness. "Do you know -what you're talking about? Hancock is Bevan's solicitor." - -"That's just why I'm going to him," said Miss Lambert. - -"But it's against all the rules of everything. I'm not sure that it -wouldn't be considered tampering with--um--Justice." - -"It's not a question of justice, it's a question of common-sense," said -Miss Lambert. - -"Exactly," said Verneede, "common-sense; if this Mr--er--the uncle of my -friend Leavesley, is endowed with common-sense and a sense of -justice--yes, justice and a feeling for beauty----" - -"Oh, do stop!" said Leavesley, the prosaic vision of James Hancock -rising before him. - -"What on earth do lawyers know of justice or beauty or----" - -"If they don't," replied Fanny, "it's quite time they were taught." - -"Quite," concurred Verneede. - -When certain chemicals are brought into juxtaposition certain results -result. So it is with brains. Mr Leavesley for a moment sat -contemplating the crazy plan propounded by Mr Verneede. Then he broke -into a laugh. His imagination pictured the interview between Miss -Lambert and his uncle. - -"Well, go ahead," he said. "Perhaps you're right; I don't know much -about the law, but, anyhow, it's not a hanging matter. When are you -going?" - -"Now," said Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. - -Leavesley looked at his watch. - -"You'll scarcely catch him at the office unless you take a cab." - -"I'll take a cab. Will you come with me?" - -"Yes, rather!" - -"Only as far as the door," said Miss Lambert. - -"It's like going to the dentist; I always take father with me to the -dentist's as far as the door, for fear I'd run away. Once I'm in I don't -care a bit; it's the going in is the dreadful part." - -"I know," said Leavesley, reaching for his hat. "It's like facing the -music, the overture is the worst part." - -"I don't think you'd call it music," said Miss Lambert, "if you heard me -at the dentist's when he's working that drill thing--ugh! Come." - -They left the studio. - -The prospect of having Miss Lambert all alone to himself in a cab made -the heart of Mr Leavesley palpitate, mixed emotions filled his soul. -Blue funk was the basis of these emotions. He was going to propose, so -he told himself, immediately, the instant they were in the cab and the -horse had started. That was all very well as a statement made to -himself: it did not conceal the fact that Miss Lambert was a terribly -difficult girl to propose to. One of those jolly girls who treat one as -a brother are generally the most difficult to deal with when one -approaches them as a lover. But Miss Lambert, besides the fact of her -jollity and her treatment of Mr Leavesley as a brother, had a -personality all her own. She seemed to him a combination of the -practical and the unpractical in about equal proportions, one could -never tell how she would take things. - -They walked down the King's Road looking for a cab, Miss Lambert and -Verneede engaged in vivacious conversation, Leavesley silent, engaged in -troubled attempts to think. - -I give a few links from the chain of his thoughts just as a specimen. - -"Fanny, I love you--no, I can't say that, it's too bald and brutal. Miss -Lambert, I have long wanted to--oh, rubbish! How would it do to take her -hand--I _daren't_--bother!--does she care a button about me? Perhaps it -would be better to put it off till the next time--I'm not going to funk -it--may I call you Fanny?--or Fanny--may I call you Fanny? or Miss -Lambert may I call you Fanny? How would it be to write? No, I'll _do_ -it." - -They stopped, Mr Verneede had hailed a cab, and Leavesley came out of -his reverie to find a four-wheeler drawing up at the pavement. - -"Hullo," he said to Verneede, "what did you call that thing for?" - -"To drive in," replied Fanny, whilst Verneede opened the door. "Get in, -I'm in a horrible fright." - -"But," said Leavesley, "a four-wheeler--why not a hansom?" - -"No, no," said Miss Lambert, getting into the vehicle, "I hate hansoms, -I was thrown out of one once. Besides, this is more _respectable_. Do -get in quick, and tell the man to drive fast; I want to get the agony -over." - -"Corner of Southampton Row," cried Leavesley to the driver. He got in, -Verneede shut the door and stood on the pavement, bowing and smiling in -an antiquated way as they drove off. - -It was a four-wheeler with pretensions in the form of maroon velveteen -cushions and rubber tyres, a would-be imitation brougham, but the old -growler blood came out in its voice, every window rattled. Driving in -it, one could hear oneself speak, but conversation with a companion to -be intelligible had to be conducted in a mild shout. - -"I don't in the least know what I'm going to say to him," cried Miss -Lambert, leaning forward towards her companion--he was seated opposite -to her on the front seat. "I'm so nervous, I can't think." - -"Don't go to him." - -"I must, now we've taken the cab." - -"Let's go somewhere else." - -"Where?" - -"Anywhere--Madame Tussaud's." - -"No, no, I'm _going_. Don't let's talk of it, let's talk of something -pleasant." She opened her purse, turned its meagre contents into her -lap, and examined some bills that were stuffed into a side compartment. - -"What's two-and-six, and three shillings, and eighteen pence?" - -"Eight shillings, I think," answered Leavesley after a moment's thought. - -"Then I've lost a shilling," pouted Miss Lambert, counting her money, -replacing it, and closing the purse with a snap. "No matter, let's think -of something pleasant. Isn't old Mr Verneede sweet?" - -"Fanny," said Leavesley, ignoring the saccharine possibilities of Mr -Verneede--"may I call you Fanny?" - -"Of course, every one does. I say, is this cabman taking us right?" - -"Yes, quite. What I was going to say," weakly and suddenly, "Fanny, -let's go somewhere some day, and have a really good time." - -"Where?" - -"Up the river--anywhere." - -"I'd love to," said Miss Lambert. "I haven't been up the river for ages; -let's have a picnic." - -"Yes, let's; what day could you come?" - -"Any day--at least some day. Some day next week--only father is going -away next week, and a picnic would be nothing without _him_." - -"Suppose you and I and Verneede went for a picnic next week?" - -"That would be fun," said the girl; "we can make tea--oh, don't let us -talk of picnics, I feel miserable. Will he _eat_ me, do you think?" - -"Who?" - -"Mr Hancock." - -"Not he--unless he has the gout, he's perfectly savage when he has the -gout--I say?" - -"What?" - -"You'd better not tell him you know me." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, because I've been fighting with him lately. I quarrel with him -once in three months or so. If he thought you and I were friends, it -might put his back up." - -"I'll be mum," said Miss Lambert. - -"I'll wait for you at the corner till you come out," said Leavesley, -"and tell me, Fanny." - -"What?" - -"You _will_ come for a picnic, won't you?" - -"Rather, if I'm alive. I feel like the young lady of Niger--wasn't -it?--who went for a ride on a tiger, just before she saddled it----" - -The cab rattled and rumbled them at last into Oxford Street. At the -corner of Southampton Row it stopped. They got out, and Leavesley paid -and dismissed the driver. - -"That's the house down there," said he, "No. --. I'll wait for you here; -_don't_ be long." - -"I won't be a minute, at least I'll be as short as I can. Now I'm -_going_." - -She tripped off, and Leavesley watched her flitting by the grim, -business-like houses. She turned for a second, glanced back, and then -No. -- engulfed her. - -Leavesley waited, trying to picture to himself the interview that was -in progress. Trying to fancy what Miss Lambert was saying to Mr James -Hancock, and what Mr James Hancock was saying to Miss Lambert. - -Surely no one in London could have suggested such a proceeding except -Verneede, a proceeding so hopelessly insane from a business point of -view. - -To call on your adversary's solicitor, and tell him to cease because he -was worrying your father to death! - -Besides, Lambert was the man who ought to cease, because it was Lambert -who was the plaintiff. - -Punching a man's head, and then telling him to cease! - -Mr Leavesley burst into a laugh that caused a passing old lady to hurry -on her way. - -He waited. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen; _what_ was happening? - -It was nearly closing time at the office. Twenty minutes passed. Could -James Hancock really have devoured Fanny in a fit of gout and -irritation? - -He saw Bridgewater, the old chief clerk, come out and make off down -Southampton Row with a bag in his hand. - -Three-quarters of an hour had gone, and Leavesley had taken his watch -out for the twentieth time, when from the doorway of No. -- Fanny -appeared, a glimmer of blue like a butterfly just broken from its -chrysalis. - -Leavesley made two steps towards her, then he paused. Immediately after -Fanny came James Hancock, umbrella in hand, and hat on the back of his -head. - -He was accompanying her. - -Fanny glanced in Leavesley's direction, and then she and her companion -walked away down Southampton Row, Hancock walking with his long stride; -Fanny trotting beside him, neither, apparently, speaking one to the -other. - -Leavesley followed full of amazement. - -He could tell from his uncle's manner of walking, and from the way he -wore his hat, that he was either irritated or perplexed. He walked -hurriedly, and, viewed from behind, he had the appearance of a physician -who was going to an urgent case. - -Much marvelling, the artist followed. He saw Hancock hail a passing -four-wheeler, and open the door. Fanny got in, her companion gave some -directions to the driver, got in after the girl, closed the door, and -the cab drove off. - -"Now, what on earth can this mean?" asked Mr Leavesley, taking off his -hat and drawing his hand across his brow. - -Disgust at being robbed of Fanny struggled in his mind with a feeling of -pure, unadulterated wonder. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HANCOCK & HANCOCK - - -Frank Leavesley's uncle, Mr James Hancock of Gordon Square and -Southampton Row, Solicitor, was, in the year of this story, still -unmarried. - -The firm of Hancock & Hancock had thrived in Bloomsbury for upwards of a -hundred years. By a judicious exercise of the art of dropping bad -clients and picking up good, and retaining the good when picked up, it -had built for itself a business second to none in the soliciting world -of the Metropolis. - -To be a successful solicitor is not so easy a matter as you may -suppose. Take your own case, for instance, and imagine how many men you -would trust with the fact that your wife is in a madhouse and not on a -visit to her aunt; with the reason why your son requires cutting off -with a shilling; why you have to pay so much a month to So-and-so--and -so on. How many men would you trust with your title-deeds, and bonds, -and scrip, even as you would trust yourself? - -The art of inspiring confidence combined with the less facile arts of -straight dealing and right living, had placed the Hancocks in the first -rank of their profession, and kept them there for over a hundred years. - -James, the last of the race, was in personal appearance typical of his -forebears. Rather tall, thin, with a high colour suggestive of port -wine, and a fidgety manner, you would never have guessed him at first -sight to be one of the keenest business men in London, the depository of -awful secrets, and the instigator and successful leader of legal forlorn -hopes. - -His dress was genteel, verging on the shabby, a hideous brown horse-hair -watch guard crossed his waistcoat, and he habitually carried an -umbrella that would have damned the reputation of any struggling -professional man. - -His sister kept house for him in Gordon Square. She was just one year -his senior. An acid woman, early-Victorian in her tendencies and get-up, -Patience Hancock, to use the cook's expression, had been "born with the -key of the coal cellar in her pocket." She certainly carried the key of -the wine cellar there, and the keys of the plate pantry, larder, jam -depository, and Tantalus case. Everything lock-upable in the Gordon -Square establishment was locked up, and every month or so she received a -"warning" from one of the domestics under her charge. - -The art of setting by the ears and treading on corns came to her by -nature, it was her misfortune, not her fault, for despite her acidity -she had a heart, atrophied from disuse, perhaps, but still a heart. - -She treated her brother as though she were twenty years his senior, and -she had prevented him from marrying by subtle arts of her own, exercised -unconsciously, perhaps, but none the less potently. His affair with Miss -Wilkinson, eldest daughter of Alderman Wilkinson, an affair which -occurred twenty years ago, had been withered, or blasted, if you like -the expression better, by Patience Hancock. She had caused no bitter -feelings towards herself in the breast of either of the parties -concerned in this old-time love affair, but all the same she had parted -them. - -Two other attempts on the part of James Hancock to mate and have done -with the business failed for no especial reason, and of late years, from -all external signs, he appeared to have come to the determination to -have done with the business without mating. - -Patience had almost dismissed the subject from her mind; secure in the -conviction that her brother's heart had jellified and set, she had -almost given up espionage, and had settled down before the prospect of a -comfortable old age with lots of people to bully and a free hand in the -management of her brother and his affairs. - -Bridgewater, Hancock's confidential clerk, a man of seventy adorned with -the simplicity of a child of ten, had hitherto been her confidant. - -Bridgewater, seduced with a glass of port wine and a biscuit, had helped -materially in the blasting of the Wilkinson affair twenty years before. -He had played the part of spy several times, unconsciously, or partly -so, and to-day he was just the same old blunderer, ready to fall into -any trap set for him by an acute woman. - -He adored Patience Hancock for no perceptible earthly reason except that -he had known her in short frocks, and besides this weak-minded adoration -he regarded her as part and parcel of the business, and regarded her -commands as equivalent to the commands of her brother. - -Of late years his interviews with Patience had been few, she had no need -for him; and as he sat over his bachelor's fire at nights rubbing his -shins and thinking and dreaming, sometimes across his recollective -faculty would stray the old past, the confidences, the port, and the -face of Patience Hancock all in a pleasant jumble. - -He felt that of late years, somehow, his power to please had in some -mysterious manner waned, and, failing a more valid reason, he put it -down to that change in things and people which is the saddest -accompaniment of age. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -OMENS - - -One day this late June, or one morning, rather, Miss Hancock's dreams of -the future and her part in it became again troubled. - -James Hancock, to use a simile taken from the garden, showed signs of -sprouting. A new hat had come home the night before from the hatter's, -and he had bought a new necktie _himself_. Hitherto he had paid for his -neckties and Patience had bought them, sombre neckties suitable to a -lawyer and a celibate. This thing from Amery and Loders, a thing of -lilac silk suitable enough for a man of twenty, caused Patience to stare -when it appeared at breakfast one morning round the neck of her brother. - -But she said nothing, she poured out the tea and watched her brother -opening his letters and reading his newspaper, and munching his toast. -She listened to his remarks on the price of consols and the fall in -Russian bonds, and his grumbles because the "bacon was fried to a -cinder," just as she had watched and listened for the last thirty -years. Then, when he had finished and departed, she rose and went -downstairs to bully the cook and terrorise the maids, which -accomplished, she retired to her own room to dress preparatory to going -out. - -The house in Gordon Square had the solidity of structure and the gloom -peculiar to the higher class houses in Bloomsbury. The great -drawing-room had a chandelier that lived in a bag, and sofas and chairs -arrayed in brown holland overalls; there were things in woolwork that -Amelia Sedley might have worked, and abominations of art, deposited by -the early Victorian age, struggled for pride of place with Georgian -artistic attempts. The dining-room was furnished with solid mahogany, -and everything in and about the place seemed solid and constructed with -a view to eternity and the everlasting depression of man. - -A week's sojourn in this house explained much of a certain epoch in -English History to the mind of the sojourner; at the termination of the -visit one began to understand dimly the humours of Gillray and the -fidelity to truth of that atmosphere of gloom pervading the pictures of -Hogarth. One understood why, in that epoch, men drank deep, why women -swooned and improved swooning into a fine art, why Society was generally -beastly and brutal, and why great lords sat up all night soaking -themselves with brandy and waiting to see the hangman turn off a couple -of poor wretches in the dawn; also, why men hanged themselves without -waiting for the hangman, alleging for reason "the spleen." - -Miss Hancock, having arranged herself to her own satisfaction, took her -parasol from the stand in the hall, and departed on business bent. - -She held three books in her hand--the butcher's, the baker's, and the -greengrocer's. She felt in a cheerful mood, as her programme included -and commenced with an attack on the butcher--_Casus Belli_--an -overcharge made on the last leg of mutton but one. Having defeated the -butcher, and tackled the other unfortunates and paid them, she paused -near Mudie's Library as if in thought. Then she made direct for -Southampton Row and the office of her brother, where, as she entered the -outer office, Bridgewater was emerging from the sanctum of his master, -holding clutched to his breast an armful of books and papers. - -Bridgewater would have delighted the heart of John Leech. He had a red -and almost perfectly round face; his spectacles were round, his body was -round, his eyes were round, and the expression of his countenance, if I -may be allowed the figure, was round. It was also slightly mazed; he -seemed forever lost in a mild astonishment, the slightest thing out of -the common, heightened this expression of chronic astonishment into one -of acute amazement. A rat in the office, a fall in the funds, a clerk -giving notice to leave, any of these little incidents was sufficient to -wreathe the countenance of Mr Bridgewater with an expression that would -not have been out of place had he been gazing upon the ruins of Pompeii, -or the eruption of Mont Pelée. He had scanty white hair and enormous -feet, and was, despite his bemazed look, a very acute old gentleman in -business hours. The inside of his head was stuffed with facts like a -Whitaker's almanac, and people turned to him for reference as they would -turn to "Pratt's Law of Highways" or "Archbold's Lunacy." - -Bridgewater seeing Miss Hancock enter, released somewhat his tight hold -on the books and papers, and they all slithered pell mell on to the -floor. She nodded to him, and, stepping over the papers, tapped with the -handle of her parasol at the door of the inner office. Mr Hancock was -disengaged, and she went in, closing the door behind her carefully as -though fearful of some secret escaping. - -She had no secret to communicate, however, and no business to transact, -she only wanted a loan of Bridgewater for an hour to consult him about -the lease of a house at Peckham. (Miss Hancock had money in her own -right.) Having obtained the loan and stropped her brother's temper to a -fine edge, so that he was sharp with the clerks and irritable with the -clients till luncheon time, Miss Hancock took herself off, saying to the -head clerk as she passed out, "I want you to come round to luncheon, -Bridgewater, to consult you about a lease; my brother says he can spare -you. Come at half-past one sharp; Good-day." - -"Well to be sure!" said Bridgewater scratching his encyclopædic head, -and gazing in the direction of the doorway through which the lady had -vanished. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LAMBERT _V._ BEVAN - - -Now the germinal spot of this veracious history consists in the fact -that numbered amongst Mr James Hancock's most prized clients was a young -gentleman of the name of Bevan; the gentleman, in short, whom Miss Fanny -Lambert described as "frightfully rich and a beast." - -Mr Charles Maximilian Bevan, to give him his full title, inhabited a set -of chambers in the "Albany," midway between the Piccadilly end and the -end opening upon Vigo Street. - -He was a young man of about twenty-three years of age, of a not -unpleasing but rather heavy appearance, absolutely unconscious of the -humour that lay in himself or in the world around him, and possessed of -a fine, furious, old-fashioned temper; a temper that would burst out -over an ill-cooked beef steak or a missing stud, and which vented itself -chiefly upon his valet Strutt. In most of us the port of our ancestors -runs to gout; in Mr Bevan it ran to temper. - -He was a bachelor. Hamilton Cox, the author of "The Pillar of Salt," -once said that the Almighty had appointed Charles Bevan to be a -bachelor, and that he had taken up his appointment. To his friends it -seemed so, and it seemed a pity, for he was an orphan and very wealthy, -and had no unpleasant vices. He possessed Highshot Towers and five -thousand acres of land in the richest part of Buckinghamshire, a moor in -Scotland which he let each autumn to a man from Chicago, and a house in -Mayfair which he also let. - -Mr Bevan was not exactly a miser, but he was careful; no cabman ever -received more from him than his legal fare; he studied the city news in -the _Times_ each morning, and Strutt was kept informed as to the price -of Consols by the state of his master's temper, also as to the dividends -declared by the Great Northern, South Eastern, London North Western -Railways, and the Glasgow Gas Works, in all of which concerns Mr Bevan -was a heavy holder. - -In his life he had rarely been known to give a penny to a beggar man, -yet each year he gave a good many pounds to the Charity Organisation -Society, and the Hospitals, feeling sure that money invested in these -institutions would not be misspent, and might even, perhaps, bear some -shadowy dividend in the life to come. - -He had a horror of cardsharpers, poets, foreigners, inferior artists, -and badly dressed people in general--every one, in fact, beyond the pale -of what he was pleased to call "Respectability"--but beyond all these -and above all these, he had a horror of spendthrifts. - -The Bevans had always been like that; there had been drinking Bevans, -and fighting Bevans, and foolish Bevans of various descriptions, even -open-handed Bevans, but there had never been a thoroughpaced squandering -Bevan. Very different was it with the Lamberts, whose estate lay -contiguous to that of Bevan, down in Bucks. How the Lamberts had held -together as a family for four hundred years, certain; through the -spacious times of Elizabeth, the questionable time of Charles, the -winter of the Commonwealth; how the ship of Lambert passed entire -between the Scylla of the Cocoa tree and the charybdis of Crockfords; -how it weathered the roaring forties, are question constituting a -problem indissoluble, even when we take into account the known capacity -of the Lamberts for trimming, swashbuckling and good fellowship -generally. A problem, however, upon which the present story will, -perhaps, cast some light. - -How jolly Jack Lambert played with Gerald Fiennes till he lost his -house, his horses, his carriages, and his deaf and dumb negro servant. -How with a burst of laughter he staked his wife and won back his negro, -staked both, and retrieved his horses and his carriages, and at five -o'clock of a bright May morning rose from the table having eternally -broken and ruined Fiennes, was a story current in the days when William, -the first of the Bevans, was a sober cloth merchant in Wych Street, and -Charles, the first of the Stuarts, held his pleasant Court at -Windsor--_Carpe Diem_, it was the motto of jolly Jack Lambert. _Festina -Lente_ said William of the cloth-yard. - -The houses of Bevan and Lambert had never agreed, brilliancy and dulness -rarely do, they had intermarried, however, with the result that the -present George Lambert and the present Charles Bevan were cousins of a -sort, cousins that had never spoken one to the other, and, moreover, at -the present moment, were engaged, as we know, in active litigation as to -the rights of fishing in an all but fishless stream some twelve feet -broad, which separated the estates and the kinsmen. - -Some twelve months previously it appears Strutt being sent down to -Highshot Towers to superintend some alterations, had found in the -gun-room a fishing-rod, and yielding to his cockney instincts, had -fished, catching by some miracle a dilapidated looking jack. - -He had promptly been set upon and beaten by a person whom Lambert called -his keeper, and who, according to Strutt, swam the stream like an otter, -hit him in the eye, broke the rod, and vanished with the jack. - -So began the memorable action of Bevan _v._ Lambert, which, having been -won in the Queen's Bench by Charles Bevan, was now at the date of our -story, waiting its turn to appear before the Lords Justices of Appeal. -It was stated, such was the animus with which this lawsuit was -conducted, that George Lambert was cutting down timber to defray the -costs of the lawyers, a fallacious statement, for the estate of Lambert -was mortgaged beyond the hope of redemption. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE BEVAN TEMPER - - -On a fine morning, two days after Miss Lambert's visit to Mr Hancock, Mr -Bevan entered his sitting-room in the "Albany" dressed for going out. He -wore a tea rose in his buttonhole, and Strutt, who followed his master, -bore in his hands a glossy silk hat far more carefully than if it had -been a baby. - -A most comfortably furnished and tastefully upholstered room was this in -which Charles Bevan smoked his one cigar and drank his one whisky and -seltzer before retiring to bed each night; everything spoke of an -orderly and well-regulated mind; of books there were few in bindings -sedate as their subject matter, and they had the air of prisoners rarely -released from the narrow cases that contained them. On the walls hung a -series of Gillray's engravings depicting "the flagitious absurdities of -the French during their occupation of Egypt." On the table reposed the -_Field_, the _Times_, and the _Spectator_ (uncut). - -"But what the deuce can he _want_?" said Charles, who was holding an -open letter in his hand. It was a letter from the family lawyer asking -his attendance in Southampton Row at his earliest convenience. - -"Maybe," said Strutt, blowing away a speck of dust that had dared to -settle on the hat, "Maybe, sir, it's about the lawsuit." - -Bevan put the letter in his pocket, took his hat and stick from the -faithful Strutt and departed. - -He made for "Brooks'." - -Mr Bevan patronised "Brooks'" and the "Reform." - -In the deserted smoking-room of "Brooks'" he sat down to write some -letters, and here followeth the correspondence of a modern Chesterfield. - - - "TO J. HOLDSWORTH, - HAY STREET, PIMLICO. - - "Sir,--The thing you sent for my inspection yesterday is no use. - I'm not anxious to buy camels. Please do not trouble any more in - the matter. I wasted half an hour over this yesterday and my time - is valuable if the time of your groom is not.--Yours truly, - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MRS NEURAPATH, - Secretary to Neurapath's Home for - Lost and Starving Cats, BERMONDSEY. - - "Madam,--In answer to your third demand for a contribution to your - funds, I write to tell you that it is my fixed rule never to - contribute to private charities.--Yours, etc., - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MESSRS TEITZ; - Breeches Makers, OXFORD STREET. - - "Sir,--Please send your foreman to see me in the 'Albany' to-morrow - at ten A.M. The breeches don't fit.--Yours, etc., - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MISS PAMELA PURSEHOUSE, - THE ROOST, ROOKHURST, KENT. - - "My Dearest Pam,--Just a line scribbled in a hurry to say I will be - down in a few days. I am writing this at 'Brooks''. It's a - beautiful morning, but I expect it will be a scorching day, like - yesterday, it's always the way with this beastly climate, one is - either scorched, or frozen, or drowned. Just as I am writing this, - old Sir John Blundell has come into the room, he's the most - terrible bore, mad on roses and can't talk of anything else, he's - fidgetting about behind me trying to attract my attention, so I - have to keep on writing and pretending not to see him. I'm sorry - the buff Orpington cock is dead, was he the one who took the first - prize? I'll get you another if you let me know where to send. I - _think_ there are some buff Orpingtons at Highshot but am not sure, - I don't take any interest in hens--only of course in yours. They - say hen-farming pays on a big scale, but I don't see where the - profit can come in. Thank goodness, that old fool Blundell has just - gone out--now I must stop,--With love, ever yours (etc., etc.), - - "CHARLEY." - - -The author of this modern Englishman's love letter, having stamped and -deposited his correspondence in the club letter-box, entered the hansom -which had been called for him, and proceeded to his solicitor, James -Hancock, of the firm of Hancock & Hancock, Southampton Row. - -When Bevan was shown in, Mr Hancock was seated at his desk table, -writing a letter with a quill pen. He tossed his spectacles up on his -forehead and held out his hand. - -"I am sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of calling," said he, -crossing his legs, and playing with a paper knife, "but the fact is, I -have received a communication from the other side, who seem anxious to -bring this affair to a conclusion." - -"Oh, do they?" said Charles Bevan. - -"The fact is," continued the elder gentleman slapping his knee with the -flat of the paper knife as he spoke, "the fact is, Mr George Lambert is -in very great financial straits, and if the truth were known, I verily -believe the truth would be that he is quite insolvent." - -Charles made no reply. - -"But he will go on fighting the case, unless we can come to terms, even -though he has to borrow money for the purpose, for he is a very -litigious man this Mr George Lambert, a very litigious man!" - -"Well, let him fight," cried Charles; "_I_ ask nothing better." - -"Still," said the old lawyer, "I thought it better to lay before you the -suggestion that has come from the other side, and which is simply -this----" He paused, drew a tortoiseshell snuff-box from his pocket, and -took a furious pinch of snuff. "Which is simply this, that each party -pay their own costs, and that the fishing rights be shared equally. We -beat them in the Queen's Bench, but when the matter comes before the -Court of Appeal, who knows but----" - -"Pay _what_?" cried Charles Bevan. "Pay my own costs after having fought -so long, and nearly beaten this pirate, this poacher! Show me the -letter containing this proposal, this infamous suggestion." - -"Dear me, dear me, my dear sir, pray do not take the matter so -crookedly," cried the man of law lowering his spectacles and beginning -to mend a quill pen in an irritable manner. "There is nothing infamous -in this proposal, and indeed it reached me not through the mediumship of -a letter, but of a young lady. Mr George Lambert's daughter called upon -me in person, a most--er--charming young lady. She gave me to understand -from her conversation--her most artless conversation--that her -unfortunate father is on the brink, the verge, I may say the verge of -ruin. But he himself does not see it, pig-headed man that he is. In fact -she, the young lady herself, does not seem to see it. Dear me, dear me, -their condition makes me shudder." - -"When did she call?" asked Bevan. - -"Two days ago," blurted out the old lawyer splitting the quill and -nearly cutting his finger with the penknife. - -"Why was I not informed sooner of this disgraceful proposition," -demanded Bevan. - -"I declare I have been so busy----" said the other. - -"Well, tell George Lambert, I will fight as long as I have teeth to -fight with, and if I lose the action I'll break him anyhow," foamed -Charles who was now in the old-fashioned port-wine temper, which was an -heirloom in the Bevan family. "I'll buy up his mortgages and foreclose, -tell his wretched daughter----" - -"Mr Bevan," suddenly interposed the lawyer, "Miss Fanny Lambert is a -most charming lady for whom I have a deep respect--I may say a very deep -respect--the suggestion came from her informally. I doubt indeed if Mr -George Lambert would listen to any proposals for an amicable settlement, -he declares you have treated him, to use his expression--er--not as one -gentleman should treat another." - -Charles turned livid. - -"Where does this Lambert live now?" - -"At present he resides I believe, at his town house 'The Laurels,' -Highgate----. Why! Mr Bevan----" - -Charles had risen. - -"He said I was not a gentleman, did he? and you listened to him, I -suppose, and agreed with him, and you--no matter, I'll be my own -solicitor, I'll go and see him, and tell him he ought to be ashamed of -tampering with my business people through the medium of his daughter. -Yes, we'll see--'The Laurels' Highgate." - -"Mr Bevan, Mr Bevan!" cried old James Hancock in despair. - -But Mr Bevan was gone, strutting out like an enraged turkey-cock through -the outer office. - -"I am afraid I have but made matters worse, I am afraid I have but made -matters worse," moaned the peace-loving Mr Hancock, rubbing his -shrivelled hands together in an agony of discomfiture, whilst Charles -Bevan hailed a cab outside, determined to have it out man to man with -this cousin who had dared to say that a Bevan had behaved in a -dishonourable manner. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AT "THE LAURELS" - - -Up in Highgate an hour later you might have seen a hansom driving about, -pausing here and there to ask of policemen, pedestrians, and others for -"The Laurels." - -"There's a' many Laurels," said the milkman, who was also the first -director, and so after awhile Mr Bevan found to his cost. - -But at last they found, with the aid of a local directory, the right -one, a spacious house built of red brick seen through an avenue of lime -trees all abuzz with bees. - -There was no sign of life in the little gate lodge, and the entrance -gate was pushed back; the orderly eye of Charles Bevan noticed that it -was half off its hinges; also, that the weeds in the avenue were -rampant. - -A laburnum had pushed its way through the limes, and a peony, as large -almost as a cabbage, had laid its head on the avenue-way, presenting a -walk-over-me-_I_-don't-care appearance, quite in accordance with the -general aspect of things. - -The hansom drew up at the door and the traveller from Southampton Row -flung away his cigar end, alighted, and ran up the three steps leading -to the porch. He rang the bell, and then stood wondering at the -luxuriance of the wisteria that overspread the porch, and contemplating -the hind hocks of the cab-horse which had been fired. - -What he was about to do or say when he found himself in the presence of -his enemy was not very clear to the mind of Mr Bevan. What did occur to -him was that George Lambert would have the advantage over him in the -interview, seeing that he would be in his own house--on his own -dunghill, so to speak. - -He might have got into the hansom and returned to town, but that would -have been an admission to himself that he had committed a fault, and to -admit themselves in fault, even to themselves, was never a way with the -Bevans. - -So he rang and waited, and rang again. - -Presently shuffling footsteps sounded from behind the door which opened -some two inches, disclosing a pale, blue eye, part of a nose, and an -uncertain coloured fringe. - -"What do you want?" cried a voice through the crack. - -"Does Mr George Lambert live here?" - -"He does, but he's from home." - -"Dear me," murmured Charles, whose curiosity was now greatly aroused by -the neglected aspect of the place and the mysterious personage hidden by -the door. He felt a great desire to penetrate further into the affairs -of his enemy and see what was to be seen. - -"Is Miss Lambert in?" - -"Yus." - -"Then give her my card, please. I would like to speak to her." - -The person behind the door undid the chain, satisfied evidently by -Bevan's voice and appearance that he was not a dun or a robber. The door -opened disclosing a servant maid, very young and very dirty. - -This ash-cat took the piece of pasteboard, and made a pretence of -reading it, invited Charles to enter, and then closing the door, and -barring it this time as if to keep him in, should he try to escape, led -the way across a rather empty hall to a library. - -Here she invited him to sit down upon a chair, having first dusted it -with her apron, and declaring that she would send Miss Fanny to him in -"a minit," vanished, and left him to his meditations. - -"Most extraordinary place," said Charles, glancing round at the books in -their cases. "Most extraordinary place I ever entered." - -As he looked about him, he heard the youthful servant's voice raised now -to its highest pitch, and calling "Miss Fanny, Miss Fanny, Miss -F-a-a-anny" and dying away as if in back passages. - -The library was evidently much inhabited by the Lamberts; it was -pleasantly perfumed with tobacco, and in the grate lay the expiring -embers of a morning fire. The Lamberts were evidently not of the order -of people who extinguish their fires on the first of May. There were -whips and fishing-rods, and a gun or two here and there, and books -everywhere about, besides those on the shelves. The morning paper lay -spread open on the floor, where it had been cast by the last reader, and -on the floor lay other things, which in most houses are to be found on -tables, envelopes crumpled up, letters, and other trifles. - -On a little table by the window grew an orange-tree in a flower-pot, -bearing oranges as large as marrow-fat peas; through the half-open -window came wasps in and out, the perfume of mignonette and the murmur -of distant bees. - -He came to the window and looked out. - -Outside lay the ruins of a garden bathed in the golden light of summer, -the light that - - - "Speaks wide and loud - From deeps blown clean of cloud, - As though day's heart were proud - And heaven's were glad." - - -Beyond lay a paddock in whose centre lay the wraith of a tennis lawn; -the net hung shrivelled between the tottering poles, and close to the -net he saw the forlorn figure of a girl playing what seemed a fantastic -game of tennis all alone. - -She would hit the ball into the air and strike it back when it fell; if -it went over the net she would jump after it. - -Now appeared the slattern maid, card between finger and thumb, picking -her way like a cat along the tangled garden path in the direction of the -girl. - -Mr Bevan turned away from the window and looked at the books lining the -wall, his eye travelling from Humboldt's works to the tooled back of -Milton--he was trying to recollect who Schopenhauer was--when of a -sudden the door opened and an amazingly pretty girl of the old-fashioned -school of beauty entered the room. She was dark, and she came into the -room laughing, yet with a half-frightened air as if fearful of being -caught missing from some old canvas. - -"You won't tell," said she as they shook hands like intimate -acquaintances. "If father knew I had asked Mr Hancock, you know what, -he'd kill me; I really believe he would." She put down her tennis -racquet on the table, her hat she had left outside, and evidently in a -hurry, to judge by the delightful disorder of her hair. - -Mr Bevan, who was trying to stiffen his lip and appear very formal, had -taken his seat on a low chair which made him feel dwarfed and -ridiculous. He had also, unfortunately, left his hat on the table some -yards away, and so had nothing with which to occupy his hands; he was, -therefore, entirely at the mercy of Miss Lambert, who had taken an -armchair near by, and was now chattering to him with the familiarity, -almost, of a sister. - -"It seems so fortunate, you know," said she suddenly, discarding a -discussion about the weather. "It seems so fortunate that idea of mine -of speaking to Mr Hancock. I hate fighting with people, but father -_loves_ it; he'd fight with himself, I think, if he could find no one -else, and still, if you knew him, he's the sweetest-tempered person in -the world, he is, he would do anything for anybody, he would lay his -life down for a friend. But you will know him now, now that that -terrible affair about the fish stream is settled." - -Mr Bevan swallowed rapidly and cast frantic glances at his hat. Had -Miss Lambert been of the ordinary type of girl he might possibly have -intimated that the fish stream business was not so settled as she -supposed, but with this sweet-tongued and friendly beauty, it was -impossible. He felt deeply exasperated at the false position in which he -found himself, and was endeavouring to prepare some reply of a -non-committal character when, of a sudden, his eye caught a direful -sight, which for a moment made him forget both fish stream and false -position--the little boot of Miss Lambert peeping from beneath her skirt -was old and broken. - -"I would not deny him anything, goodness knows," continued Fanny -Lambert, as if she were talking of a child. "But this action _costs_ -such a lot, and there are so many people he could fight cheaply with if -he wants to," she broke into an enchanting little laugh. "I think, -really, it's the expense that makes him think so much of it; he has a -horror of cheap things." - -"Cheap things are never much good," conceded Mr Bevan, upon whose mind a -dreadful sort of imbecility had now fallen, his will cried out -frantically to his intellect for help, and received none. Here had he -come to demand explanations, to put his foot down--alas! what is the -will of man beside the beauty of a woman? - -"That's what father says," said Fanny. "But as for me, I love them, that -is to say bargains, you know." - -The door burst open and a sort of poodle walked in, he was not exactly -Russian and not exactly French, he had points of an Irish water-spaniel. -Bevan gazed at him and marvelled. - -Having inspected the pattern of the visitor's trousers, and seeming -therewith content Boy-Boy--such was his name--flung himself on the floor -and into sleep beside his mistress. - -"He sleeps all day," said Fanny, "and I wish he wouldn't, for he spends -the whole night barking and rushing after the cats in the garden. Isn't -he just like a door mat, and doesn't he snore?" - -"He certainly does." - -"I got him for three and sixpence and an old pair of boots from one of -those travelling men who grind scissors and things," said Miss Lambert, -looking lovingly at her bargain. "He was half starved and _so_ thin. He -ate a whole leg of mutton the first day we had him." - -"That was very unwise," said Mr Bevan, who always shone on the topic of -dogs or horses; "you should never give dogs much meat." - -"He took it," said Fanny. "It was so clever of him, he hid it in the -garden and buried the bone--who is that at the door, is that you, -Susannah?" - -"Luncheon is ready, Miss," said the voice of Susannah, who spoke in a -muted tone as if she were announcing some unsavoury fact of which she -was half ashamed. - -Charles Bevan rose to go. - -"Oh, but you'll stay to luncheon," said Fanny. - -"I really--I have an engagement--that is a cab waiting." Then addressing -his remarks to the eyes of Miss Lambert, "I shall be delighted if such a -visitation does not bore you." - -"Not a bit--Susannah, hang Mr Bevan's hat up in the hall. Come this -way." - -Mr Bevan followed his hostess across the hall to the breakfast-room; as -he followed he heard with a shudder Susannah attempting to hang his hat -on the high hall rack, and the hat falling off and being pursued about -the floor. - -Luncheon was laid in a free-handed and large-hearted manner. Three -whitings on a dish of Sheffield plate formed the _piece de résistance_, -there was jam which appeared frankly in a pot pictured with plums, but -in the centre of the table stood a vase of Venetian glass filled with -roses. - -As they took their seats Susannah, who had apparently been seized with -an inspiration, appeared conveying a bottle of Böllinger in one hand, -and a bottle of Gold-water in the other. - -"I brought them from the cellar, Miss," said the maid with a side glance -at Charles--she was a good-natured-looking girl when not defending the -hall door, but her under jaw seemed like the avenue gate, half off its -hinges, and her intellect to be always oozing away through her half-open -mouth. "They were the best I could find." - -"That's right, Susannah," said her mistress; "try if you can get one of -those little bottles of port, the ones with red seals on them and -cobwebs; and close the door." - -Mr Bevan opened the champagne and helped himself, Miss Lambert -announcing the fact that she was a teetotaler. - -"There is a man in the kitchen," said she, after an apology for the -general disorder of things, and for the whiting which were but -indifferently cooked. "James, you know, and when he is in the kitchen -whilst meals are being prepared Susannah loses her head and often spoils -things. Father generally sends him out to dig in the garden whilst she -is cooking. I didn't send him to-day because he won't take orders from -me, only from father. He says a man cannot serve two masters; he is -always making proverbs and things, his father was a stationer and he has -written poetry. He might have been anything only for his wife, he told -me so the other night. It _does_ seem such a pity." - -"Yes," said Charles tentatively, wondering who "James, you know" might -be. - -"What is he?" - -"He's in the law," said Miss Lambert cautiously, then after a moment's -hesitation, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you, you are our cousin. -Father had a debt and----" - -"You don't mean to say he's----" - -"Yes, he has come to take possession as they call it." - -Mr Bevan laid down his knife and fork. - -"Good gracious!" - -"I never cried so much as when he came," said Fanny, stroking the head -of Boy-Boy, who was resting beside her; "it seemed so terrible. I never -knew what a comfort he would turn out; he fetches the coals for Susannah -and pumps the water. It sounds strange to say it, but I don't know what -we should do without him now." - -"Oh, you poor child," thought Charles, "how much you must have suffered -at the hands of that pig-headed fool of a father of yours--to think of a -good estate coming to this!" - -"Tell me," he said aloud, "how long has that man been here?" - -"A week," said Fanny, "but it seems a year." - -"Who--er--put him in." - -"A Mr Isaacs." - -"What was the debt for, Cousin Fanny?" - -"We went to Paris." - -"I don't----" - -"I wanted to go to Paris, and father said I should, but he would have to -think first about the money. Then he went into the library, and took me -on his knee, and smoked a pipe. He always gets money when he sits and -has what he calls a 'good think' and smokes a pipe. So he got the money -and we went to Paris. We had a lovely time!" - -"And then," said Bevan with an expression on his face as if he were -listening to a fairy tale which he _had_ to believe, "I suppose Mr -Isaacs applied for his money?" - -"He sent most impertinent letters," said Fanny, "and I told father not -to mind them, then James came." - -Mr Bevan went on with his luncheon, all his anger against his cousin, -George Lambert, had vanished. Anger is impossible to a sane mind when -the object of that anger turns out to be a lunatic. - -He went on with his luncheon; though the whiting were indifferently -cooked, the champagne was excellent, and his hostess exquisite. It was -hard to tell which was more attractive, her face or her voice, for the -voice of Miss Lambert was one of those fatal voices that we hear perhaps -twice in a lifetime, and never forget, perfectly modulated golden, -soothing--maddening. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -"WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" - - -"Now tell me," said Mr Bevan, they were walking in the garden after -luncheon, "tell me, Cousin Fanny"--Miss Lambert, had vanished with the -Böllinger--"don't you think your father is a little -bit--er--extravagant?" - -"He may be a bit extravagant," murmured Fanny, plucking a huge daisy and -putting it in her belt. "But then--he is such a dear, and I know he -tries to economise all he can, he sold the carriage and horse only a -month ago, and just look at the garden! he wont go to the expense of a -gardener but does it all himself; it would be disgraceful only it's so -lovely, with all the things running wild; see, here is one of his garden -gloves." - -She picked a glove out of a thorn bush and kissed it, and put it in her -pocket. - -"He does the garden himself!" - -"He and James." - -"You don't mean----" - -"Mr Isaacs' man, they have dug up a lot of ground over there and planted -asparagus. James was a gardener once, but as I have told you, he had -misfortunes and had to take to the law. He is awfully poor, and his wife -is ill; they live in a little street near Artesian Road, and father has -been to see her; he came with me, and we brought her some wine; I -carried it in a basket. See, is not that a beautiful rose?" she smiled -at the rose, and Charles could not but admire her beauty. - -"And then," resumed Fanny, the smile fading as the wind turned the -rose's face away, "father is so unfortunate, all the people he lends -money to won't pay him back, and stocks and shares and things go up and -down, and always the wrong way, so he says, and he gets into such a rage -with the house because he can't mortgage it--it was left in trust for -me--and we _can't_ let it, so we have to live in it." - -"Why can you not let it?" - -"Because of the ghost." - -"Good gracious goodness!" gobbled Charles, taking the cigar from his -mouth. "What nonsense are you talking, Cousin Fanny? Ghost! there are no -such things as ghosts." - -"_Aren't_ there?" said Fanny. "I wish you saw our one." - -"Do you really mean to try to make me believe----" cried Charles, then -he foundered, tied up in his own vile English. - -"We did let it once, a year ago, to a Major Sawyer," said Fanny, and she -smiled down the garden path at some presumably pleasant vision. "It was -in May; we let it to him for three months and went down to Ramsgate to -economise. Major Sawyer moved in on a Friday; I remember that, for the -next day was Saturday, and I shall never forget that Saturday. - -"We were sitting at breakfast, when a telegram was brought, it was from -the Major, and it was from the South Kensington Hotel; it said, as well -as I can remember, 'Call without a moment's delay.'" - -"Of course we thought 'The Laurels' were burnt down, and you can fancy -the fright we were in, for it's not insured--at least the furniture -isn't." - -"Not insured!" groaned Charles. - -"No; father says houses never catch fire if they are not insured, and he -wouldn't trust himself not to set it on fire if it _was_ insured, so -it's not insured." - -"Go on." - -"Let us sit down on this seat. Well, of course we thought we were -ruined, and father was perfectly wild to get up to town and know the -worst, he can't stand suspense. He wanted to take a special train, and -there was a terrible scene at the station; you know we have Irish blood -in us: his mother was Irish, and Fanny Lambert, my great-grandmother, -the one that hung herself, was an Irishwoman. There was a terrible scene -at the station, because they wouldn't take father's cheque for the extra -twenty-five pounds for the special train. 'I tell you I'm _ruined_,' -said father, but the station-master, a horrible little man with -whiskers, said he couldn't help that. Oh! the world is horribly cold and -cruel," said Fanny, drawing closer to her companion, "when one is in a -strange place, where one doesn't know people. Once father gets to know -people he can do anything with them, for every one loves him. The wife -of the hotel-keeper where we stayed in Paris wept when we had to go away -without our luggage." - -"I should think so." - -"You see we only took half of the money we got from Mr Isaacs to Paris; -we locked half of it up in the bureau in the library for fear we would -spend it, then when the fortnight was up we hadn't enough for the bill. -Father wanted to leave Boy-Boy, but they said they'd sooner keep the -luggage. They were very nice over it, the hotel-keeper and his wife, but -people are horrid when they don't know one. - -"Well, we came by a later train, and found Major Sawyer waiting for us -at the South Kensington Hotel. He was such a funny old man with fiery -eyes and white hair that stood up. We did not see Mrs Sawyer, so we -supposed she had been burnt in the fire; but we scarcely had time to -think, for the Major began to abuse father for having let him such a -house. - -"I was awfully frightened, and father listened to the abuse quite -meekly, you see he thought Mrs Sawyer was burnt. Then it came out that -there had been no fire, and I saw father lift up his head, and put his -chin out, and I stopped my ears and shut my eyes." - -"I suppose he gave it to old Sawyer." - -"Didn't he! Mrs Sawyer told me afterwards that the Major had never been -spoken to so before since he left school, and that it had done him a -world of good--poor old thing!" - -"But what was it all about--I mean what made him leave the house?" - -"Why, the ghost, to be sure. The first night he was in the house he went -poking about looking for burglars, and saw it or heard it, I forget -which; they say he did not stop running till he reached the police -station, and that's nearly a mile away, and he wouldn't come back but -took a cab to the hotel in his pyjamas. But the funny thing is, that -ever since the day father abused him, he has been our best friend; he's -helped us in money matters lots of times, and he always sends us hares -and things when he goes shooting. The ghost always brings us luck when -she can--always." - -"You believe in Luck?" - -"I believe in everything, so does father." - -"And this ghost, it's a 'she' you said, I think?" - -"It's Fanny Lambert." - -"Oh!" - -"My great-grandmother." - -"Tell me about her," said Charles, lighting a new cigar and leaning back -luxuriously on the seat. - -The seat was under a chestnut tree, before them lay a little -wilderness, sunflowers unburst from the bud, stocks, and clove pinks. - -In its centre stood a moss-grown sun-dial bearing this old dial -inscription in Latin, "The hours pass and are numbered." From this -wilderness of a garden came the drone of bees, a dreamy sound that -seemed to refute the motto upon the dial. - -"She lived," said Fanny, "a hundred, or maybe two hundred, years ago; -anyhow it was in the time of the Regency--and I wish to goodness I had -lived then." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, it must have been such fun." - -"How do you know about the time of the Regency?" - -"I have read about it in the library, there are a lot of old books about -it, and one of them is in handwriting, not in print. You know in those -times the Lamberts lived here at 'The Laurels,' just as we do, that's -what makes the house so old; and the Prince Regent used to drive up here -in a carriage and pair of coal-black horses. He was in love with Mrs -Lambert, and she was in love with him. I don't wonder at her." - -"Well, you ought to wonder at her," said Charles in a hectoring voice, -blowing a cloud of smoke at a bumble-bee that had alighted on Fanny's -dress, and was rubbing its hands together as if in satisfaction at the -prosperous times and the plenty of flowers. - -"Don't blow smoke at the poor thing. Isn't he fat!--there, he is gone. -Why ought I to wonder at her?" - -"Because she was married." - -"Why shouldn't she be married?" - -"Ahem!" said Charles, clearing his throat. - -"Why?" - -"I meant to say that she should not have loved the Prince." - -"Why not? he was awfully good to them. Do you know George, Fanny's -husband, must have been very like father; he was like him in face, for -we have a miniature of him, but he was like him in other ways, too. He -would sit up at Crockfords--what _was_ Crockfords?" - -"A kind of club, I believe." - -"He would sit up at Crockfords playing cards all night, and he killed a -man once by hitting him over the head with a poker; the jury said the -man died of apoplexy, but he kept the man's wife and children always -afterwards, and that is just what father would have done." - -"I know," said Charles, "at least I can imagine him; but, all the same, -I don't think you know what marriage is." - -"Oh yes, I do!" - -"What is it, then?" - -"It's a blessed state," said Fanny, breaking into a joyous laugh; "at -least I read so in some old book." - -"We were talking of the Prince Regent, I think," said Charles rather -stiffly. - -"Were we? Oh yes, I remember. Well, they loved each other so much that -the old book said it was a matter of common rumour, whatever that means. -One night at Crockfords Mr Bevan--he was an ancestor of yours--flew into -a frightful temper over some nonsense--a misdeal at cards I think it -was--and called George Lambert a name, an awfully funny name; what was -this it was? let me think----" - -"Don't think, don't think, go on with the story," cried Charles in an -agony. - -"And George Lambert slapped Mr Bevan's face, and serve him right, too." - -"What is that you say?" cried Charles, wattling like a turkey-cock. - -"I said serve him right!" cried Fanny, clenching her little fists. - -"Look here----" said Charles, then suddenly he became dumb, whilst the -breeze wandered with a rustling sound through the desolate garden, -bearing with it from some distant street the voice of a man crying -"Herrings," as if to remind them that Highgate was no longer the -Highgate of the Regency. - -"Well?" said Fanny, still with a trace of defiance in her tone. - -"Nothing," answered Charles meekly. "Go on with your story." - -Fanny nestled closer to him as if to make up, and went on: - -"The Prince was in the room, and every one said he turned pale; some -people said he cried out, 'My God, what an occurrence!' and some people -said he cried out, 'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' And the old Marquis of Bath -dropped his snuff-box, though what that has to do with the story I don't -know. - -"At all events, the Prince left immediately, for he had an appointment -to meet Fanny, and have supper with her. He must have said something -nasty to her, for instead of having supper with him, she took a carriage -and drove home here. She seemed greatly distressed; the servants said -she spent the night walking up and down the blue corridor crying out, 'O -that I ever loved such a man!' and 'Who would have thought men were so -cruel!' Then, when her husband came back from fighting a duel with Mr -Bevan, she was gone. All her jewels were gone too; she must have hidden -them somewhere, for they were never found again. - -"They found her hanging in a clothes closet quite dead; she had hung -herself with her garters--she must have had a very small neck, I'm sure -I couldn't hang myself with mine--and now she haunts the corridor -beckoning to people to follow her." - -"Have you ever seen her?" - -"No, but I am sure I have heard her at nights sometimes, when the wind -is high. Father O'Mahony wanted to lay her, but I told father not to let -him, she's said to be so lucky." - -"Lucky, indeed, to lose you a good tenant!" - -"It was the luckiest thing she ever did, for the hotel was awfully -expensive." - -"Why did you not take apartments, then?" - -"Oh, they are so lonely and so poky, and landladies rob one so." - -"Is your father a Roman Catholic?" - -"He is." - -"What are you?" - -"I am nothing," said Fanny, proclaiming her simple creed with all the -simplicity of childhood, and a smile that surely was reflected on the -Recording Angel's face as he jotted down her reply. - -"Does your _father_ know of this state of your mind?" asked Charles in a -horrified voice. - -"Yes, and he is always trying to convert me to 'the faith,' as he calls -it. We have long arguments, and I always beat him. When he can find -nothing more to say, he always scratches his dear old head and says, -'Anyhow you're baptised, and that's one comfort,' then we talk of other -things, but he did convert me once." - -"How was that?" - -"I was in a hurry to try on a frock," said this valuable convert to the -Church; "at least the dressmaker was waiting, so I gave in, but only for -once." - -"What do you believe in, then?" asked Charles, glancing fearfully at -the female atheist by his side, who had taken her garden hat from her -head and was swinging it by the ribbon. - -"I believe in being good, and I believe in father, and I believe one -ought always to make every one as happy as possible and be kind to -animals. I believe people who ill-treat animals go to hell--at least, I -hope they do." - -"Do you believe in heaven?" asked Mr Bevan in a pained voice. - -"Of course I do." - -"Then you are _not_ an atheist," in a voice of relief. - -"Of course I'm not. Who said I was?" - -"You did." - -"I didn't. I'd sooner die than be an atheist. One came here to dinner -once; he had a red beard, and smoked shag in the drawing-room. Ugh! such -a man!" - -"Do you believe in God?" - -"I used to, when I was a child. I was always told He would strike me -dead if I told a lie, and then I found that He didn't. It was like the -man who lived in the oven. I was always told that the Black Man who -lived in the oven would run away with me if I stole the jam; and one -day I stole the jam, and opened the oven door and looked in. I was in a -terrible fright, but there wasn't any man there." - -"It's very strange," said Charles. - -"That there wasn't a man there?" - -"I was referring," said Charles stiffly, "to such thoughts in the mind -of one so young as you are." - -"Oh, I'm as old as the hills," cried Fanny in the voice of a _blasé_ -woman of the world, making a grab at a passing moth and then flinging -her hat after it, "as old as the--mercy! what's that?" - -"Miss Fanny!" cried the voice of Susannah, who was lowing like a cow -through garden and shrubbery in search of her missing mistress, "Miss -Fah-ny, Miss----" - -"That's tea," said Fanny, rising, and leading the way to the house. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -ASPARAGUS AND CATS - - -Charles Bevan followed his cousin to the house. His orderly mind could -never have imagined of its own volition a _ménage_ like that of the -Lamberts. He revolted at it, yet felt strangely fascinated. It was like -watching people dancing on a tight rope half cut in two, sailors -feasting and merry-making on a sinking wreck, children plucking flowers -on the crumbling edge of a cliff. - -Tea was laid in state in the drawing-room, a lovely old room with -tapestried walls, and windows that opened upon the garden; or at least -that part of it which had been robbed of its roses and converted into a -kitchen-garden during one of George Lambert's economical fits. - -"That is the asparagus bed," said Fanny proudly. - -It was like a badly-ploughed field, and Charles' eye travelled slowly -over its ridges and hollows. - -"Have you a potato bed?" he asked, his mind subconsciously estimating -the size of the Lamberts' Highgate estate on the basis that their potato -crop was in proportion to their asparagus. - -"Oh, we buy our potatoes and cabbages and things," said Fanny; "they are -cheap." - -"But asparagus takes such a time to grow--four years, I think it is." - -"Oh, surely not so long as that?" said the girl, taking her seat at the -tea-table. "Why, oak trees would grow quicker than that; besides, James -said we would have splendid asparagus next spring, and he was a -professed gardener before his misfortunes overtook him. Do you take -sugar?" - -"Yes, please," said Charles, wearily dropping into a low chair and -wondering vaguely at the angelic beauty of the girl's face. - -"And what, may I ask, were the 'misfortunes' that overtook James?" - -"His wife, poor thing, took to drink," said she, with so much -commiseration in her tone that she might have been a disciple of the new -criminology, "and that broke his heart and took all his energy away." - -"Do you believe him?" - -"Why not? He is a most devoted creature; and he is going to give up the -business he is in and stay on when father pays Mr Isaacs. I hope we will -never part with James." - -Susannah, in honour of the guest, had produced the best tea service, a -priceless set of old Sèvres. The tray was painted with Cupidons blowing -trumpets as if in honour of the victory of Susannah over mischance, in -that she had conveyed them upstairs by some miracle unsmashed. - -There was half a cake by Buszard; the tea, had it been paid for, would -have cost five shillings a pound, but the milk was sky blue. - -As Fanny was cutting up the cake in liberal slices as if for a -children's party, two frightful-looking cats walked into the room with -all the air of bandits. One was jet black and one was brindled; both -looked starved, and each wore its tail with a pump-handle curve after -the fashion of a lion's when marauding. - -Fanny regarded them lovingly, and poured out a saucerful of the blue -milk which she placed on the floor. - -"Aren't they angels?" - -"Well, if you ask me," said Charles Bevan, as if he were giving his -opinion on some object of _vértu_, "I'd say they were more like--the -other things." - -"I know they are not _pretty_," said Fanny regretfully, "but they are -faithful. They always come to tea just as if they were invited." - -"I wonder your poodle--I mean the dog, lets them in." - -"Boy-Boy?--Oh, he only barks at things at night when they can't see him; -he would run from a mouse, he's such a dear old coward. Aren't they -thirsty?" - -"Where did you get them? I should think they would be hard to match." - -"I didn't get them: they are not ours, they just come in." - -"Do you mean to say you let stray cats in like that?" - -"_I_ don't let them in, they come in through a hole in the scullery -window." - -"Goodness gracious!" - -"Sometimes the kitchen is full of cats; they seem to know." - -"That fools live here," thought Charles. - -"And Susannah spends all her time turning them out--all, of course, -except the black ones." - -"Why not the black ones?" - -"Because they are lucky; did you not know that? It's frightfully -unlucky to turn a black cat out." - -"Why not fill up the hole and stop them from getting in?" - -"Susannah has stuffed it up with old stockings and things till she's -weary; they butt it in with their heads." - -"Why not have a new pane put in?" - -"Father has talked of that, but I have always changed the conversation, -and then he forgets." - -"You like cats?" - -"I love them." - -Charles looked gloomily at the grimalkins. - -"Seems to me you must have your food stolen." - -"We used to, but Susannah locks everything up now before she goes to -bed." - -She inverted the milk jug to show the cats that there was no milk left, -and the intelligent creatures comprehending left the room, the black -leading the way. - -"Faithful creatures!" sneered Charles. - -"Aren't they! Oh, but, Cousin Charles--I mean Mr----" - -"No; call me Cousin Charles." - -"--I've given the cats all the milk!" - -"No matter," said Charles magnanimously. "The poor beggars wanted it -more than I. I never drink more than one cup of tea; it makes me -nervous." - -"How good you are!" she murmured. "You remind me of father." - -Charles moved uneasily in his chair. - -From somewhere in the distance came the sound of Susannah singing and -cleaning a window, a song like a fetish song interrupted by the sound of -the window being closed to see if it was clean enough, and flung up -again with a jerk, that spoke of dissatisfaction. These sounds of a -sudden ceased. - -They were succeeded by the murmur of voices, a footstep, then a tap at -the door, followed by the voice of Susannah requesting her mistress to -step outside for a moment. - -"I know what _that_ always means," murmured the girl in a resigned -voice, as she rose from the table and left the room. - -Charles Bevan rose from his chair and went to the window. - -"These people want protecting," he said to himself frowning at the -asparagus bed. "Irresponsibility when it passes a certain point becomes -absolute lunacy. Fanny and her father ought to be in a lunatic asylum -with their ghosts, and cats, and rubbish, only I don't believe any -lunatic asylum would take them in; they would infect the other patients -and make them worse. Good Heavens! it makes me shudder. They must be on -the verge of the workhouse, making asparagus beds, and drinking -champagne, and flying off to Paris, and feeding every filthy stray cat -with food they must want for themselves. Poor devils--I mean damned -fools. Anyhow, I must be going." The recollection of a certain lady -named Pamela Pursehouse arose coldly in his mind now that Miss Lambert -was absent from the room, and the little "still voice," whatever a still -voice may be, said something about duty. - -He determined to flee from temptation directly his hostess returned, but -he reckoned without Fate. - -The door opened and Fanny entered with a face full of tragedy. - -She closed the door. - -"What do you think Susannah has told me?" She spoke in a low voice as -if death were in the house. - -"What?" - -"James has come in and he has--had too much!" - -"You don't mean to say that he is intoxicated?" - -"I do," said Fanny with her voice filled with tears. - -"How _disgraceful_! I will go down and turn him out." Then he remembered -that he could not very well turn him out considering that he was in -possession. - -"For goodness sake don't even hint that to him, or he may go," cried -Fanny in alarm, "for, when he gets like this, he always talks of leaving -at once, because his calling is a disgrace to him, and if he went, -Susannah would follow him." - -"But, my dear girl," cried Charles, "how dare that wretched -Susannah--ahem--why, he's a married man, you told me so; surely she -knows _that_." - -"Yes, she knows that, but she says she can't help herself." - -"_I_ never met such people before!" said Charles, addressing a jade -dragon on the mantelpiece--"I mean," he said, putting his hands in his -trousers' pockets and addressing his boots, "such a person as Susannah." - -"Her mother ran away with her father," murmured Fanny in extenuation, -"so I suppose it is in the blood. But I wish we could do something with -James. If he would even go to bed, but he sits by the kitchen fire -crying, and that sets Susannah off. She will be ill for days after this. -He said it was a cigar some one gave him that reminded him of his better -days----" - -"Bother his better days!" - -"----and he went to try and drown the recollection of them. It is so -stupid of him, he _knows_ how drink flies to his head; you would never -imagine if you could see him now that he has only had two glasses of -beer." - -"I will go down to the kitchen and speak to him," said Charles. - -"But, Cousin Charles," said Fanny, plucking at his coat, "be sure and -speak gently." - -"I will," said Mr Bevan. - -"Then I'll go with you," said she. - -James, a long ill-weedy looking man, was seated before the kitchen fire -on a chair without a back; Susannah, on hearing their footsteps, darted -into the scullery. - -"Now, James, now, James," said Charles Bevan, speaking in a paternal -voice, "what is the meaning of all this? How did you get yourself into -this condition?" - -James turned his head and regarded Charles. He made a vain endeavour to -speak and rise from his chair at one and the same time, then he -collapsed and his tears returned anew. - -At the sound, Susannah in the scullery threw her apron over her head and -joined in, whilst Fanny looked out of the window and sniffled. - -"_I_ never saw such a lot of people!" cried Charles in desperation. -"James, James, be a man." - -"How can he," said Fanny, controlling her voice, "when he is in this -terrible state? Cousin Charles, don't you think you could induce him to -go to bed?" - -"I think I could," said Charles grimly, "if you show me the way to his -room." - - - - -_PART II_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A REVELATION - - -"When will your father come back?" asked Charles as he returned to the -kitchen, having deposited the man of law on his bed and shaken his fist -in his face as a token of what he would get if he rose from it. - -"Not till this evening, late," said Fanny. - -"Then I must wait till he returns, or till this person recovers himself. -I cannot possibly leave you alone in the house with a tipsy man." - -"Oh yes, do stay till father returns. I want you to meet him so much," -said Fanny, all her grief vanishing in smiles. - -"Susannah, we'll have supper at eight." - -"Yes, miss." - -"I am almost glad," said Fanny, as she tripped up the kitchen stairs -before her cousin, "I am almost glad James took it into his head to get -tipsy, you'd have gone away if he hadn't, without seeing father; it -seems almost like Providence. Mercy! it's six o'clock." - -She glanced at the great old hall clock ticking away the moments, even -as it had done when George the Third was king, and Charles took his -watch out to verify the time, but he did not catch the old clock -tripping. - -"Now we must think about supper," said Fanny, in a busy voice. "You must -be dying of hunger. What do you like best?" - -"But you have not dined, Fanny." - -"Oh, we always call dinner 'luncheon,' and have it in the middle of the -day; it saves trouble, and it is less worry." Then, after a moment's -pause: "I wish we had a lobster, but I don't think there is one. I -_know_ there is a beefsteak." - -She went to the kitchen stairs. - -"Susannah!" - -"Yes, miss," answered a dolorous voice from below. - -"Have you a lobster in the house?" - -"No, miss." - -"You have a beefsteak?" - -A sound came as of search amongst the plates on the dresser. - -"The beefsteak is gone, Miss Fanny." - -"Now, _where_ can that beefsteak have gone to?" murmured the girl, -whilst Charles called to mind the criminal countenances of the two -faithful cats, and the business-like manner in which they had left the -room. - -"Search again, Susannah." - -A frightful crash of crockery came as a reply. - -"Susannah!" - -"Yes, miss." - -"Don't look any more, I will go out and buy something." - -"Don't mind me," said Charles. "Anything will do for me; I am used--I -mean----" - -"I am not going to have father come back and find you starved to death; -he'd kill me. I'm going out marketing; will you come?" - -"With pleasure." - -"Then wait till I fetch my hat and a basket." - -"May I light a cigar?" - -"Yes, smoke everywhere, every one does," and she rushed upstairs for her -hat. A moment later she returned, hat on head, and bearing in her hand -a little basket adorned with blue ribbons: a pound of tea would have -freighted it. - -"How on earth is she going to get the dinner into that?" thought her -companion, as he unbarred the hall door and followed her down the steps. - -Then they found themselves walking down the weed-grown avenue, the birds -twittering overhead in the light of the warm June evening. - -That he should be going "a-marketing" in Highgate accompanied by a -pretty girl with a basket did not, strangely enough, impress Charles -Bevan as being an out-of-the-way occurrence. - -He felt as if he had known the Lamberts for years--a good many years. He -no longer contemplated the joyous tragedy of their life wholly as a -spectator; he had become suddenly and without volition one of the -actors, a subordinate actor--a thinking part, one might call it. - -The fearful fascination exercised by these people seemed, strange to -say, never so potent as when exercised upon hard-headed people, as -Major Sawyer and many another could have told. - -"I love marketing," said Fanny, as they trudged along, "at least buying -things." - -"Have you any money?" - -"Lots," said Miss Lambert, producing a starved-looking purse. - -She opened it and peeped in at the three and sixpence it contained, and -then shut it with a snap as if fearful of their escaping. - -"What do you like next best to marketing?" asked Charles in the sedate -voice of a heavy father speaking to his favourite child. - -"Opening parcels." - -"I don't quite----" - -"Oh, you know--strange parcels when they come, or when father brings -them, one never knows what may be in them--chocolate creams or what. I -wonder what father will bring me back this time?" - -"Where has he gone to?" - -"He has gone to get some money." - -"He will be back this evening?" - -"Yes, unless he finds it difficult getting the money. If he does, he -won't be home till morning." She spoke as an Indian squaw might speak, -whose father or husband has gone a-hunting, whilst Charles marvelled -vaguely. - -"But suppose--he doesn't get any money?" - -"Oh, he will get it all right, people are so good to him. Poor, dear Mr -Hancock----" - -She stopped suddenly. - -"Yes, yes." - -"He said we weren't to tell." - -She spoke in a secretive voice which greatly inflamed her companion's -curiosity. - -"You might tell me, but don't if you don't want to." - -"Yes," said Fanny. "I don't think it matters now that you are friends -with us, and we're all the same family. Father's dividends had not come -in, and he lent us the money to pay the bills." - -"_What_ bills?" - -"The butcher's bill, and Stokes the baker's bill, and the milk bill, and -some others." - -"_Hancock_ lent you the money to pay your bills?" cried Charles, feeling -like a person in a dream. - -"Yes, old Mr Hancock, your Mr Hancock." - -"But he never told me he was a friend of your father's; besides, he is -_my_ solicitor." - -"He never saw us before this week." - -"Tell me all about it, and how you came to know him so intimately, and -how he paid your bills," commanded Mr Bevan. - -There was, just here on the road, a seat dropped incontinently by the -County Council; they sat upon it whilst she told her tale. - -"It was the other day. Father had not slept all night thinking of the -action. He came into my bedroom at two in the morning to tell me that if -he lost it before the House of Lords, he would take it before the Queen -in Council. He had been sitting up reading 'Every Man his Own Lawyer.' -Well, next morning a lot of people came asking for their money, the -butcher and all those, and we hadn't any. - -"Father said it was all _your_ fault, and he wished he had never seen -the fish stream. I was so frightened by the way he was bothering himself -about everything--for, as a rule, you know he is the most easy-tempered -man in the world as long as he has got his pipe. Well, a friend advised -me to go privately to your lawyer and try to stop the action. So I went -to Mr Hancock. - -"At first he seemed very stiff, and glared at me through his spectacles; -but, after a while, as I told him all about ourselves, he stopped -shuffling his feet, and listened with his hand to his ear as if he were -deaf, and he took a smelling bottle out of a drawer of his desk and -snuffed at it, and said, 'Dear me, how very extraordinary!' Then he -called me his 'Poor child!' and asked me had I had any luncheon. I said -'Yes,' though I hadn't--I wasn't hungry. Well, we talked and talked, and -at last he said he would come back with me home, for that our affairs -were in a dreadful condition and we didn't seem to know it. He said he -would come as a friend and try to forget that he was a lawyer. - -"Well, he came here with me. Father was upstairs in his bedroom, and I -poked my head in and told him your lawyer wanted to see him in the -drawing-room. - -"I didn't tell him it was I who had fetched him, for I knew he would -simply go mad if he thought I had been meddling with the action; -besides, Mr Hancock said I had better not, as he simply called as a -friend. - -"Down came father and went into the drawing-room. I was in an awful -fright, too frightened even to listen at the door. I made Susannah -listen after a while, and she said they were talking about roses--I -felt so relieved. - -"I sent Susannah in with wine, and Mr Hancock stayed to supper. After -supper they had cigars and punch, and I played to them on the piano, and -father sang Irish songs, and Mr Hancock told us awfully funny stories -all about the law, and said he was a bachelor and envied father because -he had a daughter like me. - -"Then he talked about our affairs, and said he would require more punch -before he could understand them; so he had more punch, and father showed -him the housekeeping books, and he looked over them reading them upside -down and every way. Then he wrote out a cheque to pay the books, with -one eye shut, whilst father wrote out bills, you know, to pay the -cheque, and then he kissed me and said good-bye to father and went away -crying." - -"But," cried Charles, utterly astounded at this artless revelation of -another man's folly, "old Hancock never made a joke in his life--at -least to _me_--and he's an awful old skinflint and never lent any man a -penny, so they say." - -"He made lots of jokes that night, anyhow," said Fanny, "and lent -father over twenty pounds, too; and only yesterday a great bunch of -hothouse flowers came from Covent Garden with his card for me." - -"Old fool!" said Charles. - -"He is not an old fool, he's a dear old man, and I love him. Come on, or -the shops will be closed." - -"You seem to love everything," said Mr Bevan in a rather stiff tone, as -they meandered along near now to the street where shops were. - -"I do--at least everything I don't hate." - -"Whom do you hate?" - -"No one just now. I never hate people for long, it is too much trouble. -I used to hate you before I knew you. I thought you were a man with a -black beard; you see I hadn't seen you." - -"But, why on earth did you think I had a black beard?" - -"_I_ don't know. I suppose it was because I hate black beards." - -"So you don't hate me?" - -"No, _indeed_." - -"And as every one you don't hate, you---- I say, what a splendid evening -this is! it is just like Italy. I mean, it reminds me of Italy." - -"And here are the shops at last," said Fanny, as if the shops had been -travelling to them and had only just arrived. - -She stopped at a stationer's window. - -"I want to get some envelopes. Come in, won't you?" - -She bought a packet of envelopes for fourpence. Charles turned away to -look at some of the gaudily-bound Kebles, Byrons, and Scotts so dear to -the middle-class heart, and before he could turn again she had bought a -little prayer-book with a cross on it for a shilling. The shopman was -besetting her with a new invention in birthday cards when Charles broke -the spell by touching her elbow with the head of his walking stick. - -"Don't you think," said he when they were safely in the street, "it is a -mistake buying prayer-books, these shop-keepers are such awful -swindlers?" - -"I bought it for Susannah," explained Fanny. "It's a little present for -her after the way James has gone on. Look at this dear monkey." - -A barrel organ of the old type was playing by the pavement, making a -sound as if an old man gone idiotic were humming a tune to himself. A -villainous-looking monkey on the organ-top, held out his hand when it -saw Fanny approaching. It knew the world evidently, or at least -physiognomy, which is almost the same thing. - -"He takes it just like a man," she cried, as the creature grabbed one of -her pennies and then nearly broke its chain trying to get at her to tear -the rose from her hat. "Look, it knows the people who are fond of it; it -is just like a child." - -Charles tore her from the monkey, only for a milliner's shop to suck her -in. - -"I must run in here for a moment, it's only about a corset I ordered; I -won't be three minutes." - -He waited ten, thinking how strange it was that this girl saw something -attractive in nearly everything--strange cats, monkeys, and even old -Hancock. - -At the end of twenty minutes' walking up and down, he approached the -milliner's window and peeped into the shop. - -Fanny was conversing with a tall woman, whose frizzled black hair lent -her somehow the appearance of a Frenchwoman. - -The Highgate Frenchwoman was dangling something gaudy and flimsy before -Fanny's eyes, and the girl had her purse in her hand. - -Charles gave a sigh, and resumed his beat like a policeman. - -At last she came out, carrying a tissue-paper parcel. - -"Well, have you got your--what you called for?" - -"No, it's not ready yet; but I've got the most beautiful--Oh my goodness -me!--how stupid I am!" - -"What?" - -"I have only three halfpence left, and I have forgotten the eggs and -things for supper." - -"Give me your purse, and let me look into it," he said, taking the -little purse and turning away a moment. Then he handed it back to her; -she opened it and peeped in, and there lay a sovereign. - -"It's just what father does," she said, looking up in the lamp-light -with a smile that somehow made Mr Bevan's eyes feel misty. "What makes -you so like him in everything you do?" And somehow these words seemed to -the correct Mr Bevan the sweetest he had ever heard. - -Then they marketed after the fashion of youth when it finds itself the -possessor of a whole sovereign. Fanny laying out the money as the fancy -took her, and with the lavishness so conspicuously absent in the -dealings of your mere millionaire. - -They then returned to "The Laurels," Charles Bevan carrying the parcels. - -The dining-room of "The Laurels" was a huge apartment furnished in the -age of heavy dinners, when a knowledge of comparative anatomy and the -wrist of a butcher were necessary ingredients in the composition of a -successful host. - -Here Susannah, to drown her sorrows in labour and give honour to the -guest, had laid the supper things on a lavish scale. The Venetian vase, -before-mentioned, stood filled with roses in the centre of the table, -and places were laid for six--all sorts of places. Some of the -unexpected guests were presumably to sup entirely off fish, to judge by -the knives and forks set out for them, and some were evidently to be -denied the luxury of soup. That there was neither soup nor fish mattered -little to Susannah. - -The cellar, to judge by the sideboard, had been seized with a spirit of -emulation begotten of the display made by the plate pantry, and had sent -three representatives from each bin. The sideboard also contained the -jam-pot, the bread tray, and butter on a plate: commestables that had -the abject air of poor relations admitted on sufferance, and come to -look on. - -Here entered Fanny, followed by Mr Bevan, laden with parcels. - -The girl's hat was tilted slightly sideways, her raven hair was in -revolt, and her cheeks flushed with happiness and the excitement of -marketing. - -Susannah followed them. She wore a wonderful white apron adorned with -frills and blue ribbons, a birthday present from her mistress, only -brought out on state occasions. - -"Three candles only!" said the mistress of the house, glancing at the -table and the three candles burning on it. "That's not enough; fetch a -couple more, and, Susannah, bring the sardine opener." - -"Why don't you light the gas?" asked her cousin, putting his parcels -down and glancing at the great chandelier swinging overhead. - -"I would, only father has had a fight with the gas company and they've -cut it off. Now let's open the parcels; put the candles nearer." - -Mr Bevan's parcels contained a box of sardines, a paysandu ox tongue, -and a basket of peaches; Fanny's, the before-mentioned prayer-book, -envelopes, and in the tissue-paper parcel a light shawl or fichu of -fleecy silk dyed blue. - -She cast her hat off, and throwing the fichu round her neck, hopped upon -a chair, candle in hand, and glanced at herself in a great mirror on the -opposite wall. - -"It makes me look beautiful!" she cried. "And I have half a mind to keep -it for myself." - -"Why--for whom did you buy it, then?" - -"For James' wife, Mrs Regan." - -"Oh!" - -"She is ill, you know, and I am going to see her again to-morrow. I hate -going to see sick people, but father says whenever we see a lame dog we -should put our shoulders to the wheel and help him over the stile, and -she's a lame dog, if ever there was one. That's right, Susannah, put the -candles here, and give me the can opener; I love opening tins, and -there is a little prayer-book I got for you when I was out." - -"Thank you, miss," said Susannah in a muffled voice, putting the little -prayer-book under her apron with one hand, and snuffing a candle with -the finger and thumb of the other. "Can I get you anything more, miss?" - -"Nothing. Is James all right?" - -"He's asleep now, miss," answered the maid, closing her mouth for once -in her life by some miracle of Love, and catching in her breath through -her nose. - -"That will do, Susannah," hastily said her mistress, who knew this -symptom of old, and what it foreboded; "I'll ring if I want you. Bring -up the punch things at ten, just as you always bring them." - -Susannah left the room making stifled sounds, and Fanny, with Mrs -Regan's fichu about her neck, attacked the sardine tin with the opener. - -"Let me," said Charles. - -"No, no; you open the champagne, and put the peaches on a plate, and -I'll open the tins. Bring over the bread and butter and jam. I wish we -had some ice for the champagne, but the fishmonger--forgot to send it. -Bother this knife!" - -She laboured away, with her cheeks flushed; a lock of black hair -hanging loose lent her a distracted air, and made her so lovely in the -eyes of Charles that he put the bread platter down on top of the butter -plate, so that the butter pat clung to the bottom of the bread platter, -and they had to scrape it off, one holding the platter, one scraping -with the knife, and both hands touching. - -"We have had that bread plate ever since I can remember," she said, as -they seated themselves to the feast, "and I wouldn't have anything -happen to it for earths, not that the butter will do it any harm. Isn't -the text on it nice?" - -Charles examined the bread platter gravely. - -"'Want not,'" he read. He looked in vain for the "Waste not," but that -part of the maxim was hidden by the carved representation of a full ear -of corn. - -"It's a very nice--motto. Have some champagne?" - -"No thanks, I only drink water, wine flies to my head; I am like James. -I am going to have a peach--have one." - -"Thank you, I am eating sardines. You remind me of the old gentleman--he -was short-sighted--who offered me a pinch of snuff once when I was -eating a sole." - -Fanny, with her teeth set in the peach, gave a little shriek of -laughter, but Mr Bevan was perfectly grave. Still, for perhaps the first -time in his life, he felt his possibilities as a humorist, and -determined to exploit them. - -"Talking about ghosts"--ghosts and mothers-in-law, to the medium -intellect, are always fair game,--"talking about ghosts," said he, "you -said, I think, Cousin Fanny----" - -"Call me Fanny," said that lady, who, having eaten her peach, was now -helping herself to sardines. "I hate that word 'cousin,' it sounds so -stiff. What about ghosts?" - -"About ghosts," he answered slowly, his new-found sense of humour -suddenly becoming lost. "Oh yes, you said, Fanny, that a ghost was -haunting this house." - -"Yes, Fanny Lambert. I told you she hid her jewels before she hung -herself. When people see her she is always beckoning them to follow her. -We found James insensible one night on the landing upstairs; he told us -next morning he had seen her, and she had beckoned him to follow her, -and after that he remembered nothing more." - -"A sure sign there were spirits in the house." - -"Wasn't it? But why, do you think, does she beckon people?" - -"Perhaps she beckons people to show them where the jewels are hidden." - -"Oh!" cried Fanny; "_why_ did we never think of that before? Of _course_ -that is the reason--and they are worth two hundred thousand pounds. We -must have the panels in the corridor taken down. I'll make father do it -to-morrow. Two hundred thousand pounds: what is that a year?" - -"Ten thousand." - -"Fancy father with ten thousand a year!" Mr Bevan shuddered. "We can -have a steam yacht, and everything we want. I feel as if I were going -mad," said Miss Lambert, with the air of a person who had often been mad -before and knew the symptoms. - -The door opened and Susannah appeared with the punch things. "Susannah, -guess what's happened--never mind, you'll know soon. Have you got the -lemon and the sugar? That is right." - -And Miss Lambert, forgetting for a moment fortune, turned her attention -to the manufacturing of punch. - -Susannah withdrew, casting her eyes over Fanny and Charles as she went, -and seeming to draw her under-lip after her. - -When the door was shut, Miss Lambert looked into the punch bowl to see -if it was clean, and, having turned a huge spider out of it, went to the -sideboard. - -"You are not going to make punch in this great thing?" - -"I am," said Fanny, returning with a bottle in each hand and one under -her arm. - -"Go on," said Charles resignedly. "May I smoke?" - -"Of course, smoke. Open me this champagne." - -"You are not going to put champagne in punch?" - -"Everything is good in punch. Father learned how to make it in Moscow, -when he was dining with the Hussars there. After dinner a huge bowl was -brought in, and everything went in--champagne, whisky, brandy, all the -fruit from the dessert; then they set it on fire, and drank it, -burning." - -"Has your father ever made punch like that?" - -"No, but now I've got him away, I am going to try." - -Pop went the champagne cork, and the golden wine ran creaming into the -bowl. - -"Now the brandy." - -"But this will be cold punch." - -"Yes, it's just as good; milk punch is always cold." - -"I'm blest if this is milk punch," said Mr Bevan, as he looked fearfully -into the bowl; "but go on." - -"I am going as quick as I can," she replied. Then the whisky went in, -and half a tumblerfull of curaçoa also, the lemon cut in slices and the -peaches that remained. - -"I haven't anything more to throw in," said Fanny, casting her eye over -the sardines and the ox tongue. "We ought to have grapes and things; no -matter, stir it up and set it on fire, and see what it tastes like." - -"But, my dear child," said the horrified Charles, as he stirred the -seething mixture with the old silver ladle into whose belly a guinea had -been beaten. "You surely don't expect me to drink this fearful stuff? I -thought you were making it for fun." - -"You taste it and see, but set it on fire first." - -He struck a match. - -"It won't catch fire!" he cried. "Knew it wouldn't." - -"Well, taste it cold; it smells delicious." - -She plucked a rose from the vase and strewed the petals on the surface -of the liquid to help the taste, whilst Mr Bevan ladled some into a -glass. - -"It's not bad, 'pon my word it's not bad; the curaçoa seems to blend all -the other flavours together, but it's fearfully strong." - -"Wait"--she ran to the sideboard for a bottle of soda water. - -"Mix it half and half, and see how it tastes." - -"That's better." - -"Then we'll take it into the library, it's more comfortable there. You -carry the bowl, and I will bring the candles." - -"What are these?" asked Mr Bevan, as he removed some papers from the -library table to make room for the punch bowl. - -"Oh, some papers of father's." - -"The Rorkes Drift Gold Mines." - -"Yes," she said, glancing over his shoulder. "I remember now; those are -the things I am to get a silk dress out of when they go to twenty. -Father is mad over them; he says nothing will stop them when they begin -to move, whatever that means." - -"Well, they have moved with a vengeance, for only yesterday I heard they -had gone into liquidation." - -"All the good luck seems coming together," said Fanny with a happy sigh, -as Charles went to the window and looked out at the moon, rising in a -cloudless sky over the forsaken garden and ruined tennis ground. "Not -that it matters much if we get those jewels whether the old mines go up -or down; still, no matter how rich one becomes, more money is always -useful." - -"Yes, I suppose it is," said he, looking with a troubled but sentimental -face at the moon. "Tell me, Fanny, do you know much about the Stock -Exchange?" - -"Oh, heaps." - -"What do you know?" - -"I know that Brighton A's are called Doras--no, Berthas--no, I think -it's Doras--and Mexican Railways are going to Par, and the Kneedeep -Mines are going to a hundred and fifty, and father has a thousand of -them he got for sixpence a share, and he gave me fifty for myself, but -I'm not to sell them till they go to a hundred. Aren't stockbrokers -nice-looking, and always so well dressed? I saw hundreds of them one day -father left me for a moment in Angel Court whilst he ran in to see his -broker--Oh yes! and the bears are going to catch it at the next -settlement." - -"Do you know what 'bears' are?" - -"No," said Fanny, "but they're going to catch it whatever they are, for -I heard father say so--Oh, what a moon! I am sure the fairies must be -out to-night." - -"You don't mean to say you believe in such rubbish as fairies?" - -"Of course I believe in them; not here in Highgate, perhaps, for there -are too many people, but in woods and places." - -"But there are no such things, it has been proved over and over again; -_no_ one believes in them nowadays." - -"Did you never see the mushrooms growing in rings? Well, how could they -grow like that if they were not planted, and who'd be bothered planting -umbrella mushrooms in rings but the fairies?" - -"Does your father believe in them?" - -"Never asked him, but of course he does; every one does--even -Susannah." - -She went to the table and blew out the candles. - -"What are you doing now?" - -"Blowing out the lights; it's so much nicer sitting in the moonlight. -Fill your glass and sit down beside me." - -"Extraordinary child," thought Mr Bevan, doing as he was bid, whilst she -opened the window wide to "let the moon in." - -Other things came too, a night moth and a perfume of decaying leaves, -the souls of last year's sun-flowers and hollyhocks were abroad -to-night; the distant paddock seemed full of cats, to judge by the -sounds that came from it, and bats were flickering in the air. The voice -of Boy-Boy, metallic and rhythmical as the sound of a trip hammer, came -from a distant corner of the garden where he had treed a cat. - -"Quick," said Fanny, drawing in her head and pulling her companion by -the arm, "and you'll be in time to see our tortoise." - -Charles regarded the quadruped without emotion. - -"I don't see the necessity for such frightful haste." - -"Still, if you'd been a moment sooner the moonlight would have been on -him; he was shining a moment ago like silver. Do you know what a -tortoise is? it's a sign of age. You and I will be some day like that -tortoise, without any teeth, wheezing and coughing and grubbing along; -and may-be we will look back and think of this night when we were -young--Oh, dear me, I wish I were dead!" - -"Why, why, what's the matter now--Fanny?" - -"I don't want to grow old," pouted Miss Lambert. - -"When two people grow old together," began Mr Bevan in whose brain the -punch was at work, "they do not notice the--that is to say, age really -does not matter. Besides, a woman is only as old as she feels--I mean as -she looks." - -The fumes of the punch of a sudden took on themselves a form as of the -pale phantom of Pamela Pursehouse, and the phantom cried, "Begone, flee -from temptation whilst you may." - -Before him the concrete form of Miss Lambert sitting in the corner of -the window-seat and bathed in moonlight, said to him, "Hug me." - -Her eyes were resting upon him, then she gazed out at the garden and -sighed. - -Charles took her hand: it was not withdrawn. "I must be going now," he -said. - -She turned from the garden and gazed at him in silence. - -A few minutes later, feeling clouds beneath his feet and all sorts of -new sensations around his heart, he was walking down the weed-grown -avenue, Boy-Boy at his heels barking and snarling, satisfied no doubt by -some preternatural instinct that do what he might he would not be -kicked. - -Ere he had reached the middle of the avenue he heard a voice calling, -"Cousin Charley!" - -"Yes, Fanny." - -"Come back soon!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE - - - "THE LAURELS, 11 P.M. - - "I have been going to write for the last few days, but have been so - busy. I could go on the picnic to-day if it would suit you I'll - call at the studio at one o'clock. If you can't come, send me a - wire. Oh, I forgot to say Mr Hancock came home the other day with - me and had a long talk with father, and Mr Bevan called to-day and - was awfully jolly, and I'll tell you all about it when we meet. - Give my love to Mr Verneede. - - "In haste to catch the post. - - "_P.S._--I'm in such good spirits. F. L." - - -It was the morning after the day on which Mr Bevan had called at "The -Laurels." Leavesley was in bed, and reading the above, which had come by -the early post, and which Belinda had thrust under his door, together -with a circular and a bill for colours. - -"Hurrah!" cried Mr Leavesley, and then "Great Heavens!" He jumped out of -bed, and rummaged wildly in his pockets. He found seven and sixpence in -silver, and a penny and a halfpenny in coppers, a stump of pencil, a -tramway ticket with a hole punched in it, and a Woodbine cigarette -packet containing one cigarette. He placed the money on the -wash-hand-stand, then he sat for a moment on the side of his bed -disconsolate. - -The most beautiful day that ever dawned, the most beautiful girl in the -world, a chance of taking her up the river, and seven and six to do it -on! - -He curled his toes about. Yesterday, in a fit of righteousness, he had -paid a tailor two pounds ten on account. He contemplated this great -mistake gloomily. Wild ideas of calling on Mark Moses & Sonenshine and -asking for the two pounds ten back crossed his mind, to be instantly -dispelled. - -The only two men in London who could possibly help him with a loan were, -to use a Boyle-Rochism, in Paris. Mrs Tugwell, his landlady, was at -Margate, and he was in the middle of his tri-monthly squabble with his -uncle. He called up the ghost of his aunt Patience Hancock, and communed -with her just for the sake of self-torture, and the contemplation of the -hopeless. - -Then he rang his bell, which Belinda answered. - -"Breakfast at once, Belinda." - -"Yessir, and here's another letter as hes just come," she poked a square -envelope under the door. Leavesley seized it with a palpitating heart; -it was unstamped, and had evidently been left in by hand. - -"This is the God from the Machine," he thought. "There's money in it, I -know. It always happens like this when things are at their worst." - -We all have these instincts at times: the contents of an unopened letter -or parcel seem endowed with a voice; who has not guessed the fateful -news in a telegram before he has broken open the envelope, even as -Leavesley guessed the contents of the letter in his hand? - -He tore it open and took out a sheet of paper and a pawnbroker's -duplicate. The letter ran:-- - - - "NO. 150A KING'S ROAD, - - "OVER THE BACON SHOP. - - "DEAR LEAVESLEY,--I am in bed, not suffering from smallpox, croup, - spinal meningitis, or any wasting or infectious disease. I am in - bed, my dear Leavesley, simply for want of my trousers. Robed in - Jones' long ulster, which reacheth to my heels, I took the - aforesaid garments yester-even after dusk to my uncle. If help does - not come they will have to take me to the workhouse in a blanket. I - enclose duplicate. Three and sevenpence would release me and them. - - - "'The die is cast - And this is the last.' - - - "From THE CAPTAIN. - - '_P.S_.--If you have no money send me the 'Count of Monte - Cristo'--you have a copy; or the 'Multi-Millionaire.' I have - nothing to read but a _Financial News_ of the day before - yesterday." - - -Leavesley groaned and laughed, and groaned again. Then he got into his -bath and splashed; as he splashed his spirits rose amazingly. - -The Captain's letter had electrified the Bohemian part of his nature; -instead of depressing him it had done the reverse. Here was another poor -devil worse off than himself. Leavesley had six pair of trousers. - -The Captain, in parenthesis let me say, has no part in this story. He -wasn't a captain, he was a relic of the South African War, a gentleman -with a taste for drink, amusing, harmless, and amiable. I only introduce -him on account of the telepathic interest of his letter, or rather of -the way in which Leavesley divined its contents. - -"Seven and sixpence--I mean seven and sevenpence halfpenny, is not a bit -of use," said the painter to himself when he had finished breakfast, "so -here goes." - -He put three and sevenpence in an envelope with the pathetic duplicate, -addressed it to Captain Waring, rang for Belinda; and when that -much-harried maid-of-all-work appeared, told her to take it as soon as -she could to Captain Waring, down the road over the bacon shop, also to -call at Mr Verneede's and ask him to come round at twelve. - -Then he reached down a finished picture, wrapped it in brown paper, put -the parcel under his arm and started off. - -He took a complication of omnibuses, and arrived in Wardour Street about -half-past nine. - -"Mr Fernandez is gone to the country on pizzines," said the Jew-boy -slave of the picture dealer, who came from the interior of the gloomy -shop like a dirty gnome, called forth by the ring of the door bell. - -"Oh, d----n!" said Leavesley. - -"He's gone on pizzines," replied the other. - -"Where's he gone to?" - -"Down in the country." - -"Look here, I want to sell a picture." - -"Mr Fernandez is gone on pizzines." - -"Oh, dash Mr Fernandez! Is there no one here I can show the thing to? He -knows me." - -"There's only me," said the grimy sphinx. - -"Can you buy it?" - -"No, I ain't no use for buying. Mr Fernandez is gone on----" - -"Oh, go to the devil!" - -"This is a nice sort of thing," said Leavesley to himself as he stood in -Wardour Street perspiring. "There's nothing for it now but a frontal -attack on uncle." - -He made for Southampton Row, reaching the office at ten o'clock, about -five minutes after James Hancock. - -Hancock was dealing with his morning correspondence. A most unbendable -old gentleman he looked as he sat at his table before a pile of letters, -backed by the numerous tin boxes Leavesley knew so well. Boxes marked -"The Gleeson Estate," "Sir H. Tempest, Bart," etc. Boxes that spoke of -wealth and business in mocking tones to the unfortunate artist, who felt -very much as the grasshopper must have felt in the presence of the -industrious ant. Despite this he noticed that his uncle was more -sprucely dressed than usual, and that he had on a lilac satin tie. - -Hancock looked at his nephew over his spectacles, then through his -spectacles, then he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead. - -"Good morning, uncle." - -"Good morning." - -"I just looked in," said Leavesley, in a light-hearted way, "as I was -going by, to see how you were." - -This was a very bad opening. - -"Sit down," said Hancock. "Um--I wasn't aware that there was anything -the matter with me." - -"You were complaining of the gout last time." - -"Oh, bother the gout!" said the old gentleman, who hated to be reminded -of his infirmity. "It isn't gout--Garrod says it's Rheumatoid -Arthritis." - -Leavesley repented of having played the gout gambit. - -"--Rheumatoid Arthritis. Well, what are you doing?" - -"Oh, I'm painting." - -"Are you _selling_?" said Hancock, "that's more to the point." - -"Oh yes, I'm selling--mildly." - -"Um!" - -"I sold two pictures quite recently." - -"I always told you," said the lawyer, ignoring the last statement in a -most irritating way, and speaking as if Leavesley were made of glass and -all his affairs were arranged inside him for view like damaged goods in -a shop window--"I always told you painting doesn't pay. If you had come -into the office you might have got on well; but there you are, you've -made your bed, and on it you must lie," then in a voice three shades -gloomier, "on it you must lie." - -Leavesley glanced at the office clock, it pointed to quarter past ten, -and Fanny was due at one. - -"I had a little business to talk to you about," he said. "Look here, -will you give me a commission?" - -"A what?" - -"A commission for a picture." - -"And five pounds on account," was in his brain, but it did not pass his -tongue. - -"A picture?" said Hancock. "What on earth do I want with pictures?" - -"Let me paint your portrait." - -Hancock made a movement with his hand as if to say "Pish!" - -"Well, look here," said Leavesley, with the cynicism of despair, "let me -paint Bridgewater, let me paint the office, whitewash the ceilings, only -give me a show." - -"I would not mind the money I have spent on you," said Hancock, ignoring -all this, "the bills I have paid, if, to use your own expression, there -was any show for it; but, as far as I can see, you are like a man in a -quagmire, the only advance you are making, the only advance visible to -mortal eye, is that you are getting deeper into debt;" then two tones -lower, "deeper into debt." - -"Well, see here, lend me a fiver," cried Leavesley, now grown desperate -and impudent. - -James Hancock put his fingers into the upper pocket of his waistcoat, -and Leavesley's heart made a spring for his throat. - -But Mr Hancock did not produce a five-pound note. He produced a small -piece of chamois leather with which he polished his glasses, which he -had taken off, in a reflective manner. - -"I'm awfully hard up for the moment, and I have pressing need of it. I -don't want you to give me the money, I'll pay it back." - -Mr Hancock put on his glasses again. - -"You come to me as one would come to a milch cow, as one would come to a -bank in which he had a large deposit." - -He put his hand in his breast-pocket and took out a note-case that -seemed simply bursting with bank-notes. - -"Now if I accommodate you with a five-pound note I must know, at least, -what the pressing need is you speak of." - -"I want to take a girl up the river, for one thing," answered his -nephew, who could no more tell him a lie about the matter, than he could -steal a note from that plethoric note-case. - -James Hancock replaced the case in his pocket and made a motion with his -hands as if to say "that ends everything." - -Leavesley rose to go. - -"I'd have paid you it back. No matter. I'm going to write a book, and -make money out of it. I'll call it the 'Art of Being an Uncle.'" - -Hancock made a motion with his hands that said, "Go away, I want to read -my letters." - -"Now, look here," said Leavesley, with his hand on the door handle, and -inspired with another accession of impudence, "if you'd take _ten_ -pounds and put it in your pocket, and come with me and her, and have a -jolly good day on the river, wouldn't it be better than sitting in this -stuffy old office making money that is no use to any one--you can only -live once." - -"Go away!" said his uncle. - -"I'm going. Tell me, if I went round to aunt would she accommodate me, -do you think?" - -"Accommodate you to make a fool of yourself with a girl? I hope not, I -sincerely hope not." - -"Well, I'll try. Good day." - -"Good day." - -Leavesley went out, and shut the door. Then he suddenly turned, opened -the door and looked in. - -"I say, uncle!" - -"Well?" replied the unfortunate Mr Hancock, in a testy voice. - -"Did _you_ never make a fool of yourself with a girl?" - -The old gentleman grew suddenly so crimson that his nephew shut the door -and bolted. He little guessed how _àpropos_ that question was. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT - - -He had scarcely gone a hundred yards down Southampton Row, when he heard -his name called. - -"Mr Frank!" - -He turned. Bridgewater was pursuing him with something in his hand. - -"Mr James told me to give you this." - -Leavesley took the envelope presented to him, and Bridgewater bolted -back to the office like a fat old rabbit, returning to its burrow. - -In the envelope was a sovereign wrapped up in a half sheet of notepaper. - -"Well, of all the meannesses!" said the dutiful nephew, pocketing the -coin. "Still, it's decent of the old boy after my cheeking him like -that. I have now one pound four. I'll go now and cheek aunt." - -Miss Hancock was in; she had a handkerchief tied round her head, a -duster in her hand; she had just given the cook warning and was in a -debatable temper. She was also in a dusting mood. She had plenty of -servants, yet the inspiration came on her at times to tie a handkerchief -round her head and dust. - -"Well?" she said, as she led the way into the dining-room, and continued -an attack she was making on the sideboard with her duster. - -Leavesley had scarcely the slightest hope of financial assistance from -this quarter. Patience had given him half-a-crown for a birthday present -once when he was a little boy, and then worried it back from him and -popped it into a missionary box for the Wallibooboo Islanders. - -He never forgot that half-crown. - -"I've come round to borrow some money from you," he said. - -Patience sniffed, and went on with her dusting. Then suddenly she -stopped, and, duster in hand, addressed him. - -"Are you never going to do anything for a living? Have you no idea of -the responsibilities of life? What are you going to _do_?" - -"I'm going for a holiday in the country if I can scrape up money -enough." - -"You won't scrape it up here," said his aunt, continuing her dusting; -then, for she was as inquisitive as a mongoose: "And what part of the -country do you propose to take a holiday in?" - -"Sonning-on-Thames." - -"And where, may I ask, is Sonning-on-Thames?" - -"It's on the Thames. See here, will you lend me five pounds?" - -"Five _what_?" - -"Pounds." - -"What for?" - -"To take a girl for a trip to Sonning-on-Thames." - -Miss Hancock was sweeping with her duster round a glass arrangement made -to hold flowers, in the convulsion incident on this statement she upset -the thing and smashed it, much to Leavesley's delight. - -He made for the door, and stood for a moment with the handle in his -hand. - -"I'm awfully sorry. Can I help you to pick it up?" - -"Go away," said Miss Hancock, who was on her knees collecting the -fragments of glass; "I want to see nothing more of you. If you are lost -to respectability you might retain at least common decency." - -"Decency!" - -"Yes, decency." - -"I don't know that I've said anything indecent, or that there is -anything indecent in going for a day on the river with a girl. Well, I'm -going----" A luminous idea suddenly struck him. He knew the old maid's -mind, and the terror she had of the bare idea of her brother marrying; -he remembered the spruce appearance of his uncle that morning and the -lavender satin necktie. "I say----" - -"Well?" - -"Talking of girls, how about uncle and _his_ girl?" - -"_What's that you say!_" - -"Nothing, nothing; I oughtn't to have said anything about it. Well, I'm -off." - -He left the room hurriedly and shut the door, before she could call him -back he was out of the house. - -His random remark had hit the target plumb in the centre of the -bull's-eye, and could he have known the agitation and irritation in the -mind of his aunt he would have written off as paid his debt against the -Wallibooboo Islanders. - -The river was impossible now, and the whole thing had shrunk to -luncheon at the studio and a visit to Madame Tussaud's or the Tower. - -He reached the studio before twelve, and there he found waiting for him -Mr Verneede and the Captain. - -The Captain was in his trousers; he had come to show them as a proof of -good faith and incidentally to get a glass of whisky. Leavesley gave him -the whisky and sent him off, then he turned to Verneede. - -"The whole thing has bust up. Miss Lambert is coming at one to go up the -river and I have no money. Stoney broke; isn't it the deuce?" - -"How very unfortunate!" said Mr Verneede. "How very unfortunate!" - -"Unfortunate isn't the name for it." - -"Did Miss Lambert write?" - -"Yes--Oh, she told me to remember her to you, sent her love to you." - -"Ah!" - -"I've only got one pound four." - -"But surely, my dear Leavesley--one pound four--why, it is quite a -little sum of money." - -"It's not enough to go up the river on--three of us." - -"Why go up the river?" - -"Where else can we go?" - -"I have an idea," said Mr Verneede. "May I propound it?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you ever heard of Epping Forest?" - -"Yes." - -"Why not go there and spend a day amidst the trees, the greenery, the -blue sky, the----" - -"What would it cost?" - -"A fractional sum; one takes the train to Woodford." - -Leavesley reached for an A.B.C. guide and plunged into details. - -"There are hamlets in the forest, where tea may be obtained in cottages -at a reasonable cost----" - -"We can just do it, I think," said Leavesley, who had been making -distracted calculations on paper. He darted to the bell and rang it. - -"Belinda," he said, when the slave of the bell made answer, "there's a -lady coming here to luncheon, have you anything in the house?" - -Belinda, with a far-away look in her eyes, made a mental survey of the -larder, twiddling the door-handle to assist thought. - -"There's a pie, sir, and sassiges, and a cold mutton chop. There's half -a chicken----" - -"That'll do, and get a salad. I'll run out and get some flowers and a -bottle of claret." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE DAISY CHAIN - - -They were seated in a dusty glade near a road, near Woodford, and they -had lost Verneede. - -The loss did not seem to affect them. Fanny had picked some daisies and -was making a chain of them. Leavesley was making and smoking cigarettes. - -"But what I can't make out," said Leavesley--"This fellow Bevan, you -said he was a beast, and now you seem quite gone on him." - -"I'm not," said Fanny indignantly. - -"Well, I can only judge from your words." - -"I'm _not_!"--pouting. - -"Well, there, I won't say any more. He stayed to luncheon, you said?" - -"Yes," defiantly, "and tea and supper; why shouldn't he?" - -"Oh, I don't see why he shouldn't, only it must have been a visitation. -I should think your father was rather bored." - -Fanny said nothing, but went on with her chain. - -"What sort of looking fellow is he?" - -"He's very nice-looking; at least he's rather fat--you know the sort of -man I mean." - -"And awfully rich?" - -"Awfully." - -Leavesley tore up grass leisurely and viciously. - -"Your uncle is awfully rich too, isn't he?" asked Miss Lambert after a -moment's silence. - -"Yes; why?" - -"I was only thinking." - -"What were you only thinking?" - -"I was thinking if I had to marry one or the other, which I'd chose." - -Leavesley squirmed with pleasure: that was one for Bevan. He -instinctively hated Bevan. He, little knowing the mind of Miss Lambert, -thought this indecision of choice between his uncle and another man an -exquisitely veiled method of describing the other man's undesirability. - -"Marry uncle," he said with a laugh. "And then we can all live together -in Gordon Square, uncle, and you, and I, and aunt, and old Verneede. The -house would hold the lot of us." - -"And father." - -"Of course," said Leavesley, thinking she spoke in fun, "and a few -more--the Captain: you don't know the Captain; he's a treasure, and -would make the menagerie quite complete." - -"And we could go for picnics," said Fanny. - -"Rather!" - -She had finished her daisy-chain, and with a charming and child-like -movement she suddenly leaned forward and threw it round his neck. - -"Oh, Fanny," he cried, taking both her little hands in his, "what's the -good of talking nonsense? I _love_ you, and you'll never marry any one -but me." - -Fanny began to cry just like a little child, and he crept up to her and -put his arm round her waist. - -"I love you, Fanny. Listen, darling, I love you----" - -"Don't--don't--don't!" sobbed the girl, nestling closer to him at each -"don't." - -"Why?" - -"I was thinking just the same." - -"What?" - -"That I----" - -"That you----?" - -"_Don't!_" - -"That you love me?" - -Silence interspersed with sobs, then-- - -"I don't love you, but I--could----" - -"What?" - -"Love you--but I mustn't." - -Leavesley heaved a deep sigh of content, squeezed her closer and rocked -her slightly. She allowed herself to be nursed like this for a few -heavenly moments; then she broke away from him, pushed him away. - -"I mustn't, I mustn't--don't!--do leave me alone--go away." She -increased the distance between them. Tears were on her long black -lashes--lashes tipped with brown--and her eyes were like passion flowers -after rain--to use a simile that has never been used before. - -Leavesley had got on his hands and knees to crawl closer towards her, -and the intense seriousness of his face, coupled with the attitude of -his body, quite dispelled Miss Lambert's inclination to weep. - -"Don't!" she cried, laughing in a helpless sort of way. "Do sit down, -you look so funny like that." - -He collapsed, and they sat opposite to each other like two tailors, -whilst Fanny dried her eyes and finished up her few remaining sobs. - -A brake full of trippers passed on the road near by, yelling that -romantic and delightful song - - - "Bedelia! - I wants to steal yer." - - -"_They're_ happy," said Fanny, listening with a rapt expression as -though she were listening to the music of the heavenly choir. "I wish I -was them." - -"Fanny," said her lover, ignoring this comprehensive wish, "why can't -you care for me?" - -"I do care for you." - -"Yes, but why can't you marry me?" - -"We're too poor." - -"I'll be making lots of money soon." - -"How much?" - -"Oh, four or five hundred a year." - -"That's not enough," said Fanny with a sigh, "not _nearly_ enough." - -Leavesley gazed at the mercenary beauty before him. Had he -miscalculated her? was she after all like other girls, a daughter of the -horse leech? - -"I'd marry you to-morrow," resumed she, "if you hadn't a penny--only for -father." - -"What about him?" - -"I must help him. I must marry a rich man or not marry at all. -There----" - -"Do you care for him more than me?" - -"Yes." - -Leavesley sighed, then he broke out: "But it's dreadful, he never would -ask you to make such a sacrifice----" - -"Father?" - -"Yes." - -"_He!_ why, he doesn't care a button. He believes in people marrying -whoever they like. He'd _like_ me to marry you. He said only the other -day you'd make a good husband because you didn't gamble or drink, and -you had no taste for going to law." - -Leavesley's face brightened, he got on his hands and knees again -preparatory to drawing nearer. - -"Sit down," said Fanny, drawing away. - -"But if you love me," said the lover, collapsing again into the sitting -posture. - -"I don't." - -"What!" - -"Not enough to marry you. I could if I let myself go, but I've just -stopped myself in time. I can't ever marry you." - -"But, look here----" - -"Yes?" - -"Suppose you do marry a rich man, I don't see how it will benefit your -father." - -"Won't it! I'll never marry a man who won't help father, and he wants -help. Oh! if you only knew our affairs," said Miss Lambert, picking a -daisy and looking at it, and apparently addressing it, "the hair would -stand up on the top of your head." - -"Are they so bad as all that, Fanny?" - -"Bad isn't the word," replied Miss Lambert, plucking the petals from the -daisy one by one. "He loves me--he loves me not--he loves me--he loves -me not--he loves me." - -"Who?" - -"You." - -He got on his hands and knees again. - -"Sit _down_." - -"But, see here, listen to me: are you really serious in what you have -just said?" - -"I am." - -"Well, promise me one thing: you won't marry any one just yet." - -"What do you mean by just yet?" - -"Oh, till I have a chance, till I strike oil, till I begin to make a -fortune!" - -"How long will that be?" asked Miss Lambert cautiously. - -"I don't know," replied the unhappy painter. - -"If the Roorkes Drift Mines would only go up to two hundred," said the -girl, plucking another daisy, "I'd marry you; father has a whole -trunkful of them. He got them at sixpence each, and if they went to two -hundred they'd be worth half a million of money." - -"Is there any chance, do you think?" asked Leavesley brightening. He -knew something of stock exchange jargon. The Captain was great on stock -exchange matters, when he was not occupied in pawning his clothes and -sending wild messages to his friends for assistance. - -"I think so," said Fanny. "Mr Bevan said they were going into -Liqui----something." - -"Liquidation." - -"Yes--that's it." - -Leavesley sighed. An old grey horse cropping the grass near by came and -looked gloomily at the humans, snorted, and resumed his meal. - -"What's the time?" asked Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. Leavesley -looked at his watch. - -"Half-past six." - -"Gracious! let's go; it will take us hours to get home." She rose to her -feet and shook her dress. - -"I wonder where old Mr Verneede can be?" said the girl, looking round as -though to find him lurking amidst the foliage. "It's awful if we've lost -him." - -"We have his ticket, too," said Leavesley. "He's very likely gone back -to the station; if we don't find him there I'll leave his ticket with -the station-master." - -He rose up, and the daisy-chain round his neck fell all to pieces in -ruin to the ground. - -They found Mr Verneede waiting for them at the station, smelling of -beer, and conversing with the station-master on the weather and the -crops. - -At Liverpool Street, having seen Miss Lambert into an omnibus (she -refused to be seen home, knowing full well the distance from Highgate to -Chelsea), Leavesley, filled with a great depression of spirits, went -with Verneede and sat in pubs, and smoked clay pipes, and drank beer. - -This sorry pastime occupied them till 12.30, when they took leave of -each other in the King's Road, Leavesley miserable, and Verneede -maudlin. - -"She sent me her love," said Mr Verneede, clinging to his companion's -hand, and working it like a pump handle. "Bless you--bless you, my -boy--don't take any more--Go--bless you." - -When Leavesley looked back he saw Mr Verneede apparently trying to go -home arm-in-arm with a lamp-post. - - - - -_PART III_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -AN ASSIGNATION - - -So, it would seem from the artless confession of Miss Lambert, that -Patience Hancock had only too much reason for her fears: the lilac silk -necktie had not been bought for the edification of Bridgewater and the -junior clerks. - -That the correct James Hancock had fuddled himself with punch, told -droll stories, and lent Mr Lambert twenty pounds, were facts so utterly -at variance with the known character of that gentleman as to be -unbelievable by the people who knew him well. - -Not by people well acquainted with human nature, or the fact that a -grain of good-fellowship in the human heart exhibits extraordinary and -radium-like activity under certain conditions: the conditions induced -by punch and beauty and good-fellowship in others, for instance. - -One morning, after the day upon which he had refused to assist Frank -Leavesley to "make a fool of himself with a girl," James Hancock arrived -at his office at the usual time, in the usual manner, and, nodding to -Bridgewater as he had nodded to him every morning for the last thirty -years, passed into the inner office and closed the door. - -The closing of the door was a new departure; it had generally been left -ajar as an indication that Bridgewater might come in whenever he chose, -to receive instructions and to consult upon the morning letters. - -The expression on Bridgewater's face when he heard the closing of the -door was so extraordinarily funny, that one of the younger clerks, who -caught a glimpse of it, hastily stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth -and choked silently behind the lid of his desk. - -Quarter of an hour passed, and then the door opened. - -"Bridgewater!" - -The old gentleman stuck his pen behind his ear and answered the summons. - -James Hancock was seated at his desk. On it lay an envelope addressed -in a lady's handwriting; he covered the envelope with a piece of -blotting paper as Bridgewater entered. - -"I'm going out this morning, Bridgewater, on some private business." - -"Out this morning?" echoed Bridgewater in a tentative tone. - -"Yes; I leave you in charge." - -"But Purvis, Mr James, Purvis has an appointment with you at twelve." - -"Oh, bother Purvis! Tell him to call to-morrow, his affair will wait; -tell him the deed is not drawn and to come again to-morrow." - -"How about Isaacs?" - -"Solomon Isaacs?" - -"Yes, Mr James." - -"What time is he coming?" - -"Half-past eleven." - -"Tell him to come to-morrow." - -"I'm afraid he won't. I'm----" - -"If he won't," said Mr Hancock with some acerbity, "tell him to go to -the devil. I don't want his business especially--let him find some one -else. Now see here, about these letters." - -He went into the morning letters, dictating replies to the more -important ones and leaving the rest to the discretion of his clerk. - -"And, Bridgewater," said Mr Hancock, as the senior clerk turned to -depart, "I am expecting a lady to call here at half-past ten or quarter -to eleven: show her in, it's Miss Lambert." - -"You have had no word from Mr Charles Bevan, sir, since he called the -other day?" - -"Not a word. He is a very hot-headed young man; he inherits the Bevan -temper, the Bevan temper," reiterated James Hancock in a reflective -tone, tapping his snuff-box and taking a leisurely pinch. "I remember -his father John Bevan at Ipswich, during the election, threatening to -horsewhip my father; then when he found he was in the wrong, or rather -that his own rascally solicitor was in the wrong, he apologised very -handsomely and came to us. The family affairs have been in our hands -ever since, as you know, and, though I say it myself, they could not -have been in better." - -"May I ask, Mr James, how affairs are with the Lamberts?--a sweetly -pretty young lady is Miss Lambert, and so nice spoken." - -"The Lamberts' affairs seem very much involved; but you know, -Bridgewater, I have nothing to do with their affairs. I called to see -Mr Lambert purely as a friend. It would be very unprofessional to call -otherwise. D----n it!" suddenly broke out old Hancock, as if some one -had pricked him with a pin, "a man is not always a business man. I'm -getting on in life. I have money enough and to spare. I've done pretty -much as I liked all my life, and I'll do so to the end; yes, and I'd -break all the laws of professional etiquette one after the other -to-morrow if I chose." - -Bridgewater's amazed face was the only amazed part of his anatomy; he -was used to these occasional petulant outbursts, and he looked on them -with equanimity. - -Hancock had been threatening to retire from business for the last ten -years, to retire from business and buy a country place and breed horses. -No one knew so well as Bridgewater the impossibility of this and the -extent to which his master was bound up in his business--the business -was his life. - -He retired, mumbling something that sounded like an assent, and going to -his desk put the letters in order. - -Mr Hancock, left to himself, took a letter from his breast-pocket. It -was addressed in a large careless hand to - - - "JAMES HANCOCK, ESQ. - - GORDON SQUARE. - - -It ran:-- - - - "DEAR MR HANCOCK,--I'll be delighted to come to-morrow; I haven't - seen the Zoo for years, not since I was quite small. No, don't - trouble to come and fetch me, I will call at the office at - half-past ten or quarter to eleven, that will be simpler.--Yours - very sincerely, - - "FANNY LAMBERT." - - -"I'll be hanged if it's simpler," grumbled James Hancock, as he returned -the letter to his pocket. "Why in the name of all that's sacred couldn't -she have let me call?--the clerks will talk so. No matter, let them--I -don't care." - -"Miss Lambert," said Bridgewater, opening the door. - -Mr Hancock might have thought that Spring herself stood before him in -the open doorway, such a pleasing and perfect vision did Miss Lambert -make. She was attired in a chip hat, and a dress of something light in -texture and lilac in colour, and, from the vivacity of her manner and -the general sprightliness of her appearance, seemed bent upon a day of -pleasure. - -"I'm so awfully sorry to be so soon," said Miss Lambert. "It's only -twenty minutes past ten; the clocks have all gone wrong at home. James -broke out again yesterday; he went out and took far, far too much; isn't -it dreadful? I don't know what we are to do with him, and he wound up -the clocks last night, and I believe he has broken them all, at least -they won't go. Father has gone away again; he is down in Sussex paying a -visit to a Miss Pursehouse, we met her in Paris. She asked me to come -too, but I had to refuse because my dressmaker--I mean, Susannah -couldn't be left by herself, she smashes things so. She fell on the -kitchen stairs this morning, bringing the breakfast things up--are you -busy? and are you sure I'm not bothering you or interfering with clients -and things? I arrived here really at ten minutes past ten, and walked up -and down outside till people began to stare at me, so I came in." - -"Not a bit busy," said Mr Hancock; "delighted you've come so early. Is -that chair comfortable?" - -"Quite, thanks." - -"Sure you won't take this easy-chair?" - -"No, no; this is a delightful chair. Who is that nice old man who showed -me in?" - -"Bridgewater, my chief clerk. Yes, he is a very good sort of man -Bridgewater; he's been with us now a number of years." - -"I like him, because he always smiles at me and looks so friendly and so -funny. He's the kind of man one feels one would like to knit something -for; a--muffler or mittens. I will, next Christmas, if he wouldn't be -offended." - -"Offended! Good heavens, no, he'd be delighted--perfectly delighted, I'm -sure, perfectly. Come in!" - -"A telegram, sir," spoke Bridgewater's voice. He always "sir'd" his -master in the presence of strangers. - -"Excuse me," said Mr Hancock, putting on his glasses and opening the -telegram. He read it carefully, frowned, then smiled, and handed it to -Fanny. - -"Am I to read it?" said the girl. - -"Please." - -Fanny read:-- - -"I relinquish fishing-rights. Make the best terms with Lambert you -can.--BEVAN." - -"Isn't it nice of him?" she said without evincing any surprise; "he -told me he would when he called." - -"Told you he would?" - -"Yes." - -"When did you see Mr Bevan?" - -"Why, he called--didn't I tell you?--oh no, I forgot--he called, and he -was _awfully_ nice. Quite the nicest man I've met for a long time. He -stayed to luncheon and tea and supper." - -"Was your father at home?" - -"No." - -"I would rather this had not happened," said Mr Hancock in a slightly -pained voice. "Mr Bevan is a gentleman for whom I have great respect, -but considering the absence of your father, the absence of a -host--er--er--conventionalities, um----" - -"Oh, he didn't seem to mind," said Fanny; "he knew father was away, and -took us just as we were. He's awfully rich, I suppose, but he was just -as pleasant as if he were poor--came marketing and carried the basket; -and, I declare to goodness, if I had known we had such a jolly cousin -before, I'd have gone and hunted him up myself in the--'Albany,' isn't -it?" - -"Mr Bevan lives in the 'Albany,'" said the lawyer. "It is a bachelors' -residence, and scarcely a place--scarcely a place for a--er--lady to -call--no, scarcely a place for a lady to call. However, what's done is -done, and we must make the best of it." - -"If I had only thought," said Fanny, who had not been listening to the -humming and hawing of Mr Hancock, "I'd have asked him to come with us -to-day. Gracious! it's just eleven. Shall we go?" - -Mr Hancock took his hat and umbrella, opened the door, and they passed -out. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER - - -Mr Bridgewater's emotions, when he saw his principal following the -pretty Miss Lambert, were mixed. - -He saw through the whole thing at once: she had come by appointment, and -they were going somewhere together. - -Now, on the day when he had called to lunch with Patience Hancock, and -look over the lease of the Peckham House, the Peckham House had not been -once mentioned; the whole conversation, conducted chiefly by Miss -Hancock, concerned the welfare of her brother. She hinted at certain -news, supposed to have been received by her, that a designing woman had -her eye on her treasure; she implored her listener to let her know if he -saw any indication of the truth of these reports. "For you know, -Bridgewater," said she, indicating that the decanter was at his side, -and that he might help himself to his third glass of port, "there is no -fool like an old fool," to which axiom Bridgewater giggled assent. - -He promised to keep a "sharp look-out," and inform her of what he saw -from time to time. And it did not require a very sharp look-out to see -what he saw this morning. - -As we have indicated, his emotions were mixed. Fanny's face, her -"sweetly pretty face," appealed to him; that she had fascinated Mr -James, he felt sure; that he ought instantly to inform Miss Hancock he -felt certain; that he had a lot of important letters to write and -business to transact with Mr Purvis and Mr Isaacs were facts. Between -these facts and these fancies the old man sat scratching his head with -the stump of his pen, staring at the letters before him, and pretending -to be busy. Born in the age of valentines and sentiment, he had carried -along with him through life a "feeling" for the other sex; to be frank, -the feeling was compounded mainly of shyness, but not altogether. I -doubt if there lives a man in whose life's history there exists not a -woman in some form or other, either living and active in the present, or -dead and a memory--a leaf in amber. - -In old Bridgewater's brain there lived, keeping company with other -futilities of youth, a girl. The winters and the springs of forty-five -years had left her just the same, red-cheeked and buxom, commonplace, -pretty, with an undecided mouth, and a crinoline. As he sat cogitating, -this old mental daguerreotype took on fresh colours. He saw the sunlight -on a certain street in Hoxton, and heard the tinkle of a piano, long -gone to limbo, playing a tune that memory had in some mysterious way -bound up with the perfume of wall-flowers. - -He remembered a Christmas card that pulled out like a concertina: a -shocking production of art which gave a vista of a garden in filigree -paper leading to a house. - -A feeling of tenderness possessed him. Why should he move in a matter -that did not concern him? He determined to remain neutral, and, with the -object of dismissing the matter from his mind, turned to his letters. - -But this kindly, though inferior being was dominated by a strong and -active intelligence, and that intelligence existed in the brain of a -woman. - -Whilst he made notes and dictated to a clerk, this alien intelligence -was voicing its commands in the sub-conscious portions of his brain. He -began to hesitate in his dictation and to shuffle his feet, to pause and -to dictate nonsense. Then rising and taking his hat, he asked Mr Wolf, -his second in command, to take charge, as he had business which would -keep him away for half an hour--and made for the door. In Southampton -Row he walked twenty yards, retraced his steps, paused, blew his nose in -a huge bandana handkerchief, and then, travelling as if driven by -clockwork well wound up, he made for Gordon Square. - -The servant said that Miss Hancock was dressing to go out, and invited -him into the cave-like dining-room. She then closed the door and left -him to the tender mercies of the place. - -Decision was not the most noteworthy characteristic of Mr Bridgewater, -nor tact. He stood, consulting the clock on the mantelpiece, yet, had -you asked him, he could not have told you the time. Having come into the -place of his own volition he was now endeavouring to get up volition -enough to enable him to leave. - -"Well, Bridgewater?" said a voice. The old man turned. Miss Hancock, -dressed for going out, stood before him. - -"Why, I declare, Miss Patience!" said Bridgewater, as if the woman -before him was the very last person on earth he expected to see. - -"You have found me just in time, for I was going out. I am in a hurry, -so I won't ask you to sit down. Can I do anything for you?" - -Bridgewater rubbed his nose. - -"It's about a little matter, Miss Patience." - -"Yes?" - -"A little matter concerning Mr James." - -"Yes?" - -"I am afraid--I am afraid, Miss Patience, there is--well--not to put -too fine a point upon it--a lady." - -"What is this you say, Bridgewater? But sit down." - -"A lady, Miss Patience." - -"You've said that before--_what_ lady, and what about her?" The -recollection of Leavesley's words shot up in her brain. - -"Dear me, dear me! I wish I hadn't spoken now. I'm sure it's nothing -wrong. I think, very possibly, I have been mistaken." - -"John Bridgewater," said Miss Hancock, "you have known me from my -childhood, you know I hate shuffling, come to the point--there is a -lady--well, I have known it all along, so you need not be afraid to -speak. Just tell me all you know. You are very well aware that no one -cares for Mr James as much as I do. You are very well aware that some -men _need_ protecting. You know very well there is no better-hearted man -in the world than my brother." - -"None indeed." - -"And you know very well that he is just the man to fall a victim to a -designing woman. Think for a moment. What would a woman see in a man of -his age, except his money." - -"Very true; though I'm sure, Miss Patience, no man would make a better -husband for a woman than Mr James." - -"Oh, don't talk nonsense! When a man arrives at his age, he is too old -to be made into a husband, but he is not too old to be made into a fool. -Now tell me all you know about this affair. First of all, what is -the--person's name?" - -"The person I suspect, Miss Patience, though indeed my suspicions may be -wrong, is a Miss Lambert." - -"Surely not any relation of the Highgate Lamberts?" - -"The daughter, Miss Patience." - -"_That_ broken-down lot! Good heavens! Are you _sure_?" - -"Perfectly sure." - -"The daughter of the man who is fighting with Mr Bevan about the fish -pond?" - -"Stream." - -"It's the same. Well, go on." - -"Miss Fanny Lambert called some time ago on Mr James. She called in -distress about the action. Mr James interviewed her, and discovered -that her father was in a very bad way, financially speaking. He took -pity on them----" - -"Idiot!" - -"----and called at Highgate to see Mr Lambert. He became very friendly -with Mr Lambert. Then Miss Fanny Lambert called again." - -"What about?" - -"I don't know. And to-day, this morning, she called again." - -"Called at the office this morning?" - -"Yes." - -"What did she call for?" - -Bridgewater was silent. - -"I repeat," said Miss Hancock, speaking as an examiner might speak to a -candidate, "I repeat, what did she call for? You surely must have some -inkling." - -"I am afraid she called about nothing. I'm afraid so, very much afraid -so." - -"What _do_ you mean?" - -"I'm afraid, Miss Patience, it was an assignation." - -"How long did she stay?" - -"About twenty minutes; but that is not the worst." - -"Go on." - -"They went out together." - -"How long was my brother out with her?" - -"He hasn't come back; he has gone for the day--told me to take charge of -the office." - -"You mean they went out together like that and you did not follow them -to see where they went?" - -"Yes." - -"Oh, you _idiot_!" - -"How could I, Miss Patience?" - -"How could you--yes, that's just it. How could you, when you had such a -chance, let it slip through your fingers?" - -"But the office?" - -"The office--why, you have left the office to come round here. If you -could leave it to come here, surely you could have left it for a more -important purpose. Well, you may take this from me: soon there will be -no office to leave. It's quite possible that if Mr James makes a fool of -himself, he'll leave business and do what he's always threatening to -do--go in for farming. When a man once begins making a fool of himself, -he goes on doing so, the appetite comes with eating. Well, you had -better go back to the office and remember this for your own sake, for -my sake, for Mr James' sake, keep your eyes open. If you get another -chance, follow them." - -Bridgewater left the house walking in a very depressed manner. In Oxford -Street he entered a bar and had a glass of sherry and a biscuit. As he -left the bar, who should he see but James Hancock--James Hancock, and -Fanny side by side. They were looking in at a shop window. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AN OLD MAN'S OUTING - - -On leaving the office, the happy thought had occurred to Fanny of -telegraphing at once to her father apprising him of Charles Bevan's -decision. Accordingly they sought the nearest telegraph office, where -Miss Lambert indited the following despatch:-- - - - "TO LAMBERT, - C/O MISS PURSEHOUSE, - THE ROOST, ROOKHURST. - - "Mr Bevan has stopped the action. Isn't it sweet of him?" - - -"Any name?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh yes," replied Fanny, suddenly remembering that her connection with -the matter ought to be kept dark. "Put Hancock." - -Then they sought Oxford Street, where Fanny remembered that she had some -shopping to do. - -"I won't be a minute," she said, pausing before a draper's. "Will you -come in, or wait outside?" - -Mr Hancock elected to wait outside, and he waited. - -It was an unfortunate shop for a man to wait before: there was nothing -in the windows but _lingerie_; the shop on the left of it was a bonnet -shop, and the establishment on the right was a bar. - -So he had to wait, standing on the kerbstone, in full view of mankind. -In two minutes three men passed who knew him, and in the middle of the -fourth minute old Sir Henry Tempest, one of his best clients, who was -driving by in a hansom, stopped, got out and button-holed him. - -"Just the man I want to see, what a piece of luck! I was going to your -office. See here, that d----d scamp of a Sawyer has sent me in a bill -for sixteen pounds--sixteen pounds for those repairs I spoke to you -about. Why! I'd have got 'em done for six if he had left them to me. But -jump into the cab, and come and have luncheon, and we can talk things -over." - -"I can't," said Mr Hancock, "I am waiting for a lady--my sister, she has -just gone into that shop. I'll tell you, I will see you, any time you -like, to-morrow." - -"Well, I suppose that must do. But sixteen pounds!--people seem to think -I am made of money. I tell you what, Hancock, the great art in getting -through life is to make yourself out a poor man--go about in an old coat -and hat; you are just as comfortable, and you are not pestered by every -beggar and beast that wants money." - -"Decidedly, decidedly--I think you are right," said his listener, -standing now on one foot, now on the other. - -"Once you get the reputation of being rich you are ruined--what's the -matter with you?" - -"Twinges of gout, twinges of gout. I can't get rid of it." - -"Gout? Have you been to a doctor for it?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, don't mind what he says; try my remedy. Gout, my dear sir, is -incurable with drugs, I've tried 'em. You try hot air baths and -vegetarianism; it cured me. I don't say a _strictly_ vegetarian diet, -but just as little meat as you can take. I get it myself. Hancock, we're -not so young as we were, and the wine and women of our youth revisit us; -yes, the wine and women----" - -He stopped. Fanny had just emerged from the shop. - -The cabman who drove Sir Henry Tempest that day from Oxford Street to -the Raleigh Club has not yet solved the problem as to "what the old -gent, was laughing about." - -"I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time," said Fanny, as they -wandered away, "but those shopmen are so stupid. Who was that -nice-looking old gentleman you were talking to?" - -"That was Sir Henry Tempest; but he never struck me as being especially -nice-looking. He is not a bad man in his way--but a bore; yes, very -decidedly a bore." - -"Come here," said Fanny, from whose facile mind the charms of Sir Henry -Tempest had vanished--"Come here, and I will buy you something." She -turned to a jeweller's shop. - -"But, my dear child," said James, "I never wear jewellery--never." - -"Oh, I don't mean _really_ to buy you something, I only mean make -belief--window-shopping, you know. I often go out by myself and buy -heaps of things like that, watches and carriages, and all sorts of -things. I enjoy it just as much as if I were buying them really; more, I -think, for I don't get tired of them. Do you know that when I want a -thing and get it I don't want it any more? I often get married like -that." - -"Like what?" asked the astonished Mr Hancock. - -"Window-shopping. I see sometimes _such_ a nice-looking man in the -street or the park, then I marry him and he's ever so nice; but if I -married him really I'm sure I'd hate him, or at least be tired of him in -a day or two. Now, see here! I will buy you--let me see--let me -see--_that_!" She pointed suddenly to an atrocious carbuncle scarf-pin. -"That, and that watch with the long hand that goes hopping round. You -can have the whole window," said Fanny, suddenly becoming lavishly -generous. "But the scarf-pin would suit you, and the watch would be -useful for--for--well, it looks like a business man's watch." - -Mr Hancock sighed. "Say an old man's watch, Fanny--may I call you -Fanny?" - -"Of course, if you like. But you're not old, you're quite young; at -least you're just as jolly as if you were. But come, or we will be late -for the Zoo." - -"Wait," said Mr Hancock; "there is lots of time for the Zoo. Now look at -the window and buy yourself a present." - -"I'll buy that," said Miss Lambert promptly, pointing to a little watch -crusted with brilliants. - -Mr Hancock noted the watch and the name and number of the shop, and they -passed on. - -Mr Hancock found that progress with such a companion in Oxford Street -was a slow affair. The extraordinary fascination exercised by the shops -upon his charge astonished him; everything seemed to interest her, even -churns. The normal state of her brain seemed only comparable to that of -a person's who is recovering from an illness. - -It was after twelve when they reached Mudie's library. - -"Now," said Mr Hancock, pausing and resting on his umbrella, "I am -rather perplexed." - -"What about?" - -"Luncheon. If we take a cab to the Zoo now, we will have to lunch there -or in the neighbourhood. I do not know whether they provide luncheons at -the Zoo or whether there is even a refreshment room there." - -"You can buy buns," said Fanny; "at least, I have a dim recollection of -buns when I was there last. We bought them for the bears; but whether -they were meant for people to eat, or only made on purpose for the -animals, I don't know." - -"Just so. I think we had better defer our visit till after luncheon; -but, meanwhile, what shall we do? It is now ten minutes past twelve; we -cannot possibly lunch till one. Shall we explore the Museum?" - -"Oh! not the Museum," said Fanny; "it always takes my appetite away. I -suppose it's the mummies. I'll tell you what, we will go and have ices -in that café over there." - -They crossed to the Vienna Café, and seated themselves at a little -marble table. - -"Father and I come here often," said Fanny, "when we are in this part of -the town; we know every one here." She bowed and smiled to the lady who -sits in the little glass counting house, who smiled and bowed in return. -"That was Hermann--the man who went for our ices; and that's Fritz, the -waiter, over there, with the bald head." She caught Fritz's eye, who -smiled and bowed. "I don't see Henri--I suppose he's married; he told us -he was going to get married the last time we were here, to a girl who -keeps the accounts in a café in Soho, somewhere, and I promised him to -send them a wedding present. He was such a nice man, like a Count in -disguise; you know the sort of looking man I mean. What shall I send -him?" - -James Hancock ran over all the wedding presents he could remember in his -mind; he thought of clocks, candlesticks, silver-plated mustard pots. - -"Send him a--clock." - -"Yes, I'll send him a clock. Wait till I ask where they live." - -She rose and approached the lady at the counting-house; a brisk -conversation ensued, the lady speaking much with her hands and eyes, -which she raised alternately to heaven. - -Fanny came back looking sorrowful. "He's gone," she said; "I never -could have thought it!" - -"Why should he not go?" - -"Yes, but he went with the spoons and forks and things, and there was no -girl at Soho." - -"Never trust those plausible gentlemen who look like Italian Counts," -said James Hancock, not entirely displeased with the melodramatic news. - -"Whom _is_ one to trust?" asked Fanny, with the air of a woman whose -life's illusion is shattered. - -James Hancock couldn't quite say. "Trust _me_," rose to his lips, but -the sentiment was not uttered, partly because it would have been too -previous, and partly because Hermann had just placed before him an -enormous ice-cream. - -"You are not eating your ice!" - -"It's too hot--ah, um--I mean it's too cold," said Mr Hancock, waking -from a moment's reverie. "That is to say, I scarcely ever eat ices." The -fact that a sweet vanilla ice was simply food and drink to the gout was -a dietetic truism he did not care to utter. - -"If," said Fanny, with the air of a mother speaking to her child, "if -you don't eat your ice I will never take you shopping with me again. -_Please_ eat it, I feel so greedy eating alone." - -Mr Hancock seized a spoon and attacked the formidable structure before -him. - -"I hope I'll never grow old," sighed Miss Lambert, as Hermann approached -them with a huge dish of fantastic-looking cakes--cakes crusted with -sugar and chocolate, Moscow Gâteaux simply sodden with rum, and -Merangues filled with cream rich as Devonshire could make it. - -"We must all grow old," said Hancock, staring with ghastly eyes at these -atrocities. "But why do you specially fear age? Age has its beauties, it -must come to us all." - -"I don't want to grow old," said his companion, "because then I would -not care for sweets any more. Father says the older he grows the less he -cares for sweets, and that every one loses their sweet tooth at fifty. I -hope I'll never lose mine; if I do I'll--get a false one." - -Mr Hancock leisurely helped himself to one of the largest and -sweetest-looking of the specimens of "Italian confectionery" before -him; Fanny helped herself to its twin, and there was silence for a -moment. - -It is strange that whilst a man may admit his age to a woman he cares -for, by word of mouth, he will do much before he admits it by his -actions. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A MEETING - - -Of all places in the world the Zoo is, perhaps, the most uninspiring to -your diffident lover, but Mr Hancock was fond of zoology. It was a mild -sort of hobby which he cultivated in his few leisure moments, and he was -not displeased to air his knowledge before his pretty friend, and to -show her that he had a taste for things other than forensic. Accordingly -in the Bird House he began to show off. This was a mistake. If you have -a hobby, conceal it till after marriage. The man with a hobby, once he -lets himself loose upon his pet subject or occupation, always bores. He -is like a man in drink, he does not know the extent of his own -stupidity; lost in his own paradise he is unconscious of the trouble -and weariness he is inflicting on the unfortunates who happen to be his -companions--unlike a man in drink, he is rarely amusing. - -There were birds with legs without end, and birds apparently with no -legs at all, nutcracker-billed birds, birds without tails, and things -that seemed simply tails without birds. - -Before a long-tailed bird that bore a dim resemblance to himself, Mr -Hancock paused and began to instruct his companion. When he had bored -her sufficiently they passed to the great Ape House, and from there to -the Monkey House. - -They had paused to consider the Dog-faced Ape, when Fanny, whose eyes -were wandering about the place, gave a little start and plucked her -companion by the sleeve. "Look," she said, "there's old Mr Bridgewater!" - -"Why! God bless my soul, so it is!" cried Hancock. "What the--what -the--what the----" - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER - - -The appearance of shame and conscious guilt that suffused the face and -person of Bridgewater caused the wild idea to rush through his -employer's mind that the old man had, vulgarly speaking, "scooped the -till" and was attempting evasion. - -Defaulters bound for America or France do not, however, as a rule, take -the Monkey House at the Zoo _en route_, and the practical mind of James -Hancock rejected the idea at once, and gripped the truth of the matter. -Bridgewater had been following him for the purpose of spying upon him. - -The unhappy Bridgewater had indeed been following him. - -When, emerging from the bar, he had perceived his quarry he had followed -them at a safe distance. When they went into the Vienna Café he waited; -it seemed to him that he waited three hours: it was, in fact, an hour -and a quarter. For, having finished her ice and its accompaniments, -Fanny had declared that she was quite ready for luncheon, and had -proposed that they should proceed to the meal at once without seeking a -new café. - -When they came out, Bridgewater took up the pursuit. They got into a -hansom: he got into another, and ordered the driver to pursue the first -vehicle at a safe distance. He did this from instinct, not as a result -of having read Gaboriau, or the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." - -The long wait, the upset of all his usual ways, and the fact that he had -not lunched, coupled with his dread of a hansom--hitherto when he had -moved on wheels it had always been on those of a four-wheeler or -omnibus--conspired to reduce him mentally to the condition of an -over-driven sheep. - -They left the part of the town he knew, and passed through streets he -knew not of, streets upon streets, and still the first vehicle pursued -its way with undiminished speed. He felt now a dim certainty that his -employer was going to be married, and now he tried to occupy his -scattered wits in attempting to compute what this frightful cab journey -would cost. - -At the Zoo gates the first hansom stopped. - -"Pull up," cried Bridgewater, poking his umbrella through the trap. - -He alighted a hundred yards from the gates. At the turnstile he paid his -shilling and went in, but Fanny and her companion had vanished as -completely as if the polar bear had swallowed them up. - -He wandered away through the gardens aimlessly, but keeping a sharp -look-out. He had never been to the Zoo before, but guessed it was the -Zoo because of the animals. The whole adventure had the complexion of a -nightmare, a complexion not brightened by the melancholy appearance of -the eagles and vultures and the distant roaring and lowing of unknown -beasts. - -He saw an elephant advancing towards him swinging its trunk like a -pendulum; to avoid it he took a path that led to the Fish House. His one -desire now was to get out of the gardens and get home. He recognised now -that he had made a serious mistake in entering the gardens at all. To -have returned at once to Miss Hancock with the information that her -brother had simply taken Miss Lambert to the Zoo would have been the -proper and sensible course to have pursued. - -Now at any moment he might find himself confronted with the two people -he dreaded to meet. What should he say suppose he met them? What _could_ -he say? The anguish of this thought drove him from the Fish House, where -he had taken temporary refuge. He took a path which ended in an -elephant; it was the same elephant he had seen before, but he did not -know it. A side path, which he pursued hastily, brought him to the polar -bear. Here he asked his way to the nearest gate of a young man and -maiden who were gazing at the bear. The young man promptly pointed out a -path; he took it, and found himself at the Monkey House. - -He took off his hat and mopped his head with his bandana handkerchief. -Looking round in bewilderment after this refreshing operation he saw -something approaching far worse than an elephant; it was Mr Hancock, and -with Mr Hancock, Fanny, making directly for him. - -He did not hesitate a moment in doing the worst thing possible; as an -animal enters a trap, he entered the Monkey House. He would have shut -and bolted the door behind him had such a proceeding been feasible. - -Bridgewater had a horror of monkeys; he had always considered the common -organ-grinder's monkey to be the representative of all its kind, and the -last production of nature in frightfulness; but here were monkeys of -every shape, size, and colour, a symphony of monkeys, each "note" more -horrible than the last. - -If you have ever studied monkeys and their ways you will know that they -have their likes and dislikes just like men. That some people "appeal" -to them at first sight, and some people do not. Bridgewater did not. -When he saw Fanny entering at the door he retreated to the furthest -limits of the place and pretended to be engaged in contemplation of a -peculiarly sinister-looking ape, upon which, to judge from its -appearance, a schoolboy had been at work with a brushful of blue paint. - -The azure and sinister one endured the human's gaze for a few mutterful -moments, and then bursting into loud yells flew at the bars and -attempted to tear them from their sockets; the mandrills shrieked and -chattered, the lemur added his note, and Bridgewater beat a retreat. - -It was at this moment that Fanny's wandering gaze caught him. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A CONFESSION - - -Mr Hancock, asking Fanny to wait for him for a short time, took -Bridgewater by the arm and led him outside. - -"Now, Bridgewater, what is the meaning of this? Why have you left the -office? Why have you followed me? What earthly reason had you for doing -such a thing? Speak out, man--are you dumb?" - -"I declare to God, Mr James," said the unhappy Bridgewater, "I had no -reason----" - -"No reason!--are you mad? Bridgewater, you haven't been--drinking?" - -"Drinking!" cried Bridgewater, with what your melodramatist would call a -hollow laugh. "Drinking!--oh yes--drinking? No! No!--don't mind me, Mr -James. Drinking! One blessed glass of sherry, and not a bite have I -had--waiting two hours and more--following you in a cab--three shillings -the fare was--nearly torn in pieces by an ape--following you and hiding -in all sorts of places, and then told I've been drinking. Do I look as -if I had been drinking, Mr James? Am I given to drinking, Mr James? Have -you known me for forty years, Mr James, and have you ever seen me do -such a thing? Answer me that, Mr James----" - -"Hush, hush!--don't talk so loud," said Hancock, rather alarmed at the -old man's hysterical manner. "No, you are the last person to do such a -thing, but tell me, all the same, why you followed me." - -Bridgewater was dumb. Hungry, thirsty, frightened at being caught -spying, startled by elephants and addled by apes as he was, still his -manhood revolted at the idea of betraying Patience and sheltering -himself at her expense. All the same, he attempted very feminine tactics -in endeavouring to evade a direct reply. - -"Drinking! I have been in the office, man and boy, this fifty years and -more come next Michaelmas; it's fifty-one years, fifty-one years next -Michaelmas Day, every day at my place but Sundays and holidays, year -in, year out----" - -"Bridgewater," repeated Mr Hancock, "will you answer me the question I -just asked you? Why did you follow me to-day?" - -"Oh Lord," said Bridgewater, "I wish I had never seen this day! Follow -you, Mr James? do you think I followed you for pleasure? Why, the -office--God bless my soul! it makes my hair stand on end--no one there -but Wolf to take charge, and I have been away hours and hours. It's -three o'clock now, and here am I miles and miles away; and I ought to -have called at the law courts at 3.20, and there's those bills to file. -It seems all like a horrible nightmare, that it does; it seems----" - -"I don't want to know what it seems. You have left your duty and come -away--for what purpose?" - -Silence. - -"Ah well!" said Hancock, speaking not in the least angrily, "I see there -is a secret of some sort. I regret that a man in whom I have always -placed implicit trust should keep from me a secret that concerns me; -evidently--no matter, I am not curious. Yes, it is three o'clock; it -might be as well for you to return and look after things, though it is -too late for the law courts now." - -This tone and manner completely floored Bridgewater. The fountains of -his great deep were broken up, and if Patience Hancock could have seen -the damage done to his confidential reservoir, she would have shuddered. - -"I'll tell you the truth, Mr James. It's not my fault--she put me to the -work. I'll tell you the truth. I've been following you and spying upon -you, but it was for your own good, she said----" - -"Who said?" - -"Miss Patience." - -"Miss Patience told you to follow me to-day?" - -"Yes." - -"But what on earth--how on earth did she know I was--er--coming here?" - -"She didn't know." - -"Well, how the _devil_ did she tell you to follow me, then?" - -"She wanted to know where you were going to." - -"But," roared Hancock, whose face had been slowly crimsoning, or -purpling rather, since the mention of his sister's name, "how the -_blazes_ did she know I was going _anywhere_?" - -"When I saw you going out of the office with Miss Lambert I ran round -and told her." - -"When you saw me going out of the office with Miss Lambert you ran round -and told her!" said Hancock, spacing each word and speaking with such a -change from fire to ice that his listener shivered. "Oh, this is too -good! I pay you a large salary to spy upon me and to run round and tell -my sister my doings. Am I mad, or am I dreaming? And what--what--WHAT -led you, sir, to leave the office and run round and tell my sister?" - -"For God's sake, Mr James, don't talk so loud!" said Bridgewater; "the -people are turning round to look at us. I didn't leave the office of my -own accord; it was Miss Patience, who said to me, she said, -'Bridgewater, I trust you for your master's sake to let me know if you -see him with a lady, for,' she said, 'there is a woman who has designs -on him.'" - -"Ah!" - -"Those were her words. So when I saw you going out with Miss Lambert I -ran round and told her." - -"Ah!" - -Mr Hancock had fallen from fury into a thoughtful mood: one of the -sharpest brains in London was engaged in unravelling the meaning to get -at the inner-meaning of all this. - -"My sister came round to the office some time ago asking me to spare you -for an hour as she wished for your advice about a lease. That, of -course, was all humbug: she wanted you for the purpose of talking about -me?" - -"That is true." - -"The lease was never mentioned?" - -"Not once, Mr James." - -"All the conversation was about me and my welfare?" - -"That it was." - -"Now see here, Bridgewater, cast your memory back. Is this the first -time in your life that my sister has invited you to my house in Gordon -Square to discuss my welfare?" - -"No indeed, sir. I've been there before." - -"How many times?" - -Bridgewater assumed the cast of countenance he always assumed when -engaged in reckoning. - -"That's enough," said Hancock, "don't count. Now tell me, when did she -first begin to take you into her confidence--twenty years ago?" - -"Yes, Mr James, fully that." - -Hancock made a sound like a groan. - -"And twenty years ago it was the same tale: 'Protect my brother from a -designing woman.'" - -"Why, it was, and that's the truth," said Bridgewater, as if the fact -had just been discovered by him. - -"And you did your best, told her all about me and my movements, as far -as you knew them, and mixed and muddled, and made an ass of yourself and -a fool of me----" - -"Oh, Mr James!" - -"Hold your tongue!--a fool of me. Do you know, John Bridgewater, that -you have been aiding and abetting in a conspiracy--a conspiracy -unpunishable by law, but still a conspiracy--hold your tongue!--you are -innocent of everything but of being a fool; indeed, I ought not to call -any man a fool, for I have been a fool myself, and I ought to have seen -that the one end and aim of my sister's life was to secure her position -as my keeper, and her tenure of my house. You have shown me at one -flash a worm that has crawled through my past, cankering and corroding -all it touched. Money, money, money--that is my sister's creed. I am not -young, Bridgewater, and it seems to me that if instead of living all -these years side by side with this money-grub, I had lived side by side -with a wife, my lot would have been a better one. I might have had -children, grown-up sons now, daughters--things that make an interest for -us in our old age. Between me and all that has come my sister. That -woman has a very strong will. I see many things in the past now, ay, -twenty years ago, that I can explain. Bridgewater, you have done me a -great injury, but you did it for the best, and I forgive you. Half the -people in this world are pawns and chess-pieces, moved about by the men -and women of intellect who form the other half. If you had possessed -eyes to see, you might have seen that the really designing woman against -whom I should have been protected, was the woman with whom you leagued -yourself--my sister." - -The expression on Bridgewater's face was so wonderfully funny that -Hancock would have laughed had he not been in such a serious mood. - -"However, what's done is done, and there is no use in crying over spilt -milk. You have at least done me a service by your stupidity in following -me to-day, for you have shown me the light. Miss Lambert pleases me, and -if I choose to make her mistress of my house, instead of my sister, -mistress of my house she will be. We will return now to--where I left -Miss Lambert, and we will all go home to Gordon Square and have dinner -with my sister." - -"Not me, Mr James," gasped Bridgewater, "I don't feel well." - -"Nonsense! you need not fear my sister. She is no longer mistress of my -house; next week she shall pack bag and baggage. Come." - -He turned towards the Monkey House, and Bridgewater followed him, so -mazed in his intellect that it would be hard to tell whether monkeys, -men, Fanny Lambert, Patience Hancock, or elephants, were uppermost in -his brain. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN GORDON SQUARE - - -It was James Hancock's rule that a dinner should be served every night -at Gordon Square, to which he could invite any one, even a city -alderman. - -On this especial day a dinner, even better than usual, was in prospect. -Miss Hancock had a large circle of acquaintances of her own; she -belonged to several anti-societies. As before hinted, she was not -destitute of a certain kindness of heart, and the counterfoils of her -cheque book disclosed not inconsiderable sums subscribed to the Society -for the Total Abolition of Vivisection and Kindred Bodies. - -To-day she expected to dinner a person, a gentleman of the female -persuasion--that is to say, a sort of man. Mr Bulders, the person in -question, a member of the Anti-Tobacco League, was a crank of the -crankiest description. He wrote letters to the paper on every -conceivable subject, and in this way had obtained a dim and unholy sort -of notoriety. Fox hunting was his especial detestation, and his grand -hobby was cremation. "Why Fear the Flames?" by Emanuel Bulders, a -pamphlet of fifteen pages, privately printed, reposed in Miss Hancock's -private bookcase. But Mr Bulders has no place in this story; he is dead -and--cremated, let us hope. I shadow him forth as the reason why Miss -Hancock was sitting this evening by the drawing-room fireplace, dressed -in the dress she assumed when she expected visitors, and engaged in -crochet-work. - -The clock pointed to half-past six, Bulders was due--over-due, like the -Spanish galleon that was destined never to come into port. She had said -in her note, "Come early, I wish to talk over the last report of the ----- Society, and my brother has little sympathy with such subjects." - -Suddenly her trained ear distinguished the sound of her brother's -latchkey in the door below. Some women are strangely like dogs in so far -as regards the senses of hearing and smell. - -Patience Hancock, as she sat by the drawing-room fireplace, could tell -that her brother had not entered the house alone. She made out his -voice, and then the voice of Bridgewater. She supposed that James had -brought his clerk home to dinner to talk business matters over, as he -sometimes did; and she was relapsing from the attitude of strained -attention when a sound struck her, hit her, and caused her to drop her -crochet-work and rise to her feet. - -She heard the laughter of a girl. - -Almost instantly upon the laughter the door opened, and it seemed to -Miss Hancock that a dozen people entered the room. - -"This is my sister Patience--Patience, Miss Lambert. We've all come back -to dinner. Sit down, Bridgewater. By the way, Patience, there's a letter -for you; I took it from the postman at the hall door." He handed the -letter; it was from Mr Bulders, excusing himself for not coming to dine, -and alleging for reason a sore throat. - -Patience extended a frigid hand to Miss Lambert, who just touched it; -all the girl's light-heartedness and vivacity had vanished for the -moment, Patience Hancock acted upon her like a draught of cold air. - -"I think you have heard me mention Miss Lambert's name, Patience. We -have been to the Zoo, the whole three of us. Immensely amusing place -the Zoo--makes one feel quite a boy again. Hey, Bridgewater!" - -"I hope you enjoyed it," said Miss Hancock in a perfunctory tone, -glancing at Fanny, who was seated in a huge rocking-chair, the only -really comfortable chair in the room, and then at Bridgewater, who had -taken his seat on the ottoman. - -"Pretty well, thanks," said Fanny, speaking in a languid tone. She had -assumed very much the air of a fine lady all of a sudden: she was not -going to be patronised by a solicitor's daughter, and she had divined in -Patience Hancock an enemy. "The Zoo is very much like the world: there -is much to laugh at and much to endure. Taken as a whole, it is not an -unmixed blessing." - -James Hancock opened his mouth at these sage utterances, and then shut -it again and turned away to smile. Bridgewater had the bad manners to -scratch his head. Miss Hancock said, "Indeed?" - -"Don't you think so?" - -"I think the world is exactly what we choose to make it," said Patience -Hancock, quoting Bulders. - -"You think _that_?" said Fanny, suddenly forgetting her fine lady -languors. "Well, I wish some one would show me how to make the world -just as I'd choose to make it. Oh, it would be such a world--no poor -people, and no rain, and no misery, and no debts." - -"You mean no debtors," said Patience, seizing her opportunity. "It is -the debtors that make debts, just as it is the drunken people who make -drunkenness." - -"Yes, I suppose it is," said Fanny, suddenly abandoning her -argumentative tone for one of reverie. "It's the people in the world -that make it so horrid and so nice." - -"That's exactly it," said Hancock, who was standing on the hearthrug -listening to these banalities of thought, and contemplating Bridgewater. -"Miss Lambert is a true philosopher. It is the people who make the world -what it is; could we banish the meddlers and spies and traitors"--he -looked fixedly at his sister--"the world would not be an unpleasant -place to live in." - -"I hate spies," said Fanny, totally unconscious of the delicate ground -she was stepping upon--"people who poke about into other people's -business, and open letters, and that sort of thing." Miss Hancock -flushed scarlet, and her brother noted the fact. "James opens letters, I -caught him." - -"Who is James?" asked Miss Hancock. - -"He's our butler," said Fanny, looking imploringly at Mr Hancock as if -to say "Don't tell." - -Miss Hancock rose. "May I show you to my room? you would like to remove -your hat." - -The dinner was not a success, intellectually speaking. James Hancock's -temper half broke down over the soles, the sauce was not to his liking; -the sweet cakes, ices, and other horrors he had consumed during the day -had induced a mild attack of dyspepsia. His nose was red, and he knew -it; and, worst of all, faint twinges of gout made themselves felt. His -right great toe was saying to him, "Wait till you see what you'll have -to-morrow." Then Boffins, the old butler, tripped on the cat, broke a -dish, and James Hancock's temper flew out. - -I have described James Hancock badly, if you have not perceived that he -was a man with a temper. The evil demons in the Merangues and ices, the -irritation caused by Bridgewater's confession, the provoking calmness -of his sister, the uric acid in his blood, and the smash of the broken -dish, all combined of a sudden and were too much for him. - -"Damn that cat!" he cried. "Cats, cats, cats! How often have I told -you"--to his sister--"that I will not have my house filled with those -sneaking, prowling beasts? Chase her out; where is she?" - -Boffins looked under the table and said "Scat," but nothing "scatted." - -"She's gone, Mr James." - -"I won't have cats in my house," said Mr James, proceeding with his -dinner and feeling rather ashamed of his outburst. "Dear Lord, Patience, -what do you call this thing?" - -"The cook," said Patience, "calls it, I believe, a _vol-au-vent_. What -is wrong with it?" - -"What is right with it, you mean. Don't touch it, Miss Lambert, unless -you wish to have a nightmare." - -"I think it's delicious," said Fanny, "and I don't mind nightmares. -They're rather fun--when they are over, and you wake up and find -yourself safe in bed." - -"Well, you'll have some fun to-night," grunted James. "The person who -cooked this atrocity ought to be made sleep with the person who eats -it." - -"James, you need not be _vulgar_," said his sister. - -"What's vulgar?" - -"Your remark." - -"Boffins, fill Miss Lambert's glass--let's change the subject. This -champagne is abominably iced--give me some Burgundy." - -"James!" - -"Well?" - -"Burgundy!" - -"Well, what about Burgundy?" - -"Surely you remember the gout--the frightful attack you had last time -after Burgundy." - -"Gout? I suppose you mean Arthritic Rheumatism? But perhaps you are -right, and Dr Garrod was wrong--let us call it gout. Fill up the glass, -Boffins. Bridgewater, try some Burgundy, and see if it affects your -gout. Boffins, that cat's in the room, I hear it purring. I hear it, I -tell you, sir! where is the beast?" - -The beast, as if in answer, poked its head from under the -table-cloth--it was in Miss Lambert's lap. - -Altogether the dinner was not a success. - -"Your father has known my brother some time?" said Miss Hancock, when -the ladies found themselves alone in the drawing-room after dinner. - -"Oh yes, some time now," said Fanny. "They met over some law business. -Father had a dispute with Mr Bevan of Highshot Towers, the place -adjoining ours, you know, down in Buckinghamshire, and Mr Hancock was -very kind--he arbitrated." - -"Indeed? that is funny, for he is Mr Bevan's solicitor." - -"Is that so? I'm sure I don't know, I never trouble myself about law -business or money matters. I leave all that to father." - -They talked on various matters, and before Miss Lambert had been packed -into a specially chartered four-wheeler and driven home with Bridgewater -on the box beside the driver as chaperone, Miss Hancock had come to form -ideas about Miss Lambert such as she had never formed about any other -young lady. Ideas the tenor of which you will perceive later on. - - - - -_PART IV_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -"THE ROOST" - - -Mr Bevan, since his visit to Highgate, dreamed often at nights of -monstrous asparagus beds, and his friends and acquaintances noticed that -he seemed distrait. - -The fact was the mind of this orderly and precise individual had -received a shock; his world of thought had tilted somewhat, owing to a -slight shifting of the poles, and regions hitherto in darkness were -touched with sun. - -Go where he would a voice pursued him, turn where he would, a face. Wild -impulses to jump into a cab and drive to "The Laurels," Highgate, as -swiftly as cab could take him were subdued and conquered. Perhaps it -would be happier for some of us if we used less reason in steering our -way through life. Impulsive people are often sneered at, yet, I dare -say that an impulse acted upon will as often make a man's life as mar -it. - -Mr Bevan was not an impulsive man. It was not for some days after his -visit to "The Laurels" that he carried out his determination to stop the -action once for all. He did not return to "The Laurels." He was engaged -and a man of honour, and as such he determined to fly from temptation. -Accordingly one bright morning he despatched a wire intimating his -arrival by the 3.50 at Ditchingham, having sent which he flung himself -into a hansom and drove to Charing Cross, followed by another hansom -containing Strutt, two portmanteaux, a hunting kit-bag and a bundle of -fishing-rods. An extraordinary accident happened to the train he -travelled by; it arrived at Paddock Wood only three minutes late, making -up for this deficiency, however, by crawling into Ditchingham at 4.10. - -On the Ditchingham platform stood two girls. One tall, pale, and -decidedly good-looking despite the _pince-nez_ she wore; the other short -and rather stout, and rather pretty. - -The tall girl was Miss Pursehouse; the short was Lulu Morgan, Miss -Pursehouse's companion, an American. - -Pamela Pursehouse at this stage of her career was verging on thirty, -the only daughter of the late John Pursehouse of Birmingham, and an -orphan. She was exceedingly rich. - -Some months ago she had met Bevan on board Sir Charles Napier's yacht; -they had spent a fortnight cruising about the Balearic Islands and the -Riff coast of Morocco, had been sea-sick together, and bored together, -and finally had, one moonlight night, become engaged. It was a -cold-blooded affair despite the moonlight, and they harboured no -illusions one of the other, and no doubts. - -Pamela had a mind of her own. She had attended classes at Mason's -College and had quite a knowledge of Natural History; she also had an -interest in the ways of the working classes, and had written a paper to -prove that, with economy, a man, his wife and five children, could live -on an income of eleven shillings a week, and put by sixpence for a rainy -day; to disprove which she was eternally helping the cottagers round -about with doles of tea on a liberal scale, coal in the winter, and wine -in sickness. When the rainy day came she supplied the sixpence, which -ought to have been in the savings bank, for she was a girl who found -her heart when she forgot her head. - -At Marseilles Lady Napier, Pamela, Lulu, and Charles Bevan had left the -yacht and travelled together to Paris; there, after a couple of days, he -had departed for London to look after his affairs. Pamela had remained -in Paris, where, through Lady Napier, she had the _entrée_ of the best -society, and had met many people, including the Lamberts. She had indeed -only returned to England a short time ago. - -Outside the station stood a governess cart and the omnibus of the hotel. -Into the governess cart bundled the lovers and Lulu, into the omnibus -Strutt and the luggage. Pamela took the reins and the hog-maned pony -started. - -"Hot, isn't it?" said Charles, tilting his hat over his eyes, and -envying Strutt in the cool shelter of the omnibus. - -"Think so?" said Pamela. "It's July, you know. Why do men dress always -in summer in such heavy clothes? Seems to me women are much more -sensible in the matter of dress. Now if you were dressed as I am, -instead of in that Harris tweed, you wouldn't feel the heat at all." - -Charles tried to imagine himself in a chip hat and lilac cotton gown, -and failed. - -"You must have been fried in that train," said Lulu, staring at him with -a pair of large blue eyes, eyes that never seemed to shut. - -"Pretty nearly," answered Charles, and the conversation languished. - -Rookhurst stands on a hill; it is a village composed of gentlemen's -houses. Country "seats" radiate from it to a distance of some three -miles. Three acres and a house constitute a "seat." - -The conservatism of the old Japanese aristocracy pales when considered -beside the conservatism of Rookhurst. In this microcosm there are as -many circles as in the Inferno of Dante, and the circles are nearly as -painful to contemplate. - -When Pamela Pursehouse rented "The Roost" and took up residence there -she came unknown and untrumpeted. The parson and several curious old -ladies called upon her, but the seat-holders held aloof, she was not -received. Mrs D'Arcy-Jones--Rookhurst is full of people with -double-barrelled names, those double-barrelled names in which the -second barrel is of inferior metal--Mrs D'Arcy-Jones discovered that -Pamela's father was of Birmingham. Mrs D'Arcy-Johnson found out that he -was in trade, and Mrs D'Arcy Somebody-else that her mother's maiden name -was Jenkins. There was much turning up of noses when poor Pamela's name -was mentioned, till one fine day when all the turned-up noses were -suddenly turned down by the arrival at "The Roost" of the Duchess of -Aviedale, her footman, her maid, her dog, and her companion. Then there -was a rush. People flung decency to the winds in their haste to know the -tradesman's daughter and incidentally get a lick at the Duchess's boots. -But to all callers Pamela was not at home; she had even the rudeness not -to return their visits. - -The snobs, beaten back, retired, feeling very much like damaged goods, -and Pamela was left in peace. Her aunt, Miss Jenkins, a sweet-faced and -perfectly inane old lady, lived with her and kept house, and Pamela, -protected by her wing, had all sorts of extraordinary people to visit -her. Sandyman, M.P., the Labour representative, came down for a week-end -once, and smoked shag tobacco in the dining-room and wandered about the -village on Sunday in a Keir-Hardy cap; he also attended the tin chapel, -had a quart of beer at the village pub, and did other disgraceful things -which were all duly reported and set down to Pamela's account in the -D'Arcy-Jones-Johnson notebook. - -Pamela liked men, that is to say, men who were original and interesting; -yet she had engaged herself to the most unoriginal man in England: a -fact for which there is no accounting, save on the hypothesis that she -was a woman. - -The governess cart having climbed a long, long hill, the hog-maned pony -took to himself wings, and presently, in a cloud of dust, halted. - -"The Roost," though a fairly large house, did not boast a -carriage-drive. A gate in a high hedge led to a path through a -rose-garden which was worth all the carriage-drives in existence. - -"We have several people staying with us, did I tell you?" said Pamela as -she led the way. "Hamilton-Cox, the man who wrote the 'Pillar of Salt,' -and Wilson--Professor Wilson of Oxford, and--but come on, and I'll -introduce you." - -They entered a pleasant hall. The perfume of cigars and the sound of a -man's laughter came from a half-open door on the right. Pamela made for -it, and as Charles Bevan followed he heard a rich Irish voice. "My -friend Stacey, of Castle Stacey, raised one four foot broad across the -face; such a sunflower was never seen by mortal man, I measured it with -my own hands--four foot----" - -Bevan suddenly found himself before a man, an immense, good-looking, -priestly-faced man, in his shirt-sleeves, a cigar in his mouth, and a -billiard cue in his hand. - -"Mr Charles Bevan, Mr Lambert; Mr Bevan, Professor Wilson; Mr----" - -"Why, sure to goodness it's not my cousin, Charles Bevan of the -'Albany'!" cried the big man, effusively clasping the hand of Charles -and gazing at him with the astonished and joyous expression of a man who -meets a dear and long-lost brother. - -Mr Bevan intimated that he was that person. - -"But, sure to goodness," said the big man, dropping Charles' hand and -scratching his head with a puzzled air, then he turned on his heel: -"Where's my coat?" He found his coat and took from it a pocket-book, -from the pocket-book a telegram and a sheet of paper, whilst Pamela -turned to Professor Wilson and the novelist. - -"I got that from your lawyer, Mr Bevan," said he, "some days ago." -Charles read: - -"Bevan has stopped action. Isn't it sweet of him?--HANCOCK." - -"Yes," said Charles rather stiffly, "I stopped the action, but Hancock -seems to have--been drinking." - -"And there's the reply I was going to send, only I forgot it," said -George Lambert, handing the copy of a telegram to Charles. - -"Tell Bevan I relinquish all fishing rights. Wish to be friends.--GEORGE -LAMBERT." - -"It is very generous of you," said Charles, really touched. "But I can't -have it, we'll divide the rights." - -"Come into the garden, my boy," said George, who had now resumed his -coat, linking his arm in that of Charles and leading him out through the -open French window, into the rose-scented garden, "and let's talk things -over. It's the pity of the world we weren't always friends. Damn the -fish stream and all the fish in it! I wish they'd been boiled before -they were spawned. What's the _good_ of fighting? Isn't life too short -for fighting and divisions? Sure, there's a rose as big as a red -cabbage, but you should see the roses at my house in Highgate--and where -did you meet Miss Pursehouse?" - -"Oh," said Charles. "I've known her for some time." - -"We met her in Paris, Fanny--that's my daughter--and me met her in -Paris. Fanny doesn't care for her much, and wouldn't come with me; but -there's never a woman in the world that really cares for another woman, -unless the other woman is as ugly as sin and a hundred. There's a melon -house for you, but you should see my melon houses in Highgate, the one's -I am going to have built by Arthur Lawrence of Cockspur Street; he's -made a speciality of glass, but he charges cruel. It's the passion of my -life, a garden." - -He leaned over the gate leading to the kitchen-garden, and whistled an -old Irish hunting song softly to himself as he contemplated the cabbages -and peas. Charles lit a cigar. He was a fine figure of a man, this -Lambert; one of those large natures in a large frame that dwarf other -individualities when brought in contact with them. Hamilton Cox would -pass in a crowd, and Professor Wilson was not unimpressive, but beside -George Lambert, Hamilton-Cox looked a shrimp, and the Oxford professor -somewhat shrivelled. - -"It's the passion of my life," reiterated Fanny Lambert's father, -addressing the cabbages, the marrow fat peas, Charles Bevan, and the -distant woods of Sussex. "And if I'd stuck to it and left horses alone, -a richer man I'd have been this day." - -"I say," said Charles, who had been plunged in meditation, "why did -Hancock telegraph to you, I wonder? It wasn't exactly solicitors' -etiquette; the proper course, I think, would have been to communicate -with your lawyers, Messrs Sykes and Fagan." - -George Lambert broke into a low, mellow laugh. - -"Faith," he said, "I suppose he did communicate with them, and they -answered that they weren't my lawyers any more. I've fought with them, -and that's a fact; and now that we're friends, you and me, I've an idea -of transferring my business to Hancock. I've one or two little suits -pending; and I'm not sure but one of them won't be with Fagan for the -names I called him in his own office before his own clerks. 'I'll have -you indicted for slander,' he says. 'Slander!' said I, 'slander, you old -clothes-bag, have me up for slander, and I'll beat the dust out of your -miserable reputation in any court in the kingdom, ye old -wandering-Jew-come-to-roost,' and with that I left the office, and never -will I set my foot in it again." - -"I should think not." - -"Never again. He's a red Jew--always beware of red Jews; black Jews are -bad, but red Jews are the devil--bad luck to them! If I'd left Jews -alone, a richer man I'd have been this day. Who's that ringing a bell? -Oh, it's the afternoon tea-bell: let's go in and talk to the old -professor and Miss Pursehouse." - -They did not go in, for the Professor and Miss Pursehouse, Lulu Morgan, -and the author of the "Pillar of Salt" were having tea on the lawn. -There were few places pleasanter than the lawn of "The Roost," -especially on this golden and peaceful summer's evening, through which -the warm south wind brought the cawing of rooks from distant elm trees. - -"Have you two finished your business?" asked Pamela, addressing Charles; -"if so, sit down and tell me all the news. I got your note. So sorry you -were bored by old Mr--Blundell--was it?--at the club. Mr Blundell is a -rose-bore, it seems," turning to Hamilton Cox; "he is mad on roses." - -"Blundell! what an excellent name for a bore!" said the "Pillar of Salt" -man dreamily, closing his eyes. "I can see him, stout and red-faced -and----" - -"Matter of fact, old Blundell isn't stout," cut in Charles, to whom -Hamilton-Cox did not appeal. "He's thin and white." - -"_All_ white?" - -"No, his face, you know." - -"Ah! I had connected him with the idea of red roses. Why is it that in -thinking of roses one always figures them red?" - -"Sure, I don't know--I never do." - -"I do." - -"Well," put in Pamela, "when you escaped from Mr Blundell what did you -do with yourself that day--smoked, I suppose, and went to Tattersal's?" - -"No, I was busy." - -"What was the business--luncheon?" - -"Yes," said Charles Bevan, feeling that he was humorous in his reply, -and feeling rather a sneak, too. "Luncheon was part of the business." - -The remembrance of the fried whiting rose before him, backed by a vision -of Susannah holding in one hand a bottle of Böllinger, and in the other -a bottle of Gold-water. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MISS MORGAN - - -It is so easy not to do some things. Bevan, had he acted correctly, -ought to have informed Mr Lambert of his visit to Highgate and all that -therein lay, yet he did not. There was nothing to hide, yet, as Sir -Boyle-Roche might have said, he hid it. - -During tea several things occupied his mind very much. The vision of -Fanny Lambert was constantly before him, so was the person of her -father. He could not but acknowledge that Lambert was a most attractive -personage--attractive to men, to women, to children, to dogs, -cats--anything that could see and feel, in fact. Everything seemed to -brighten in his presence. Hamilton-Cox's dictum that if Lambert could be -bottled he would make the most excellent Burgundy, was not far wrong. - -Bevan, as he sipped his tea, watched the genial Lambert, and could not -but notice that he paid very marked attention to Pamela, and even more -marked attention to old Miss Jenkins, her aunt. - -This did not altogether please him, neither did the fact that Pamela -seemed to enjoy the attentions of this man, who was her diametrical -opposite. - -To the profound philosopher who indites these lines it seems that -between men and women in the mass there is very little difference. They -act pretty much the same, except, perhaps, in the presence of mice. -Bevan did very much what a woman would have done in his position: seeing -his true love flirting with some one else, he flirted with some one -else. Lulu Morgan was nearest to him, so he used her. - -"I've been in England a twelvemonth," answered Miss Morgan, in reply to -a query, "and I feel beginning to get crusted. They say the old carp in -the pond in Versailles get moss-grown after they've been there a hundred -and fifty years or so, and I feel like that. When I say I've been in -England a twelvemonth, I mean Europe. I've been in England three months, -and the rest abroad. Pamela picked me up in Paris, you'd just gone back -home; Lady Scott introduced me to her. I was looking out for a job. I -came over originally with the Vandervades, then Sadie Vandervade got -married; I was her companion, and I lost the job. Of course I could have -stayed on with old man Vandervade and his wife, but I wanted a job. I'm -like a squirrel, put me in a cage with nothing to do, and I'd die. I -must have a mill to turn, so I froze on to Pamela's offer. I write her -letters, and do her accounts, and interview her tradespeople. I guess -she's getting fat for want of work since I've been her companion. Yes, I -like England, and I like this place; if the people could be scraped out -of it clean, it would be considerably nicer. I went to church last -Sunday to have a good long considerate look at them; they all arrived in -carriages--every one here who has a shay of any description turns it out -to go to church in on Sunday. Well, I went to have a good long look at -them, and such a collection of stuffed images and plug-uglies I never -beheld. I'm vicious about them p'rhaps, for they treated Pamela so mean, -holding off from her when she first came, and then rushing down her -throat when they found she knew a duchess. They'd boil themselves for a -duchess. Say--you know the Lamberts? Isn't Fanny sweet?" - -Mr Bevan started in his chair, but Miss Morgan did not notice, engrossed -as she was with her own conversation. - -"We met them in Paris; and I don't know which is sweeter, Fanny or her -father. She was to have come down here with him, but she didn't. My, but -she is pretty. And don't the men run after her! there were three men in -Paris raving about her; she'd only known them two days, and they were -near proposing to her. Don't wonder at it, I'd propose to her myself, if -I was a man. But she's a little flirt all the same, and I told her so." - -"Excuse me," said Bevan, "but I scarcely think you are justified--that -is--from what I have heard of Miss Lambert, I would scarcely suspect her -of being a--flirt." - -"Wouldn't you? Men never suspect a woman of being a flirt till they're -flirted with and done for. Fanny's the worst description of flirt--oh, -I've told her so to her face--for she doesn't mean it; she just leads -men on with her sweetness, and doesn't see they're breaking their hearts -for her. She's a regular trap bated with sugar. How did you escape, Mr -Bevan? You're the only man, I guess, who ever did." - -"I haven't the pleasure--er--of Miss Lambert's acquaintance," said -Charles, rather stiffly. - -"Well, you're safe, for you are engaged; only for that I'd say 'Don't -have the pleasure of her acquaintance.' What I like about her is that -she makes all the other women so furious; she sucks the men away from -them like a whirlpool. It's a pity she's so rich, for it's simply gilt -thrown away----" - -"Is Miss--Miss Lambert rich?" - -"Why, certainly; at least I conclude so." - -"Did she tell you so?" - -"No--but she gives one the impression; they have country houses like -mushrooms all over the place, and she dresses simply just as she -pleases; only really rich people can afford to do that. She went to the -opera in Paris with us in an old horror of a gown that made her look -quite charming. No one notices what she has on; and if she went to -heaven in a coffee-coat they'd let her in, for she'd still be Fanny -Lambert." - -"You saw a good deal of her in Paris?" - -"Yes, we went about a good deal." - -"Tell me," said Mr Bevan very gravely, "you said she was a flirt--did -you really mean that?" - -"Why, how interested you are! She is, but not a bad sort of flirt. She's -one of those people all heart--she loves everything and everybody--up to -a certain point." - -"Do you think she is in love with any man--beyond a certain point?" - -"Can't say," said Miss Morgan, shaking her head sagely; "but when she -does, she'll go the whole hog. The man she'll love she'll love for ever -and ever, and die on his grave, and that sort of thing, you know." - -"I believe you are right." - -"Why, how do you know? You've never met her." - -"I was referring to your description of her. Girls of her impulsive -nature--er--generally do--I mean they are generally warm-hearted and -that sort of thing." - -"There's one man I think she has a fancy for," said Miss Morgan, staring -into space with her wide-open blue eyes, "but he's poor as a rat--an -awfully nice fellow, a painter; Mr Lambert fished him up somewhere in a -café. He and Fanny and I and a friend of his went and had dinner at a -little café near the Boul' Miche. Then we got lost--that is to say, I -and Heidenheimer lost sight of Fanny and her friend; and Fanny told me -afterwards she'd had no end of a good time finding her way home; so'd I. -'Twas awfully improper, of course, but no one knew, and it was in -Paris." - -"I may be old-fashioned, of course," said Mr Bevan stiffly, "but I think -people can't be too careful, you know--um--how long was Miss Lambert -lost with Mr----" - -"Leavesley--that's his name. Oh! she didn't turn up at the hotel till -after eight." - -"Did Mr Lambert know?" - -"Oh yes, but he wasn't uneasy; he said she was like a bad penny, sure to -turn up all right." - -"Good God!" - -"What on earth!--why, there was no harm. Leavesley is the best of good -fellows, he looked after her like a grandmother; he worships the very -ground she walks on, and I'd pity the man who would as much as look -twice at Fanny if he was with her." - -"Um--Mr Leavesley, as you call him----" - -"I don't call him, he calls himself." - -"Well, Mr Leavesley may be all right in his way, but I should not care -to see a sister of mine worshipped by one of these sort of people. -Organ-grinders and out-of-elbow artists may be delightful company amidst -their own set, but I confess I am not accustomed to them----" - -"That's just your insular prejudice--seems to me I've heard that -expression before, but it will do--Leavesley isn't an organ-grinder. I -can't stand loafers myself, and if a man can't keep up with the -procession, he'd better hang himself; but Leavesley isn't a loafer, and -he'll be at the top of the procession yet, leading the elephant. Oh, he -paints divinely!" - -"Miss Lambert, you say, is in love with him?" - -"I didn't--I fancy she had a weakness; but maybe it's only a fancy." - -"Does he write to her?" - -"Don't know--very likely; these artistic people can do things other -people can't. We all went to see the Lamberts off at the Nord, and had -champagne at the buffet; and poor old Fragonard--he was another -worshipper, an artist you know--turned up with a huge big bouquet of -violets for Fanny; we asked him where he'd got them, and he said he'd -stolen them. They don't care a fig for poverty, artists; make a joke of -it you know. Yes, I daresay he writes to Fanny. Heidenheimer writes to -me every week--says he's dying in love with me, and sends poems, -screechingly funny poems, all about nightingales and arrows and hearts. -He's an artist too, and I'd marry him, I believe I would, only we're -both as poor as Lazarus." - -"Mr Leavesley is an artist you say?" - -"Yes, but he's a genius, but genius doesn't pay--that's to say at -first--afterwards--afterwards it's different. Trading rats for diamonds -in famine time isn't in it with a genius when he gets on the make." - -Mr Bevan gazed reflectively at the tips of his shoes. He quite -recognised that these long-haired and out-at-elbowed anomalies y'clept -geniuses had the trick, at times, of making money. A dim sort of wrath -against the whole species possessed him. To a clean, correct, and -level-headed gentleman possessed of broad acres and a huge rent-roll, it -is unpleasant to think that a slovenly, shiftless happy-go-lucky -tatterdemallion may be a clean, correct and level-headed gentleman's, -superior both in brains, fascination, and even in wealth. We can fancy -the correct one subscribing sympathy, if not money, to a society for the -extinction of genius, were not such a body entirely superfluous in the -present condition of human affairs. - -"It may be," said Mr Bevan at last, "that those people are very pleasant -and all that, and useful in the world and so on, but I confess I like to -associate with people who cut their hair, and, not to put too fine a -point on it, wash----" - -"Oh, Leavesley washes," said Miss Morgan, "he's as clean as a new pin. -And as for cutting his hair, my!--that's what spoils him in my opinion; -why, it's cut to the bone almost, like a convict's. All artists cut -their hair now; it's only Polish piano-players and violinists wear their -hair long." - -"Whether they cut their hair 'to the bone' or wear it long is a matter -of indifference," said Mr Bevan. "They're all a lot of bounders, and I'd -be sorry to see a sister of mine married amongst them--very sorry." - -Miss Morgan said nothing, the warmth of Mr Bevan on the subject of -Leavesley struck her as being somewhat strange; though she said nothing, -like the parrot, she thought the more, and began to consider Mr Bevan -more attentively and to "turn him over in her mind." Now the fortunate -or unfortunate person whom Miss Morgan distinguished by turning them -over in her mind, generally gave up their secrets in the process -unconsciously, subconsciously, or sometimes even consciously. Those -wide-open blue eyes that seemed always gazing into futurity and distance -saw many happenings of the present invisible to most folk. - -Professor Wilson and Hamilton-Cox had wandered away through the garden -discussing Oxford and modern thought. Miss Pursehouse, Lambert, and old -Miss Jenkins were talking and laughing, and seemingly quite happy and -content. Said Miss Morgan, looking round: - -"Every one's busy, like the children in the Sunday-school story, and -we've no one to play with; shall we go for a walk in the village, and -I'll show you the church and the pump and the other antiques?" - -"Certainly, I'll be delighted," said Charles, rising. - -"Then com'long," said Miss Morgan, "Pamela, I'm taking Mr Bevan to show -him the village and the creatures that there abound. If we're not back -by six, send a search-party." - -Rookhurst is, perhaps, one of the prettiest and most quaint of English -villages, and the proudest. If communities receive attention from the -Recording Angel, amidst Rookhurst's sins written in that tremendous book -will be found this entry, "It calls itself a town." - -"Isn't the village sweet and sleepy?" said Miss Morgan, as she tripped -along beside her companion; "it always reminds me of the dormouse in -'Alice in Wonderland'--always asleep except at tea-time, when it wakes -up--and talks gossip. That's the chemist's shop with the two little red -bottles in the window, isn't it cunning? The old man chemist doesn't -keep any poisons, for he's half blind and's afraid of mixing the -strychnine with the Epsom salts. His wife does the poisoning; she libels -every one indifferently, and she gave out that Pamela was a lunatic and -I was her keeper. She was the butcher's daughter, and she married the -chemist man for his money ten years ago, hoping he'd die right off, -which he didn't. He was seventy with paralysis agitans and a squint, and -the squint's got worse every year, and the paralysis agitans has got -better--serve her right. That's the butcher's with the one leg of mutton -hanging up, and the little pot with a rose-tree in it. He drinks, and -beats his wife, and hunts snakes down the road when he has the -jumps--but he sells very good mutton, and he's civil. Here comes a -queen, look!" - -A carriage drawn by a pair of chestnut horses approached and passed -them, revealing a fat and bulbous-faced lady lolling on the cushions, -and seen through a haze of dust. - -"A queen?" said Bevan; "she doesn't look like one." - -"No? She's the Queen of Snobs; looks as if she'd come out of a -joke-book, doesn't she? and her name is--I forget. She lives in a big -house a mile away. That's a 'pub.' There are seven 'pubs' in this -village, and this is a model village--at least, they call it so; what an -immodel village in England must be, I don't know. There's a tailor lives -in that little house; he preaches in the tin chapel at the cross-roads. -I heard him last Sunday." - -"You go to Chapel?" - -"No, I'm Church. I heard him as I was passing by--couldn't help it, he -shouts so's you can hear him at 'The Roost' when the wind's blowing that -way--You religious?" - -"Not very, I'm afraid." - -"Neither'm I. That's the doctor's; he's Church and his wife's Chapel. -She has a sister in a lunatic asylum, and her aunt was sister of the -hair-cutter's first wife, so people despise her and fling it in her -teeth. We can raise some snobs in the States, but they're button -mushrooms to the toadstools you raise in England. Pamela is awfully good -to the doctor's wife just because the other people are nasty to her. -Pamela is grit all through. The parson lives there--a long, thin man, -looks as if he'd been mangled, and they'd forgot to hang him out to dry. -How are you, Mrs Jones? and how are the rheumatics?" Miss Morgan had -paused to address an old lady who stood at the door of a cottage leaning -on a stick. - -"That's Mrs Jones; she has more enquiries after her health than any -woman in England. Can you tell why?" - -"No." - -"Well, she has a sort of rheumatics that the least damp affects, and so -she's the best barometer in this part of the country. She's eighty, and -has been used to weather observation so long, she can tell what's -coming--hail, or snow, or rain to a T. That old man leaning on the gate, -he's Francis, the village lunatic, he's just ninety; fine days he crawls -down to Ditchingham cross-roads to wait for the soldiers coming back -from the Crimea. I call that pathetic, but they only laugh at it here. -He must have waited for them when he was a boy and seen them marching -along, and now he goes and waits for them--makes me feel s'if I could -cry. Here's a shilling for you, Francis; Miss Pamela is knitting you -some socks--good-day--poor old thing! Let's see now, those cottages are -all work-people's, and there's nothing beyond, only the road, and it's -dusty, and I vote to go back. Why, there's that old scamp of a Francis -making a bee-line for the 'Hand in Hand'; n'mind, I won't have to wear -his head in the morning." - -Miss Morgan chatted all the way back uninterruptedly, disclosing a more -than comprehensive knowledge of all the affairs of the village in which -she had lived some ten days or less. - -At the gate of "The Roost" she stopped suddenly. "My, what a pity!" - -"What's the matter?" - -"Nothing; only I might have called and seen Mrs Harmer. She has such a -pretty daughter, and I'd have liked you to have seen her, for she's the -image of Fanny Lambert." She stared full at Mr Bevan as she said this, -and there was a something in her tone and a something in her manner, and -a something in her glance that made Charles Bevan lose control of his -facial capillaries and blush. - -"Fanny's cooked him," thought the lady of the blue eyes as she retired -to dress for dinner. "But what in the nation did he mean by saying he -did not know her?" - -"What the deuce made her say that in such a way?" asked Mr Bevan of -himself as he assumed the clothes laid out for him by the careful -Strutt. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A CURE FOR BLINDNESS - - -"The British thoroughbred is not played out by any means. Look at the -success of imported blood all over the world. Look at Phantom, the -grandsire of Voltaire, and Bay Middleton----" Mr Bevan paused. He was -addressing George Lambert, and suddenly found that he was addressing the -entire dinner-table in one of those hiatuses of conversation in which -every tongue is suddenly held. - -"Yes," said Hamilton-Cox, continuing some desultory remarks on -literature, in general, into which this eruption of stud book had -broken; "but you see the old French ballads are for the most part by the -greatest of all poets, Time. Beside those the greatest modern poems seem -gaudy and Burlington Arcady, if I may use the expression. An old -folk-song that has been handed from generation to generation, played on, -so to speak, like an old fiddle by all sorts of hands, gains a sweetness -and richness never imagined by the simple-minded person who wrote it or -invented it. - -"You write poems?" asked Miss Morgan. - -"My dear lady," sighed Hamilton-Cox, "nobody writes poems nowadays, or -if they do they keep the fact a secret. I have a younger brother who -writes poetry----" - -"Thought you said no one wrote it." - -"Younger brothers are nobodies. I say I have a younger brother, he -writes most excellent verse--reams of it. Some years ago he would have -been pursued by publishers. Well, only the other day he copied out some -of his most cherished productions and approached a London publisher with -them. He entered the office at five o'clock, and some few minutes later -the people in Piccadilly were asking of each other, 'What's all that row -in Vigo Street?' No, a publisher of to-day would as soon see a burglar -in his office as a poet." - -"I never took much stock in poetry," said the practical Miss Morgan. -"I'm like Mr Bevan." - -"I can't stand the stuff," said Charles. "_The Boy Stood on the Burning -Deck_, and all that sort of twaddle, makes me ill." - -Pamela looked slightly pained. Charles was enjoying his dinner; Burgundy -and Moselle had induced a slight flush to suffuse his countenance. If -you are engaged and a gourmand never let your _fiancée_ see you eat. A -man mad drunk is to the sensitive mind a less revolting picture than a -man "enjoying his food." - -"I heard a man once," said Miss Morgan, "he was squiffy----" - -"Lulu!" - -"Well, he was; and he was reciting _I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight_. -He'd got everything mixed, and had got as far as - - - "'I stood on the moon by bridgelight - As the church was striking the tower--' - - -when every one laughed, and he sat down--on another man's hat. That's -the sort of poetry I like, something to make you laugh. Gracious! what's -the good of manufacturing misery and letting it loose in little poems -to buzz round and torment people? isn't there enough misery ready made? -Hood's _Song of the Shirt_ always makes me cry." - -"Hood," said Professor Wilson, "was a man of another age, a true poet. -He could not have written his _Song of the Shirt_ to-day; the -decadence----" - -"Now, excuse me," said Hamilton-Cox, "we have fought that question of -decadence out, you and I. Hood, I admit, could not have written his -_Song of the Shirt_ to-day, simply because shirts are manufactured -wholesale by machinery, and he would have to begin it. -'Whir--whir--whir,' which would not be poetry. Women slave at coats and -waistcoats and other garments nowadays, and you could scarcely write a -song of the waistcoat or a song of the pair of--you understand my point. -Poetry is very false, the matchbox-maker is as deserving of the poet's -attention as the shirt-maker, yet a poem beginning 'Paste, paste, paste' -would be received with laughter, not with tears. You say we are -decadents because we don't encourage poetry. I say we are not, we are -simply more practical--poetry is to all intents and purposes dead----" - -"Is it?" said George Lambert. "Is _King Lear_ dead? I was crying over -him last night, but it wasn't at his funeral I was crying. Is old -Suckling dead? I bought a first edition of him some time ago, and the -fact wasn't mentioned or hinted at in the verses. Is Sophocles dead? Old -Maloney at Trinity pounded him into my head, and he's there now alive as -ever; and if I was blind to-morrow, I'd still have the skies over his -plays to look at and the choruses to hear. Ah no, Mr Cox, poetry is not -dead, but they don't write it just now. They don't write it, but it's in -every one's heart waiting to be tapped, only there's no man with an -augur sharp enough and true enough to do the tapping." - -Pamela looked pleased. - -"I did not know that you were fond of poetry," she said. - -"I love it," said Lambert, in a tone that reminded Charles Bevan of -Fanny's tone when she declared her predilection for cats. - -"I declare it's delightful," said Professor Wilson, "to find a man of -the world who knows all about horses, and is a good billiard-player, -and all that, confessing a love for poetry." - -"Perhaps Mr Lambert is a poet himself," said Hamilton-Cox, with a -suspicion of a sneer, "or has written poetry." - -"Poetry! yards of it," answered the accused with a mellow laugh, "when I -was young and--wise. The first poem I ever wrote was all about the moon; -I wrote it when I was eleven, and sent it to a housemaid. Oh, murder! -but the things that we do when we are young." - -"Did she read it?" - -"She couldn't read; it was in the days before the Board schools and the -higher education of women. She couldn't read, she was forty, and ugly as -sin; and she boxed my ears and told my mother, and my mother told my -father, and he leathered me. He said, 'I'll teach you to write poetry to -housemaids.' But somehow," said Mr Lambert, admiring with one eye the -ruby-tinted light in his glass of port, "somehow, with all his teaching, -I never wrote a poem to a housemaid again." - -"That must have been a loss to literature." - -"Yes, but it was a gain to housemaids; and as housemaids seem the main -producers of novels and _poems_ nowadays, begad," said Mr Lambert, -"it's, after all, a gain to literature." - -"That's one for you, Cox," said Professor Wilson, and Hamilton-Cox -laughed, as he could well afford to do, for his lucubrations brought him -in a good fifteen hundred a year, and his reputation was growing. - -On the lawn, under the starlit night after dinner, Bevan had his -_fiancée_ for a moment alone. They sat in creaky basket-work chairs a -good yard apart from each other. The moon was rising over the hills and -deep, dark woods of Sussex, the air was warm and perfumed: it was an -ideal night for love-making. - -"When I left you I had some dinner at the Nord," said Mr Bevan, tipping -the ash off his cigar. "The worst dinner I've ever had, I think. Upon my -word, I think it was the worst dinner I ever had. When I got to Dover I -was so tired I turned into the hotel, and came on next morning. What -sort of crossing did you have?" - -"Oh, very fine," said Pamela, stifling a yawn, and glancing sideways at -a group of her guests dimly seen in a corner of the garden, but happy, -to judge from the laughter that came from them. - -"Are the Napiers back in England yet?" - -"No, they are still in Paris." - -"What on earth do they want staying there for so long? it must be empty -now." - -"Yes, it was emptying fast when we left, wasn't a soul left scarcely. Do -you know, I have a great mind to run over to Ostend for a few weeks. The -Napiers are going there; it's rather fun, I believe." - -"I wouldn't. What's the good of going to these foreign places? stay -here." - -Pamela was silent, and the inspiriting dialogue ceased. - -A great beetle moving through the night across the garden filled the air -with its boom. The group in the corner of the garden still were laughing -and talking; amidst their voices could be distinguished that of -Hamilton-Cox. Mr Cox had not a pleasant voice; it was too highly -pitched, and it jarred on the ear of Mr Bevan and on his soul. His soul -was in an irritable mood. When we speak of the soul we refer to an -unknown quantity, and when we speak of its condition we refer sometimes, -perhaps, to just a touch of liver, or sometimes to an extra glass of -champagne. - -"I can't make out what induces you to surround yourself with those sort -of people," said Mr Bevan, casting his cigar-end away and searching for -his cigarette case. - -"What sort of people?" - -"Oh, that writer man." - -"Hamilton-Cox?" - -"Yes--is that his name?" - -"I am not surrounding myself with Mr Cox; the thing is physically and -physiologically impossible. Do talk sense, Charles." - -Charles retired into silence, and Miss Pursehouse yawned again, -sub-audibly. After a few moments--"Where did you pick up the Lamberts?" - -"You mean Mr Lambert and his daughter?" - -"Has he a daughter?" - -"Has he a daughter? Why, Lulu Morgan, when I asked her what you and she -had found to talk about, said Fanny Lambert----" - -"It is perfectly immaterial what Miss Morgan said; some of her sayings -are scarcely commendable. I believe she did say something about a Miss -Lambert. When I said 'has he a daughter?' I spoke with a meaning." - -"I am glad to hear that." - -"What I meant was, that it would have been much better for him to have -brought his daughter down here with him." - -"Do you mean to insinuate that she is--unable to take care of herself in -town?" - -"I mean to insinuate nothing, but according to my old-fashioned -ideas----" - -"Go on, this is interesting," said Miss Pursehouse, who guessed what was -coming. - -"According to my old-fashioned ideas it is scarcely the thing for a man, -a married man, to pay a visit----" - -"You mean it's improper for me to have Mr Lambert staying here as a -guest?" "Improper was not the word I used." - -"Oh, nonsense! you meant it. Well, I think I am the best judge of my own -propriety, and I see nothing improper in the transaction. My aunt is -here, Lulu Morgan is here, you are here, Professor Wilson is here, -there's a poet coming to-morrow--I suppose that's improper too. I do -wish you would be sensible; besides, Mr Lambert is not a married man, -he is a widower." - -"Does he know that you are engaged?" - -"Sure, I don't know. I don't go about with a placard with 'I am engaged' -written on it on my back. Why do you ask?" - -"Well--um--if a stranger had been here at tea to-day he would scarcely -have thought that the engaged couple----" - -"Go on, this is delightful; it's absolutely bank-holidayish--the engaged -couple--go on." - -"Were you and I." - -"You mean you and _me_?" - -"Yes." - -"The behaviour of 'engaged couples' in decent society is, I believe, -pretty much the same as our behaviour has been, and I hope will be. How -would you have it? Would you like to walk about, I clinging to your arm, -and you playing a mouth-organ? Ought we to exchange hats with each -other? Shall I call you Choly and put ice down your neck at dinner? -Ought we to hire a brake and go on a bean feast? I wish you would -instruct me. I hate to appear _gauche_, and I hate not to do the correct -thing." - -"Vulgarity is always painful to me," said Mr Bevan, "but senseless -vulgarity is doubly so." - -"Thanks, your compliments are charming." - -"I was not complimenting you, I simply----" - -"I know, simply hinting that I was senseless and vulgar." - -"I never----" - -"I know. Shall we change the subject--what's all this?" - -"Please come and help us," said Miss Morgan, coming up. "We've got the -astronomical telescope, and we can't make head or tail of it." - -Miss Pursehouse rose and approached the group surrounding an -astronomical telescope that stood on the lawn. It was trained on the -moon, and Hamilton-Cox, with a hand over one eye and the other eye at -the eyepiece, was making an observation. - -"Sometimes I can see stars, and sometimes nothing. I can't see the moon -at all." - -"Shut the other eye," said Lambert. - -"Perhaps," said Miss Pursehouse, "if you remove the cap from the -telescope you will be able to see better. A very simple thing sometimes -cures blindness." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -TIC-DOULOUREUX - - -Mr Bevan found no chance for a _tête-à-tête_ with his _fiancée_ again -that night, perhaps because he did not seek one; he was not in the -humour for love-making. He felt--to use the good old nursery term that -applies so often, so very often, to grown-ups--"fractious." - -He retired to his bedroom at half-past eleven, and was sitting with an -unlit cigarette in his mouth, staring at the wood-fire brightly burning -in his grate, when a knock came to the door and Lambert appeared. - -"I just dropped in to say good-night. Am I disturbing you?" - -"Not a bit; sit down and have a cigarette." - -Mr Lambert helped himself to a Marcovitch from a box on the table, drew -up an easy-chair to the fire and sank into it with a sigh. - -"It seems funny," said he in a meditative tone, "that I should be -sitting here smoking and yarning with you to-night, and only yesterday, -so to speak, we were fighting like bull-dogs; but we're friends now, and -you must come and see me when you're back in town. You live in the -'Albany'? I had rooms there once, years ago--years ago. Lord! what a -change has come over London since the days when Evans' was stuffed of a -night with all manner of people--the rows and ructions I remember! The -things that went on. One night in Evans' I remember an old gentleman -coming in and ordering a chop, and no sooner had he put on his -spectacles and settled down to it with a smile all over his face, than -Bob O'Grady, of the 10th--Black O'Grady--who'd been watching him--he was -drunk as a lord--rose up and said, ''Scuse me,' he said, and took the -chop by the shank-bone and flung it on the stage. A man could take his -whack in those days, and be none the worse for it; but men are -different, somehow, now, and they go in for tea and muffins and nerves -just as the women used to, when I was twenty; and the women, begad, are -the best men now'days. Look at Miss Pursehouse! as charming as a woman -and as clever as a man. Look at this house of hers! One would think a -man owned it, everything is so well done: brandies and sodas at your -elbows, matches all over the place, and electric bells and a telephone. -That's the sort of woman for me--not that I'm not fond of the -old-fashioned sort of woman too. Fanny, my daughter--I must introduce -you to her--is as old-fashioned as they make 'em. Screeches if she sees -a rat, and knows nothing of woman's rights or the higher education of -females, and is always ready to turn on the water-works, bless her -heart! ready and willing to cry over anything you may put before her -that's got the ghost of a cry in it. But, bless you! what's the good of -talking about old-fashioned or modern women? From Hecuba down, they're -all the same--born to deceive us and make our lives happy." - -"Can't see how a woman that deceives a man can make him happy." - -"My dear fellow, sure, what's happiness but illusion, and what's -illusion but deception, and talking about deception, aren't men--the -blackguards!--just as bad at deceiving as women?" - -Mr Bevan made no reply to this; he shifted uneasily in his chair. - -"You live at Highgate?" he said. - -Lambert woke up from a reverie he had fallen into with a start. - -"Yes, bad luck to it! I've got a house there I can't get rid of, and, -talking of old-fashioned things, it's an old-fashioned house. There -aren't any electric bells, and if there were you'd as likely as not ring -up the ghost. For there's a ghost there, sure enough; she nearly -frightened the gizzard out of my butler James." - -He leaned back luxuriously in his chair, blowing cigarette rings at the -fire, whilst Charles Bevan mentally recalled the vision of "My butler -James." - -He could not but admit that Lambert carried his poverty exceedingly -well, and with a much better grace than that with which many men carry -their wealth. The impression that Fanny Lambert had made upon him was -not effaced in any way by the impression made upon him by her father. -Lambert was not an impossible man. Wildly extravagant he might be, and -reckless to the verge of lunacy, but he was a gentleman; and in saying -the word "gentleman," my dear sir or madam I do not refer to birth. -There lives many a hideous bounder who yet can fling his -great-great-great-grandfather at your head, and many a noble-minded -gentleman, the present or past existence of whose father is demonstrable -only by the logic of physiology. - -Lambert went off to his room at twelve, and Mr Bevan passed a broken -night. He dreamt of lawyers and sunflowers. He dreamt that he saw old -Francis, the village lunatic, waiting at the cross-roads; and when he -asked him what he was waiting for, Francis replied that he was waiting -to see his (Mr Bevan's) marriage procession go by: a dream which was -scarcely a hopeful omen, considering the object of the old man's daily -vigil as revealed by Lulu Morgan. - -He came down to breakfast late. His hostess did not appear, and Miss -Morgan announced that her friend was suffering from tic-douloureux. - -"'S far as I can make out, it's like having the grippe in one eye. I've -physicked her with Bile Beans and Perry Davis, and I've sent for some -Antikamnia. If she's not better by luncheon I'll send for the doctor." - -She was not down by luncheon. After that meal, Charles, strolling across -the hall to the billiard-room, felt something pluck at his sleeve. It -was Miss Morgan. - -"I want to speak to you alone for a minute," said she. "Come into the -garden; there's no one there." - -He followed her, much wondering, and they passed down a shady path till -they lost sight of the house. - -"Pamela's worried," said Lulu, "and I want to talk to you about her----" - -"Why, what can be----" - -"We've been sitting up all night, she and I, and we've been discussing -things, you 'specially." - -"Thank you----" - -"Now, don't you be mad, for Pamela's very fond of you, and I like you, -for you're a right good sort; but, see here, Pamela thinks she's made a -mistake." - -A queer new feeling entered Mr Bevan's mind, peeped round and passed -through it, so to speak--a feeling of relief--or more strictly speaking, -release. - -"Indeed?" - -"She thinks you have both made a mistake, and--you know----" - -"The fact is, she doesn't want to marry me; why not say it at once? or, -rather, why doesn't she say so to me frankly, instead of deputing -another person to do so?" - -"There's a letter," said Miss Morgan, producing one from her pocket. -"She wrote it and told me to give it to you; it's eight pages long, and -all sorts of things in it--she's very fond of you--keep it and read it. -But I tell you one line that's in it, she says she will always feel as a -sister to you, or be a sister to you, or words to that effect--that's -fatal--once a girl says that she's said the last word." - -"I don't think she ever cared for me, really," said Mr Bevan--"let us -sit down on this seat--no, I don't think she really ever cared for me." - -"What _made_ you two get engaged" - -"Why should we not?" - -"Because you're too much alike; you are both rich, and both steady and -well-balanced, you know, and that sort of thing. Likes ought never to -get married. Dear--dear--dear--what a pity----" - -"What?" - -"I was only thinking of all the love-making there's wasted in the world. -Now I know so many girls who would suit you to a T. I'll tell you of -one, if you like----" - -"Thank you, I--um----" - -"I was thinking of Fanny Lambert," said Miss Morgan in a dreamy voice. -"The girl I told you of yesterday----" - -Now, Mr Bevan was the last man in the world--as I daresay you -perceive--to discuss his feelings with any one. But Miss Morgan had a -patent method of her own for extracting confidences, of making people -talk out, as she would have expressed it herself. - -"I said to you yesterday that I had never met Miss Lambert: I had -reasons connected with some law business for saying so--as a matter of -fact, I have met her--once." - -"Oh, that's quite enough. If you've met Fanny Lambert once, you have met -her for ever. Does she like you?--I don't ask you do you like her, for, -of course, you do." - -"I think--she does." - -"You mustn't think--women hate men that think, they like them to be -sure. If a man was only bold enough he could marry any woman on earth." - -"Is that your opinion?" - -"'Tis, and my opinion is worth having. What a woman wants most is some -one to make up her mind for her. Go and make Fanny's mind up for her; -you and she are just suited." - -"In what way?" - -"To begin with, you're rich and she's poor." - -"You said yesterday that she was rich." - -"Yes, but Pamela told me last night the Lamberts are simply stone-broke. -Mr Lambert told her all his affairs, his estates are all encumbered. She -says he's just like a child, and wants protecting; so he is, and so's -Fanny; they're both a pair of children, and you are just the man to keep -Fanny straight, and make her life happy and buy her beautiful clothes -and diamonds. Why, she'll be the rage of London, Fanny will, if she's -only properly staged--and she's a dear and a good woman, and would make -any man happy. My!" - -Mr Bevan had taken Miss Morgan's hand in his and squeezed it. - -"Thank you for saying all that," said he. "Few women praise another -woman. I shall leave here by this evening's train, of course; I cannot -stay here any longer. I will think over what course I will pursue." - -"For heaven's sake, don't think, or you'll find her snapped up; I have a -prevision that you will. Go and say to Fanny 'marry me.' I _do_ want to -see her settled, she's not like me, that can rough it, and she's just -the girl to fling herself away on some rubbish." - -"I will see," said Mr Bevan. "I frankly confess that Miss Lambert--of -course, this is between you and me--that Miss Lambert has made me think -a good deal about her, but these things are not done in a moment." - -"Aren't they? I tell you love-making is just like making pancakes, if -you don't do them quick they're done for. You just remember this, that -many a man has proposed to a girl the first time he's met her and been -accepted. Women like it, it's so different from the other thing--and, -look here, kiss her first and ask her afterwards. Have two or three -glasses of champagne--you've just got the steady brain that can stand -it--and it will liven you up. I'm an old stager." - -"I will write to Miss Pursehouse from London to-morrow." - -"Dear me! I don't believe you've been listening to a word I've been -saying. Well, go your own gate, as the old woman said to the cow that -_would_ burst through the hedge and tumbled into the chalk-pit and broke -its leg. What you going to do with that letter?" - -"I will read it in the train." - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE AMBASSADOR - - -It never rains but it pours. It was pouring just now with Leavesley. - -The morning after the excursion to Epping Forest he had written a long -letter to Fanny: a business-like letter, explanatory of his prospects in -life. - -He had exhibited in this year's Academy; he had exhibited in the New -gallery--more, he had sold the Academy picture for forty pounds. He had -a hundred a year of his own, which, as he sagaciously pointed out, was -"something." If Fanny would only wait a year, give him something to hope -for, something to live for, something to work for. Three pages of -business-like statements ending with a fourth page of raving -declarations of love. The letter of a lunatic, as all love-letters more -or less are. - -He had posted this and waited for a reply, but none had come. He little -knew that his letter and a bill for potatoes were behind a plate on the -kitchen dresser at "The Laurels," stuffed there by Susannah in a fit of -abstraction, also the outcome of the troubles of love. - -On top of this all sorts of minor worries fell upon him. Mark Moses and -Sonenshine, stimulated by the two pounds ten paid on account, were -bombarding him with requests for more. A colour-man was also active and -troublesome, and a bootmaker lived on the stairs. - -Belinda, vice-president of the institution during Mrs Tugwell's sojourn -at Margate, was "cutting up shines," cooking disgracefully, not cleaning -boots, giving "lip" when remonstrated with, and otherwise revelling in -her little brief authority. A man who had all but commissioned a -portrait of a bull-dog sent word to say that the sittings couldn't take -place as the dog was dead. - -Then a cat had slipped into his bedroom and kittened on his best suit -of clothes; and Fernandez, the picture dealer to whom he had taken the -John the Baptist on the top of a four-wheeler, had offered him five -pounds ten for it; and, worst of all, driven by necessity, he had not -haggled, but had taken the five pounds ten, thus for ever ruining -himself with Fernandez, who had been quite prepared to pay fifteen. - -The Captain, who had suddenly come in for a windfall of eighty pounds, -was going on like a millionaire--haunting the studio half-tipsy, profuse -with offers of assistance and drinks, and, to cap all, the weather was -torrid. The only consolation was Verneede, who would listen for hours to -the praises of Miss Lambert, nodding his head like a Chinese mandarin -and smoking Leavesley's cigarettes. - -"I don't know what to do," said the unhappy young man, during one of -these conferences, "I don't know what to do. It's so unlike her." - -"Write again." - -"Not I--at least, how can I? If she won't answer _that_ letter there's -no use in writing any more." - -"Call." - -"I'm not going to creep round like a dog that has been beaten." - -"True." - -"She may be ill, for all I know. How do I know that she is not ill?" - -"Illness, my dear Leavesley, is one of those things----" - -"I know--but the question is, how am I to find out?" - -"Could you not apply to their family physician? I should go to him, -frankly----" - -"But I don't know who their doctor is--do talk sense. See here! could -_you_ call and ask--ask did she get home all right, and that sort of -thing?" - -"Most certainly, with pleasure, if it would relieve your feelings. -Anything--anything I can do, my dear Leavesley, in an emergency like -this you can count on me to do." - -"You needn't mention my name." - -"I shall carefully abstain." - -"Unless she asks, you know." - -"Certainly, unless she asks." - -"Armbruster came in this morning, he's going to America. He's got on to -a big firm for book illustrating; he wanted me to go with him and try -my luck--offered to pay the expenses. You might hint, perhaps, if the -subject turns up, that you think I am going to America." - -"Certainly." - -"When can you go?" - -"Any time." - -"You might go now, for I'm awfully anxious to hear if she is all right. -What's the time? Two--yes--if you go now you will get there about four." - -"Highgate?" - -"Yes--'The Laurels,' John's Road. Have you any money?" - -"Unfortunately I am rather unprovided with the necessary----" - -"Wait." - -Leavesley went to a little jug on the mantel and turned the contents of -it into his hand. - -"Here's five shillings; will that be enough?" - -"Ample." - -"Now go, like a good fellow, and do come back here straight." - -"As an arrow." - -"Don't say anything about my letter." - -"Not a word, not a word." - -Mr Verneede departed, and the painter went on with his painting, -feeling very much as Noah must have felt when the dove flew out of the -Ark. - -Mr Verneede first made straight for his lodgings. He inhabited a -top-floor back in Maple Street, a little street leading out of the -King's Road. - -Here he blacked his boots, put bear's grease on his hair, and assumed a -frock-coat a shade more respectable than the one he usually wore. Then, -with his coat tightly buttoned, his best hat on his head, and his -umbrella under his arm, he made off on his errand revolving in his -wonderful mind the forthcoming interview. To assist thought, he turned -into the four-ale bar of the "Spotted Dog." Here stood a woman with a -baby in her arms, a regular customer, who was explaining domestic -troubles to the sympathetic barmaid. Seeing Verneede seated with his ale -before him, she included him in her audience. Half an hour later the old -gentleman, having given much advice on the rearing of babies and -management of husbands, emerged from the "Spotted Dog" slightly flushed -and entirely happy. - -It seemed so much pleasanter and cooler to enter a public house than an -omnibus, that the "King's Arms," where the omnibuses stood, swallowed -him easily. Here an anarchistical house-painter, who was destructing the -British Empire, included him in his remarks; and it was, somehow, nearly -five o'clock before he left the "King's Arms" more flushed and most -entirely happy, and took an omnibus for Hammersmith. - -At nine o'clock he was wandering about Hammersmith asking people to -direct him to "The Hollies" in James' Road; at eleven he was criticising -the London County Council in a bar-room somewhere in Shepherd's Bush, -but it might have been in Paris or Berlin, Vienna or Madrid, for all -_he_ knew or cared. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A SURPRISE VISIT - - -Verneede having departed on his mission, Leavesley resumed his work with -a feeling of relief. - -He had done something. There is nothing that strains the mind so much -as sitting waiting with hands folded, so to speak, doing nothing. - -When Noah closed the trap-door of the Ark having let forth the dove, he -no doubt followed its flight with his mind's eye--here flitting over -wastes of water, here perched on the island he desired. - -Even so Leavesley, as he worked, followed the flight of Verneede towards -the object of his desires. - -Leavesley was one of those unhappy people who meet their pleasures and -their troubles half-way. He was an imaginative man, moving in a most -unimaginative world, and as a result he was always knocking his nose -against the concrete. Needless to say, his forecasts were nearly always -wrong. If he opened a letter thinking it contained a bill, it, ten to -one, enclosed a theatre ticket or a cheque, and if he expected a cheque, -fifty to one he received a bill. - -This temperament, however, sometimes has its advantages, for he was -sitting now quite contentedly painting and getting on with his picture, -whilst Mr Verneede was sitting quite contentedly in the bar of the -"Spotted Dog." - -He was also smoking furiously with all the windows shut. To the artistic -temperament at times comes moods, when it shuts all the windows, -excluding noise and air, lights the foulest old pipe it can find, and, -to use a good old public school term, "fugs." - -Suddenly he stopped work, half-sprang to his feet, palette in one hand, -pipe in the other. A footstep was on the landing, a girl's footstep--it -was _her_! - -The door opened, and his aunt stood before him. - -Since the other night when Fanny had dined with them, Miss Hancock had -been much exercised in her mind. - -How on earth had Leavesley known of the affair? Had he referred to Fanny -when he made that mysterious remark about his uncle and a girl, or was -there _another_ girl? She had an axiom that when a man once begins to -make a fool of himself he doesn't know where to stop; she had also a -strong dash of her nephew's imaginative temperament. Fanny had troubled -her at first; seraglios were now rising in her mental landscape. She had -an intuition that her brother had broken the ice as regards the other -sex, and a dreadful fear that now he had broken the ice he was going to -bathe. - -"Whew!" said Miss Hancock, waving her parasol before her to dispel the -clouds of smoke. - -"Aunt!" - -"For goodness sake, open the window. Open something--achu!--do you -_live_ in this atmosphere?" - -Leavesley opened wide the windows, tapped the ashes of his pipe out on a -sill, and turned to his aunt, who had taken her seat in an uncomfortable -manner on a most comfortable armchair. - -"This is an unexpected pleasure!" - -Miss Hancock made no reply. It was the first time she had been in the -studio, the first time she had been in any studio. - -She noticed the dust and the litter. The place was, in fact, -extraordinarily untidy, for Belinda, engaged just now in the fascination -of a policeman, had scarcely time even for such ordinary household -duties as making beds without turning the mattresses, and flinging eggs -into frying pans full of hot grease. - -As fate would have it, or curiosity rather, Belinda at this moment -entered the studio, attired in a sprigged cotton gown four inches -shorter in front than behind as if to display to their full a pair of -wonderful feet shod in list slippers. Her front hair was bound in -Hindes' hair-binders tight down to her head, displaying a protruberant -forehead that seemed to have been polished. It was the only thing -polished about Belinda, and she made a not altogether pleasing picture -as she slunk into the studio to "look for something," but in reality to -take stock of the visitor. - -It would have been much happier for her if she had stayed away. - -She was slinking out again when Miss Hancock, who had been following her -every movement, said: - -"Stop, please!" - -Belinda, with her hand on the door handle, faced round. - -"Are you the servant here?" - -"Yus"--sulkily. - -"And I suppose you are paid to keep this room in order. Where's your -mistress?" - -"She's in Margate," cut in Leavesley. - -"Stop twiddling that door handle," said Miss Hancock, entirely ignoring -Leavesley, "and attend to what I'm saying. If you are paid to keep this -room in order you are defrauding your mistress, and girls who defraud -their mistresses end in something worse. Go, get a duster." - -The feelings of Cruiser, when he first came under the hands of Mr Rarey, -may have been comparable to the feelings of Belinda before this -servant-tamer. - -She recognised a mistress, but she did not give in at once. She stood -looking sulkily from Leavesley to his aunt, and from his aunt to -Leavesley. - -Miss Hancock had no legal power over her, it was all moral. - -"Go, get a duster and a broom," cried Miss Hancock, stamping her foot. - -One second more the animal stood in mute rebellion, then it went off and -got the duster and the broom. - -"Take up that strip of carpet," commanded Mr Leavesley's aunt, when the -duster and the broom returned in the hands of the animal. "Whew! Throw -it outside the door and beat it in the back garden, if you have such a -thing--burn it if you haven't. Give me the duster. Now sweep the floor, -whilst I do these shelves; Frank, put those books in a heap. Whew! does -no one ever clean this place? Ha! what are you doing sweeping under the -couch? Pull out that couch. Mercy!!!" - -Under the couch there was a heap of miscellaneous things--empty -cigarette tins, an empty beer bottle, an empty whisky bottle, half a -pack of cards, a dress tie, a glove, "The Three Musketeers," and an old -waistcoat--_and_ dust, mounds of dust. - -Miss Hancock looked at this. Like the coster who looked back along the -City road to see the way strewn with cabbages, lettuces, and onions -which had leaked from his faulty barrow, language was quite inadequate -to express her feelings. - -"Go, get a dust-pan," she said at last, "and a basket. Be quick about -it. Mercy!!!" - -By the time the place was in order, Belinda, to Leavesley's -astonishment, had become transformed from a sulky-looking slattern to a -semi-respectable-looking servant girl. - -"That will do," said Miss Hancock in a magisterial voice, when the last -consignment of rubbish had been removed. "Now, you can go." - -As the boar sharpens its tusks against a tree preparatory to using them -to carve human flesh, so had Miss Hancock sharpened the tusks of her -temper upon Belinda. - -"No thanks, I don't want any tea," she said, replying to Leavesley's -invitation. "I've come to ask you for an explanation." - -"What of?" - -"What you said the other day." - -"What did I say the other day?" - -"About your uncle." - -"About my uncle?" he replied, wrinkling his forehead. He couldn't for -the life of him think what she was driving at; he had quite forgotten -his Parthian remark about the "girl," the thing had no root in his -mind--a bubble made of words that had risen to the surface of his mind, -burst, and been forgotten. - -Miss Hancock had her own way of dealing with hypocrites. "Well, we will -say no more about your uncle. How about Miss Lambert?" - -Leavesley made a little spring from his chair, as if some one had stuck -a pin into him, and changed colour violently. - -"How--what do you know about Miss Lambert?----" - -"I know all about it," said Miss Hancock grimly. She was so very clever -that she had got hold of the wrong end of the stick entirely, as very -clever people sometimes do. If she had come to him frankly she would -have found out that he was Fanny's lover, and not James Hancock's -confidant and go-between, as she now felt sure he was. - -Unhappy Leavesley! his love affair with Fanny seemed destined to be -mulled by every one who had a hand in it. - -"If you know all about it," he said sulkily, "that ends the matter." - -"Unfortunately it doesn't." - -"What do you mean?" - -"It's dreadful," said Miss Hancock, apparently addressing a tobacco jar -that stood on the table, "it's dreadful to watch a man consciously and -deliberately making a fool of himself--to sit by and watch it, and not -be able to move a hand." - -Of course he thought she referred to himself, but he was so accustomed -to hear his aunt calling people fools that her remarks did not ruffle -him. - -"But what I can't understand is this," he said. "Who _told_ you about -Fanny--I mean Miss Lambert?" - -"Fanny!" said the lady with a sniff. "You call her Fanny?" - -"Of course." - -"Of _course_!" - -"Why not?" - -"Why _not_!" - -"Yes." - -"The world has altered since I was a girl, that's all." Then with deep -sarcasm--"Does your uncle know that you call her Fanny?" - -"Of course not; I've never told him." - -Miss Hancock stared at him stonily, then she spoke. "Are _you_ in love -with her too?" she asked. - -"What do you mean by 'too'?" - -"Frank Leavesley, don't shuffle and prevaricate. Are you in love with -her?" - -"Of course I am; every one who meets her must love her. I believe old -Verneede is in love with her. Love with her! I'd lay my life down for -her, but it's hopeless--hopeless----" - -"I trust so indeed," replied Miss Hancock. - -For a minute he thought his aunt must be a little bit mad: this was more -than her ordinary contrariness; then he went back to his original -question. - -"I want to know who told you about this." - -"Bridgewater, for one," replied Miss Hancock. - -"Bridgewater!" - -"Yes, Bridgewater." - -"But he knows nothing about it," cried Leavesley. "He couldn't have told -you." - -"He told me everything--Miss Lambert's visit to the Zoological Gardens, -her----" - -"You may as well be exact whilst you are about it; it wasn't the -Zoological Gardens, it was Epping Forest." - -"Frank Leavesley, a lie is bad enough, but a silly lie is much worse. -Miss Lambert herself told me it was the Zoological Gardens; perhaps she -has been to Epping Forest as well; perhaps next it will be a visit to -Paris. _I_ wash my hands of the affair." - -"You have seen Miss Lambert?" - -"No matter what I have seen. I have seen enough to make me open my -eyes--and shut them again." - -Leavesley was now fuming about the studio. What on earth had possessed -Bridgewater? How on earth had he found out about the affair, and how had -he come to twist Epping Forest into the Zoological Gardens? - -"----_and_ shut them again," resumed Miss Hancock. "However, it is none -of my business, but if there is such a thing as honour you ought, in my -humble opinion, to go to your uncle and tell him the state of your -feelings towards Miss Lambert." - -"I'll go," said Leavesley--"go to the office to-day; and if uncle -chooses to keep that antiquated liar of a Bridgewater in his service any -longer after what I tell him, it will be his own look-out." - -Miss Hancock had not reckoned on this, she looked uncomfortable. - -"Bridgewater is an honourable man, who has acted for the best." - -"I know," said Leavesley. "Now, I must go out; I have some business. -Are you sure you won't have some tea?" - -"No tea, thank you," replied Miss Hancock, rising to depart. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE UNEXPLAINED - - -It was just as well she refused the tea, for there was no one to make -it. She had hypnotised Belinda, and Belinda coming out of the hypnotic -state was having hysterical convulsions in the kitchen, assisted by the -charwoman. - -"Belinda," cried Leavesley down the kitchen stairs, he had rung his bell -vainly, "are you there?" - -"She's hill, sir," replied a hoarse voice, "I'm a-lookin' arter her." - -"Oh, well, if a Mr Verneede calls, will you ask him to wait for me? I'll -be back soon." - -"Yessir." - -He left the house and proceeded as fast as omnibuses could take him to -Southampton Row. - -Bridgewater was out, but Mr Wolf, the second in command, ushered him -into Hancock's room. - -"Well," said Hancock, who was writing a letter--"Oh, it's you. Sit down, -sit down for a minute." - -He went on with his letter, and Leavesley took his seat and sat in a -simmering state listening to the squeaking of the quill pen, and framing -in his mind indictments against Bridgewater. - -If he had been in a state of mind to absorb details he might have -noticed that his uncle was looking younger and brighter. But the -youthfulness or brightness of Mr Hancock were indifferent to him -absorbed as he was with his own thoughts. - -"Well," said Hancock, finishing his letter with a flourish and leaning -back in his chair. - -"Aunt came to see me to-day," said Leavesley, "and I came on here at -once. It's most disgraceful." - -"What?" - -"Bridgewater. You've got a man in your office who is not to be trusted, -a mischief-making old----" - -"Dear me, what's all this? A man in the office not to be trusted? To -whom do you refer?" - -"Bridgewater." - -"Bridgewater?" - -"Yes." - -"What has he been doing?" - -"Doing! He has been sneaking round to my aunt telling tales about a -lady; that's what he has been doing." - -"What lady?" - -"A Miss Lambert. He told her she had been to the Zoological Gardens -with----" - -Hancock raised his hand. "Don't go on," he said, "I know it all." - -"You know it all?" - -"Yes, and I have given Bridgewater a right good dressing down--meddling -old stupid!" - -Leavesley was greatly taken back at this. - -"It's not his fault," continued Hancock. "It's your aunt's fault; she -put him on to spy. However, it's rather a delicate subject, and we won't -pursue it, but"--suddenly and in a friendly tone--"I take it very kindly -of you to come round and tell me this." - -"I thought I'd better come," said the young man; "besides, the thing -put me in such a wax. Of course, if he was egged on by aunt, it's not so -much his fault." - -"I take it very kindly of you, and we'll say no more about it." He -lapsed into meditation, and Leavesley sat filled with a vague feeling of -surprise. - -Every one seemed a little out of the ordinary to-day. Why on earth did -his uncle take this news so very kindly? - -"I've been thinking," said Hancock suddenly--then abruptly: "How are you -financially, now?" - -"Oh, pretty bad. I had to sell a picture of John the Baptist for five -pounds the other day; it was worth twenty." - -"When your mother married your father," said Hancock, leaning back in -his chair, "she flew in the face of her family. He was penniless and a -painter." - -"I don't want to hear anything against my father," said Leavesley -tartly. "Yes, he was penniless and a painter, and she married him, and -I'm glad she did. She loved him, that was quite enough." - -"If you will excuse me," said Hancock, "I was going to say nothing -against your father. I think a love-match--er--um--well, no matter. I am -only stating the facts. She flew in the face of her family, and as a -result the money that might have been hers, went to your aunt." - -"And a nice use she makes of it." - -"The hundred a year left you by your parents," resumed the lawyer, -ignoring this reply, "is, I admit, a pittance. I offered you, however, -as the head of the family, and feeling that your mother had not received -exactly justice, I offered you the choice of a profession. I offered to -take you into this office. You refused, preferring to be a painter. Now, -I am not stingy, but I have seen much of the world, and in my -experience, the less money a young man has in starting in life, the more -likely is he to arrive at the top of the tree. You have, however, now -started; I have been making enquiries, and you seem to be working, and I -am pleased with you for two things. Firstly, when you came to me the -other day for money for a--foolish purpose you didn't lie over the -matter and say you wanted the money for your landlady, as nine out of -ten young men would have done. Secondly, for coming to me to-day and -apprising me of the unpleasant intelligence, to which we will not again -refer. I appreciate loyalty." - -He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his note-case. - -"What's your present liabilities?" - -"Oh, I owe about ten pounds." - -"Sure that's all?" - -"Of course, I'd tell you if it was more; it's somewhere about that." - -Hancock took a five-pound note and a ten-pound note out of the -note-case, looked at them both, and then put the ten-pound note back. - -"I'm going to lend you five pounds," he said. "It will serve for present -expenses, and I expect you to pay me it back before the end of the -week." He held out the note. - -"You had better keep it," said his nephew, "for there's not the remotest -chance of my paying you before the end of the week." - -"Take the note," said Hancock testily, "and don't keep me holding it out -all day; you don't know what may happen in the course of a week. Take -the note." - -"Well, I'll take it if you _will_ have it so; and I'll pay you back some -time if I don't this week." - -"Now good day," said Hancock. "I'm busy." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR - - -He left the office feeling depressed. Spent anger generally leaves -depression behind it. - -Hancock's admission that his mother had been treated harshly by her -family, though a well-known fact to him, did not decrease his gloom. He -considered the thousands that ought to have fallen to her share, that -had fallen to the share of Patience instead. For a second a wild hatred -of the Hancocks and all their ways filled his breast, and he felt an -inclination to take the five-pound note from his pocket, roll it into a -ball, and fling it into the gutter. Not being a lunatic, he didn't. He -went and dined instead, though it was only a little after five, and -having dined he went back to the studio. - -Verneede had not yet returned. At ten o'clock Verneede had not yet -returned. Midnight struck. - -"Can he be staying there the night?" thought Leavesley, who had gone to -bed with a novel and a pipe and an ear, so to say, on every footstep -ascending the stairs. - -People often stayed the night at the Lamberts' drinking punch and -playing cards; he had done so himself once. - -He woke at seven and dressed, and at eight he was standing before the -house of Verneede in Maple Street. - -"Hin!" said the landlady, "I should think he was hin; and thankful he -ought to be he's not hin the police station." - -"Good gracious, what has happened?" - -"Woke us up at two in the mornin' hangin' like a coal sack over the -railin's; might a-tumbled into the airy and broke his neck. Disgraceful, -I call it!" - -"May I go up and see him?" - -"Yus, you can go up--he's in the top floor back--trouble enough we had -to get him there." - -Leavesley went up to the top floor back. The unfortunate Verneede was in -bed, trying to remember things. He had brought his umbrella home safely, -but in the pockets of his clothes, after diligent search in the grey -dawn, he had been able to discover only one halfpenny. To make up for -this deficiency, his head was swelled up till it felt like a pumpkin. - -"Good gracious, Verneede," cried Leavesley, staring at him, "what on -earth has happened to you? - -"A fit, I think," said Verneede. - -"Did you go to Highgate?" - -"Of course--of course; pray, my dear Leavesley, hand me the washing -jug." - -He began to drink from the jug. - -"Stop!" said Leavesley, "you'll burst!" - -"I'm better now," said Mr Verneede, placing the jug, half empty, on the -floor, and passing his hand across his brow. - -"Then go on and tell me all about it." - -Verneede had no recollection of anything at all save a few more or less -unpleasant incidents. He remembered the "Spotted Dog," the "King's -Arms"; he remembered streets; he remembered being turned out of -somewhere. - -"Tell you about what?" - -"Good gracious--about the Lamberts, of course. What time did you get -there?" - -"Half-past two, I think." - -"You couldn't; you only left the studio at two." - -"Half-past four, I mean; yes, it was half-past four." - -"When did you leave?" - -Verneede scratched his head. - -"Six." - -"You saw Miss Lambert?" - -"Yes." - -"Look here, Verneede, you were all right when you got there, I hope?" - -"Perfectly, absolutely." - -"What did you talk about?" - -"We talked of various topics." - -"Did you mention my name?" - -"Ah yes," said Verneede, "I told her what you said." - -"What?" - -"About your going to Australia." - -"America, you owl," cried Leavesley. - -"America, I mean--America, of course--America." - -"What did she say?" - -"She said--she hoped you'd have a fine voyage, that the weather would be -fine, in short, or words to that effect." - -Leavesley sighed. - -"Was that all she said?" - -"Absolutely." - -"Did you say anything about the letter I wrote her?" - -"Yes; I remembered that." - -"But I told you _not_." - -"It escaped me," said Verneede weakly. - -"What did she say?" - -"She said it didn't matter; at least that is what I gathered from her." - -"How do you mean gathered from her?" - -"From her manner." - -Leavesley sighed again, and Verneede leaned back on his pillow. He did -not know in the least whether he had been at Lamberts' or not--he hoped -he hadn't. - - - - -_PART V_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -GOUT - - -Since her visit to Leavesley Miss Hancock felt certain that her system -of petty espionage had been discovered: the question remained as to what -course her brother would take. He had as yet said nothing. - -One fact stood before her very plainly: his infatuation for Miss -Lambert. She had examined Fanny very attentively, and despite the fact -that she had plotted and planned for years to keep her brother single, -had he at that moment entered the room with the news that he was engaged -to be married to George Lambert's daughter, she would have received it -not altogether as a blow. In her lifelong opposition to his marrying, -she had always figured his possible wife as a woman who would oust her, -but Fanny was totally unlike all other girls she had ever met--very -different from Miss Wilkinson and the other middle-class young women, -with minds of their own, from whom she had fortunately or unfortunately -guarded her brother. There were new possibilities about Fanny. She was -so soft and so charmingly irresponsible that the idea of hectoring, -ordering, directing and generally sitting upon her was equivalent to the -idea of a new pleasure in life. To order, to put straight, to admonish -were functions as necessary to Miss Hancock's being as excretion or -respiration; a careless housemaid to correct, or a shiftless friend to -advise, called these functions into play; and the process, however it -affected the housemaid or the friend, left Miss Hancock a healthier and -happier woman. - -The Almighty, who, however we may look at the fact, made the fly to be -the intimate companion of the spider, seemed in the construction of Miss -Lambert to have had the vital requirements of Miss Hancock decidedly in -view. - -She had almost begun to form plans as to Fanny's dress allowance, in the -event of her marriage--how it should be spent; her hair, how it should -be dressed; and her life, how it should be generally made a -conglomeration of petty miseries. - -On the night before the day Bevan left for Sussex Mr Hancock and his -great toe had a conversation. What his right great toe said to Mr -Hancock that night I will report very shortly for the benefit of elderly -gentlemen in general; Anacreon has said the thing much better in verse, -but verse is out of date. Said the right great toe of Mr Hancock in a -monologue punctuated with the stabs of a stiletto: - -"How old are you? Sixty-three? (stab), that's what you say, but you know -very well you were born sixty-five years and six months ago. Wake up -(stab, stab), you must not go to sleep. Sixty-five--five years more and -you will be seventy; fifteen years more and you'll be _eighty_, and you -are in love (stab, stab, stab). _I'll_ teach you to eat sweet cakes and -ice creams; I'll (stab) teach you to drink Burgundy. And you dared to -call me Arthritic Rheumatism the other night, you (stab) dared! Now, go -to sleep (stab, stab) ... wake up again, I want to speak to you," etc., -etc., etc. - -Gout talks to one very like a woman: you cannot reply to it, it simply -talks on. - -At eight o'clock next morning, when Miss Hancock left her room, Boffins -informed her that her brother was ill and wished to see her. - -"I'm all right," said James, who was lying in bed with the sheets up to -his nose, "I'm all right--for heaven's sake, don't fidget with that -window blind--I want my letters brought up; shan't go to the office -to-day. You can send round and tell Bridgewater to call, and send for -Carter, I've got a touch of this Arthritic Rheumatism (ow!)--do ask that -servant to make less row on the stairs. No, don't want any breakfast." - -"Well, Hancock," said Dr Carter, when he arrived, "got it again--whew! -There's a foot! What have you been eating?" - -"Nothing," groaned the patient; "it's worry has done it, I believe." - -"Now, don't talk nonsense. What have you been eating and drinking?" - -"Well, I believe I had an ice-cream some days ago, and--a cake." - -"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of port--come, confess your -sins." - -"No, a glass of Burgundy." - -"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of Burgundy--well, you can commit -suicide if you choose, but I can only warn you of this that if you wish -to commit suicide in a _most unpleasant manner_ you'll do such a thing -again." - -"Dash it, Carter--oh, Lord! go gently, don't touch it there! What's the -good of being alive? I remember the days when I could drink a whole -bottle of port without turning a hair." - -"I know--but you're not as young as you were then, Hancock." - -"Oh, do say something original--say I'm getting old, and have done with -it!" - -"It's not your age so much as your diathesis," said the pitiless Carter. -"It's unfortunate for you, but there you are. You might be worse, every -man is born with a disease. Yours is gout--you might be worse. Suppose -you had aneurism? Now, here's a prescription; get it made up at once. -Thank goodness, you can stand colchicum." - -"How long will it be before I'm all right?" - -"A week, at least." - -"Oh Lord!" - -"There, you are grumbling. Remember, my dear fellow, that living is a -business as well as lawyering. Take life easy, and forget the office for -a few days." - -"I wasn't thinking of the office--give me that writing-case over there; -I must write a letter." - -When Bridgewater arrived half an hour later, he found his master -laboriously addressing an envelope. - -"Take that and post it, Bridgewater." Bridgewater took it and placed it -in his pocket without looking at the address upon it, and having -reported on the morning letters, and received advice as to dealing with -one or two matters, ambled off on his errand. - -That evening at five o'clock, when Patience brought him up a cup of tea -and the evening newspaper, James, considerably eased by the colchicum -and pills of Dr Carter, said: "Put the tea on the table there, and sit -down, Patience. I wish to speak to you." - -Patience sat down, took her knitting from her apron pocket, and began to -knit. - -"I have written a letter to-day to Miss Lambert." - -"Oh!" - -"An important letter, a vitally important letter to me." - -"You mean, James, that you have written a letter of proposal--that you -intend, in short, to marry Miss Lambert?" - -"That is precisely my meaning." - -"Humph!" - -"Does the idea displease you?" - -"Yes, and no." - -"Please explain what you mean by 'yes' and 'no'; the expression lacks -lucidity, to say the least of it." - -"I mean that it would be much better for you to remain as you are; but -if you do intend to commit yourself in this way, well--Miss Lambert is -at least a lady." - -The keen eye of James examined his sister's face as she spoke, and he -knew that what she said she meant. Despite all his tall talk to -Bridgewater about sending his sister packing her influence upon him was -very strong; thirty years of diffidence to her opinion in the minor -details of life had not passed without leaving their effect upon his -will; besides he, as a business man, had great admiration for her -astuteness and power of dealing with things. Active opposition to his -matrimonial plans would not have altered them, but it would have made -him unhappy. - -"I am glad you think that," he said. "Give me the tea." - -"Mind," said Miss Hancock, as she handed the beverage, "I wash my hands -of the matter; I think it distinctly unwise, considering your age, -considering her age, considering everything." - -"Well, all that lies with me. You will be civil and kind to her, -Patience?" - -"It is not my habit to be unkind to any one. You have written, you say, -to her to-day; you wrote without consulting me--the step is taken, and -you must abide by it. I hope it will be for your happiness, James." - -He was watching her intently, and was satisfied. - -"I wish," he said, putting the cup down on the table beside the bed, "I -wish you knew her better." - -"I will call upon her," said Miss Hancock, counting her stitches; "she -left her parasol behind her last night, I will take it back to her----" - -"No, don't, for goodness sake!" said James, the Lambert _ménage_ rising -before him, and also a vague dread that his sister, despite her -appearance and words of goodwill--or rather semi-goodwill--might be -traitorously disposed at heart. "At least--I don't know--I suppose it -would be the right thing to do." - -"I am not especially anxious to call," said Miss Hancock, who had quite -made up her mind to journey to Highgate on the morrow and spy out the -land of the Lamberts for herself. "In fact, the only possible day I -could call would be to-morrow before noon. I have a meeting in Sloane -Square to attend at five, and on Wednesday I have three engagements, two -on Thursday; Friday I have to spend the day with Aunt Catherine at -Windsor, where I will remain over Sunday." - -"Well, call to-morrow and bring her back her parasol--oh, _damn_!" - -"James!" - -"Oh Lord! I thought some one had shot a bullet into my foot. Give me the -medicine, quick, and send round for Carter. I must have some opium, or -I won't sleep a wink." - -Miss Hancock administered the dose, and retired downstairs, when she -sent a message to Dr Carter and ordered the lilac parasol of Miss -Lambert to be wrapped in paper. Then she sent a message to the livery -stables to order the hired brougham, which she employed several times a -week, to be in attendance at 9.30 the following morning, to drive her to -Highgate. - -But next morning her brother was so bad that she could not leave him. -But she called one morning later on. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE RESULT - - -The Lamberts as a rule took things easy in the morning. Breakfast was at -any time that was suitable to the convenience and appetite of each -individual; the things were generally cleared away by half-past eleven -or twelve, a matter of half an hour lost in the forenoon made little -difference in the revolution of their day. - -At half-past ten on the morning of Miss Hancock's descent upon her, -Fanny was seated at the breakfast-table. It was a glorious day, filled -with the warmth of summer, the scent of roses, and the songs of birds. A -letter from her father lay beside her on the table; it had arrived by -the morning's post, and contained great news--good news, too, yet the -goodness of it was not entirely reflected in her face. - -The worries of life were weighing on Miss Lambert; James Hancock's -unanswered letter was not the least of these. She had laughed on -receiving it, then she had cried. She had written three or four letters -in answer to it, beginning, "Dear Mr Hancock," "My dear Mr Hancock," -"_Please_ do not think me horrid," etc.; but it was no use, each was a -distinct refusal, yet each seemed either too cold or too warm. "If I -send this," said she, "it will hurt him horribly, and he has been so -kind. Oh dear! why will men be so stupid, they are so nice if they'd -only not worry one to marry them. If I send _this_ it will only make -him think that I will 'have him in the end,' as Susannah says. I wish I -were a man." - -Besides love troubles household worries had their place. James had gone -very much to pieces morally in the last few days. He had taken -diligently to drink, the writing and quoting of poetry, and the pawning -of unconsidered trifles; between the bouts, in those fits of remorse, -which may be likened to the Fata Morgana of true repentance, he had -expended his energy on all sorts of household duties not required of -him: winding up clocks to their destruction, smashing china, and -scattering coals all over the place in attempts to convey over-full -scuttles to wrong rooms and in the face of gravity. The effect upon -Susannah of these eccentricities can be best described by the fact that -she lived now most of her time with her apron over her head. Housework -under these circumstances became a matter of some difficulty. - -It wanted some twenty minutes to eleven when the "brougham with -celluloid fittings," containing Miss Hancock, drove up the drive and -stopped before "The Laurels." - -Miss Hancock stepped out and up the steps, noticing to the minutest -detail the neglect before and around her. - -She gave her own characteristic knock--sharp, decided, and -business-like; she would also have given her own characteristic ring, -but that the bell failed to respond, the pull produced half a foot of -wire but no sound, and the knob, when she dropped it, dangled wearily as -if to say, "Now see what you've done! N'matter, _I_ don't care." - -She waited a little and knocked again; this time came footsteps and the -sound of bars coming down and bolts being unshot, the door opened two -inches on the chain, and the same pale blue eye and undecided-coloured -fringe that had appeared to Mr Bevan, appeared to the now incensed Miss -Hancock. - -Just as the rabbit peeping from its burrow sees the stoat and recognises -its old ancestral enemy, so Susannah, in Miss Hancock, beheld the Foe of -herself and all her tribe. - -"Is Miss Lambert at home?" asked the visitor sharply. - -"Yus, she's in." - -"Then open the door, I wish to see her." - -Susannah banged the door to, not to exclude the newcomer, but simply to -release the chain. Then she opened it again wide, as if to let in an -elephant. - -Susannah had not presented a particularly spruce appearance on the day -when Mr Bevan called and we first met her, but this morning she was -simply--awful. - -A lock of hair like a bight of half-unravelled cable hung down behind -her ear, her old print dress was indescribable, and she had, apparently, -some one else's slippers on. She had also the weary air of a person who -had been watching in a sick room all the night. - -Miss Hancock took this figure in with one snapshot glance; also the hall -untidied, the floor undusted, the dust-pan and brush laid on the stairs, -a trap for the unwary to step on; the grandfather's clock pointing to -quarter to six, and many other things which I have not seen or noticed, -but which were clear to Miss Hancock, just as nebulæ and stars which, -looking in the direction of I cannot see, are clear to the two-foot -reflecting telescope of the Yerkes observatory. - -Susannah escorted the sniffing visitor into the library, dusted with -her apron the very same chair she had dusted for Mr Bevan, said, "I'll -tell Miss Fanny," and left the room, closing the door with a snap that -spoke, not volumes, but just simply words. - -The night before, after the other members of the household had retired, -James had taken it into his head to sit up in the library over the -remains of the fire left by Fanny. The room, as a consequence, reeked of -stale tobacco, a tumbler stood on the table convenient to the armchair. -Needless to say, the tumbler was empty. - -Miss Hancock looked around her at the books, at the carpet, at the -general litter. She came to the mantelpiece and touched it, looked at -the tip of her gloved finger to assay the quantity of dust to the square -millimetre, said, "Pah!" and sat down in the armchair. A _Pink Un_ of -George Lambert's lay invitingly near her on the table; she picked it up, -glanced at the title, read a joke, turned purple, and dropped the -raciest of all racing papers just as Fanny, fresh and charming, but -somewhat bewildered-looking, entered the room. - -Fanny felt sure that this visit of Miss Hancock's had something to do -with the letter of her brother's. She was relieved when her visitor, -after extending a hand emotionless and chill as the fin of a turtle, -said: - -"I had some business in Highgate, so I thought I would take the -opportunity of returning your parasol, which you left behind you the -other night." - -"Thanks awfully," said Fanny; "it's awfully good of you to take the -trouble. Please excuse the untidiness; we are in a great upset for--the -painters are coming in. Won't you come into the breakfast-room? There's -a fire there; it's not cold, I know, but I always think a fire is so -bright." - -She led the way to the breakfast-room, her visitor following, anxious to -see as much as she could of the inner working of the Lambert household. - -She gave a little start at the sight of the breakfast things not -removed, and another start at sight of the provender laid out for one -small person. The remains of a round of beef graced one end of the -board, and a haddock that, had it been let grow, would assuredly have -ended its life in the form of a whale, the other; there was also jam and -other things, including some shortbread on a plate. - -"Have you had breakfast?" asked Fanny in a hospitable tone of voice. - -"I breakfasted at quarter to eight," said Miss Hancock with a scarcely -perceptible emphasis on the "I." - -"I know we're awfully late as a rule," said Fanny, as they sat down near -the window, in and out of which the wasps were coming, and through which -the sun shone, laying a burning square on the carpet, "but I hate early -breakfast. When I breakfast at eight I feel a hundred years old by -twelve. Did you ever notice how awfully long mornings are?" - -"My mornings," said Miss Hancock, laying a scarcely perceptible accent -on the "my," "are all too short; an hour lost in the morning is never -regained. You cannot expect servants to be active and diligent without -you set them the example. We are placed, I think, in a very responsible -position with regard to our servants: as we make them so they are." - -"Do you think so?" said Fanny, trying to consider what part she possibly -could have had in the construction of James and the helpmeet Susannah. - -"I am sure of it. If we are idle or lazy ourselves they imitate us; they -are like children, and we should treat them as such. I ring the bell at -half-past five every morning for the maids, and I expect them to be down -by six." - -"What time do you get up?" - -"Half-past seven." - -"Then," said Fanny, laughing, "you don't set them--I mean they set you -the example, for they are up before you." - -"I spoke figuratively," said Miss Hancock rather stiffly, and eyeing the -handmaiden who had just appeared at the door to remove the things. - -"Give the fish to the cats, Susannah," said her mistress, "and be sure -to take the bones out; one nearly choked," she said, resuming her -conversation with her visitor, "the other morning." - -"Hum!" said Miss Hancock, unenthusiastic on the subject of choking cats. -"Do you always feed your animals on--good food?" - -"Yes, of course." - -"You are very young, and, of course, it is no affair of mine, but I -think in housekeeping--having first of all regard to waste--one ought to -consider how many poor people are starving. I send all my scraps to the -St Mark's Refuge Home, an excellent institution." - -"I used to give a lot of food away," said Fanny, "but I found it didn't -pay, people didn't want it. We had a barrel of beer that no one drank, -so I gave a tramp a jugful once, and he made a mark somewhere on the -house, and after that twenty or thirty tramps a day called. We couldn't -find the mark, so father had to have the whole lower part of the house -lime-washed, and the gate pillars. After that he said no more food was -to be given away, or beer." - -"There are poor and poor. To give beer to a tramp is in my opinion a -distinctly wicked act; it is simply feeding the flames of drunkenness, -as Mr Bulders says. You have heard of Mr Bulders?" - -"N--no." - -"I must introduce you. I hope you will like him, he is a great friend of -ours. Your Christian name is Fanny, I believe. May I call you Fanny?" - -"Yes," said Fanny. "How queer it is, nobody knows me for--I mean, -everybody always asks me that before I have known them for more----" - -"Everybody?" - -"Yes." - -"Gentlemen, my dear child, surely not?" - -"Yes, they do." - -Miss Hancock said nothing, but sat for a moment in silence gloating over -the girl before her. Here was a gold-mine of pure correction--the -metaphor is mixed perhaps, but you will understand it. Then she said: -"And do you permit it?" - -"Oh, _I_ don't care." - -"But I fancy, your father----" Miss Hancock paused. - -"Oh, father doesn't mind; every one has called me Fanny since I was so -high." - -"Yes, but, my dear girl, you are no longer a _child_. Fathers are -indulgent, and sometimes blind to what the world thinks; consider, when -you come to marry, when you come to have a husband----" - -"Oh, I hope it'll be a long time before I come to that," said Fanny, in -a tone of voice as if general service or the workhouse were the topic of -discussion. - -Miss Hancock took a rather deep inspiration, and was dumb for a moment. - -"I understood my brother to say that he had written to you on a subject -touching your welfare and his happiness?" - -Fanny flushed all over her face and neck. Only a little child or a very -young girl can blush like that--a blush that passes almost as quickly as -it comes, and is, perhaps, of all emotional expressions the most natural -and charming. - -"I did have a letter," she faltered, "and I have tried to answer it, am -going to answer it--I am so sorry----" - -"I don't see the necessity of being sorry," said the elder lady. "One -does not answer a letter of that description flippantly and by the next -post; my brother will quite understand and appreciate the cause of -delay." - -"Oh, but it's not the _delay_ I'm sorry for, it's the--it's the having -to say that--I can't say what he wants me to say." - -Miss Hancock raised her eyebrows. Miss Lambert's English was enough to -raise a grammarian from the grave, but it was not at the English that -Miss Hancock evinced surprise. - -James Hancock was not as old to his sister as he appeared to the rest -of the world, though she knew his age to a day and had quoted it as an -argument against his marriage; she did not appreciate the fact that he -looked every day of his age, and even perhaps a few days over. - -It is a pathetic and sometimes beautiful--and sometimes ugly--fact that -we are blind to much in the people we live with and grow up with. Joan -sees Darby very much as she saw him thirty years ago, and to Miss -Hancock her younger brother was her younger brother; and her younger -brother, to a woman, is never old. Besides being in the "prime of life," -James was clever; besides being clever, he was rich, very rich. What -more could a girl want? - -"You mean," said Patience, "that you cannot accept his proposition." - -"N--no--that is, I'd _like_ to, but I can't." - -"If you 'liked' to do it, I do not see what is to prevent you." - -"Oh, it's not that sort of liking. I mean I'd like to like him, I do -like him, but not in the way he wants." - -"It is no affair of mine," said Miss Hancock, "not in the least, but I -would urge you not to be too hasty in your reply. Think over it, weigh -the matter judicially before you decide upon what, after all, is the -most important decision a young girl is ever called upon to make." - -"I hate myself," broke out Fanny, who had been listening with bent head, -and finger tracing the pattern on the cloth of the table beside her. "I -hate myself. People are always doing me kindnesses and I am always -acting like a beast, so it seems to me, but how can I help it?" lifting -her head suddenly with a bright smile. "If I were to marry them all, I'd -have about fifty husbands, now--_more!_--so what am I to do?" - -Miss Hancock sniffed; she had never been in the same position herself, -so could give no advice from experience. The question rather irritated -her, and a smart lecture rose to her lips on the impropriety and -immodesty of girls allowing people of the other sex to "care for them," -etc., etc., but the lecture did not pass her lips. - -Since entering the house of the Lamberts the demon of Order had swelled -Jinnee-like in her breast, and the seven devils of spring cleaning, -each of whose right hands is a cake of soap, and whose left hands are -scrubbing-brushes, arose and ramped. The whole place and the people -therein, from the bell-pull to the cats'-breakfast-destined haddock, -from Susannah to her mistress, exercised a fascination upon Miss Hancock -beyond the power of words to describe. She had measured Susannah from -her sand-coloured hair to her slipshod feet, gauged her capacity for -work and her moral ineptitude, and had already dismissed her, in her -mind; as for the rest of the business, the ordering of Fanny and of her -father, whom she divined, the setting of the house to rights and the -righting of all the Lamberts' affairs, mundane and extra-mundane--this, -she felt, would be a work, which accomplished, she could say, "I have -not lived in vain." All this might be lost by a lecture misplaced. - -"Of course you will please yourself," she said. "I would only say do -nothing rashly; and in whatever way you decide, I hope you will always -be our friend. You are very young to have the cares of a house and the -ordering of servants thrust upon you, and any assistance or advice I -can give you, I should be very glad to give." - -"Thanks _so_ much!" - -"I would be very glad to call some day and have a good long chat with -you; my experience in housekeeping might be of assistance." - -"I should be _delighted_," gasped Fanny, who felt like a bird in the net -of the fowler, and whose soul was filled with one wild longing--the -longing to escape. - -"What day shall we say?" - -"Monday--no, not Monday, I have an engagement. Tuesday--I am not sure -about Tuesday. Suppose--suppose I write?" - -"I am disengaged all next week; any day you please to appoint I shall be -glad to come. What a large garden you have!" - -"Would you like to come round it?" - -"Yes; I will wait till you put on your hat." - -"Oh, I scarcely ever wear a hat in the garden. If you come this way we -can go out through the side door." - -They wandered around the garden, Miss Hancock making notes in her own -mind. As they passed the kitchen window, a face gazed out, a beery, -leery face, behind which could be seen the pale phantom of Susannah. The -face was gazing at Miss Hancock with an expression of amused and -critical impudence that caused that lady to pause and snort. - -"Did you see that man looking from the window?" she asked. - -"Yes," said Fanny in an agony, "it must have been the plumber; he came -this morning to mend the stove. Oh, here is your carriage waiting; _so_ -glad you called. Yes, I'll write." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE RESULT--(_continued_) - - -Miss Lambert ran back to the house. She made a bee-line for the library, -sat down at the writing-table, seized a pen and a sheet of paper, and -began writing as if inspired. This is what she wrote, in part: - - - "MY DEAR MR HANCOCK,--I have written several letters to you in - reply to yours, but I tore them up simply because I found it so - difficult to express what I wanted to say.... I can never, never, - marry you; I don't think I shall ever marry any one, at least, not - for a long time ... deeply, deeply respect you, and father says you - are the best man he ever met. Why not let us always be friends?... - It's a horrible world, and there are so few people who are really - nice in it ... you will quite understand ... etc." - -Four pages of this signed, - - "Always your sincere friend, - - "FANNY LAMBERT." - - -Now we have seen that Miss Hancock had endeavoured as far as in her lay -to help along her brother's interests with Miss Lambert. Yet on the -receipt of the above letter the conviction entered the mind of James -Hancock, never to be evicted, that his sister had, vulgarly speaking, -"dished" the affair, and, moreover, that she had done so wittingly and -of malice prepense. - -Having gummed and stamped the envelope she went out herself and posted -it. - -When she came back she found Leavesley waiting for her. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -"JOURNEY'S END" - - -For some days past, ever since Verneede's fiasco in fact, Leavesley had -been very much down in the mouth. - -There is a tide in the affairs of man that when it reaches its lowest -ebb usually takes a turn. The tide had been out with Leavesley for some -time, and acres of desolate mud spoke nothing of the rolling breakers -that were coming in. - -The first roller had arrived by the first post on this very morning. It -was a letter from his uncle. - - - "GORDON SQUARE. - - "DEAR FRANK,--I am in bed with a bad foot, or I would ask you to - call and see me. - - "I want that five pounds back. I made a will some years ago, by - which you benefited to the extent of two thousand pounds; I am - destroying that will, and drafting another. - - "It's this way. I don't intend to die just yet, and you may as well - have the two thousand now, when it will be of use to you. Call on - Bridgewater, he will hand you shares to the amount in the Great - Western Railway. Take my advice and don't sell them, they are going - to rise, but of course, as to this you are your own master.--Your - affectionate uncle, - - "JAMES HANCOCK." - - -"Two thousand pounds!" yelled Leavesley, "Belinda!" (he had heard her -foot on the stairs). - -"Yessir." - -"I've been left two thousand pounds." Belinda passed on her avocations; -she thought it was another of Mr Leavesley's jokes. - -He ate a tremendous breakfast without knowing what he was eating, and in -the middle of it the second roller came in. - -It was a telegram. - -He felt certain it was from Hancock revoking his legacy. It was from -Miss Lambert. - - - "Only just found your letter. Please call this morning. Good news - to tell you." - - -"Fanny!" cried Leavesley, as he stood before her in the drawing-room of -"The Laurels" (she had just entered the room, having returned from -posting her letter). - -"Think--I've got two thousand pounds this morning!" - -"Mercy!" cried Miss Lambert. "Where did you get it from?" - -"Uncle." - -"Mr Hancock?" - -"Yes; he was going to have left me it in his will, but he's given me it -instead." - -"How good of him!" said Fanny. She was about to say something else, but -she stopped. - -"That's my good news," continued Leavesley. "What's yours?" - -"Mine? Oh--just think! Father's engaged to be married." - -"To be married?" - -"Yes, to a Miss Pursehouse; she's _awfully_ rich." - -He did not for a moment grasp the importance of this piece of -intelligence. Then it broke on him. Now that Fanny's father was provided -for, she would be free to marry any one she liked. - - * * * * * - -"I was nearly heart-broken," mumbled Leavesley into Fanny's hair--they -were seated on the couch--"when you didn't reply." - -"The letter was on the kitchen dresser all the time," replied Fanny in -a happy and dreamy voice, "behind a plate." - -"And then when old Verneede called, and you seemed so indifferent--at -least, he said you did." - -"Who said I did?" - -"Verneede; when he called here that day." - -"He never called here." - -"_Verneede_ never called here?" - -"Never in his life." - -"He said he did, and he saw you, and told you I was going to Australia, -and you didn't care." - -"Oh, what a horrid, wicked story! He never came here." - -"He must have been dreaming then," said Leavesley, who began to see how -matters stood as regards the veracity of Verneede. "No matter, I don't -care now. Hold me tighter, Fanny." - - * * * * * - -Till some one discovers the art of printing kisses, asterisks must -serve. - -"But," said Leavesley after an interval of sweet silence, "what I can't -make out is how Bridgewater found out about you and me." - -"Bridgewater!" - -"Yes; he told my aunt all about us, and our going to Epping Forest: only -the old fool said we went to the Zoo." - -Fanny was silent. Then she said in a perplexed voice: "I want to tell -you something. I did go to the Zoo." - -"When?" - -"The other day." - -"Who with?" - -"Guess!" - -"Not--not Bevan?" - -"No," said Fanny, "with your uncle." - -Leavesley laughed. - -"What a joke! Are you really in earnest?" - -"Yes; he wrote to ask if I'd like to go, and I went. We met Mr -Bridgewater." - -"Oh, that accounts for it; he's mixed me and uncle up together--he must -be going mad. Every one seems a little mad lately, uncle -especially--taking you to the Zoo, and giving me two thousand, -and--and--no matter, kiss me again." - - * * * * * * - -"Now," said Fanny, suddenly jumping up, "I must see after the house. -Father wired this morning that he was bringing Miss Pursehouse here -to-day to see the place, and I must get it tidy. Who's there?" - -"Miss Fanny," said Susannah, opening the door an inch. Miss Lambert left -the room hurriedly and closed the door. There was something in -Susannah's voice that told her "something had happened." - -"He's downstairs in the library." - -"Oh, my goodness!" murmured Fanny with a frown; visions of Mr Hancock in -all the positions of love-making rose before her. "_Why_ didn't you say -I was out?" - -"I did, miss, and he said he'd wait." - -Fanny went downstairs and into the library, and there before her stood -Mr Bevan on the hearthrug. - -Her face brightened wonderfully. - -"I _am_ so glad--when did you come? Guess who I thought it was? I -thought it was Mr Hancock." - -"Hancock?" said Charles, who had held her outstretched hand just a -moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "Oh, that affair is all -over. I stopped the action--by the way, I believe old Hancock's cracked; -sent your father a most extraordinary wire, saying I was--what was it he -said?--a duck, I think." - -"Where have you seen father?" - -"Why, I was staying in the same house with him down in Sussex for a -day." - -"At Miss Pursehouse's?" - -"Yes." - -"How awfully funny! Did he tell you?" - -"What?" - -"That he's engaged to be married to Miss Pursehouse. I had the letter -this morning--oh, of course he couldn't have told you, for he only -proposed yesterday afternoon. He wrote in an awful hurry, just a line to -say he's 'engaged and done for.' Isn't he funny? There was another man -after her, and father says he has 'cut him out.' Do tell me all about -them; did you see the other man? and what did you think of father--isn't -he a dear?" - -"Yes," said Mr Bevan abstractedly. He was flabbergasted with the news -and irritated, although he was not in love, and never had been in love, -with Miss Pursehouse, still, it was distinctly unpleasant to think that -he had been "cut out." - -"I thought he seemed fond of her in Paris," continued Fanny, "but one -never can tell. I'm glad he got the telegram all right. It was I that -sent it. I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock----" - -"I beg your pardon?" said Mr Bevan. - -"I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock. Oh, I have such a lot to tell -you, but promise me first you'll never tell." - -"Yes." - -"Well--guess what's happened?" - -"Can't think." - -"Well, Mr Hancock proposed to me--but you won't tell, will you?" - -Mr Bevan gasped. - -"_Hancock!_" - -"Yes; he wrote such a funny, queer little letter. It made me cry." - -"_Hancock!_" - -"Yes, but you've promised never to tell. Every one seems to have been -proposing to me in the last three months, and I wish they'd stop--I wish -they'd stop," said Miss Lambert, half-talking to herself and half to -Bevan, half-laughing and half-crying all at the same time; "it's got on -my nerves. James will be the next--it's like the influenza, it seems in -the air----" - -"I came to-day," said Mr Bevan with awful and preternatural gravity, "to -speak to you, Fanny--to tell you that ever since I saw you first, I -have thought of nobody else----" - -"Oh, stop," said Fanny, "stop, stop--oh, this is too bad! I never -thought _you_ would do it. I thought I had one f-f-friend." - -"_Don't_ cry; Fanny, listen to me." - -"I can't help it, it's too awful." - -"Fanny!" - -"Yes, Charles?" - -"Dry your eyes, and tell me this; am I so very dreadful? Don't you think -if you tried you could care for me? I know I'm not clever and all -that--look up." He took her hand, and she let him hold it. - -Then she spoke these hope-destroying words: - -"If I h--hadn't met _him_, I believe I--I--I'd have married you--if -you'd asked me." - -"Oh, my God!--it's all up then," said Bevan. - -"We're both so poor," said Fanny, "that you needn't envy us, dear Cousin -Charles; all we've got in the world is our love for each other." - -"He's a painter, is he not?" - -"Yes," said Fanny, peeping up; "but how did you know?" - -"Miss Morgan, that American girl, told me something about him." Mr Bevan -stood silent for a moment, and then went on: "Look here, Fanny, just -think this matter over and tell me your mind. I'll put my case before -you. You like me, I think?" - -"Yes, I _do_." - -"Well, I am not so very old, and I am rich; between one thing and -another I have about eight thousand a year. We might be very happy -together--don't interrupt me, I am just stating my case--money means a -lot in this world; it's not everything, I admit--there are some men -richer than I, that I would be sorry to see any girl married to. Well, -on the other hand, there is this other man; he may be awfully jolly, and -all that sort of thing, but he's poor--very poor, from what I can -gather. Before you kick me over, think of the future--think well." - -"Do you know," said Fanny, "that if you had come yesterday, and had -asked me to marry you, I believe I would have said 'yes,' and then we -would have been always miserable. I would have married you for your -money; not for myself, but to help father. But you see now that he is -going to be married to Miss Pursehouse _she'll_ take care of him." - -"He is not married to her yet," said Charles, thinking of Lulu Morgan's -words, and cursing himself for having let days slip by, for he could -have called yesterday, or the day before, but for indecision--that most -fatal of all elements in human affairs. - -"No, but he will marry her, for when father makes up his mind to do a -thing he always does it." - -"So then," he said, "you have made up your mind irrevocably not to have -anything to do with me?" - -"I must, I must--Oh dear, I wish I were _dead_. I will always be your -friend--I will always be a sister to you." - -"Don't--don't say anything more about it, please. You can't help -yourself--it's fate." - -"You're not angry with me?" - -"No--let us talk of other things. How are you getting on, has that man -been giving any more trouble?" - -"James--oh, he's been dreadful. His wife has run away from their -lodgings; and now he says she was not his wife at all, and Susannah is -breaking her heart, for she can't bring him to the point. When she -suggests marriage he does all his things up in a bundle and says he's -going to Australia. I'll get father to turn him out when he comes -back." - -"Let me," said Charles, who felt an imperative desire to kick some -one--himself, if possible--that being out of the question--James. - -"No," said Fanny, as he rose and took his hat preparatory to departing, -"for she'd follow him, and I'd be left alone. Who is this?" - -A hansom cab was crashing up the gravel drive. - -"It's father--and Miss Pursehouse." - -"Who do you say?" cried Bevan. - -"Miss Pursehouse." - -"Fanny!" cried Mr Bevan in desperation. - -"Yes?" - -"Don't let them in here, don't let them see me." - -"Then quick," said Fanny, not knowing the truth of the matter, but -guessing that Charles as a rejected lover had his feelings, and -preferred not to meet her father. - -She led him across the hall and down some steps, then pushed him into a -passage, which, being pursued, led to the kitchen, whence through the -scullery flight might be effected by the back entry of "The Laurels." - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny Lambert, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - -***** This file should be named 55454-8.txt or 55454-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/4/5/55454/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny Lambert - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: August 29, 2017 [EBook #55454] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class = "mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>FANNY LAMBERT</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">A Novel</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2 space-above">HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">AUTHOR OF "THE CRIMSON AZALEAS"<br />"THE BLUE LAGOON" ETC., ETC.</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="Decoration" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">R. F. FENNO & COMPANY<br />18 East 17th Street, New York</p> - -<p class="bold">T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAP.</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> MR LEAVESLEY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> A LOST TYPE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> A COUNCIL OF THREE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> HANCOCK & HANCOCK</td> - <td><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> OMENS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> LAMBERT <i>v.</i> BEVAN</td> - <td><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> THE BEVAN TEMPER</td> - <td><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> AT "THE LAURELS"</td> - <td><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> "WHAT TALES ARE THESE?"</td> - <td><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X.</td> - <td class="left"> ASPARAGUS AND CATS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> A REVELATION</td> - <td><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> THE DAISY CHAIN</td> - <td><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART III</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> AN ASSIGNATION</td> - <td><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER</td> - <td><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> AN OLD MAN'S OUTING</td> - <td><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> A MEETING</td> - <td><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER</td> - <td><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> A CONFESSION</td> - <td><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> IN GORDON SQUARE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART IV</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> "THE ROOST"</td> - <td><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> MISS MORGAN</td> - <td><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> A CURE FOR BLINDNESS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> TIC-DOULOUREUX</td> - <td><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> THE AMBASSADOR</td> - <td><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> A SURPRISE VISIT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> THE UNEXPLAINED</td> - <td><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR</td> - <td><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART V</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> GOUT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> THE RESULT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> THE RESULT (<i>continued</i>)</td> - <td><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> "JOURNEY'S END"</td> - <td><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">FANNY LAMBERT</p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/line.jpg" alt="line" /></div> - -<h2><i>PART I</i></h2> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">MR LEAVESLEY</span></h2> - -<p>"You may take away the things, Belinda," said Mr Leavesley, lighting his -pipe and taking his seat at the easel. "Nobody called this morning, I -suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Only the Capting, sir," replied Belinda, piling the tray. "He called at -seven to borry your umbrella."</p> - -<p>"Did you give it him?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, Mr Verneede's got it; you lent it to him the night before -last, and he hasn't brought it back."</p> - -<p>"Ah, so I did," said Mr Leavesley, squeezing Naples yellow from an -utterly exhausted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> looking tube. "So I did, so I did; that's the -fifteenth umbrella or so that Verneede has annexed of mine: what does he -<i>do</i> with them, do you think, Belinda?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure <i>I</i> don't know, sir," replied the maid-of-all-work, looking -round the studio as if in search of inspiration, "unless he spouts -them."</p> - -<p>"That will do, Belinda," said the owner of the lost umbrellas, turning -to his work, and the servant-maid departed.</p> - -<p>It was a large, pleasant studio, furnished with very little affectation, -and its owner was a slight, pleasant-faced youth, happy-go-lucky -looking, with a glitter in his grey eyes suggesting a touch of genius or -insanity in their owner.</p> - -<p>He was an orphan blessed with a small competency. His income, to use his -own formula, consisted of a hundred a year and an uncle. During the -first four months or so of the year he spent the hundred pounds, during -the rest of the year he squandered his uncle; that is to say he would -have squandered him only for the fact that Mr James Hancock, of the firm -of Hancock & Hancock, solicitors, was a person most difficult to -"negotiate."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p><p>Art, however, was looking up. He had sold several pictures lately. The -morning mists on the road to success were clearing away, leaving to the -view in a prospect distant tremulous and golden the mysterious city of -attainment.</p> - -<p>He would have whistled as he worked only that he was smoking.</p> - -<p>Through the open windows came the pulse-like sound of the omnibuses in -the King's Road, the sleigh bells of the hansoms, the rattle of the -coster's barrow, and voices.</p> - -<p>As he painted, the sounds outside brought before him the vision of the -King's Road, Chelsea, where flaming June was also at work with her -golden brush and palette of violet colours.</p> - -<p>He saw in imagination the scarlet pyramids of strawberries in the shops. -The blazing barrow of flowers all a-growing and a-blowing, the late-June -morning crowd, and through the crowd wending its way the figure of a -girl.</p> - -<p>He was in love.</p> - -<p>In the breast-pocket of his coat (on the heart side) lay a letter he had -received by the early morning post. The handwriting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> was large and -generous and careless, for no man living could tell the "m's" from the -"w's," or the "t's" from the "l's." It ran somewhat to this effect:</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"<span class="smcap">The Laurels, Highgate.</span></p> - -<p>"Father is worrying dreadfully, and I want your advice. I think I -will be in the King's Road to-morrow, and will call on you. Excuse -this scrawl.—In wild haste,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Fanny Lambert</span>.</p> - -<p>"How's the picture?"</p></blockquote> - -<p>Occasionally as he painted he touched his coat where the letter lay, as -if to make sure of its presence.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he ceased working. There was a step on the stairs, a knock at -the door. Could it be?——</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">A LOST TYPE</span></h2> - -<p>"My young friend Leavesley," cried the apparition that had suddenly -framed itself in the doorway; "busy as usual—and how is Art?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Come in and shut the door;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> take a seat, take a -cigarette—bother this drapery—well, what have you been doing with -yourself?"</p> - -<p>Mr Verneede took neither a seat nor a cigarette. He took his place -behind the painter, and gazed at the work in progress with a critical -air.</p> - -<p>He was a fantastic-looking old gentleman, dressed in a tightly-buttoned -frock coat. A figure suggestive of Count d'Orsay gone to the dogs. -Mildewed, washed, and mangled by Fate, and very much faded in the -process.</p> - -<p>He said nothing for a moment, and then he said, after a long and -critical survey of the little <i>genre</i> picture on which our artist was -engaged:</p> - -<p>"Your work improves, decidedly your work improves, Leavesley—improves, -very much so, very much so, very much so."</p> - -<p>The artist said nothing, and the irresponsible critic, placing his hat -on the floor and tightly clasping the umbrella he carried under his left -arm, made a funnel of his hands and gazed through it at the picture.</p> - -<p>"Decidedly, decidedly; but might I make a suggestion?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p><p>"Well, now, frankly, the attitude of that man with the axe——"</p> - -<p>"Which man with the axe?"</p> - -<p>"He in the right-hand corner by the——"</p> - -<p>"That's not a man with an axe, that's a lady with a <i>fan</i>, you old owl."</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" cried Mr Verneede. "How could I have been so deceived, it was -the light. Of course, of course, of course—a lady with a fan, it's -quite obvious now. A lady with a fan—do you find these very small -pictures pay, Leavesley?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—no—I don't know. Sit down, like a good fellow; that's right—look -here."</p> - -<p>"I attend."</p> - -<p>"I'm expecting a young lady to call here to-day."</p> - -<p>"A young lady?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and I wish you'd wait and see her."</p> - -<p>"I shall be charmed."</p> - -<p>"You will when you see her—but it's not that. See here, Verneede, I -want to explain her to you."</p> - -<p>"I listen."</p> - -<p>"She's quite unlike any one else."</p> - -<p>"Ha!"</p> - -<p>"I mean in this way, she's so jolly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> innocent and altogether good, -that upon my word I wish she wasn't coming here alone."</p> - -<p>"You fear to trust yourself——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, rubbish! only, it doesn't seem the thing."</p> - -<p>"Decidedly not, decidedly not."</p> - -<p>"Oh, <i>rubbish</i>! she's as safe here as if she were with her -grandfather—what I mean to say is this, she's so innocent of the world -that she does things quite innocently that—that conventional people -don't do, don't you know. She has no mother."</p> - -<p>"Poor young thing!"</p> - -<p>"And her father, who is one of the jolliest men in the world, lets her -do anything she likes. I wish I had a female of some sort to receive her -here, but I haven't," said Mr Leavesley, looking round the studio as if -in search of the article in question.</p> - -<p>"I know of an eminently respectable female," said Mr Verneede -meditatively, "who would fall in with your requirements; unfortunately, -she is not available at a short notice; she lives in Hoxton, as a matter -of fact."</p> - -<p>"That's no use, might as well live in the moon. No matter, <i>you'll</i> do, -an excellent substitute like What's-his-name's marmalade."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>"May I ask," said Mr Verneede, rather stiffly, as if slightly ruffled -by this last remark, "is this young lady, from a worldly point of view, -an <i>éligible partie</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know, she's a most lovable girl. I met them in Paris, she and her -father, and travelled back with them. They have a big house up at -Highgate, and an estate somewhere in the country, but, somehow, I fancy -their affairs are involved. Mr Lambert always seems to be going to law -with people. No matter, I want to get some cakes—cakes and tea are the -right sort of things to offer a person—a girl—wine is impossible. -What's the time? After two! Wait here for me, I won't be long."</p> - -<p>He took his hat, and left the studio to Mr Verneede.</p> - -<p>Verneede was one of those <i>bizarre</i> figures, with whose construction -Nature seems to have had very little to do. What he had been was a -mystery, where he lived was to most people a mystery, and what he lived -on was a mystery to every one. Some tiny income he must have had, but no -man knew from whence it came. Useless and picturesque as an old -fashion-plate, he wandered through life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> with an umbrella under his arm, -ready to stand at any street corner in the chill east wind or the -broiling sun and listen to any tale told by any man, and give useless -advice or instruction on any subject.</p> - -<p>His criticisms were the despair and delight of artists, according to -their liability to be soothed or maddened by the absolutely inane.</p> - -<p>For the rest, he was quite harmless, his chiefest vice, after a taste -for beer, a passion for borrowing umbrellas and never returning them.</p> - -<p>Mr Verneede seated, immersed in his own weird thoughts and -contemplations, came suddenly to consciousness again with a start.</p> - -<p>A dark-haired girl of that lost type which recalls La Cruche Cassée and -the Love-in-April conceptions of Fragonard, exquisitely pretty and -exquisitely dressed, was in the studio. He had not heard her knock, or -perceived her enter. Had she descended through the ceiling or risen from -the floor? was it a real girl, or was it June materialised in a gown of -corn-flower blue, and with wild field poppies in her breast?</p> - -<p>"God bless my soul!" said Mr Verneede.</p> - -<p>"You were asleep, I think," said the girl. "I'm so sorry to have -disturbed you, but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> want to see Mr Leavesley; this <i>is</i> his studio, I -think."</p> - -<p>"Oh, certainly, yes, this is his studio, I believe. Pray take a seat. -Ah, yes—dear me, what a strange coincidence——"</p> - -<p>"And these are his pictures?" said the girl, looking round her in an -interested way. She had placed a tiny parcel and an impossible parasol -on the table, and was drawing off a suede glove leisurely, as she -glanced around her.</p> - -<p>"These are his pictures," answered the old gentleman, "works of -art—very much so, the highest art inspired by the truest genius."</p> - -<p>Miss Lambert—for the June-like apparition was Miss Lambert—followed -with her little face the sweep of the old gentleman's arm as he pointed -out the highest art inspired by the truest genius. Rough studies, -canvases turned face to the wall, and one or two small finished -pictures.</p> - -<p>Then, realising that he had found an innocent victim, he began to -expatiate on art and on the pictures around them, and she to listen, -innocence attending to ignorance.</p> - -<p>"He is very clever, isn't he?" put in Miss Lambert, during a pause in -the exordium.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>"A genius, my dear young lady, a genius," said Mr Verneede, looking at -her over his shoulder as he replaced on a high bracket a little picture -he had reached down to show her.</p> - -<p>"One of the few living artists who can paint light. I may say that he -paints light with a delicacy and an elegance all his own. <i>Fiat -Lux</i>"—the shelf came down with a crash and a cloud of dust—"as the -poet says—pray don't move, I will restore the <i>débris</i>—as the poet -says. Now the gem of my young friend Leavesley's collection, in my mind, -is the John the Baptist."</p> - -<p>He went to a huge canvas which stood with its face to the wall, seized -it with arms outstretched, and turned it towards the girl.</p> - -<p>It was a picture of a semi-nude female after Reubens that the blundering -old gentleman had seized upon.</p> - -<p>"Observe the sunlight on the beard," came the voice of the showman from -behind the canvas, "the devotion in the eyes, the—ooch!!"</p> - -<p>A pillow caught from the couch by Frank Leavesley who had just entered, -and dexterously thrown, had flattened canvas and showman beneath a cloud -of dust.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">A COUNCIL OF THREE</span></h2> - -<p>"Now, let's all be happy," said Miss Lambert; they had finished tea and -Belinda was removing the things, "for I must be going in a minute, and I -have such a lot of things to say—oh dear me, that reminds me," her -under-lip fell slightly.</p> - -<p>"What?" asked Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"That I'm perfectly miserable."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't say that——"</p> - -<p>"My dear young lady——"</p> - -<p>"I mean I <i>ought</i> to be perfectly miserable," said Miss Lambert with a -charming smile, "but somehow I'm not. Do you know, I never am what I -ought to be. When I ought to be happy I'm miserable, and when I ought to -be miserable I'm happy. Father says I was addled at birth, and that I -ought to have been put out of doors on a red-hot shovel as they used to -do long ago in Ireland with the omadlunns, or was it the changelings—no -matter. I wanted to talk to you about father—no, please don't go," to -Verneede, who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> made a little movement as if to say "Am I <i>de trop</i>?" -"You are both so clever I'm sure you will be able to give me good -advice. He's worrying so."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Mr Verneede, with the air of a physician at a consultation. -He was in his element, he saw a prospect of unburthening himself of some -of his superfluous advice.</p> - -<p>"It's this Action," resumed Fanny, as if she were speaking of a tumour -or carbuncle, "that makes him so bad; I'm getting quite frightened about -him."</p> - -<p>"Was that the action he spoke to me about?" asked Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"Which?" asked Fanny.</p> - -<p>"The one against a bookseller?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no, I think that's settled; it's the one against our cousin, Mr -Bevan."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>"It's about the right-of-way—I mean the right of fishing in a stream -down in Buckinghamshire. They've spent ever so much money over it, it's -worrying father to death, but he <i>won't</i> give it up. I thought perhaps -if <i>you</i> spoke to him you might have some influence with him."</p> - -<p>"I'd be delighted to do anything," said Leavesley. "What is this man -Bevan like?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>"Frightfully rich, and a beast."</p> - -<p>"That's comprehensive anyhow," said Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"Most, most—most clear and comprehensive," concurred Mr Verneede.</p> - -<p>"I hate him!" said Fanny, her eyes flashing, "and I wish he and his old -fish stream were—boiled."</p> - -<p>"That would certainly solve the difficulty," said Leavesley, scratching -the side of his hand meditatively.</p> - -<p>"And his beastly old solicitor too," continued the girl, tenderly -lifting a lady-bird, that had somehow got into the studio and on to her -knee, on the point of her finger. "Isn't he beautiful?"</p> - -<p>"Most," assented Leavesley, gazing with an artist's delight at the white -tapering finger on which the painted and polished insect was balancing -preparatory to flight.</p> - -<p>"Who is his solicitor, by the way?"</p> - -<p>"Mr Hancock of Southampton Row."</p> - -<p>"Mr Who?"</p> - -<p>"Hancock."</p> - -<p>"Why, he's my uncle."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" cried Fanny, "I <i>am</i> sorry."</p> - -<p>"That he's my uncle?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>"No—that I said that——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that doesn't matter. I've often wished him boiled. It's awfully -funny, though, that he should be this man Bevan's solicitor—very."</p> - -<p>"I have an idea," said Verneede, leaning forward in his chair and -pressing the points of his fingers together.</p> - -<p>"My dear young lady, may I make a suggestion?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Fanny.</p> - -<p>"Two suggestions, I should have said."</p> - -<p>"Fire away," cut in Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"Well, my dear young lady, if my advice were asked I would first of all -say 'dam the stream.'"</p> - -<p>"Verneede!" cried Leavesley. "What are you saying?"</p> - -<p>"Father's always damning it," replied Miss Lambert with a laugh, "but it -doesn't seem to do much good."</p> - -<p>"My other suggestion," said Verneede, taken aback at the supposed -beaver-like attributes of Mr Lambert, "is this, go in your own person to -the friend of my friend Leavesley. I mean the uncle of my friend. Go to -Mr Hancock, go to him frankly, fearlessly, tell him the tale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> you have -told us; tell it to him with your own lips, in your own manner, with -your own charm; say to him 'You are killing my father—cease.' Speak to -him in your own way, smile at him——"</p> - -<p>"<i>That's</i> not a bad idea," said Miss Lambert, turning to Leavesley, who -was seated mouth open, aghast at this lunatic proposition.</p> - -<p>"That's a <i>splendid</i> idea, and I'll <i>do</i> it."</p> - -<p>"Say to him 'Cease!'" continued Verneede, speaking in an inspired voice. -"Say to him——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, shut up!" cried Leavesley, shaken out of politeness. "Do you know -what you're talking about? Hancock is Bevan's solicitor."</p> - -<p>"That's just why I'm going to him," said Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p>"But it's against all the rules of everything. I'm not sure that it -wouldn't be considered tampering with—um—Justice."</p> - -<p>"It's not a question of justice, it's a question of common-sense," said -Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said Verneede, "common-sense; if this Mr—er—the uncle of my -friend Leavesley, is endowed with common-sense and a sense of -justice—yes, justice and a feeling for beauty——"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, do stop!" said Leavesley, the prosaic vision of James Hancock -rising before him.</p> - -<p>"What on earth do lawyers know of justice or beauty or——"</p> - -<p>"If they don't," replied Fanny, "it's quite time they were taught."</p> - -<p>"Quite," concurred Verneede.</p> - -<p>When certain chemicals are brought into juxtaposition certain results -result. So it is with brains. Mr Leavesley for a moment sat -contemplating the crazy plan propounded by Mr Verneede. Then he broke -into a laugh. His imagination pictured the interview between Miss -Lambert and his uncle.</p> - -<p>"Well, go ahead," he said. "Perhaps you're right; I don't know much -about the law, but, anyhow, it's not a hanging matter. When are you -going?"</p> - -<p>"Now," said Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves.</p> - -<p>Leavesley looked at his watch.</p> - -<p>"You'll scarcely catch him at the office unless you take a cab."</p> - -<p>"I'll take a cab. Will you come with me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, rather!"</p> - -<p>"Only as far as the door," said Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>"It's like going to the dentist; I always take father with me to the -dentist's as far as the door, for fear I'd run away. Once I'm in I don't -care a bit; it's the going in is the dreadful part."</p> - -<p>"I know," said Leavesley, reaching for his hat. "It's like facing the -music, the overture is the worst part."</p> - -<p>"I don't think you'd call it music," said Miss Lambert, "if you heard me -at the dentist's when he's working that drill thing—ugh! Come."</p> - -<p>They left the studio.</p> - -<p>The prospect of having Miss Lambert all alone to himself in a cab made -the heart of Mr Leavesley palpitate, mixed emotions filled his soul. -Blue funk was the basis of these emotions. He was going to propose, so -he told himself, immediately, the instant they were in the cab and the -horse had started. That was all very well as a statement made to -himself: it did not conceal the fact that Miss Lambert was a terribly -difficult girl to propose to. One of those jolly girls who treat one as -a brother are generally the most difficult to deal with when one -approaches them as a lover. But Miss Lambert, besides the fact of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -jollity and her treatment of Mr Leavesley as a brother, had a -personality all her own. She seemed to him a combination of the -practical and the unpractical in about equal proportions, one could -never tell how she would take things.</p> - -<p>They walked down the King's Road looking for a cab, Miss Lambert and -Verneede engaged in vivacious conversation, Leavesley silent, engaged in -troubled attempts to think.</p> - -<p>I give a few links from the chain of his thoughts just as a specimen.</p> - -<p>"Fanny, I love you—no, I can't say that, it's too bald and brutal. Miss -Lambert, I have long wanted to—oh, rubbish! How would it do to take her -hand—I <i>daren't</i>—bother!—does she care a button about me? Perhaps it -would be better to put it off till the next time—I'm not going to funk -it—may I call you Fanny?—or Fanny—may I call you Fanny? or Miss -Lambert may I call you Fanny? How would it be to write? No, I'll <i>do</i> -it."</p> - -<p>They stopped, Mr Verneede had hailed a cab, and Leavesley came out of -his reverie to find a four-wheeler drawing up at the pavement.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>"Hullo," he said to Verneede, "what did you call that thing for?"</p> - -<p>"To drive in," replied Fanny, whilst Verneede opened the door. "Get in, -I'm in a horrible fright."</p> - -<p>"But," said Leavesley, "a four-wheeler—why not a hansom?"</p> - -<p>"No, no," said Miss Lambert, getting into the vehicle, "I hate hansoms, -I was thrown out of one once. Besides, this is more <i>respectable</i>. Do -get in quick, and tell the man to drive fast; I want to get the agony -over."</p> - -<p>"Corner of Southampton Row," cried Leavesley to the driver. He got in, -Verneede shut the door and stood on the pavement, bowing and smiling in -an antiquated way as they drove off.</p> - -<p>It was a four-wheeler with pretensions in the form of maroon velveteen -cushions and rubber tyres, a would-be imitation brougham, but the old -growler blood came out in its voice, every window rattled. Driving in -it, one could hear oneself speak, but conversation with a companion to -be intelligible had to be conducted in a mild shout.</p> - -<p>"I don't in the least know what I'm going to say to him," cried Miss -Lambert, leaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> forward towards her companion—he was seated opposite -to her on the front seat. "I'm so nervous, I can't think."</p> - -<p>"Don't go to him."</p> - -<p>"I must, now we've taken the cab."</p> - -<p>"Let's go somewhere else."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"Anywhere—Madame Tussaud's."</p> - -<p>"No, no, I'm <i>going</i>. Don't let's talk of it, let's talk of something -pleasant." She opened her purse, turned its meagre contents into her -lap, and examined some bills that were stuffed into a side compartment.</p> - -<p>"What's two-and-six, and three shillings, and eighteen pence?"</p> - -<p>"Eight shillings, I think," answered Leavesley after a moment's thought.</p> - -<p>"Then I've lost a shilling," pouted Miss Lambert, counting her money, -replacing it, and closing the purse with a snap. "No matter, let's think -of something pleasant. Isn't old Mr Verneede sweet?"</p> - -<p>"Fanny," said Leavesley, ignoring the saccharine possibilities of Mr -Verneede—"may I call you Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, every one does. I say, is this cabman taking us right?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, quite. What I was going to say," weakly and suddenly, "Fanny, -let's go somewhere some day, and have a really good time."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"Up the river—anywhere."</p> - -<p>"I'd love to," said Miss Lambert. "I haven't been up the river for ages; -let's have a picnic."</p> - -<p>"Yes, let's; what day could you come?"</p> - -<p>"Any day—at least some day. Some day next week—only father is going -away next week, and a picnic would be nothing without <i>him</i>."</p> - -<p>"Suppose you and I and Verneede went for a picnic next week?"</p> - -<p>"That would be fun," said the girl; "we can make tea—oh, don't let us -talk of picnics, I feel miserable. Will he <i>eat</i> me, do you think?"</p> - -<p>"Who?"</p> - -<p>"Mr Hancock."</p> - -<p>"Not he—unless he has the gout, he's perfectly savage when he has the -gout—I say?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"You'd better not tell him you know me."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, because I've been fighting with him lately. I quarrel with him -once in three months or so. If he thought you and I were friends, it -might put his back up."</p> - -<p>"I'll be mum," said Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p>"I'll wait for you at the corner till you come out," said Leavesley, -"and tell me, Fanny."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"You <i>will</i> come for a picnic, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"Rather, if I'm alive. I feel like the young lady of Niger—wasn't -it?—who went for a ride on a tiger, just before she saddled it——"</p> - -<p>The cab rattled and rumbled them at last into Oxford Street. At the -corner of Southampton Row it stopped. They got out, and Leavesley paid -and dismissed the driver.</p> - -<p>"That's the house down there," said he, "No. —. I'll wait for you here; -<i>don't</i> be long."</p> - -<p>"I won't be a minute, at least I'll be as short as I can. Now I'm -<i>going</i>."</p> - -<p>She tripped off, and Leavesley watched her flitting by the grim, -business-like houses. She turned for a second, glanced back, and then -No. — engulfed her.</p> - -<p>Leavesley waited, trying to picture to himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> the interview that was -in progress. Trying to fancy what Miss Lambert was saying to Mr James -Hancock, and what Mr James Hancock was saying to Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p>Surely no one in London could have suggested such a proceeding except -Verneede, a proceeding so hopelessly insane from a business point of -view.</p> - -<p>To call on your adversary's solicitor, and tell him to cease because he -was worrying your father to death!</p> - -<p>Besides, Lambert was the man who ought to cease, because it was Lambert -who was the plaintiff.</p> - -<p>Punching a man's head, and then telling him to cease!</p> - -<p>Mr Leavesley burst into a laugh that caused a passing old lady to hurry -on her way.</p> - -<p>He waited. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen; <i>what</i> was happening?</p> - -<p>It was nearly closing time at the office. Twenty minutes passed. Could -James Hancock really have devoured Fanny in a fit of gout and -irritation?</p> - -<p>He saw Bridgewater, the old chief clerk, come out and make off down -Southampton Row with a bag in his hand.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>Three-quarters of an hour had gone, and Leavesley had taken his watch -out for the twentieth time, when from the doorway of No. — Fanny -appeared, a glimmer of blue like a butterfly just broken from its -chrysalis.</p> - -<p>Leavesley made two steps towards her, then he paused. Immediately after -Fanny came James Hancock, umbrella in hand, and hat on the back of his -head.</p> - -<p>He was accompanying her.</p> - -<p>Fanny glanced in Leavesley's direction, and then she and her companion -walked away down Southampton Row, Hancock walking with his long stride; -Fanny trotting beside him, neither, apparently, speaking one to the -other.</p> - -<p>Leavesley followed full of amazement.</p> - -<p>He could tell from his uncle's manner of walking, and from the way he -wore his hat, that he was either irritated or perplexed. He walked -hurriedly, and, viewed from behind, he had the appearance of a physician -who was going to an urgent case.</p> - -<p>Much marvelling, the artist followed. He saw Hancock hail a passing -four-wheeler, and open the door. Fanny got in, her companion gave some -directions to the driver,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> got in after the girl, closed the door, and -the cab drove off.</p> - -<p>"Now, what on earth can this mean?" asked Mr Leavesley, taking off his -hat and drawing his hand across his brow.</p> - -<p>Disgust at being robbed of Fanny struggled in his mind with a feeling of -pure, unadulterated wonder.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">HANCOCK & HANCOCK</span></h2> - -<p>Frank Leavesley's uncle, Mr James Hancock of Gordon Square and -Southampton Row, Solicitor, was, in the year of this story, still -unmarried.</p> - -<p>The firm of Hancock & Hancock had thrived in Bloomsbury for upwards of a -hundred years. By a judicious exercise of the art of dropping bad -clients and picking up good, and retaining the good when picked up, it -had built for itself a business second to none in the soliciting world -of the Metropolis.</p> - -<p>To be a successful solicitor is not so easy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> a matter as you may -suppose. Take your own case, for instance, and imagine how many men you -would trust with the fact that your wife is in a madhouse and not on a -visit to her aunt; with the reason why your son requires cutting off -with a shilling; why you have to pay so much a month to So-and-so—and -so on. How many men would you trust with your title-deeds, and bonds, -and scrip, even as you would trust yourself?</p> - -<p>The art of inspiring confidence combined with the less facile arts of -straight dealing and right living, had placed the Hancocks in the first -rank of their profession, and kept them there for over a hundred years.</p> - -<p>James, the last of the race, was in personal appearance typical of his -forebears. Rather tall, thin, with a high colour suggestive of port -wine, and a fidgety manner, you would never have guessed him at first -sight to be one of the keenest business men in London, the depository of -awful secrets, and the instigator and successful leader of legal forlorn -hopes.</p> - -<p>His dress was genteel, verging on the shabby, a hideous brown horse-hair -watch guard crossed his waistcoat, and he habitually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> carried an -umbrella that would have damned the reputation of any struggling -professional man.</p> - -<p>His sister kept house for him in Gordon Square. She was just one year -his senior. An acid woman, early-Victorian in her tendencies and get-up, -Patience Hancock, to use the cook's expression, had been "born with the -key of the coal cellar in her pocket." She certainly carried the key of -the wine cellar there, and the keys of the plate pantry, larder, jam -depository, and Tantalus case. Everything lock-upable in the Gordon -Square establishment was locked up, and every month or so she received a -"warning" from one of the domestics under her charge.</p> - -<p>The art of setting by the ears and treading on corns came to her by -nature, it was her misfortune, not her fault, for despite her acidity -she had a heart, atrophied from disuse, perhaps, but still a heart.</p> - -<p>She treated her brother as though she were twenty years his senior, and -she had prevented him from marrying by subtle arts of her own, exercised -unconsciously, perhaps, but none the less potently. His affair with Miss -Wilkinson, eldest daughter of Alderman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> Wilkinson, an affair which -occurred twenty years ago, had been withered, or blasted, if you like -the expression better, by Patience Hancock. She had caused no bitter -feelings towards herself in the breast of either of the parties -concerned in this old-time love affair, but all the same she had parted -them.</p> - -<p>Two other attempts on the part of James Hancock to mate and have done -with the business failed for no especial reason, and of late years, from -all external signs, he appeared to have come to the determination to -have done with the business without mating.</p> - -<p>Patience had almost dismissed the subject from her mind; secure in the -conviction that her brother's heart had jellified and set, she had -almost given up espionage, and had settled down before the prospect of a -comfortable old age with lots of people to bully and a free hand in the -management of her brother and his affairs.</p> - -<p>Bridgewater, Hancock's confidential clerk, a man of seventy adorned with -the simplicity of a child of ten, had hitherto been her confidant.</p> - -<p>Bridgewater, seduced with a glass of port wine and a biscuit, had helped -materially in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> the blasting of the Wilkinson affair twenty years before. -He had played the part of spy several times, unconsciously, or partly -so, and to-day he was just the same old blunderer, ready to fall into -any trap set for him by an acute woman.</p> - -<p>He adored Patience Hancock for no perceptible earthly reason except that -he had known her in short frocks, and besides this weak-minded adoration -he regarded her as part and parcel of the business, and regarded her -commands as equivalent to the commands of her brother.</p> - -<p>Of late years his interviews with Patience had been few, she had no need -for him; and as he sat over his bachelor's fire at nights rubbing his -shins and thinking and dreaming, sometimes across his recollective -faculty would stray the old past, the confidences, the port, and the -face of Patience Hancock all in a pleasant jumble.</p> - -<p>He felt that of late years, somehow, his power to please had in some -mysterious manner waned, and, failing a more valid reason, he put it -down to that change in things and people which is the saddest -accompaniment of age.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">OMENS</span></h2> - -<p>One day this late June, or one morning, rather, Miss Hancock's dreams of -the future and her part in it became again troubled.</p> - -<p>James Hancock, to use a simile taken from the garden, showed signs of -sprouting. A new hat had come home the night before from the hatter's, -and he had bought a new necktie <i>himself</i>. Hitherto he had paid for his -neckties and Patience had bought them, sombre neckties suitable to a -lawyer and a celibate. This thing from Amery and Loders, a thing of -lilac silk suitable enough for a man of twenty, caused Patience to stare -when it appeared at breakfast one morning round the neck of her brother.</p> - -<p>But she said nothing, she poured out the tea and watched her brother -opening his letters and reading his newspaper, and munching his toast. -She listened to his remarks on the price of consols and the fall in -Russian bonds, and his grumbles because the "bacon was fried to a -cinder," just as she had watched and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> listened for the last thirty -years. Then, when he had finished and departed, she rose and went -downstairs to bully the cook and terrorise the maids, which -accomplished, she retired to her own room to dress preparatory to going -out.</p> - -<p>The house in Gordon Square had the solidity of structure and the gloom -peculiar to the higher class houses in Bloomsbury. The great -drawing-room had a chandelier that lived in a bag, and sofas and chairs -arrayed in brown holland overalls; there were things in woolwork that -Amelia Sedley might have worked, and abominations of art, deposited by -the early Victorian age, struggled for pride of place with Georgian -artistic attempts. The dining-room was furnished with solid mahogany, -and everything in and about the place seemed solid and constructed with -a view to eternity and the everlasting depression of man.</p> - -<p>A week's sojourn in this house explained much of a certain epoch in -English History to the mind of the sojourner; at the termination of the -visit one began to understand dimly the humours of Gillray and the -fidelity to truth of that atmosphere of gloom pervading the pictures of -Hogarth. One understood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> why, in that epoch, men drank deep, why women -swooned and improved swooning into a fine art, why Society was generally -beastly and brutal, and why great lords sat up all night soaking -themselves with brandy and waiting to see the hangman turn off a couple -of poor wretches in the dawn; also, why men hanged themselves without -waiting for the hangman, alleging for reason "the spleen."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock, having arranged herself to her own satisfaction, took her -parasol from the stand in the hall, and departed on business bent.</p> - -<p>She held three books in her hand—the butcher's, the baker's, and the -greengrocer's. She felt in a cheerful mood, as her programme included -and commenced with an attack on the butcher—<i>Casus Belli</i>—an -overcharge made on the last leg of mutton but one. Having defeated the -butcher, and tackled the other unfortunates and paid them, she paused -near Mudie's Library as if in thought. Then she made direct for -Southampton Row and the office of her brother, where, as she entered the -outer office, Bridgewater was emerging from the sanctum of his master, -holding clutched to his breast an armful of books and papers.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>Bridgewater would have delighted the heart of John Leech. He had a red -and almost perfectly round face; his spectacles were round, his body was -round, his eyes were round, and the expression of his countenance, if I -may be allowed the figure, was round. It was also slightly mazed; he -seemed forever lost in a mild astonishment, the slightest thing out of -the common, heightened this expression of chronic astonishment into one -of acute amazement. A rat in the office, a fall in the funds, a clerk -giving notice to leave, any of these little incidents was sufficient to -wreathe the countenance of Mr Bridgewater with an expression that would -not have been out of place had he been gazing upon the ruins of Pompeii, -or the eruption of Mont Pelée. He had scanty white hair and enormous -feet, and was, despite his bemazed look, a very acute old gentleman in -business hours. The inside of his head was stuffed with facts like a -Whitaker's almanac, and people turned to him for reference as they would -turn to "Pratt's Law of Highways" or "Archbold's Lunacy."</p> - -<p>Bridgewater seeing Miss Hancock enter, released somewhat his tight hold -on the books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and papers, and they all slithered pell mell on to the -floor. She nodded to him, and, stepping over the papers, tapped with the -handle of her parasol at the door of the inner office. Mr Hancock was -disengaged, and she went in, closing the door behind her carefully as -though fearful of some secret escaping.</p> - -<p>She had no secret to communicate, however, and no business to transact, -she only wanted a loan of Bridgewater for an hour to consult him about -the lease of a house at Peckham. (Miss Hancock had money in her own -right.) Having obtained the loan and stropped her brother's temper to a -fine edge, so that he was sharp with the clerks and irritable with the -clients till luncheon time, Miss Hancock took herself off, saying to the -head clerk as she passed out, "I want you to come round to luncheon, -Bridgewater, to consult you about a lease; my brother says he can spare -you. Come at half-past one sharp; Good-day."</p> - -<p>"Well to be sure!" said Bridgewater scratching his encyclopædic head, -and gazing in the direction of the doorway through which the lady had -vanished.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">LAMBERT <i>V.</i> BEVAN</span></h2> - -<p>Now the germinal spot of this veracious history consists in the fact -that numbered amongst Mr James Hancock's most prized clients was a young -gentleman of the name of Bevan; the gentleman, in short, whom Miss Fanny -Lambert described as "frightfully rich and a beast."</p> - -<p>Mr Charles Maximilian Bevan, to give him his full title, inhabited a set -of chambers in the "Albany," midway between the Piccadilly end and the -end opening upon Vigo Street.</p> - -<p>He was a young man of about twenty-three years of age, of a not -unpleasing but rather heavy appearance, absolutely unconscious of the -humour that lay in himself or in the world around him, and possessed of -a fine, furious, old-fashioned temper; a temper that would burst out -over an ill-cooked beef steak or a missing stud, and which vented itself -chiefly upon his valet Strutt. In most of us the port of our ancestors -runs to gout; in Mr Bevan it ran to temper.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>He was a bachelor. Hamilton Cox, the author of "The Pillar of Salt," -once said that the Almighty had appointed Charles Bevan to be a -bachelor, and that he had taken up his appointment. To his friends it -seemed so, and it seemed a pity, for he was an orphan and very wealthy, -and had no unpleasant vices. He possessed Highshot Towers and five -thousand acres of land in the richest part of Buckinghamshire, a moor in -Scotland which he let each autumn to a man from Chicago, and a house in -Mayfair which he also let.</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan was not exactly a miser, but he was careful; no cabman ever -received more from him than his legal fare; he studied the city news in -the <i>Times</i> each morning, and Strutt was kept informed as to the price -of Consols by the state of his master's temper, also as to the dividends -declared by the Great Northern, South Eastern, London North Western -Railways, and the Glasgow Gas Works, in all of which concerns Mr Bevan -was a heavy holder.</p> - -<p>In his life he had rarely been known to give a penny to a beggar man, -yet each year he gave a good many pounds to the Charity Organisation -Society, and the Hospitals,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> feeling sure that money invested in these -institutions would not be misspent, and might even, perhaps, bear some -shadowy dividend in the life to come.</p> - -<p>He had a horror of cardsharpers, poets, foreigners, inferior artists, -and badly dressed people in general—every one, in fact, beyond the pale -of what he was pleased to call "Respectability"—but beyond all these -and above all these, he had a horror of spendthrifts.</p> - -<p>The Bevans had always been like that; there had been drinking Bevans, -and fighting Bevans, and foolish Bevans of various descriptions, even -open-handed Bevans, but there had never been a thoroughpaced squandering -Bevan. Very different was it with the Lamberts, whose estate lay -contiguous to that of Bevan, down in Bucks. How the Lamberts had held -together as a family for four hundred years, certain; through the -spacious times of Elizabeth, the questionable time of Charles, the -winter of the Commonwealth; how the ship of Lambert passed entire -between the Scylla of the Cocoa tree and the charybdis of Crockfords; -how it weathered the roaring forties, are question<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> constituting a -problem indissoluble, even when we take into account the known capacity -of the Lamberts for trimming, swashbuckling and good fellowship -generally. A problem, however, upon which the present story will, -perhaps, cast some light.</p> - -<p>How jolly Jack Lambert played with Gerald Fiennes till he lost his -house, his horses, his carriages, and his deaf and dumb negro servant. -How with a burst of laughter he staked his wife and won back his negro, -staked both, and retrieved his horses and his carriages, and at five -o'clock of a bright May morning rose from the table having eternally -broken and ruined Fiennes, was a story current in the days when William, -the first of the Bevans, was a sober cloth merchant in Wych Street, and -Charles, the first of the Stuarts, held his pleasant Court at -Windsor—<i>Carpe Diem</i>, it was the motto of jolly Jack Lambert. <i>Festina -Lente</i> said William of the cloth-yard.</p> - -<p>The houses of Bevan and Lambert had never agreed, brilliancy and dulness -rarely do, they had intermarried, however, with the result that the -present George Lambert and the present Charles Bevan were cousins of a -sort, cousins that had never spoken one to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> the other, and, moreover, at -the present moment, were engaged, as we know, in active litigation as to -the rights of fishing in an all but fishless stream some twelve feet -broad, which separated the estates and the kinsmen.</p> - -<p>Some twelve months previously it appears Strutt being sent down to -Highshot Towers to superintend some alterations, had found in the -gun-room a fishing-rod, and yielding to his cockney instincts, had -fished, catching by some miracle a dilapidated looking jack.</p> - -<p>He had promptly been set upon and beaten by a person whom Lambert called -his keeper, and who, according to Strutt, swam the stream like an otter, -hit him in the eye, broke the rod, and vanished with the jack.</p> - -<p>So began the memorable action of Bevan <i>v.</i> Lambert, which, having been -won in the Queen's Bench by Charles Bevan, was now at the date of our -story, waiting its turn to appear before the Lords Justices of Appeal. -It was stated, such was the animus with which this lawsuit was -conducted, that George Lambert was cutting down timber to defray the -costs of the lawyers, a fallacious statement, for the estate of Lambert -was mortgaged beyond the hope of redemption.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">THE BEVAN TEMPER</span></h2> - -<p>On a fine morning, two days after Miss Lambert's visit to Mr Hancock, Mr -Bevan entered his sitting-room in the "Albany" dressed for going out. He -wore a tea rose in his buttonhole, and Strutt, who followed his master, -bore in his hands a glossy silk hat far more carefully than if it had -been a baby.</p> - -<p>A most comfortably furnished and tastefully upholstered room was this in -which Charles Bevan smoked his one cigar and drank his one whisky and -seltzer before retiring to bed each night; everything spoke of an -orderly and well-regulated mind; of books there were few in bindings -sedate as their subject matter, and they had the air of prisoners rarely -released from the narrow cases that contained them. On the walls hung a -series of Gillray's engravings depicting "the flagitious absurdities of -the French during their occupation of Egypt." On the table reposed the -<i>Field</i>, the <i>Times</i>, and the <i>Spectator</i> (uncut).</p> - -<p>"But what the deuce can he <i>want</i>?" said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> Charles, who was holding an -open letter in his hand. It was a letter from the family lawyer asking -his attendance in Southampton Row at his earliest convenience.</p> - -<p>"Maybe," said Strutt, blowing away a speck of dust that had dared to -settle on the hat, "Maybe, sir, it's about the lawsuit."</p> - -<p>Bevan put the letter in his pocket, took his hat and stick from the -faithful Strutt and departed.</p> - -<p>He made for "Brooks'."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan patronised "Brooks'" and the "Reform."</p> - -<p>In the deserted smoking-room of "Brooks'" he sat down to write some -letters, and here followeth the correspondence of a modern Chesterfield.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">To J. Holdsworth,<br /><span class="s1"> </span>Hay Street, Pimlico.</span></p> - -<p>"Sir,—The thing you sent for my inspection yesterday is no use. -I'm not anxious to buy camels. Please do not trouble any more in -the matter. I wasted half an hour over this yesterday and my time -is valuable if the time of your groom is not.—Yours truly,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">C. M. Bevan</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">To Mrs Neurapath</span>,<br /><span class="s1"> </span>Secretary to Neurapath's Home for -<br /><span class="s2"> </span>Lost and Starving Cats, <span class="smcap">Bermondsey</span>.</p> - -<p>"Madam,—In answer to your third demand for a contribution to your -funds, I write to tell you that it is my fixed rule never to -contribute to private charities.—Yours, etc.,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">C. M. Bevan</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">To Messrs Teitz</span>;<br /><span class="s1"> </span>Breeches Makers, <span class="smcap">Oxford Street</span>.</p> - -<p>"Sir,—Please send your foreman to see me in the 'Albany' to-morrow -at ten <span class="smaller">A.M.</span> The breeches don't fit.—Yours, etc.,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">C. M. Bevan</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">To Miss Pamela Pursehouse,<br /><span class="s1"> </span>The Roost, Rookhurst, Kent.</span></p> - -<p>"My Dearest Pam,—Just a line scribbled in a hurry to say I will be -down in a few days. I am writing this at 'Brooks''. It's a -beautiful morning, but I expect it will be a scorching day, like -yesterday, it's always the way with this beastly climate, one is -either scorched, or frozen, or drowned. Just as I am writing this, -old Sir John Blundell has come into the room, he's the most -terrible bore, mad on roses and can't talk of anything else, he's -fidgetting about behind me trying to attract my attention, so I -have to keep on writing and pretending not to see him. I'm sorry -the buff Orpington cock is dead, was he the one who took the first -prize? I'll get you another if you let me know where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> to send. I -<i>think</i> there are some buff Orpingtons at Highshot but am not sure, -I don't take any interest in hens—only of course in yours. They -say hen-farming pays on a big scale, but I don't see where the -profit can come in. Thank goodness, that old fool Blundell has just -gone out—now I must stop,—With love, ever yours (etc., etc.),</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Charley</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>The author of this modern Englishman's love letter, having stamped and -deposited his correspondence in the club letter-box, entered the hansom -which had been called for him, and proceeded to his solicitor, James -Hancock, of the firm of Hancock & Hancock, Southampton Row.</p> - -<p>When Bevan was shown in, Mr Hancock was seated at his desk table, -writing a letter with a quill pen. He tossed his spectacles up on his -forehead and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of calling," said he, -crossing his legs, and playing with a paper knife, "but the fact is, I -have received a communication from the other side, who seem anxious to -bring this affair to a conclusion."</p> - -<p>"Oh, do they?" said Charles Bevan.</p> - -<p>"The fact is," continued the elder gentleman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> slapping his knee with the -flat of the paper knife as he spoke, "the fact is, Mr George Lambert is -in very great financial straits, and if the truth were known, I verily -believe the truth would be that he is quite insolvent."</p> - -<p>Charles made no reply.</p> - -<p>"But he will go on fighting the case, unless we can come to terms, even -though he has to borrow money for the purpose, for he is a very -litigious man this Mr George Lambert, a very litigious man!"</p> - -<p>"Well, let him fight," cried Charles; "<i>I</i> ask nothing better."</p> - -<p>"Still," said the old lawyer, "I thought it better to lay before you the -suggestion that has come from the other side, and which is simply -this——" He paused, drew a tortoiseshell snuff-box from his pocket, and -took a furious pinch of snuff. "Which is simply this, that each party -pay their own costs, and that the fishing rights be shared equally. We -beat them in the Queen's Bench, but when the matter comes before the -Court of Appeal, who knows but——"</p> - -<p>"Pay <i>what</i>?" cried Charles Bevan. "Pay my own costs after having fought -so long, and nearly beaten this pirate, this poacher!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Show me the -letter containing this proposal, this infamous suggestion."</p> - -<p>"Dear me, dear me, my dear sir, pray do not take the matter so -crookedly," cried the man of law lowering his spectacles and beginning -to mend a quill pen in an irritable manner. "There is nothing infamous -in this proposal, and indeed it reached me not through the mediumship of -a letter, but of a young lady. Mr George Lambert's daughter called upon -me in person, a most—er—charming young lady. She gave me to understand -from her conversation—her most artless conversation—that her -unfortunate father is on the brink, the verge, I may say the verge of -ruin. But he himself does not see it, pig-headed man that he is. In fact -she, the young lady herself, does not seem to see it. Dear me, dear me, -their condition makes me shudder."</p> - -<p>"When did she call?" asked Bevan.</p> - -<p>"Two days ago," blurted out the old lawyer splitting the quill and -nearly cutting his finger with the penknife.</p> - -<p>"Why was I not informed sooner of this disgraceful proposition," -demanded Bevan.</p> - -<p>"I declare I have been so busy——" said the other.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>"Well, tell George Lambert, I will fight as long as I have teeth to -fight with, and if I lose the action I'll break him anyhow," foamed -Charles who was now in the old-fashioned port-wine temper, which was an -heirloom in the Bevan family. "I'll buy up his mortgages and foreclose, -tell his wretched daughter——"</p> - -<p>"Mr Bevan," suddenly interposed the lawyer, "Miss Fanny Lambert is a -most charming lady for whom I have a deep respect—I may say a very deep -respect—the suggestion came from her informally. I doubt indeed if Mr -George Lambert would listen to any proposals for an amicable settlement, -he declares you have treated him, to use his expression—er—not as one -gentleman should treat another."</p> - -<p>Charles turned livid.</p> - -<p>"Where does this Lambert live now?"</p> - -<p>"At present he resides I believe, at his town house 'The Laurels,' -Highgate——. Why! Mr Bevan——"</p> - -<p>Charles had risen.</p> - -<p>"He said I was not a gentleman, did he? and you listened to him, I -suppose, and agreed with him, and you—no matter, I'll be my own -solicitor, I'll go and see him, and tell him he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> ought to be ashamed of -tampering with my business people through the medium of his daughter. -Yes, we'll see—'The Laurels' Highgate."</p> - -<p>"Mr Bevan, Mr Bevan!" cried old James Hancock in despair.</p> - -<p>But Mr Bevan was gone, strutting out like an enraged turkey-cock through -the outer office.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid I have but made matters worse, I am afraid I have but made -matters worse," moaned the peace-loving Mr Hancock, rubbing his -shrivelled hands together in an agony of discomfiture, whilst Charles -Bevan hailed a cab outside, determined to have it out man to man with -this cousin who had dared to say that a Bevan had behaved in a -dishonourable manner.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">AT "THE LAURELS"</span></h2> - -<p>Up in Highgate an hour later you might have seen a hansom driving about, -pausing here and there to ask of policemen, pedestrians, and others for -"The Laurels."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>"There's a' many Laurels," said the milkman, who was also the first -director, and so after awhile Mr Bevan found to his cost.</p> - -<p>But at last they found, with the aid of a local directory, the right -one, a spacious house built of red brick seen through an avenue of lime -trees all abuzz with bees.</p> - -<p>There was no sign of life in the little gate lodge, and the entrance -gate was pushed back; the orderly eye of Charles Bevan noticed that it -was half off its hinges; also, that the weeds in the avenue were -rampant.</p> - -<p>A laburnum had pushed its way through the limes, and a peony, as large -almost as a cabbage, had laid its head on the avenue-way, presenting a -walk-over-me-<i>I</i>-don't-care appearance, quite in accordance with the -general aspect of things.</p> - -<p>The hansom drew up at the door and the traveller from Southampton Row -flung away his cigar end, alighted, and ran up the three steps leading -to the porch. He rang the bell, and then stood wondering at the -luxuriance of the wisteria that overspread the porch, and contemplating -the hind hocks of the cab-horse which had been fired.</p> - -<p>What he was about to do or say when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> found himself in the presence of -his enemy was not very clear to the mind of Mr Bevan. What did occur to -him was that George Lambert would have the advantage over him in the -interview, seeing that he would be in his own house—on his own -dunghill, so to speak.</p> - -<p>He might have got into the hansom and returned to town, but that would -have been an admission to himself that he had committed a fault, and to -admit themselves in fault, even to themselves, was never a way with the -Bevans.</p> - -<p>So he rang and waited, and rang again.</p> - -<p>Presently shuffling footsteps sounded from behind the door which opened -some two inches, disclosing a pale, blue eye, part of a nose, and an -uncertain coloured fringe.</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" cried a voice through the crack.</p> - -<p>"Does Mr George Lambert live here?"</p> - -<p>"He does, but he's from home."</p> - -<p>"Dear me," murmured Charles, whose curiosity was now greatly aroused by -the neglected aspect of the place and the mysterious personage hidden by -the door. He felt a great desire to penetrate further into the affairs -of his enemy and see what was to be seen.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>"Is Miss Lambert in?"</p> - -<p>"Yus."</p> - -<p>"Then give her my card, please. I would like to speak to her."</p> - -<p>The person behind the door undid the chain, satisfied evidently by -Bevan's voice and appearance that he was not a dun or a robber. The door -opened disclosing a servant maid, very young and very dirty.</p> - -<p>This ash-cat took the piece of pasteboard, and made a pretence of -reading it, invited Charles to enter, and then closing the door, and -barring it this time as if to keep him in, should he try to escape, led -the way across a rather empty hall to a library.</p> - -<p>Here she invited him to sit down upon a chair, having first dusted it -with her apron, and declaring that she would send Miss Fanny to him in -"a minit," vanished, and left him to his meditations.</p> - -<p>"Most extraordinary place," said Charles, glancing round at the books in -their cases. "Most extraordinary place I ever entered."</p> - -<p>As he looked about him, he heard the youthful servant's voice raised now -to its highest pitch, and calling "Miss Fanny, Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> Fanny, Miss -F-a-a-anny" and dying away as if in back passages.</p> - -<p>The library was evidently much inhabited by the Lamberts; it was -pleasantly perfumed with tobacco, and in the grate lay the expiring -embers of a morning fire. The Lamberts were evidently not of the order -of people who extinguish their fires on the first of May. There were -whips and fishing-rods, and a gun or two here and there, and books -everywhere about, besides those on the shelves. The morning paper lay -spread open on the floor, where it had been cast by the last reader, and -on the floor lay other things, which in most houses are to be found on -tables, envelopes crumpled up, letters, and other trifles.</p> - -<p>On a little table by the window grew an orange-tree in a flower-pot, -bearing oranges as large as marrow-fat peas; through the half-open -window came wasps in and out, the perfume of mignonette and the murmur -of distant bees.</p> - -<p>He came to the window and looked out.</p> - -<p>Outside lay the ruins of a garden bathed in the golden light of summer, -the light that</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Speaks wide and loud</div> -<div>From deeps blown clean of cloud,</div> -<div>As though day's heart were proud</div> -<div>And heaven's were glad."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>Beyond lay a paddock in whose centre lay the wraith of a tennis lawn; -the net hung shrivelled between the tottering poles, and close to the -net he saw the forlorn figure of a girl playing what seemed a fantastic -game of tennis all alone.</p> - -<p>She would hit the ball into the air and strike it back when it fell; if -it went over the net she would jump after it.</p> - -<p>Now appeared the slattern maid, card between finger and thumb, picking -her way like a cat along the tangled garden path in the direction of the -girl.</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan turned away from the window and looked at the books lining the -wall, his eye travelling from Humboldt's works to the tooled back of -Milton—he was trying to recollect who Schopenhauer was—when of a -sudden the door opened and an amazingly pretty girl of the old-fashioned -school of beauty entered the room. She was dark, and she came into the -room laughing, yet with a half-frightened air as if fearful of being -caught missing from some old canvas.</p> - -<p>"You won't tell," said she as they shook hands like intimate -acquaintances. "If father knew I had asked Mr Hancock, you know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> what, -he'd kill me; I really believe he would." She put down her tennis -racquet on the table, her hat she had left outside, and evidently in a -hurry, to judge by the delightful disorder of her hair.</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan, who was trying to stiffen his lip and appear very formal, had -taken his seat on a low chair which made him feel dwarfed and -ridiculous. He had also, unfortunately, left his hat on the table some -yards away, and so had nothing with which to occupy his hands; he was, -therefore, entirely at the mercy of Miss Lambert, who had taken an -armchair near by, and was now chattering to him with the familiarity, -almost, of a sister.</p> - -<p>"It seems so fortunate, you know," said she suddenly, discarding a -discussion about the weather. "It seems so fortunate that idea of mine -of speaking to Mr Hancock. I hate fighting with people, but father -<i>loves</i> it; he'd fight with himself, I think, if he could find no one -else, and still, if you knew him, he's the sweetest-tempered person in -the world, he is, he would do anything for anybody, he would lay his -life down for a friend. But you will know him now, now that that -terrible affair about the fish stream is settled."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>Mr Bevan swallowed rapidly and cast frantic glances at his hat. Had -Miss Lambert been of the ordinary type of girl he might possibly have -intimated that the fish stream business was not so settled as she -supposed, but with this sweet-tongued and friendly beauty, it was -impossible. He felt deeply exasperated at the false position in which he -found himself, and was endeavouring to prepare some reply of a -non-committal character when, of a sudden, his eye caught a direful -sight, which for a moment made him forget both fish stream and false -position—the little boot of Miss Lambert peeping from beneath her skirt -was old and broken.</p> - -<p>"I would not deny him anything, goodness knows," continued Fanny -Lambert, as if she were talking of a child. "But this action <i>costs</i> -such a lot, and there are so many people he could fight cheaply with if -he wants to," she broke into an enchanting little laugh. "I think, -really, it's the expense that makes him think so much of it; he has a -horror of cheap things."</p> - -<p>"Cheap things are never much good," conceded Mr Bevan, upon whose mind a -dreadful sort of imbecility had now fallen, his will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> cried out -frantically to his intellect for help, and received none. Here had he -come to demand explanations, to put his foot down—alas! what is the -will of man beside the beauty of a woman?</p> - -<p>"That's what father says," said Fanny. "But as for me, I love them, that -is to say bargains, you know."</p> - -<p>The door burst open and a sort of poodle walked in, he was not exactly -Russian and not exactly French, he had points of an Irish water-spaniel. -Bevan gazed at him and marvelled.</p> - -<p>Having inspected the pattern of the visitor's trousers, and seeming -therewith content Boy-Boy—such was his name—flung himself on the floor -and into sleep beside his mistress.</p> - -<p>"He sleeps all day," said Fanny, "and I wish he wouldn't, for he spends -the whole night barking and rushing after the cats in the garden. Isn't -he just like a door mat, and doesn't he snore?"</p> - -<p>"He certainly does."</p> - -<p>"I got him for three and sixpence and an old pair of boots from one of -those travelling men who grind scissors and things," said Miss Lambert, -looking lovingly at her bargain. "He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> was half starved and <i>so</i> thin. He -ate a whole leg of mutton the first day we had him."</p> - -<p>"That was very unwise," said Mr Bevan, who always shone on the topic of -dogs or horses; "you should never give dogs much meat."</p> - -<p>"He took it," said Fanny. "It was so clever of him, he hid it in the -garden and buried the bone—who is that at the door, is that you, -Susannah?"</p> - -<p>"Luncheon is ready, Miss," said the voice of Susannah, who spoke in a -muted tone as if she were announcing some unsavoury fact of which she -was half ashamed.</p> - -<p>Charles Bevan rose to go.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you'll stay to luncheon," said Fanny.</p> - -<p>"I really—I have an engagement—that is a cab waiting." Then addressing -his remarks to the eyes of Miss Lambert, "I shall be delighted if such a -visitation does not bore you."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit—Susannah, hang Mr Bevan's hat up in the hall. Come this -way."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan followed his hostess across the hall to the breakfast-room; as -he followed he heard with a shudder Susannah attempting to hang his hat -on the high hall rack, and the hat falling off and being pursued about -the floor.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>Luncheon was laid in a free-handed and large-hearted manner. Three -whitings on a dish of Sheffield plate formed the <i>piece de résistance</i>, -there was jam which appeared frankly in a pot pictured with plums, but -in the centre of the table stood a vase of Venetian glass filled with -roses.</p> - -<p>As they took their seats Susannah, who had apparently been seized with -an inspiration, appeared conveying a bottle of Böllinger in one hand, -and a bottle of Gold-water in the other.</p> - -<p>"I brought them from the cellar, Miss," said the maid with a side glance -at Charles—she was a good-natured-looking girl when not defending the -hall door, but her under jaw seemed like the avenue gate, half off its -hinges, and her intellect to be always oozing away through her half-open -mouth. "They were the best I could find."</p> - -<p>"That's right, Susannah," said her mistress; "try if you can get one of -those little bottles of port, the ones with red seals on them and -cobwebs; and close the door."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan opened the champagne and helped himself, Miss Lambert -announcing the fact that she was a teetotaler.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"There is a man in the kitchen," said she, after an apology for the -general disorder of things, and for the whiting which were but -indifferently cooked. "James, you know, and when he is in the kitchen -whilst meals are being prepared Susannah loses her head and often spoils -things. Father generally sends him out to dig in the garden whilst she -is cooking. I didn't send him to-day because he won't take orders from -me, only from father. He says a man cannot serve two masters; he is -always making proverbs and things, his father was a stationer and he has -written poetry. He might have been anything only for his wife, he told -me so the other night. It <i>does</i> seem such a pity."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Charles tentatively, wondering who "James, you know" might -be.</p> - -<p>"What is he?"</p> - -<p>"He's in the law," said Miss Lambert cautiously, then after a moment's -hesitation, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you, you are our cousin. -Father had a debt and——"</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say he's——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he has come to take possession as they call it."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan laid down his knife and fork.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>"Good gracious!"</p> - -<p>"I never cried so much as when he came," said Fanny, stroking the head -of Boy-Boy, who was resting beside her; "it seemed so terrible. I never -knew what a comfort he would turn out; he fetches the coals for Susannah -and pumps the water. It sounds strange to say it, but I don't know what -we should do without him now."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you poor child," thought Charles, "how much you must have suffered -at the hands of that pig-headed fool of a father of yours—to think of a -good estate coming to this!"</p> - -<p>"Tell me," he said aloud, "how long has that man been here?"</p> - -<p>"A week," said Fanny, "but it seems a year."</p> - -<p>"Who—er—put him in."</p> - -<p>"A Mr Isaacs."</p> - -<p>"What was the debt for, Cousin Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"We went to Paris."</p> - -<p>"I don't——"</p> - -<p>"I wanted to go to Paris, and father said I should, but he would have to -think first about the money. Then he went into the library, and took me -on his knee, and smoked a pipe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> He always gets money when he sits and -has what he calls a 'good think' and smokes a pipe. So he got the money -and we went to Paris. We had a lovely time!"</p> - -<p>"And then," said Bevan with an expression on his face as if he were -listening to a fairy tale which he <i>had</i> to believe, "I suppose Mr -Isaacs applied for his money?"</p> - -<p>"He sent most impertinent letters," said Fanny, "and I told father not -to mind them, then James came."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan went on with his luncheon, all his anger against his cousin, -George Lambert, had vanished. Anger is impossible to a sane mind when -the object of that anger turns out to be a lunatic.</p> - -<p>He went on with his luncheon; though the whiting were indifferently -cooked, the champagne was excellent, and his hostess exquisite. It was -hard to tell which was more attractive, her face or her voice, for the -voice of Miss Lambert was one of those fatal voices that we hear perhaps -twice in a lifetime, and never forget, perfectly modulated golden, -soothing—maddening.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">"WHAT TALES ARE THESE?"</span></h2> - -<p>"Now tell me," said Mr Bevan, they were walking in the garden after -luncheon, "tell me, Cousin Fanny"—Miss Lambert, had vanished with the -Böllinger—"don't you think your father is a little -bit—er—extravagant?"</p> - -<p>"He may be a bit extravagant," murmured Fanny, plucking a huge daisy and -putting it in her belt. "But then—he is such a dear, and I know he -tries to economise all he can, he sold the carriage and horse only a -month ago, and just look at the garden! he wont go to the expense of a -gardener but does it all himself; it would be disgraceful only it's so -lovely, with all the things running wild; see, here is one of his garden -gloves."</p> - -<p>She picked a glove out of a thorn bush and kissed it, and put it in her -pocket.</p> - -<p>"He does the garden himself!"</p> - -<p>"He and James."</p> - -<p>"You don't mean——"</p> - -<p>"Mr Isaacs' man, they have dug up a lot of ground over there and planted -asparagus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> James was a gardener once, but as I have told you, he had -misfortunes and had to take to the law. He is awfully poor, and his wife -is ill; they live in a little street near Artesian Road, and father has -been to see her; he came with me, and we brought her some wine; I -carried it in a basket. See, is not that a beautiful rose?" she smiled -at the rose, and Charles could not but admire her beauty.</p> - -<p>"And then," resumed Fanny, the smile fading as the wind turned the -rose's face away, "father is so unfortunate, all the people he lends -money to won't pay him back, and stocks and shares and things go up and -down, and always the wrong way, so he says, and he gets into such a rage -with the house because he can't mortgage it—it was left in trust for -me—and we <i>can't</i> let it, so we have to live in it."</p> - -<p>"Why can you not let it?"</p> - -<p>"Because of the ghost."</p> - -<p>"Good gracious goodness!" gobbled Charles, taking the cigar from his -mouth. "What nonsense are you talking, Cousin Fanny? Ghost! there are no -such things as ghosts."</p> - -<p>"<i>Aren't</i> there?" said Fanny. "I wish you saw our one."</p> - -<p>"Do you really mean to try to make me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> believe——" cried Charles, then -he foundered, tied up in his own vile English.</p> - -<p>"We did let it once, a year ago, to a Major Sawyer," said Fanny, and she -smiled down the garden path at some presumably pleasant vision. "It was -in May; we let it to him for three months and went down to Ramsgate to -economise. Major Sawyer moved in on a Friday; I remember that, for the -next day was Saturday, and I shall never forget that Saturday.</p> - -<p>"We were sitting at breakfast, when a telegram was brought, it was from -the Major, and it was from the South Kensington Hotel; it said, as well -as I can remember, 'Call without a moment's delay.'"</p> - -<p>"Of course we thought 'The Laurels' were burnt down, and you can fancy -the fright we were in, for it's not insured—at least the furniture -isn't."</p> - -<p>"Not insured!" groaned Charles.</p> - -<p>"No; father says houses never catch fire if they are not insured, and he -wouldn't trust himself not to set it on fire if it <i>was</i> insured, so -it's not insured."</p> - -<p>"Go on."</p> - -<p>"Let us sit down on this seat. Well, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> course we thought we were -ruined, and father was perfectly wild to get up to town and know the -worst, he can't stand suspense. He wanted to take a special train, and -there was a terrible scene at the station; you know we have Irish blood -in us: his mother was Irish, and Fanny Lambert, my great-grandmother, -the one that hung herself, was an Irishwoman. There was a terrible scene -at the station, because they wouldn't take father's cheque for the extra -twenty-five pounds for the special train. 'I tell you I'm <i>ruined</i>,' -said father, but the station-master, a horrible little man with -whiskers, said he couldn't help that. Oh! the world is horribly cold and -cruel," said Fanny, drawing closer to her companion, "when one is in a -strange place, where one doesn't know people. Once father gets to know -people he can do anything with them, for every one loves him. The wife -of the hotel-keeper where we stayed in Paris wept when we had to go away -without our luggage."</p> - -<p>"I should think so."</p> - -<p>"You see we only took half of the money we got from Mr Isaacs to Paris; -we locked half of it up in the bureau in the library for fear we would -spend it, then when the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>fortnight was up we hadn't enough for the bill. -Father wanted to leave Boy-Boy, but they said they'd sooner keep the -luggage. They were very nice over it, the hotel-keeper and his wife, but -people are horrid when they don't know one.</p> - -<p>"Well, we came by a later train, and found Major Sawyer waiting for us -at the South Kensington Hotel. He was such a funny old man with fiery -eyes and white hair that stood up. We did not see Mrs Sawyer, so we -supposed she had been burnt in the fire; but we scarcely had time to -think, for the Major began to abuse father for having let him such a -house.</p> - -<p>"I was awfully frightened, and father listened to the abuse quite -meekly, you see he thought Mrs Sawyer was burnt. Then it came out that -there had been no fire, and I saw father lift up his head, and put his -chin out, and I stopped my ears and shut my eyes."</p> - -<p>"I suppose he gave it to old Sawyer."</p> - -<p>"Didn't he! Mrs Sawyer told me afterwards that the Major had never been -spoken to so before since he left school, and that it had done him a -world of good—poor old thing!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>"But what was it all about—I mean what made him leave the house?"</p> - -<p>"Why, the ghost, to be sure. The first night he was in the house he went -poking about looking for burglars, and saw it or heard it, I forget -which; they say he did not stop running till he reached the police -station, and that's nearly a mile away, and he wouldn't come back but -took a cab to the hotel in his pyjamas. But the funny thing is, that -ever since the day father abused him, he has been our best friend; he's -helped us in money matters lots of times, and he always sends us hares -and things when he goes shooting. The ghost always brings us luck when -she can—always."</p> - -<p>"You believe in Luck?"</p> - -<p>"I believe in everything, so does father."</p> - -<p>"And this ghost, it's a 'she' you said, I think?"</p> - -<p>"It's Fanny Lambert."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"My great-grandmother."</p> - -<p>"Tell me about her," said Charles, lighting a new cigar and leaning back -luxuriously on the seat.</p> - -<p>The seat was under a chestnut tree,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> before them lay a little -wilderness, sunflowers unburst from the bud, stocks, and clove pinks.</p> - -<p>In its centre stood a moss-grown sun-dial bearing this old dial -inscription in Latin, "The hours pass and are numbered." From this -wilderness of a garden came the drone of bees, a dreamy sound that -seemed to refute the motto upon the dial.</p> - -<p>"She lived," said Fanny, "a hundred, or maybe two hundred, years ago; -anyhow it was in the time of the Regency—and I wish to goodness I had -lived then."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it must have been such fun."</p> - -<p>"How do you know about the time of the Regency?"</p> - -<p>"I have read about it in the library, there are a lot of old books about -it, and one of them is in handwriting, not in print. You know in those -times the Lamberts lived here at 'The Laurels,' just as we do, that's -what makes the house so old; and the Prince Regent used to drive up here -in a carriage and pair of coal-black horses. He was in love with Mrs -Lambert, and she was in love with him. I don't wonder at her."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>"Well, you ought to wonder at her," said Charles in a hectoring voice, -blowing a cloud of smoke at a bumble-bee that had alighted on Fanny's -dress, and was rubbing its hands together as if in satisfaction at the -prosperous times and the plenty of flowers.</p> - -<p>"Don't blow smoke at the poor thing. Isn't he fat!—there, he is gone. -Why ought I to wonder at her?"</p> - -<p>"Because she was married."</p> - -<p>"Why shouldn't she be married?"</p> - -<p>"Ahem!" said Charles, clearing his throat.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"I meant to say that she should not have loved the Prince."</p> - -<p>"Why not? he was awfully good to them. Do you know George, Fanny's -husband, must have been very like father; he was like him in face, for -we have a miniature of him, but he was like him in other ways, too. He -would sit up at Crockfords—what <i>was</i> Crockfords?"</p> - -<p>"A kind of club, I believe."</p> - -<p>"He would sit up at Crockfords playing cards all night, and he killed a -man once by hitting him over the head with a poker; the jury said the -man died of apoplexy, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> kept the man's wife and children always -afterwards, and that is just what father would have done."</p> - -<p>"I know," said Charles, "at least I can imagine him; but, all the same, -I don't think you know what marriage is."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I do!"</p> - -<p>"What is it, then?"</p> - -<p>"It's a blessed state," said Fanny, breaking into a joyous laugh; "at -least I read so in some old book."</p> - -<p>"We were talking of the Prince Regent, I think," said Charles rather -stiffly.</p> - -<p>"Were we? Oh yes, I remember. Well, they loved each other so much that -the old book said it was a matter of common rumour, whatever that means. -One night at Crockfords Mr Bevan—he was an ancestor of yours—flew into -a frightful temper over some nonsense—a misdeal at cards I think it -was—and called George Lambert a name, an awfully funny name; what was -this it was? let me think——"</p> - -<p>"Don't think, don't think, go on with the story," cried Charles in an -agony.</p> - -<p>"And George Lambert slapped Mr Bevan's face, and serve him right, too."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>"What is that you say?" cried Charles, wattling like a turkey-cock.</p> - -<p>"I said serve him right!" cried Fanny, clenching her little fists.</p> - -<p>"Look here——" said Charles, then suddenly he became dumb, whilst the -breeze wandered with a rustling sound through the desolate garden, -bearing with it from some distant street the voice of a man crying -"Herrings," as if to remind them that Highgate was no longer the -Highgate of the Regency.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Fanny, still with a trace of defiance in her tone.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," answered Charles meekly. "Go on with your story."</p> - -<p>Fanny nestled closer to him as if to make up, and went on:</p> - -<p>"The Prince was in the room, and every one said he turned pale; some -people said he cried out, 'My God, what an occurrence!' and some people -said he cried out, 'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' And the old Marquis of Bath -dropped his snuff-box, though what that has to do with the story I don't -know.</p> - -<p>"At all events, the Prince left immediately, for he had an appointment -to meet Fanny, and have supper with her. He must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> said something -nasty to her, for instead of having supper with him, she took a carriage -and drove home here. She seemed greatly distressed; the servants said -she spent the night walking up and down the blue corridor crying out, 'O -that I ever loved such a man!' and 'Who would have thought men were so -cruel!' Then, when her husband came back from fighting a duel with Mr -Bevan, she was gone. All her jewels were gone too; she must have hidden -them somewhere, for they were never found again.</p> - -<p>"They found her hanging in a clothes closet quite dead; she had hung -herself with her garters—she must have had a very small neck, I'm sure -I couldn't hang myself with mine—and now she haunts the corridor -beckoning to people to follow her."</p> - -<p>"Have you ever seen her?"</p> - -<p>"No, but I am sure I have heard her at nights sometimes, when the wind -is high. Father O'Mahony wanted to lay her, but I told father not to let -him, she's said to be so lucky."</p> - -<p>"Lucky, indeed, to lose you a good tenant!"</p> - -<p>"It was the luckiest thing she ever did, for the hotel was awfully -expensive."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"Why did you not take apartments, then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, they are so lonely and so poky, and landladies rob one so."</p> - -<p>"Is your father a Roman Catholic?"</p> - -<p>"He is."</p> - -<p>"What are you?"</p> - -<p>"I am nothing," said Fanny, proclaiming her simple creed with all the -simplicity of childhood, and a smile that surely was reflected on the -Recording Angel's face as he jotted down her reply.</p> - -<p>"Does your <i>father</i> know of this state of your mind?" asked Charles in a -horrified voice.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and he is always trying to convert me to 'the faith,' as he calls -it. We have long arguments, and I always beat him. When he can find -nothing more to say, he always scratches his dear old head and says, -'Anyhow you're baptised, and that's one comfort,' then we talk of other -things, but he did convert me once."</p> - -<p>"How was that?"</p> - -<p>"I was in a hurry to try on a frock," said this valuable convert to the -Church; "at least the dressmaker was waiting, so I gave in, but only for -once."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>"What do you believe in, then?" asked Charles, glancing fearfully at -the female atheist by his side, who had taken her garden hat from her -head and was swinging it by the ribbon.</p> - -<p>"I believe in being good, and I believe in father, and I believe one -ought always to make every one as happy as possible and be kind to -animals. I believe people who ill-treat animals go to hell—at least, I -hope they do."</p> - -<p>"Do you believe in heaven?" asked Mr Bevan in a pained voice.</p> - -<p>"Of course I do."</p> - -<p>"Then you are <i>not</i> an atheist," in a voice of relief.</p> - -<p>"Of course I'm not. Who said I was?"</p> - -<p>"You did."</p> - -<p>"I didn't. I'd sooner die than be an atheist. One came here to dinner -once; he had a red beard, and smoked shag in the drawing-room. Ugh! such -a man!"</p> - -<p>"Do you believe in God?"</p> - -<p>"I used to, when I was a child. I was always told He would strike me -dead if I told a lie, and then I found that He didn't. It was like the -man who lived in the oven. I was always told that the Black Man who -lived in the oven would run away with me if I stole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> the jam; and one -day I stole the jam, and opened the oven door and looked in. I was in a -terrible fright, but there wasn't any man there."</p> - -<p>"It's very strange," said Charles.</p> - -<p>"That there wasn't a man there?"</p> - -<p>"I was referring," said Charles stiffly, "to such thoughts in the mind -of one so young as you are."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm as old as the hills," cried Fanny in the voice of a <i>blasé</i> -woman of the world, making a grab at a passing moth and then flinging -her hat after it, "as old as the—mercy! what's that?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Fanny!" cried the voice of Susannah, who was lowing like a cow -through garden and shrubbery in search of her missing mistress, "Miss -Fah-ny, Miss——"</p> - -<p>"That's tea," said Fanny, rising, and leading the way to the house.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X</span> <span class="smaller">ASPARAGUS AND CATS</span></h2> - -<p>Charles Bevan followed his cousin to the house. His orderly mind could -never have imagined of its own volition a <i>ménage</i> like that of the -Lamberts. He revolted at it, yet felt strangely fascinated. It was like -watching people dancing on a tight rope half cut in two, sailors -feasting and merry-making on a sinking wreck, children plucking flowers -on the crumbling edge of a cliff.</p> - -<p>Tea was laid in state in the drawing-room, a lovely old room with -tapestried walls, and windows that opened upon the garden; or at least -that part of it which had been robbed of its roses and converted into a -kitchen-garden during one of George Lambert's economical fits.</p> - -<p>"That is the asparagus bed," said Fanny proudly.</p> - -<p>It was like a badly-ploughed field, and Charles' eye travelled slowly -over its ridges and hollows.</p> - -<p>"Have you a potato bed?" he asked, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> mind subconsciously estimating -the size of the Lamberts' Highgate estate on the basis that their potato -crop was in proportion to their asparagus.</p> - -<p>"Oh, we buy our potatoes and cabbages and things," said Fanny; "they are -cheap."</p> - -<p>"But asparagus takes such a time to grow—four years, I think it is."</p> - -<p>"Oh, surely not so long as that?" said the girl, taking her seat at the -tea-table. "Why, oak trees would grow quicker than that; besides, James -said we would have splendid asparagus next spring, and he was a -professed gardener before his misfortunes overtook him. Do you take -sugar?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, please," said Charles, wearily dropping into a low chair and -wondering vaguely at the angelic beauty of the girl's face.</p> - -<p>"And what, may I ask, were the 'misfortunes' that overtook James?"</p> - -<p>"His wife, poor thing, took to drink," said she, with so much -commiseration in her tone that she might have been a disciple of the new -criminology, "and that broke his heart and took all his energy away."</p> - -<p>"Do you believe him?"</p> - -<p>"Why not? He is a most devoted creature;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> and he is going to give up the -business he is in and stay on when father pays Mr Isaacs. I hope we will -never part with James."</p> - -<p>Susannah, in honour of the guest, had produced the best tea service, a -priceless set of old Sèvres. The tray was painted with Cupidons blowing -trumpets as if in honour of the victory of Susannah over mischance, in -that she had conveyed them upstairs by some miracle unsmashed.</p> - -<p>There was half a cake by Buszard; the tea, had it been paid for, would -have cost five shillings a pound, but the milk was sky blue.</p> - -<p>As Fanny was cutting up the cake in liberal slices as if for a -children's party, two frightful-looking cats walked into the room with -all the air of bandits. One was jet black and one was brindled; both -looked starved, and each wore its tail with a pump-handle curve after -the fashion of a lion's when marauding.</p> - -<p>Fanny regarded them lovingly, and poured out a saucerful of the blue -milk which she placed on the floor.</p> - -<p>"Aren't they angels?"</p> - -<p>"Well, if you ask me," said Charles Bevan, as if he were giving his -opinion on some object<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> of <i>vértu</i>, "I'd say they were more like—the -other things."</p> - -<p>"I know they are not <i>pretty</i>," said Fanny regretfully, "but they are -faithful. They always come to tea just as if they were invited."</p> - -<p>"I wonder your poodle—I mean the dog, lets them in."</p> - -<p>"Boy-Boy?—Oh, he only barks at things at night when they can't see him; -he would run from a mouse, he's such a dear old coward. Aren't they -thirsty?"</p> - -<p>"Where did you get them? I should think they would be hard to match."</p> - -<p>"I didn't get them: they are not ours, they just come in."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say you let stray cats in like that?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> don't let them in, they come in through a hole in the scullery -window."</p> - -<p>"Goodness gracious!"</p> - -<p>"Sometimes the kitchen is full of cats; they seem to know."</p> - -<p>"That fools live here," thought Charles.</p> - -<p>"And Susannah spends all her time turning them out—all, of course, -except the black ones."</p> - -<p>"Why not the black ones?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>"Because they are lucky; did you not know that? It's frightfully -unlucky to turn a black cat out."</p> - -<p>"Why not fill up the hole and stop them from getting in?"</p> - -<p>"Susannah has stuffed it up with old stockings and things till she's -weary; they butt it in with their heads."</p> - -<p>"Why not have a new pane put in?"</p> - -<p>"Father has talked of that, but I have always changed the conversation, -and then he forgets."</p> - -<p>"You like cats?"</p> - -<p>"I love them."</p> - -<p>Charles looked gloomily at the grimalkins.</p> - -<p>"Seems to me you must have your food stolen."</p> - -<p>"We used to, but Susannah locks everything up now before she goes to -bed."</p> - -<p>She inverted the milk jug to show the cats that there was no milk left, -and the intelligent creatures comprehending left the room, the black -leading the way.</p> - -<p>"Faithful creatures!" sneered Charles.</p> - -<p>"Aren't they! Oh, but, Cousin Charles—I mean Mr——"</p> - -<p>"No; call me Cousin Charles."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>"—I've given the cats all the milk!"</p> - -<p>"No matter," said Charles magnanimously. "The poor beggars wanted it -more than I. I never drink more than one cup of tea; it makes me -nervous."</p> - -<p>"How good you are!" she murmured. "You remind me of father."</p> - -<p>Charles moved uneasily in his chair.</p> - -<p>From somewhere in the distance came the sound of Susannah singing and -cleaning a window, a song like a fetish song interrupted by the sound of -the window being closed to see if it was clean enough, and flung up -again with a jerk, that spoke of dissatisfaction. These sounds of a -sudden ceased.</p> - -<p>They were succeeded by the murmur of voices, a footstep, then a tap at -the door, followed by the voice of Susannah requesting her mistress to -step outside for a moment.</p> - -<p>"I know what <i>that</i> always means," murmured the girl in a resigned -voice, as she rose from the table and left the room.</p> - -<p>Charles Bevan rose from his chair and went to the window.</p> - -<p>"These people want protecting," he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> to himself frowning at the -asparagus bed. "Irresponsibility when it passes a certain point becomes -absolute lunacy. Fanny and her father ought to be in a lunatic asylum -with their ghosts, and cats, and rubbish, only I don't believe any -lunatic asylum would take them in; they would infect the other patients -and make them worse. Good Heavens! it makes me shudder. They must be on -the verge of the workhouse, making asparagus beds, and drinking -champagne, and flying off to Paris, and feeding every filthy stray cat -with food they must want for themselves. Poor devils—I mean damned -fools. Anyhow, I must be going." The recollection of a certain lady -named Pamela Pursehouse arose coldly in his mind now that Miss Lambert -was absent from the room, and the little "still voice," whatever a still -voice may be, said something about duty.</p> - -<p>He determined to flee from temptation directly his hostess returned, but -he reckoned without Fate.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Fanny entered with a face full of tragedy.</p> - -<p>She closed the door.</p> - -<p>"What do you think Susannah has told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> me?" She spoke in a low voice as -if death were in the house.</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"James has come in and he has—had too much!"</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say that he is intoxicated?"</p> - -<p>"I do," said Fanny with her voice filled with tears.</p> - -<p>"How <i>disgraceful</i>! I will go down and turn him out." Then he remembered -that he could not very well turn him out considering that he was in -possession.</p> - -<p>"For goodness sake don't even hint that to him, or he may go," cried -Fanny in alarm, "for, when he gets like this, he always talks of leaving -at once, because his calling is a disgrace to him, and if he went, -Susannah would follow him."</p> - -<p>"But, my dear girl," cried Charles, "how dare that wretched -Susannah—ahem—why, he's a married man, you told me so; surely she -knows <i>that</i>."</p> - -<p>"Yes, she knows that, but she says she can't help herself."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> never met such people before!" said Charles, addressing a jade -dragon on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> mantelpiece—"I mean," he said, putting his hands in his -trousers' pockets and addressing his boots, "such a person as Susannah."</p> - -<p>"Her mother ran away with her father," murmured Fanny in extenuation, -"so I suppose it is in the blood. But I wish we could do something with -James. If he would even go to bed, but he sits by the kitchen fire -crying, and that sets Susannah off. She will be ill for days after this. -He said it was a cigar some one gave him that reminded him of his better -days——"</p> - -<p>"Bother his better days!"</p> - -<p>"——and he went to try and drown the recollection of them. It is so -stupid of him, he <i>knows</i> how drink flies to his head; you would never -imagine if you could see him now that he has only had two glasses of -beer."</p> - -<p>"I will go down to the kitchen and speak to him," said Charles.</p> - -<p>"But, Cousin Charles," said Fanny, plucking at his coat, "be sure and -speak gently."</p> - -<p>"I will," said Mr Bevan.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go with you," said she.</p> - -<p>James, a long ill-weedy looking man, was seated before the kitchen fire -on a chair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> without a back; Susannah, on hearing their footsteps, darted -into the scullery.</p> - -<p>"Now, James, now, James," said Charles Bevan, speaking in a paternal -voice, "what is the meaning of all this? How did you get yourself into -this condition?"</p> - -<p>James turned his head and regarded Charles. He made a vain endeavour to -speak and rise from his chair at one and the same time, then he -collapsed and his tears returned anew.</p> - -<p>At the sound, Susannah in the scullery threw her apron over her head and -joined in, whilst Fanny looked out of the window and sniffled.</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> never saw such a lot of people!" cried Charles in desperation. -"James, James, be a man."</p> - -<p>"How can he," said Fanny, controlling her voice, "when he is in this -terrible state? Cousin Charles, don't you think you could induce him to -go to bed?"</p> - -<p>"I think I could," said Charles grimly, "if you show me the way to his room."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PART II</i></h2> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">A REVELATION</span></h2> - -<p>"When will your father come back?" asked Charles as he returned to the -kitchen, having deposited the man of law on his bed and shaken his fist -in his face as a token of what he would get if he rose from it.</p> - -<p>"Not till this evening, late," said Fanny.</p> - -<p>"Then I must wait till he returns, or till this person recovers himself. -I cannot possibly leave you alone in the house with a tipsy man."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, do stay till father returns. I want you to meet him so much," -said Fanny, all her grief vanishing in smiles.</p> - -<p>"Susannah, we'll have supper at eight."</p> - -<p>"Yes, miss."</p> - -<p>"I am almost glad," said Fanny, as she tripped up the kitchen stairs -before her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> cousin, "I am almost glad James took it into his head to get -tipsy, you'd have gone away if he hadn't, without seeing father; it -seems almost like Providence. Mercy! it's six o'clock."</p> - -<p>She glanced at the great old hall clock ticking away the moments, even -as it had done when George the Third was king, and Charles took his -watch out to verify the time, but he did not catch the old clock -tripping.</p> - -<p>"Now we must think about supper," said Fanny, in a busy voice. "You must -be dying of hunger. What do you like best?"</p> - -<p>"But you have not dined, Fanny."</p> - -<p>"Oh, we always call dinner 'luncheon,' and have it in the middle of the -day; it saves trouble, and it is less worry." Then, after a moment's -pause: "I wish we had a lobster, but I don't think there is one. I -<i>know</i> there is a beefsteak."</p> - -<p>She went to the kitchen stairs.</p> - -<p>"Susannah!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, miss," answered a dolorous voice from below.</p> - -<p>"Have you a lobster in the house?"</p> - -<p>"No, miss."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><p>"You have a beefsteak?"</p> - -<p>A sound came as of search amongst the plates on the dresser.</p> - -<p>"The beefsteak is gone, Miss Fanny."</p> - -<p>"Now, <i>where</i> can that beefsteak have gone to?" murmured the girl, -whilst Charles called to mind the criminal countenances of the two -faithful cats, and the business-like manner in which they had left the -room.</p> - -<p>"Search again, Susannah."</p> - -<p>A frightful crash of crockery came as a reply.</p> - -<p>"Susannah!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, miss."</p> - -<p>"Don't look any more, I will go out and buy something."</p> - -<p>"Don't mind me," said Charles. "Anything will do for me; I am used—I -mean——"</p> - -<p>"I am not going to have father come back and find you starved to death; -he'd kill me. I'm going out marketing; will you come?"</p> - -<p>"With pleasure."</p> - -<p>"Then wait till I fetch my hat and a basket."</p> - -<p>"May I light a cigar?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, smoke everywhere, every one does," and she rushed upstairs for her -hat. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> moment later she returned, hat on head, and bearing in her hand -a little basket adorned with blue ribbons: a pound of tea would have -freighted it.</p> - -<p>"How on earth is she going to get the dinner into that?" thought her -companion, as he unbarred the hall door and followed her down the steps.</p> - -<p>Then they found themselves walking down the weed-grown avenue, the birds -twittering overhead in the light of the warm June evening.</p> - -<p>That he should be going "a-marketing" in Highgate accompanied by a -pretty girl with a basket did not, strangely enough, impress Charles -Bevan as being an out-of-the-way occurrence.</p> - -<p>He felt as if he had known the Lamberts for years—a good many years. He -no longer contemplated the joyous tragedy of their life wholly as a -spectator; he had become suddenly and without volition one of the -actors, a subordinate actor—a thinking part, one might call it.</p> - -<p>The fearful fascination exercised by these people seemed, strange to -say, never so potent as when exercised upon hard-headed people,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> as -Major Sawyer and many another could have told.</p> - -<p>"I love marketing," said Fanny, as they trudged along, "at least buying -things."</p> - -<p>"Have you any money?"</p> - -<p>"Lots," said Miss Lambert, producing a starved-looking purse.</p> - -<p>She opened it and peeped in at the three and sixpence it contained, and -then shut it with a snap as if fearful of their escaping.</p> - -<p>"What do you like next best to marketing?" asked Charles in the sedate -voice of a heavy father speaking to his favourite child.</p> - -<p>"Opening parcels."</p> - -<p>"I don't quite——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you know—strange parcels when they come, or when father brings -them, one never knows what may be in them—chocolate creams or what. I -wonder what father will bring me back this time?"</p> - -<p>"Where has he gone to?"</p> - -<p>"He has gone to get some money."</p> - -<p>"He will be back this evening?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, unless he finds it difficult getting the money. If he does, he -won't be home till morning." She spoke as an Indian squaw might speak, -whose father or husband has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> gone a-hunting, whilst Charles marvelled -vaguely.</p> - -<p>"But suppose—he doesn't get any money?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he will get it all right, people are so good to him. Poor, dear Mr -Hancock——"</p> - -<p>She stopped suddenly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes."</p> - -<p>"He said we weren't to tell."</p> - -<p>She spoke in a secretive voice which greatly inflamed her companion's -curiosity.</p> - -<p>"You might tell me, but don't if you don't want to."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Fanny. "I don't think it matters now that you are friends -with us, and we're all the same family. Father's dividends had not come -in, and he lent us the money to pay the bills."</p> - -<p>"<i>What</i> bills?"</p> - -<p>"The butcher's bill, and Stokes the baker's bill, and the milk bill, and -some others."</p> - -<p>"<i>Hancock</i> lent you the money to pay your bills?" cried Charles, feeling -like a person in a dream.</p> - -<p>"Yes, old Mr Hancock, your Mr Hancock."</p> - -<p>"But he never told me he was a friend of your father's; besides, he is -<i>my</i> solicitor."</p> - -<p>"He never saw us before this week."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>"Tell me all about it, and how you came to know him so intimately, and -how he paid your bills," commanded Mr Bevan.</p> - -<p>There was, just here on the road, a seat dropped incontinently by the -County Council; they sat upon it whilst she told her tale.</p> - -<p>"It was the other day. Father had not slept all night thinking of the -action. He came into my bedroom at two in the morning to tell me that if -he lost it before the House of Lords, he would take it before the Queen -in Council. He had been sitting up reading 'Every Man his Own Lawyer.' -Well, next morning a lot of people came asking for their money, the -butcher and all those, and we hadn't any.</p> - -<p>"Father said it was all <i>your</i> fault, and he wished he had never seen -the fish stream. I was so frightened by the way he was bothering himself -about everything—for, as a rule, you know he is the most easy-tempered -man in the world as long as he has got his pipe. Well, a friend advised -me to go privately to your lawyer and try to stop the action. So I went -to Mr Hancock.</p> - -<p>"At first he seemed very stiff, and glared at me through his spectacles; -but, after a while,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> as I told him all about ourselves, he stopped -shuffling his feet, and listened with his hand to his ear as if he were -deaf, and he took a smelling bottle out of a drawer of his desk and -snuffed at it, and said, 'Dear me, how very extraordinary!' Then he -called me his 'Poor child!' and asked me had I had any luncheon. I said -'Yes,' though I hadn't—I wasn't hungry. Well, we talked and talked, and -at last he said he would come back with me home, for that our affairs -were in a dreadful condition and we didn't seem to know it. He said he -would come as a friend and try to forget that he was a lawyer.</p> - -<p>"Well, he came here with me. Father was upstairs in his bedroom, and I -poked my head in and told him your lawyer wanted to see him in the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>"I didn't tell him it was I who had fetched him, for I knew he would -simply go mad if he thought I had been meddling with the action; -besides, Mr Hancock said I had better not, as he simply called as a -friend.</p> - -<p>"Down came father and went into the drawing-room. I was in an awful -fright, too frightened even to listen at the door. I made Susannah -listen after a while, and she said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> they were talking about roses—I -felt so relieved.</p> - -<p>"I sent Susannah in with wine, and Mr Hancock stayed to supper. After -supper they had cigars and punch, and I played to them on the piano, and -father sang Irish songs, and Mr Hancock told us awfully funny stories -all about the law, and said he was a bachelor and envied father because -he had a daughter like me.</p> - -<p>"Then he talked about our affairs, and said he would require more punch -before he could understand them; so he had more punch, and father showed -him the housekeeping books, and he looked over them reading them upside -down and every way. Then he wrote out a cheque to pay the books, with -one eye shut, whilst father wrote out bills, you know, to pay the -cheque, and then he kissed me and said good-bye to father and went away -crying."</p> - -<p>"But," cried Charles, utterly astounded at this artless revelation of -another man's folly, "old Hancock never made a joke in his life—at -least to <i>me</i>—and he's an awful old skinflint and never lent any man a -penny, so they say."</p> - -<p>"He made lots of jokes that night, anyhow,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> said Fanny, "and lent -father over twenty pounds, too; and only yesterday a great bunch of -hothouse flowers came from Covent Garden with his card for me."</p> - -<p>"Old fool!" said Charles.</p> - -<p>"He is not an old fool, he's a dear old man, and I love him. Come on, or -the shops will be closed."</p> - -<p>"You seem to love everything," said Mr Bevan in a rather stiff tone, as -they meandered along near now to the street where shops were.</p> - -<p>"I do—at least everything I don't hate."</p> - -<p>"Whom do you hate?"</p> - -<p>"No one just now. I never hate people for long, it is too much trouble. -I used to hate you before I knew you. I thought you were a man with a -black beard; you see I hadn't seen you."</p> - -<p>"But, why on earth did you think I had a black beard?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> don't know. I suppose it was because I hate black beards."</p> - -<p>"So you don't hate me?"</p> - -<p>"No, <i>indeed</i>."</p> - -<p>"And as every one you don't hate, you—— I say, what a splendid evening -this is! it is just like Italy. I mean, it reminds me of Italy."</p> - -<p>"And here are the shops at last," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> Fanny, as if the shops had been -travelling to them and had only just arrived.</p> - -<p>She stopped at a stationer's window.</p> - -<p>"I want to get some envelopes. Come in, won't you?"</p> - -<p>She bought a packet of envelopes for fourpence. Charles turned away to -look at some of the gaudily-bound Kebles, Byrons, and Scotts so dear to -the middle-class heart, and before he could turn again she had bought a -little prayer-book with a cross on it for a shilling. The shopman was -besetting her with a new invention in birthday cards when Charles broke -the spell by touching her elbow with the head of his walking stick.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think," said he when they were safely in the street, "it is a -mistake buying prayer-books, these shop-keepers are such awful -swindlers?"</p> - -<p>"I bought it for Susannah," explained Fanny. "It's a little present for -her after the way James has gone on. Look at this dear monkey."</p> - -<p>A barrel organ of the old type was playing by the pavement, making a -sound as if an old man gone idiotic were humming a tune to himself. A -villainous-looking monkey on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> the organ-top, held out his hand when it -saw Fanny approaching. It knew the world evidently, or at least -physiognomy, which is almost the same thing.</p> - -<p>"He takes it just like a man," she cried, as the creature grabbed one of -her pennies and then nearly broke its chain trying to get at her to tear -the rose from her hat. "Look, it knows the people who are fond of it; it -is just like a child."</p> - -<p>Charles tore her from the monkey, only for a milliner's shop to suck her -in.</p> - -<p>"I must run in here for a moment, it's only about a corset I ordered; I -won't be three minutes."</p> - -<p>He waited ten, thinking how strange it was that this girl saw something -attractive in nearly everything—strange cats, monkeys, and even old -Hancock.</p> - -<p>At the end of twenty minutes' walking up and down, he approached the -milliner's window and peeped into the shop.</p> - -<p>Fanny was conversing with a tall woman, whose frizzled black hair lent -her somehow the appearance of a Frenchwoman.</p> - -<p>The Highgate Frenchwoman was dangling something gaudy and flimsy before -Fanny's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> eyes, and the girl had her purse in her hand.</p> - -<p>Charles gave a sigh, and resumed his beat like a policeman.</p> - -<p>At last she came out, carrying a tissue-paper parcel.</p> - -<p>"Well, have you got your—what you called for?"</p> - -<p>"No, it's not ready yet; but I've got the most beautiful—Oh my goodness -me!—how stupid I am!"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"I have only three halfpence left, and I have forgotten the eggs and -things for supper."</p> - -<p>"Give me your purse, and let me look into it," he said, taking the -little purse and turning away a moment. Then he handed it back to her; -she opened it and peeped in, and there lay a sovereign.</p> - -<p>"It's just what father does," she said, looking up in the lamp-light -with a smile that somehow made Mr Bevan's eyes feel misty. "What makes -you so like him in everything you do?" And somehow these words seemed to -the correct Mr Bevan the sweetest he had ever heard.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>Then they marketed after the fashion of youth when it finds itself the -possessor of a whole sovereign. Fanny laying out the money as the fancy -took her, and with the lavishness so conspicuously absent in the -dealings of your mere millionaire.</p> - -<p>They then returned to "The Laurels," Charles Bevan carrying the parcels.</p> - -<p>The dining-room of "The Laurels" was a huge apartment furnished in the -age of heavy dinners, when a knowledge of comparative anatomy and the -wrist of a butcher were necessary ingredients in the composition of a -successful host.</p> - -<p>Here Susannah, to drown her sorrows in labour and give honour to the -guest, had laid the supper things on a lavish scale. The Venetian vase, -before-mentioned, stood filled with roses in the centre of the table, -and places were laid for six—all sorts of places. Some of the -unexpected guests were presumably to sup entirely off fish, to judge by -the knives and forks set out for them, and some were evidently to be -denied the luxury of soup. That there was neither soup nor fish mattered -little to Susannah.</p> - -<p>The cellar, to judge by the sideboard, had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> been seized with a spirit of -emulation begotten of the display made by the plate pantry, and had sent -three representatives from each bin. The sideboard also contained the -jam-pot, the bread tray, and butter on a plate: commestables that had -the abject air of poor relations admitted on sufferance, and come to -look on.</p> - -<p>Here entered Fanny, followed by Mr Bevan, laden with parcels.</p> - -<p>The girl's hat was tilted slightly sideways, her raven hair was in -revolt, and her cheeks flushed with happiness and the excitement of -marketing.</p> - -<p>Susannah followed them. She wore a wonderful white apron adorned with -frills and blue ribbons, a birthday present from her mistress, only -brought out on state occasions.</p> - -<p>"Three candles only!" said the mistress of the house, glancing at the -table and the three candles burning on it. "That's not enough; fetch a -couple more, and, Susannah, bring the sardine opener."</p> - -<p>"Why don't you light the gas?" asked her cousin, putting his parcels -down and glancing at the great chandelier swinging overhead.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>"I would, only father has had a fight with the gas company and they've -cut it off. Now let's open the parcels; put the candles nearer."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan's parcels contained a box of sardines, a paysandu ox tongue, -and a basket of peaches; Fanny's, the before-mentioned prayer-book, -envelopes, and in the tissue-paper parcel a light shawl or fichu of -fleecy silk dyed blue.</p> - -<p>She cast her hat off, and throwing the fichu round her neck, hopped upon -a chair, candle in hand, and glanced at herself in a great mirror on the -opposite wall.</p> - -<p>"It makes me look beautiful!" she cried. "And I have half a mind to keep -it for myself."</p> - -<p>"Why—for whom did you buy it, then?"</p> - -<p>"For James' wife, Mrs Regan."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"She is ill, you know, and I am going to see her again to-morrow. I hate -going to see sick people, but father says whenever we see a lame dog we -should put our shoulders to the wheel and help him over the stile, and -she's a lame dog, if ever there was one. That's right, Susannah, put the -candles here, and give me the can opener; I love opening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> tins, and -there is a little prayer-book I got for you when I was out."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, miss," said Susannah in a muffled voice, putting the little -prayer-book under her apron with one hand, and snuffing a candle with -the finger and thumb of the other. "Can I get you anything more, miss?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. Is James all right?"</p> - -<p>"He's asleep now, miss," answered the maid, closing her mouth for once -in her life by some miracle of Love, and catching in her breath through -her nose.</p> - -<p>"That will do, Susannah," hastily said her mistress, who knew this -symptom of old, and what it foreboded; "I'll ring if I want you. Bring -up the punch things at ten, just as you always bring them."</p> - -<p>Susannah left the room making stifled sounds, and Fanny, with Mrs -Regan's fichu about her neck, attacked the sardine tin with the opener.</p> - -<p>"Let me," said Charles.</p> - -<p>"No, no; you open the champagne, and put the peaches on a plate, and -I'll open the tins. Bring over the bread and butter and jam. I wish we -had some ice for the champagne, but the fishmonger—forgot to send it. -Bother this knife!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>She laboured away, with her cheeks flushed; a lock of black hair -hanging loose lent her a distracted air, and made her so lovely in the -eyes of Charles that he put the bread platter down on top of the butter -plate, so that the butter pat clung to the bottom of the bread platter, -and they had to scrape it off, one holding the platter, one scraping -with the knife, and both hands touching.</p> - -<p>"We have had that bread plate ever since I can remember," she said, as -they seated themselves to the feast, "and I wouldn't have anything -happen to it for earths, not that the butter will do it any harm. Isn't -the text on it nice?"</p> - -<p>Charles examined the bread platter gravely.</p> - -<p>"'Want not,'" he read. He looked in vain for the "Waste not," but that -part of the maxim was hidden by the carved representation of a full ear -of corn.</p> - -<p>"It's a very nice—motto. Have some champagne?"</p> - -<p>"No thanks, I only drink water, wine flies to my head; I am like James. -I am going to have a peach—have one."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, I am eating sardines. You remind me of the old gentleman—he -was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> short-sighted—who offered me a pinch of snuff once when I was -eating a sole."</p> - -<p>Fanny, with her teeth set in the peach, gave a little shriek of -laughter, but Mr Bevan was perfectly grave. Still, for perhaps the first -time in his life, he felt his possibilities as a humorist, and -determined to exploit them.</p> - -<p>"Talking about ghosts"—ghosts and mothers-in-law, to the medium -intellect, are always fair game,—"talking about ghosts," said he, "you -said, I think, Cousin Fanny——"</p> - -<p>"Call me Fanny," said that lady, who, having eaten her peach, was now -helping herself to sardines. "I hate that word 'cousin,' it sounds so -stiff. What about ghosts?"</p> - -<p>"About ghosts," he answered slowly, his new-found sense of humour -suddenly becoming lost. "Oh yes, you said, Fanny, that a ghost was -haunting this house."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Fanny Lambert. I told you she hid her jewels before she hung -herself. When people see her she is always beckoning them to follow her. -We found James insensible one night on the landing upstairs; he told us -next morning he had seen her, and she had beckoned him to follow her, -and after that he remembered nothing more."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>"A sure sign there were spirits in the house."</p> - -<p>"Wasn't it? But why, do you think, does she beckon people?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she beckons people to show them where the jewels are hidden."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" cried Fanny; "<i>why</i> did we never think of that before? Of <i>course</i> -that is the reason—and they are worth two hundred thousand pounds. We -must have the panels in the corridor taken down. I'll make father do it -to-morrow. Two hundred thousand pounds: what is that a year?"</p> - -<p>"Ten thousand."</p> - -<p>"Fancy father with ten thousand a year!" Mr Bevan shuddered. "We can -have a steam yacht, and everything we want. I feel as if I were going -mad," said Miss Lambert, with the air of a person who had often been mad -before and knew the symptoms.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Susannah appeared with the punch things. "Susannah, -guess what's happened—never mind, you'll know soon. Have you got the -lemon and the sugar? That is right."</p> - -<p>And Miss Lambert, forgetting for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> moment fortune, turned her attention -to the manufacturing of punch.</p> - -<p>Susannah withdrew, casting her eyes over Fanny and Charles as she went, -and seeming to draw her under-lip after her.</p> - -<p>When the door was shut, Miss Lambert looked into the punch bowl to see -if it was clean, and, having turned a huge spider out of it, went to the -sideboard.</p> - -<p>"You are not going to make punch in this great thing?"</p> - -<p>"I am," said Fanny, returning with a bottle in each hand and one under -her arm.</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Charles resignedly. "May I smoke?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, smoke. Open me this champagne."</p> - -<p>"You are not going to put champagne in punch?"</p> - -<p>"Everything is good in punch. Father learned how to make it in Moscow, -when he was dining with the Hussars there. After dinner a huge bowl was -brought in, and everything went in—champagne, whisky, brandy, all the -fruit from the dessert; then they set it on fire, and drank it, -burning."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>"Has your father ever made punch like that?"</p> - -<p>"No, but now I've got him away, I am going to try."</p> - -<p>Pop went the champagne cork, and the golden wine ran creaming into the -bowl.</p> - -<p>"Now the brandy."</p> - -<p>"But this will be cold punch."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's just as good; milk punch is always cold."</p> - -<p>"I'm blest if this is milk punch," said Mr Bevan, as he looked fearfully -into the bowl; "but go on."</p> - -<p>"I am going as quick as I can," she replied. Then the whisky went in, -and half a tumblerfull of curaçoa also, the lemon cut in slices and the -peaches that remained.</p> - -<p>"I haven't anything more to throw in," said Fanny, casting her eye over -the sardines and the ox tongue. "We ought to have grapes and things; no -matter, stir it up and set it on fire, and see what it tastes like."</p> - -<p>"But, my dear child," said the horrified Charles, as he stirred the -seething mixture with the old silver ladle into whose belly a guinea had -been beaten. "You surely don't expect me to drink this fearful stuff? I -thought you were making it for fun."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>"You taste it and see, but set it on fire first."</p> - -<p>He struck a match.</p> - -<p>"It won't catch fire!" he cried. "Knew it wouldn't."</p> - -<p>"Well, taste it cold; it smells delicious."</p> - -<p>She plucked a rose from the vase and strewed the petals on the surface -of the liquid to help the taste, whilst Mr Bevan ladled some into a -glass.</p> - -<p>"It's not bad, 'pon my word it's not bad; the curaçoa seems to blend all -the other flavours together, but it's fearfully strong."</p> - -<p>"Wait"—she ran to the sideboard for a bottle of soda water.</p> - -<p>"Mix it half and half, and see how it tastes."</p> - -<p>"That's better."</p> - -<p>"Then we'll take it into the library, it's more comfortable there. You -carry the bowl, and I will bring the candles."</p> - -<p>"What are these?" asked Mr Bevan, as he removed some papers from the -library table to make room for the punch bowl.</p> - -<p>"Oh, some papers of father's."</p> - -<p>"The Rorkes Drift Gold Mines."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, glancing over his shoulder. "I remember now; those are -the things I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> to get a silk dress out of when they go to twenty. -Father is mad over them; he says nothing will stop them when they begin -to move, whatever that means."</p> - -<p>"Well, they have moved with a vengeance, for only yesterday I heard they -had gone into liquidation."</p> - -<p>"All the good luck seems coming together," said Fanny with a happy sigh, -as Charles went to the window and looked out at the moon, rising in a -cloudless sky over the forsaken garden and ruined tennis ground. "Not -that it matters much if we get those jewels whether the old mines go up -or down; still, no matter how rich one becomes, more money is always -useful."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose it is," said he, looking with a troubled but sentimental -face at the moon. "Tell me, Fanny, do you know much about the Stock -Exchange?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, heaps."</p> - -<p>"What do you know?"</p> - -<p>"I know that Brighton A's are called Doras—no, Berthas—no, I think -it's Doras—and Mexican Railways are going to Par, and the Kneedeep -Mines are going to a hundred and fifty, and father has a thousand of -them he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> got for sixpence a share, and he gave me fifty for myself, but -I'm not to sell them till they go to a hundred. Aren't stockbrokers -nice-looking, and always so well dressed? I saw hundreds of them one day -father left me for a moment in Angel Court whilst he ran in to see his -broker—Oh yes! and the bears are going to catch it at the next -settlement."</p> - -<p>"Do you know what 'bears' are?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Fanny, "but they're going to catch it whatever they are, for -I heard father say so—Oh, what a moon! I am sure the fairies must be -out to-night."</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say you believe in such rubbish as fairies?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I believe in them; not here in Highgate, perhaps, for there -are too many people, but in woods and places."</p> - -<p>"But there are no such things, it has been proved over and over again; -<i>no</i> one believes in them nowadays."</p> - -<p>"Did you never see the mushrooms growing in rings? Well, how could they -grow like that if they were not planted, and who'd be bothered planting -umbrella mushrooms in rings but the fairies?"</p> - -<p>"Does your father believe in them?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>"Never asked him, but of course he does; every one does—even -Susannah."</p> - -<p>She went to the table and blew out the candles.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing now?"</p> - -<p>"Blowing out the lights; it's so much nicer sitting in the moonlight. -Fill your glass and sit down beside me."</p> - -<p>"Extraordinary child," thought Mr Bevan, doing as he was bid, whilst she -opened the window wide to "let the moon in."</p> - -<p>Other things came too, a night moth and a perfume of decaying leaves, -the souls of last year's sun-flowers and hollyhocks were abroad -to-night; the distant paddock seemed full of cats, to judge by the -sounds that came from it, and bats were flickering in the air. The voice -of Boy-Boy, metallic and rhythmical as the sound of a trip hammer, came -from a distant corner of the garden where he had treed a cat.</p> - -<p>"Quick," said Fanny, drawing in her head and pulling her companion by -the arm, "and you'll be in time to see our tortoise."</p> - -<p>Charles regarded the quadruped without emotion.</p> - -<p>"I don't see the necessity for such frightful haste."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>"Still, if you'd been a moment sooner the moonlight would have been on -him; he was shining a moment ago like silver. Do you know what a -tortoise is? it's a sign of age. You and I will be some day like that -tortoise, without any teeth, wheezing and coughing and grubbing along; -and may-be we will look back and think of this night when we were -young—Oh, dear me, I wish I were dead!"</p> - -<p>"Why, why, what's the matter now—Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"I don't want to grow old," pouted Miss Lambert.</p> - -<p>"When two people grow old together," began Mr Bevan in whose brain the -punch was at work, "they do not notice the—that is to say, age really -does not matter. Besides, a woman is only as old as she feels—I mean as -she looks."</p> - -<p>The fumes of the punch of a sudden took on themselves a form as of the -pale phantom of Pamela Pursehouse, and the phantom cried, "Begone, flee -from temptation whilst you may."</p> - -<p>Before him the concrete form of Miss Lambert sitting in the corner of -the window-seat and bathed in moonlight, said to him, "Hug me."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>Her eyes were resting upon him, then she gazed out at the garden and -sighed.</p> - -<p>Charles took her hand: it was not withdrawn. "I must be going now," he -said.</p> - -<p>She turned from the garden and gazed at him in silence.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, feeling clouds beneath his feet and all sorts of -new sensations around his heart, he was walking down the weed-grown -avenue, Boy-Boy at his heels barking and snarling, satisfied no doubt by -some preternatural instinct that do what he might he would not be -kicked.</p> - -<p>Ere he had reached the middle of the avenue he heard a voice calling, -"Cousin Charley!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Fanny."</p> - -<p>"Come back soon!"</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE</span></h2> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"<span class="smcap">The Laurels, 11 p.m.</span></p> - -<p>"I have been going to write for the last few days, but have been so -busy. I could go on the picnic to-day if it would suit you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> I'll -call at the studio at one o'clock. If you can't come, send me a -wire. Oh, I forgot to say Mr Hancock came home the other day with -me and had a long talk with father, and Mr Bevan called to-day and -was awfully jolly, and I'll tell you all about it when we meet. -Give my love to Mr Verneede.</p> - -<p>"In haste to catch the post.</p> - -<p>"<i>P.S.</i>—I'm in such good spirits. F. L."</p></blockquote> - -<p>It was the morning after the day on which Mr Bevan had called at "The -Laurels." Leavesley was in bed, and reading the above, which had come by -the early post, and which Belinda had thrust under his door, together -with a circular and a bill for colours.</p> - -<p>"Hurrah!" cried Mr Leavesley, and then "Great Heavens!" He jumped out of -bed, and rummaged wildly in his pockets. He found seven and sixpence in -silver, and a penny and a halfpenny in coppers, a stump of pencil, a -tramway ticket with a hole punched in it, and a Woodbine cigarette -packet containing one cigarette. He placed the money on the -wash-hand-stand, then he sat for a moment on the side of his bed -disconsolate.</p> - -<p>The most beautiful day that ever dawned, the most beautiful girl in the -world, a chance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> of taking her up the river, and seven and six to do it -on!</p> - -<p>He curled his toes about. Yesterday, in a fit of righteousness, he had -paid a tailor two pounds ten on account. He contemplated this great -mistake gloomily. Wild ideas of calling on Mark Moses & Sonenshine and -asking for the two pounds ten back crossed his mind, to be instantly -dispelled.</p> - -<p>The only two men in London who could possibly help him with a loan were, -to use a Boyle-Rochism, in Paris. Mrs Tugwell, his landlady, was at -Margate, and he was in the middle of his tri-monthly squabble with his -uncle. He called up the ghost of his aunt Patience Hancock, and communed -with her just for the sake of self-torture, and the contemplation of the -hopeless.</p> - -<p>Then he rang his bell, which Belinda answered.</p> - -<p>"Breakfast at once, Belinda."</p> - -<p>"Yessir, and here's another letter as hes just come," she poked a square -envelope under the door. Leavesley seized it with a palpitating heart; -it was unstamped, and had evidently been left in by hand.</p> - -<p>"This is the God from the Machine," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> thought. "There's money in it, I -know. It always happens like this when things are at their worst."</p> - -<p>We all have these instincts at times: the contents of an unopened letter -or parcel seem endowed with a voice; who has not guessed the fateful -news in a telegram before he has broken open the envelope, even as -Leavesley guessed the contents of the letter in his hand?</p> - -<p>He tore it open and took out a sheet of paper and a pawnbroker's -duplicate. The letter ran:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"NO. 150A KING'S ROAD,</p> - -<p class="right">"OVER THE BACON SHOP.</p> - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Leavesley</span>,—I am in bed, not suffering from smallpox, croup, -spinal meningitis, or any wasting or infectious disease. I am in -bed, my dear Leavesley, simply for want of my trousers. Robed in -Jones' long ulster, which reacheth to my heels, I took the -aforesaid garments yester-even after dusk to my uncle. If help does -not come they will have to take me to the workhouse in a blanket. I -enclose duplicate. Three and sevenpence would release me and them.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"'The die is cast</div> -<div class="i1">And this is the last.'</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>"From</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">The Captain</span>.</p> - -<p>'<i>P.S</i>.—If you have no money send me the 'Count of Monte Cristo'—you -have a copy;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> or the 'Multi-Millionaire.' I have nothing to read but a -<i>Financial News</i> of the day before yesterday."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Leavesley groaned and laughed, and groaned again. Then he got into his -bath and splashed; as he splashed his spirits rose amazingly.</p> - -<p>The Captain's letter had electrified the Bohemian part of his nature; -instead of depressing him it had done the reverse. Here was another poor -devil worse off than himself. Leavesley had six pair of trousers.</p> - -<p>The Captain, in parenthesis let me say, has no part in this story. He -wasn't a captain, he was a relic of the South African War, a gentleman -with a taste for drink, amusing, harmless, and amiable. I only introduce -him on account of the telepathic interest of his letter, or rather of -the way in which Leavesley divined its contents.</p> - -<p>"Seven and sixpence—I mean seven and sevenpence halfpenny, is not a bit -of use," said the painter to himself when he had finished breakfast, "so -here goes."</p> - -<p>He put three and sevenpence in an envelope with the pathetic duplicate, -addressed it to Captain Waring, rang for Belinda; and when that -much-harried maid-of-all-work appeared,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> told her to take it as soon as -she could to Captain Waring, down the road over the bacon shop, also to -call at Mr Verneede's and ask him to come round at twelve.</p> - -<p>Then he reached down a finished picture, wrapped it in brown paper, put -the parcel under his arm and started off.</p> - -<p>He took a complication of omnibuses, and arrived in Wardour Street about -half-past nine.</p> - -<p>"Mr Fernandez is gone to the country on pizzines," said the Jew-boy -slave of the picture dealer, who came from the interior of the gloomy -shop like a dirty gnome, called forth by the ring of the door bell.</p> - -<p>"Oh, d——n!" said Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"He's gone on pizzines," replied the other.</p> - -<p>"Where's he gone to?"</p> - -<p>"Down in the country."</p> - -<p>"Look here, I want to sell a picture."</p> - -<p>"Mr Fernandez is gone on pizzines."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dash Mr Fernandez! Is there no one here I can show the thing to? He -knows me."</p> - -<p>"There's only me," said the grimy sphinx.</p> - -<p>"Can you buy it?"</p> - -<p>"No, I ain't no use for buying. Mr Fernandez is gone on——"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, go to the devil!"</p> - -<p>"This is a nice sort of thing," said Leavesley to himself as he stood in -Wardour Street perspiring. "There's nothing for it now but a frontal -attack on uncle."</p> - -<p>He made for Southampton Row, reaching the office at ten o'clock, about -five minutes after James Hancock.</p> - -<p>Hancock was dealing with his morning correspondence. A most unbendable -old gentleman he looked as he sat at his table before a pile of letters, -backed by the numerous tin boxes Leavesley knew so well. Boxes marked -"The Gleeson Estate," "Sir H. Tempest, Bart," etc. Boxes that spoke of -wealth and business in mocking tones to the unfortunate artist, who felt -very much as the grasshopper must have felt in the presence of the -industrious ant. Despite this he noticed that his uncle was more -sprucely dressed than usual, and that he had on a lilac satin tie.</p> - -<p>Hancock looked at his nephew over his spectacles, then through his -spectacles, then he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, uncle."</p> - -<p>"Good morning."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"I just looked in," said Leavesley, in a light-hearted way, "as I was -going by, to see how you were."</p> - -<p>This was a very bad opening.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," said Hancock. "Um—I wasn't aware that there was anything -the matter with me."</p> - -<p>"You were complaining of the gout last time."</p> - -<p>"Oh, bother the gout!" said the old gentleman, who hated to be reminded -of his infirmity. "It isn't gout—Garrod says it's Rheumatoid -Arthritis."</p> - -<p>Leavesley repented of having played the gout gambit.</p> - -<p>"—Rheumatoid Arthritis. Well, what are you doing?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm painting."</p> - -<p>"Are you <i>selling</i>?" said Hancock, "that's more to the point."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I'm selling—mildly."</p> - -<p>"Um!"</p> - -<p>"I sold two pictures quite recently."</p> - -<p>"I always told you," said the lawyer, ignoring the last statement in a -most irritating way, and speaking as if Leavesley were made of glass and -all his affairs were arranged inside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> him for view like damaged goods in -a shop window—"I always told you painting doesn't pay. If you had come -into the office you might have got on well; but there you are, you've -made your bed, and on it you must lie," then in a voice three shades -gloomier, "on it you must lie."</p> - -<p>Leavesley glanced at the office clock, it pointed to quarter past ten, -and Fanny was due at one.</p> - -<p>"I had a little business to talk to you about," he said. "Look here, -will you give me a commission?"</p> - -<p>"A what?"</p> - -<p>"A commission for a picture."</p> - -<p>"And five pounds on account," was in his brain, but it did not pass his -tongue.</p> - -<p>"A picture?" said Hancock. "What on earth do I want with pictures?"</p> - -<p>"Let me paint your portrait."</p> - -<p>Hancock made a movement with his hand as if to say "Pish!"</p> - -<p>"Well, look here," said Leavesley, with the cynicism of despair, "let me -paint Bridgewater, let me paint the office, whitewash the ceilings, only -give me a show."</p> - -<p>"I would not mind the money I have spent on you," said Hancock, ignoring -all this, "the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> bills I have paid, if, to use your own expression, there -was any show for it; but, as far as I can see, you are like a man in a -quagmire, the only advance you are making, the only advance visible to -mortal eye, is that you are getting deeper into debt;" then two tones -lower, "deeper into debt."</p> - -<p>"Well, see here, lend me a fiver," cried Leavesley, now grown desperate -and impudent.</p> - -<p>James Hancock put his fingers into the upper pocket of his waistcoat, -and Leavesley's heart made a spring for his throat.</p> - -<p>But Mr Hancock did not produce a five-pound note. He produced a small -piece of chamois leather with which he polished his glasses, which he -had taken off, in a reflective manner.</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully hard up for the moment, and I have pressing need of it. I -don't want you to give me the money, I'll pay it back."</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock put on his glasses again.</p> - -<p>"You come to me as one would come to a milch cow, as one would come to a -bank in which he had a large deposit."</p> - -<p>He put his hand in his breast-pocket and took out a note-case that -seemed simply bursting with bank-notes.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>"Now if I accommodate you with a five-pound note I must know, at least, -what the pressing need is you speak of."</p> - -<p>"I want to take a girl up the river, for one thing," answered his -nephew, who could no more tell him a lie about the matter, than he could -steal a note from that plethoric note-case.</p> - -<p>James Hancock replaced the case in his pocket and made a motion with his -hands as if to say "that ends everything."</p> - -<p>Leavesley rose to go.</p> - -<p>"I'd have paid you it back. No matter. I'm going to write a book, and -make money out of it. I'll call it the 'Art of Being an Uncle.'"</p> - -<p>Hancock made a motion with his hands that said, "Go away, I want to read -my letters."</p> - -<p>"Now, look here," said Leavesley, with his hand on the door handle, and -inspired with another accession of impudence, "if you'd take <i>ten</i> -pounds and put it in your pocket, and come with me and her, and have a -jolly good day on the river, wouldn't it be better than sitting in this -stuffy old office making money that is no use to any one—you can only -live once."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>"Go away!" said his uncle.</p> - -<p>"I'm going. Tell me, if I went round to aunt would she accommodate me, -do you think?"</p> - -<p>"Accommodate you to make a fool of yourself with a girl? I hope not, I -sincerely hope not."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll try. Good day."</p> - -<p>"Good day."</p> - -<p>Leavesley went out, and shut the door. Then he suddenly turned, opened -the door and looked in.</p> - -<p>"I say, uncle!"</p> - -<p>"Well?" replied the unfortunate Mr Hancock, in a testy voice.</p> - -<p>"Did <i>you</i> never make a fool of yourself with a girl?"</p> - -<p>The old gentleman grew suddenly so crimson that his nephew shut the door -and bolted. He little guessed how <i>àpropos</i> that question was.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT</span></h2> - -<p>He had scarcely gone a hundred yards down Southampton Row, when he heard -his name called.</p> - -<p>"Mr Frank!"</p> - -<p>He turned. Bridgewater was pursuing him with something in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Mr James told me to give you this."</p> - -<p>Leavesley took the envelope presented to him, and Bridgewater bolted -back to the office like a fat old rabbit, returning to its burrow.</p> - -<p>In the envelope was a sovereign wrapped up in a half sheet of notepaper.</p> - -<p>"Well, of all the meannesses!" said the dutiful nephew, pocketing the -coin. "Still, it's decent of the old boy after my cheeking him like -that. I have now one pound four. I'll go now and cheek aunt."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock was in; she had a handkerchief tied round her head, a -duster in her hand; she had just given the cook warning and was in a -debatable temper. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> also in a dusting mood. She had plenty of -servants, yet the inspiration came on her at times to tie a handkerchief -round her head and dust.</p> - -<p>"Well?" she said, as she led the way into the dining-room, and continued -an attack she was making on the sideboard with her duster.</p> - -<p>Leavesley had scarcely the slightest hope of financial assistance from -this quarter. Patience had given him half-a-crown for a birthday present -once when he was a little boy, and then worried it back from him and -popped it into a missionary box for the Wallibooboo Islanders.</p> - -<p>He never forgot that half-crown.</p> - -<p>"I've come round to borrow some money from you," he said.</p> - -<p>Patience sniffed, and went on with her dusting. Then suddenly she -stopped, and, duster in hand, addressed him.</p> - -<p>"Are you never going to do anything for a living? Have you no idea of -the responsibilities of life? What are you going to <i>do</i>?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going for a holiday in the country if I can scrape up money -enough."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"You won't scrape it up here," said his aunt, continuing her dusting; -then, for she was as inquisitive as a mongoose: "And what part of the -country do you propose to take a holiday in?"</p> - -<p>"Sonning-on-Thames."</p> - -<p>"And where, may I ask, is Sonning-on-Thames?"</p> - -<p>"It's on the Thames. See here, will you lend me five pounds?"</p> - -<p>"Five <i>what</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Pounds."</p> - -<p>"What for?"</p> - -<p>"To take a girl for a trip to Sonning-on-Thames."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock was sweeping with her duster round a glass arrangement made -to hold flowers, in the convulsion incident on this statement she upset -the thing and smashed it, much to Leavesley's delight.</p> - -<p>He made for the door, and stood for a moment with the handle in his -hand.</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully sorry. Can I help you to pick it up?"</p> - -<p>"Go away," said Miss Hancock, who was on her knees collecting the -fragments of glass; "I want to see nothing more of you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> If you are lost -to respectability you might retain at least common decency."</p> - -<p>"Decency!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, decency."</p> - -<p>"I don't know that I've said anything indecent, or that there is -anything indecent in going for a day on the river with a girl. Well, I'm -going——" A luminous idea suddenly struck him. He knew the old maid's -mind, and the terror she had of the bare idea of her brother marrying; -he remembered the spruce appearance of his uncle that morning and the -lavender satin necktie. "I say——"</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Talking of girls, how about uncle and <i>his</i> girl?"</p> - -<p>"<i>What's that you say!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, nothing; I oughtn't to have said anything about it. Well, I'm -off."</p> - -<p>He left the room hurriedly and shut the door, before she could call him -back he was out of the house.</p> - -<p>His random remark had hit the target plumb in the centre of the -bull's-eye, and could he have known the agitation and irritation in the -mind of his aunt he would have written off as paid his debt against the -Wallibooboo Islanders.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>The river was impossible now, and the whole thing had shrunk to -luncheon at the studio and a visit to Madame Tussaud's or the Tower.</p> - -<p>He reached the studio before twelve, and there he found waiting for him -Mr Verneede and the Captain.</p> - -<p>The Captain was in his trousers; he had come to show them as a proof of -good faith and incidentally to get a glass of whisky. Leavesley gave him -the whisky and sent him off, then he turned to Verneede.</p> - -<p>"The whole thing has bust up. Miss Lambert is coming at one to go up the -river and I have no money. Stoney broke; isn't it the deuce?"</p> - -<p>"How very unfortunate!" said Mr Verneede. "How very unfortunate!"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunate isn't the name for it."</p> - -<p>"Did Miss Lambert write?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—Oh, she told me to remember her to you, sent her love to you."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>"I've only got one pound four."</p> - -<p>"But surely, my dear Leavesley—one pound four—why, it is quite a -little sum of money."</p> - -<p>"It's not enough to go up the river on—three of us."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"Why go up the river?"</p> - -<p>"Where else can we go?"</p> - -<p>"I have an idea," said Mr Verneede. "May I propound it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Have you ever heard of Epping Forest?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Why not go there and spend a day amidst the trees, the greenery, the -blue sky, the——"</p> - -<p>"What would it cost?"</p> - -<p>"A fractional sum; one takes the train to Woodford."</p> - -<p>Leavesley reached for an A.B.C. guide and plunged into details.</p> - -<p>"There are hamlets in the forest, where tea may be obtained in cottages -at a reasonable cost——"</p> - -<p>"We can just do it, I think," said Leavesley, who had been making -distracted calculations on paper. He darted to the bell and rang it.</p> - -<p>"Belinda," he said, when the slave of the bell made answer, "there's a -lady coming here to luncheon, have you anything in the house?"</p> - -<p>Belinda, with a far-away look in her eyes, made a mental survey of the -larder, twiddling the door-handle to assist thought.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>"There's a pie, sir, and sassiges, and a cold mutton chop. There's half -a chicken——"</p> - -<p>"That'll do, and get a salad. I'll run out and get some flowers and a -bottle of claret."</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">THE DAISY CHAIN</span></h2> - -<p>They were seated in a dusty glade near a road, near Woodford, and they -had lost Verneede.</p> - -<p>The loss did not seem to affect them. Fanny had picked some daisies and -was making a chain of them. Leavesley was making and smoking cigarettes.</p> - -<p>"But what I can't make out," said Leavesley—"This fellow Bevan, you -said he was a beast, and now you seem quite gone on him."</p> - -<p>"I'm not," said Fanny indignantly.</p> - -<p>"Well, I can only judge from your words."</p> - -<p>"I'm <i>not</i>!"—pouting.</p> - -<p>"Well, there, I won't say any more. He stayed to luncheon, you said?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," defiantly, "and tea and supper; why shouldn't he?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, I don't see why he shouldn't, only it must have been a visitation. -I should think your father was rather bored."</p> - -<p>Fanny said nothing, but went on with her chain.</p> - -<p>"What sort of looking fellow is he?"</p> - -<p>"He's very nice-looking; at least he's rather fat—you know the sort of -man I mean."</p> - -<p>"And awfully rich?"</p> - -<p>"Awfully."</p> - -<p>Leavesley tore up grass leisurely and viciously.</p> - -<p>"Your uncle is awfully rich too, isn't he?" asked Miss Lambert after a -moment's silence.</p> - -<p>"Yes; why?"</p> - -<p>"I was only thinking."</p> - -<p>"What were you only thinking?"</p> - -<p>"I was thinking if I had to marry one or the other, which I'd chose."</p> - -<p>Leavesley squirmed with pleasure: that was one for Bevan. He -instinctively hated Bevan. He, little knowing the mind of Miss Lambert, -thought this indecision of choice between his uncle and another man an -exquisitely veiled method of describing the other man's undesirability.</p> - -<p>"Marry uncle," he said with a laugh. "And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> then we can all live together -in Gordon Square, uncle, and you, and I, and aunt, and old Verneede. The -house would hold the lot of us."</p> - -<p>"And father."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Leavesley, thinking she spoke in fun, "and a few -more—the Captain: you don't know the Captain; he's a treasure, and -would make the menagerie quite complete."</p> - -<p>"And we could go for picnics," said Fanny.</p> - -<p>"Rather!"</p> - -<p>She had finished her daisy-chain, and with a charming and child-like -movement she suddenly leaned forward and threw it round his neck.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Fanny," he cried, taking both her little hands in his, "what's the -good of talking nonsense? I <i>love</i> you, and you'll never marry any one -but me."</p> - -<p>Fanny began to cry just like a little child, and he crept up to her and -put his arm round her waist.</p> - -<p>"I love you, Fanny. Listen, darling, I love you——"</p> - -<p>"Don't—don't—don't!" sobbed the girl, nestling closer to him at each -"don't."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"I was thinking just the same."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"That I——"</p> - -<p>"That you——?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Don't!</i>"</p> - -<p>"That you love me?"</p> - -<p>Silence interspersed with sobs, then—</p> - -<p>"I don't love you, but I—could——"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Love you—but I mustn't."</p> - -<p>Leavesley heaved a deep sigh of content, squeezed her closer and rocked -her slightly. She allowed herself to be nursed like this for a few -heavenly moments; then she broke away from him, pushed him away.</p> - -<p>"I mustn't, I mustn't—don't!—do leave me alone—go away." She -increased the distance between them. Tears were on her long black -lashes—lashes tipped with brown—and her eyes were like passion flowers -after rain—to use a simile that has never been used before.</p> - -<p>Leavesley had got on his hands and knees to crawl closer towards her, -and the intense seriousness of his face, coupled with the attitude of -his body, quite dispelled Miss Lambert's inclination to weep.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>"Don't!" she cried, laughing in a helpless sort of way. "Do sit down, -you look so funny like that."</p> - -<p>He collapsed, and they sat opposite to each other like two tailors, -whilst Fanny dried her eyes and finished up her few remaining sobs.</p> - -<p>A brake full of trippers passed on the road near by, yelling that -romantic and delightful song</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"Bedelia!</div> -<div>I wants to steal yer."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>"<i>They're</i> happy," said Fanny, listening with a rapt expression as -though she were listening to the music of the heavenly choir. "I wish I -was them."</p> - -<p>"Fanny," said her lover, ignoring this comprehensive wish, "why can't -you care for me?"</p> - -<p>"I do care for you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but why can't you marry me?"</p> - -<p>"We're too poor."</p> - -<p>"I'll be making lots of money soon."</p> - -<p>"How much?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, four or five hundred a year."</p> - -<p>"That's not enough," said Fanny with a sigh, "not <i>nearly</i> enough."</p> - -<p>Leavesley gazed at the mercenary beauty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> before him. Had he -miscalculated her? was she after all like other girls, a daughter of the -horse leech?</p> - -<p>"I'd marry you to-morrow," resumed she, "if you hadn't a penny—only for -father."</p> - -<p>"What about him?"</p> - -<p>"I must help him. I must marry a rich man or not marry at all. -There——"</p> - -<p>"Do you care for him more than me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>Leavesley sighed, then he broke out: "But it's dreadful, he never would -ask you to make such a sacrifice——"</p> - -<p>"Father?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"<i>He!</i> why, he doesn't care a button. He believes in people marrying -whoever they like. He'd <i>like</i> me to marry you. He said only the other -day you'd make a good husband because you didn't gamble or drink, and -you had no taste for going to law."</p> - -<p>Leavesley's face brightened, he got on his hands and knees again -preparatory to drawing nearer.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," said Fanny, drawing away.</p> - -<p>"But if you love me," said the lover, collapsing again into the sitting -posture.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>"I don't."</p> - -<p>"What!"</p> - -<p>"Not enough to marry you. I could if I let myself go, but I've just -stopped myself in time. I can't ever marry you."</p> - -<p>"But, look here——"</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Suppose you do marry a rich man, I don't see how it will benefit your -father."</p> - -<p>"Won't it! I'll never marry a man who won't help father, and he wants -help. Oh! if you only knew our affairs," said Miss Lambert, picking a -daisy and looking at it, and apparently addressing it, "the hair would -stand up on the top of your head."</p> - -<p>"Are they so bad as all that, Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Bad isn't the word," replied Miss Lambert, plucking the petals from the -daisy one by one. "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me—he loves -me not—he loves me."</p> - -<p>"Who?"</p> - -<p>"You."</p> - -<p>He got on his hands and knees again.</p> - -<p>"Sit <i>down</i>."</p> - -<p>"But, see here, listen to me: are you really serious in what you have -just said?"</p> - -<p>"I am."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>"Well, promise me one thing: you won't marry any one just yet."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean by just yet?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, till I have a chance, till I strike oil, till I begin to make a -fortune!"</p> - -<p>"How long will that be?" asked Miss Lambert cautiously.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied the unhappy painter.</p> - -<p>"If the Roorkes Drift Mines would only go up to two hundred," said the -girl, plucking another daisy, "I'd marry you; father has a whole -trunkful of them. He got them at sixpence each, and if they went to two -hundred they'd be worth half a million of money."</p> - -<p>"Is there any chance, do you think?" asked Leavesley brightening. He -knew something of stock exchange jargon. The Captain was great on stock -exchange matters, when he was not occupied in pawning his clothes and -sending wild messages to his friends for assistance.</p> - -<p>"I think so," said Fanny. "Mr Bevan said they were going into -Liqui——something."</p> - -<p>"Liquidation."</p> - -<p>"Yes—that's it."</p> - -<p>Leavesley sighed. An old grey horse cropping the grass near by came and -looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> gloomily at the humans, snorted, and resumed his meal.</p> - -<p>"What's the time?" asked Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. Leavesley -looked at his watch.</p> - -<p>"Half-past six."</p> - -<p>"Gracious! let's go; it will take us hours to get home." She rose to her -feet and shook her dress.</p> - -<p>"I wonder where old Mr Verneede can be?" said the girl, looking round as -though to find him lurking amidst the foliage. "It's awful if we've lost -him."</p> - -<p>"We have his ticket, too," said Leavesley. "He's very likely gone back -to the station; if we don't find him there I'll leave his ticket with -the station-master."</p> - -<p>He rose up, and the daisy-chain round his neck fell all to pieces in -ruin to the ground.</p> - -<p>They found Mr Verneede waiting for them at the station, smelling of -beer, and conversing with the station-master on the weather and the -crops.</p> - -<p>At Liverpool Street, having seen Miss Lambert into an omnibus (she -refused to be seen home, knowing full well the distance from Highgate to -Chelsea), Leavesley, filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> with a great depression of spirits, went -with Verneede and sat in pubs, and smoked clay pipes, and drank beer.</p> - -<p>This sorry pastime occupied them till 12.30, when they took leave of -each other in the King's Road, Leavesley miserable, and Verneede -maudlin.</p> - -<p>"She sent me her love," said Mr Verneede, clinging to his companion's -hand, and working it like a pump handle. "Bless you—bless you, my -boy—don't take any more—Go—bless you."</p> - -<p>When Leavesley looked back he saw Mr Verneede apparently trying to go -home arm-in-arm with a lamp-post.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PART III</i></h2> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">AN ASSIGNATION</span></h2> - -<p>So, it would seem from the artless confession of Miss Lambert, that -Patience Hancock had only too much reason for her fears: the lilac silk -necktie had not been bought for the edification of Bridgewater and the -junior clerks.</p> - -<p>That the correct James Hancock had fuddled himself with punch, told -droll stories, and lent Mr Lambert twenty pounds, were facts so utterly -at variance with the known character of that gentleman as to be -unbelievable by the people who knew him well.</p> - -<p>Not by people well acquainted with human nature, or the fact that a -grain of good-fellowship in the human heart exhibits extraordinary and -radium-like activity under certain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>conditions: the conditions induced -by punch and beauty and good-fellowship in others, for instance.</p> - -<p>One morning, after the day upon which he had refused to assist Frank -Leavesley to "make a fool of himself with a girl," James Hancock arrived -at his office at the usual time, in the usual manner, and, nodding to -Bridgewater as he had nodded to him every morning for the last thirty -years, passed into the inner office and closed the door.</p> - -<p>The closing of the door was a new departure; it had generally been left -ajar as an indication that Bridgewater might come in whenever he chose, -to receive instructions and to consult upon the morning letters.</p> - -<p>The expression on Bridgewater's face when he heard the closing of the -door was so extraordinarily funny, that one of the younger clerks, who -caught a glimpse of it, hastily stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth -and choked silently behind the lid of his desk.</p> - -<p>Quarter of an hour passed, and then the door opened.</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater!"</p> - -<p>The old gentleman stuck his pen behind his ear and answered the summons.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p><p>James Hancock was seated at his desk. On it lay an envelope addressed -in a lady's handwriting; he covered the envelope with a piece of -blotting paper as Bridgewater entered.</p> - -<p>"I'm going out this morning, Bridgewater, on some private business."</p> - -<p>"Out this morning?" echoed Bridgewater in a tentative tone.</p> - -<p>"Yes; I leave you in charge."</p> - -<p>"But Purvis, Mr James, Purvis has an appointment with you at twelve."</p> - -<p>"Oh, bother Purvis! Tell him to call to-morrow, his affair will wait; -tell him the deed is not drawn and to come again to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"How about Isaacs?"</p> - -<p>"Solomon Isaacs?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr James."</p> - -<p>"What time is he coming?"</p> - -<p>"Half-past eleven."</p> - -<p>"Tell him to come to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid he won't. I'm——"</p> - -<p>"If he won't," said Mr Hancock with some acerbity, "tell him to go to -the devil. I don't want his business especially—let him find some one -else. Now see here, about these letters."</p> - -<p>He went into the morning letters, dictating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> replies to the more -important ones and leaving the rest to the discretion of his clerk.</p> - -<p>"And, Bridgewater," said Mr Hancock, as the senior clerk turned to -depart, "I am expecting a lady to call here at half-past ten or quarter -to eleven: show her in, it's Miss Lambert."</p> - -<p>"You have had no word from Mr Charles Bevan, sir, since he called the -other day?"</p> - -<p>"Not a word. He is a very hot-headed young man; he inherits the Bevan -temper, the Bevan temper," reiterated James Hancock in a reflective -tone, tapping his snuff-box and taking a leisurely pinch. "I remember -his father John Bevan at Ipswich, during the election, threatening to -horsewhip my father; then when he found he was in the wrong, or rather -that his own rascally solicitor was in the wrong, he apologised very -handsomely and came to us. The family affairs have been in our hands -ever since, as you know, and, though I say it myself, they could not -have been in better."</p> - -<p>"May I ask, Mr James, how affairs are with the Lamberts?—a sweetly -pretty young lady is Miss Lambert, and so nice spoken."</p> - -<p>"The Lamberts' affairs seem very much involved; but you know, -Bridgewater, I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> nothing to do with their affairs. I called to see -Mr Lambert purely as a friend. It would be very unprofessional to call -otherwise. D——n it!" suddenly broke out old Hancock, as if some one -had pricked him with a pin, "a man is not always a business man. I'm -getting on in life. I have money enough and to spare. I've done pretty -much as I liked all my life, and I'll do so to the end; yes, and I'd -break all the laws of professional etiquette one after the other -to-morrow if I chose."</p> - -<p>Bridgewater's amazed face was the only amazed part of his anatomy; he -was used to these occasional petulant outbursts, and he looked on them -with equanimity.</p> - -<p>Hancock had been threatening to retire from business for the last ten -years, to retire from business and buy a country place and breed horses. -No one knew so well as Bridgewater the impossibility of this and the -extent to which his master was bound up in his business—the business -was his life.</p> - -<p>He retired, mumbling something that sounded like an assent, and going to -his desk put the letters in order.</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock, left to himself, took a letter from his breast-pocket. It -was addressed in a large careless hand to</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p class="right"><span class="smcap">"James Hancock, Esq.</span><span class="s2"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Gordon Square.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>It ran:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr Hancock</span>,—I'll be delighted to come to-morrow; I haven't -seen the Zoo for years, not since I was quite small. No, don't -trouble to come and fetch me, I will call at the office at -half-past ten or quarter to eleven, that will be simpler.—Yours -very sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Fanny Lambert</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>"I'll be hanged if it's simpler," grumbled James Hancock, as he returned -the letter to his pocket. "Why in the name of all that's sacred couldn't -she have let me call?—the clerks will talk so. No matter, let them—I -don't care."</p> - -<p>"Miss Lambert," said Bridgewater, opening the door.</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock might have thought that Spring herself stood before him in -the open doorway, such a pleasing and perfect vision did Miss Lambert -make. She was attired in a chip hat, and a dress of something light in -texture and lilac in colour, and, from the vivacity of her manner and -the general sprightliness of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> her appearance, seemed bent upon a day of -pleasure.</p> - -<p>"I'm so awfully sorry to be so soon," said Miss Lambert. "It's only -twenty minutes past ten; the clocks have all gone wrong at home. James -broke out again yesterday; he went out and took far, far too much; isn't -it dreadful? I don't know what we are to do with him, and he wound up -the clocks last night, and I believe he has broken them all, at least -they won't go. Father has gone away again; he is down in Sussex paying a -visit to a Miss Pursehouse, we met her in Paris. She asked me to come -too, but I had to refuse because my dressmaker—I mean, Susannah -couldn't be left by herself, she smashes things so. She fell on the -kitchen stairs this morning, bringing the breakfast things up—are you -busy? and are you sure I'm not bothering you or interfering with clients -and things? I arrived here really at ten minutes past ten, and walked up -and down outside till people began to stare at me, so I came in."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit busy," said Mr Hancock; "delighted you've come so early. Is -that chair comfortable?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>"Quite, thanks."</p> - -<p>"Sure you won't take this easy-chair?"</p> - -<p>"No, no; this is a delightful chair. Who is that nice old man who showed -me in?"</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater, my chief clerk. Yes, he is a very good sort of man -Bridgewater; he's been with us now a number of years."</p> - -<p>"I like him, because he always smiles at me and looks so friendly and so -funny. He's the kind of man one feels one would like to knit something -for; a—muffler or mittens. I will, next Christmas, if he wouldn't be -offended."</p> - -<p>"Offended! Good heavens, no, he'd be delighted—perfectly delighted, I'm -sure, perfectly. Come in!"</p> - -<p>"A telegram, sir," spoke Bridgewater's voice. He always "sir'd" his -master in the presence of strangers.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," said Mr Hancock, putting on his glasses and opening the -telegram. He read it carefully, frowned, then smiled, and handed it to -Fanny.</p> - -<p>"Am I to read it?" said the girl.</p> - -<p>"Please."</p> - -<p>Fanny read:—</p> - -<p>"I relinquish fishing-rights. Make the best terms with Lambert you -can.—<span class="smcap">Bevan.</span>"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>"Isn't it nice of him?" she said without evincing any surprise; "he -told me he would when he called."</p> - -<p>"Told you he would?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"When did you see Mr Bevan?"</p> - -<p>"Why, he called—didn't I tell you?—oh no, I forgot—he called, and he -was <i>awfully</i> nice. Quite the nicest man I've met for a long time. He -stayed to luncheon and tea and supper."</p> - -<p>"Was your father at home?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"I would rather this had not happened," said Mr Hancock in a slightly -pained voice. "Mr Bevan is a gentleman for whom I have great respect, -but considering the absence of your father, the absence of a -host—er—er—conventionalities, um——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he didn't seem to mind," said Fanny; "he knew father was away, and -took us just as we were. He's awfully rich, I suppose, but he was just -as pleasant as if he were poor—came marketing and carried the basket; -and, I declare to goodness, if I had known we had such a jolly cousin -before, I'd have gone and hunted him up myself in the—'Albany,' isn't -it?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"Mr Bevan lives in the 'Albany,'" said the lawyer. "It is a bachelors' -residence, and scarcely a place—scarcely a place for a—er—lady to -call—no, scarcely a place for a lady to call. However, what's done is -done, and we must make the best of it."</p> - -<p>"If I had only thought," said Fanny, who had not been listening to the -humming and hawing of Mr Hancock, "I'd have asked him to come with us -to-day. Gracious! it's just eleven. Shall we go?"</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock took his hat and umbrella, opened the door, and they passed out.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER</span></h2> - -<p>Mr Bridgewater's emotions, when he saw his principal following the -pretty Miss Lambert, were mixed.</p> - -<p>He saw through the whole thing at once: she had come by appointment, and -they were going somewhere together.</p> - -<p>Now, on the day when he had called to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> lunch with Patience Hancock, and -look over the lease of the Peckham House, the Peckham House had not been -once mentioned; the whole conversation, conducted chiefly by Miss -Hancock, concerned the welfare of her brother. She hinted at certain -news, supposed to have been received by her, that a designing woman had -her eye on her treasure; she implored her listener to let her know if he -saw any indication of the truth of these reports. "For you know, -Bridgewater," said she, indicating that the decanter was at his side, -and that he might help himself to his third glass of port, "there is no -fool like an old fool," to which axiom Bridgewater giggled assent.</p> - -<p>He promised to keep a "sharp look-out," and inform her of what he saw -from time to time. And it did not require a very sharp look-out to see -what he saw this morning.</p> - -<p>As we have indicated, his emotions were mixed. Fanny's face, her -"sweetly pretty face," appealed to him; that she had fascinated Mr -James, he felt sure; that he ought instantly to inform Miss Hancock he -felt certain; that he had a lot of important letters to write and -business to transact with Mr Purvis and Mr<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> Isaacs were facts. Between -these facts and these fancies the old man sat scratching his head with -the stump of his pen, staring at the letters before him, and pretending -to be busy. Born in the age of valentines and sentiment, he had carried -along with him through life a "feeling" for the other sex; to be frank, -the feeling was compounded mainly of shyness, but not altogether. I -doubt if there lives a man in whose life's history there exists not a -woman in some form or other, either living and active in the present, or -dead and a memory—a leaf in amber.</p> - -<p>In old Bridgewater's brain there lived, keeping company with other -futilities of youth, a girl. The winters and the springs of forty-five -years had left her just the same, red-cheeked and buxom, commonplace, -pretty, with an undecided mouth, and a crinoline. As he sat cogitating, -this old mental daguerreotype took on fresh colours. He saw the sunlight -on a certain street in Hoxton, and heard the tinkle of a piano, long -gone to limbo, playing a tune that memory had in some mysterious way -bound up with the perfume of wall-flowers.</p> - -<p>He remembered a Christmas card that pulled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> out like a concertina: a -shocking production of art which gave a vista of a garden in filigree -paper leading to a house.</p> - -<p>A feeling of tenderness possessed him. Why should he move in a matter -that did not concern him? He determined to remain neutral, and, with the -object of dismissing the matter from his mind, turned to his letters.</p> - -<p>But this kindly, though inferior being was dominated by a strong and -active intelligence, and that intelligence existed in the brain of a -woman.</p> - -<p>Whilst he made notes and dictated to a clerk, this alien intelligence -was voicing its commands in the sub-conscious portions of his brain. He -began to hesitate in his dictation and to shuffle his feet, to pause and -to dictate nonsense. Then rising and taking his hat, he asked Mr Wolf, -his second in command, to take charge, as he had business which would -keep him away for half an hour—and made for the door. In Southampton -Row he walked twenty yards, retraced his steps, paused, blew his nose in -a huge bandana handkerchief, and then, travelling as if driven by -clockwork well wound up, he made for Gordon Square.</p> - -<p>The servant said that Miss Hancock was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> dressing to go out, and invited -him into the cave-like dining-room. She then closed the door and left -him to the tender mercies of the place.</p> - -<p>Decision was not the most noteworthy characteristic of Mr Bridgewater, -nor tact. He stood, consulting the clock on the mantelpiece, yet, had -you asked him, he could not have told you the time. Having come into the -place of his own volition he was now endeavouring to get up volition -enough to enable him to leave.</p> - -<p>"Well, Bridgewater?" said a voice. The old man turned. Miss Hancock, -dressed for going out, stood before him.</p> - -<p>"Why, I declare, Miss Patience!" said Bridgewater, as if the woman -before him was the very last person on earth he expected to see.</p> - -<p>"You have found me just in time, for I was going out. I am in a hurry, -so I won't ask you to sit down. Can I do anything for you?"</p> - -<p>Bridgewater rubbed his nose.</p> - -<p>"It's about a little matter, Miss Patience."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"A little matter concerning Mr James."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>"I am afraid—I am afraid, Miss Patience, there is—well—not to put -too fine a point upon it—a lady."</p> - -<p>"What is this you say, Bridgewater? But sit down."</p> - -<p>"A lady, Miss Patience."</p> - -<p>"You've said that before—<i>what</i> lady, and what about her?" The -recollection of Leavesley's words shot up in her brain.</p> - -<p>"Dear me, dear me! I wish I hadn't spoken now. I'm sure it's nothing -wrong. I think, very possibly, I have been mistaken."</p> - -<p>"John Bridgewater," said Miss Hancock, "you have known me from my -childhood, you know I hate shuffling, come to the point—there is a -lady—well, I have known it all along, so you need not be afraid to -speak. Just tell me all you know. You are very well aware that no one -cares for Mr James as much as I do. You are very well aware that some -men <i>need</i> protecting. You know very well there is no better-hearted man -in the world than my brother."</p> - -<p>"None indeed."</p> - -<p>"And you know very well that he is just the man to fall a victim to a -designing woman. Think for a moment. What would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> a woman see in a man of -his age, except his money."</p> - -<p>"Very true; though I'm sure, Miss Patience, no man would make a better -husband for a woman than Mr James."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't talk nonsense! When a man arrives at his age, he is too old -to be made into a husband, but he is not too old to be made into a fool. -Now tell me all you know about this affair. First of all, what is -the—person's name?"</p> - -<p>"The person I suspect, Miss Patience, though indeed my suspicions may be -wrong, is a Miss Lambert."</p> - -<p>"Surely not any relation of the Highgate Lamberts?"</p> - -<p>"The daughter, Miss Patience."</p> - -<p>"<i>That</i> broken-down lot! Good heavens! Are you <i>sure</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly sure."</p> - -<p>"The daughter of the man who is fighting with Mr Bevan about the fish -pond?"</p> - -<p>"Stream."</p> - -<p>"It's the same. Well, go on."</p> - -<p>"Miss Fanny Lambert called some time ago on Mr James. She called in -distress about the action. Mr James interviewed her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> and discovered -that her father was in a very bad way, financially speaking. He took -pity on them——"</p> - -<p>"Idiot!"</p> - -<p>"——and called at Highgate to see Mr Lambert. He became very friendly -with Mr Lambert. Then Miss Fanny Lambert called again."</p> - -<p>"What about?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. And to-day, this morning, she called again."</p> - -<p>"Called at the office this morning?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What did she call for?"</p> - -<p>Bridgewater was silent.</p> - -<p>"I repeat," said Miss Hancock, speaking as an examiner might speak to a -candidate, "I repeat, what did she call for? You surely must have some -inkling."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid she called about nothing. I'm afraid so, very much afraid -so."</p> - -<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid, Miss Patience, it was an assignation."</p> - -<p>"How long did she stay?"</p> - -<p>"About twenty minutes; but that is not the worst."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>"Go on."</p> - -<p>"They went out together."</p> - -<p>"How long was my brother out with her?"</p> - -<p>"He hasn't come back; he has gone for the day—told me to take charge of -the office."</p> - -<p>"You mean they went out together like that and you did not follow them -to see where they went?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you <i>idiot</i>!"</p> - -<p>"How could I, Miss Patience?"</p> - -<p>"How could you—yes, that's just it. How could you, when you had such a -chance, let it slip through your fingers?"</p> - -<p>"But the office?"</p> - -<p>"The office—why, you have left the office to come round here. If you -could leave it to come here, surely you could have left it for a more -important purpose. Well, you may take this from me: soon there will be -no office to leave. It's quite possible that if Mr James makes a fool of -himself, he'll leave business and do what he's always threatening to -do—go in for farming. When a man once begins making a fool of himself, -he goes on doing so, the appetite comes with eating. Well, you had -better go back to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> office and remember this for your own sake, for -my sake, for Mr James' sake, keep your eyes open. If you get another -chance, follow them."</p> - -<p>Bridgewater left the house walking in a very depressed manner. In Oxford -Street he entered a bar and had a glass of sherry and a biscuit. As he -left the bar, who should he see but James Hancock—James Hancock, and -Fanny side by side. They were looking in at a shop window.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">AN OLD MAN'S OUTING</span></h2> - -<p>On leaving the office, the happy thought had occurred to Fanny of -telegraphing at once to her father apprising him of Charles Bevan's -decision. Accordingly they sought the nearest telegraph office, where -Miss Lambert indited the following despatch:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">To Lambert,<br /><span class="s1"> </span>c/o Miss Pursehouse,<br /><span class="s2"> </span>The Roost, Rookhurst.</span></p> - -<p>"Mr Bevan has stopped the action. Isn't it sweet of him?"</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"Any name?" asked the clerk.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," replied Fanny, suddenly remembering that her connection with -the matter ought to be kept dark. "Put Hancock."</p> - -<p>Then they sought Oxford Street, where Fanny remembered that she had some -shopping to do.</p> - -<p>"I won't be a minute," she said, pausing before a draper's. "Will you -come in, or wait outside?"</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock elected to wait outside, and he waited.</p> - -<p>It was an unfortunate shop for a man to wait before: there was nothing -in the windows but <i>lingerie</i>; the shop on the left of it was a bonnet -shop, and the establishment on the right was a bar.</p> - -<p>So he had to wait, standing on the kerbstone, in full view of mankind. -In two minutes three men passed who knew him, and in the middle of the -fourth minute old Sir Henry Tempest, one of his best clients, who was -driving by in a hansom, stopped, got out and button-holed him.</p> - -<p>"Just the man I want to see, what a piece of luck! I was going to your -office. See here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> that d——d scamp of a Sawyer has sent me in a bill -for sixteen pounds—sixteen pounds for those repairs I spoke to you -about. Why! I'd have got 'em done for six if he had left them to me. But -jump into the cab, and come and have luncheon, and we can talk things -over."</p> - -<p>"I can't," said Mr Hancock, "I am waiting for a lady—my sister, she has -just gone into that shop. I'll tell you, I will see you, any time you -like, to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Well, I suppose that must do. But sixteen pounds!—people seem to think -I am made of money. I tell you what, Hancock, the great art in getting -through life is to make yourself out a poor man—go about in an old coat -and hat; you are just as comfortable, and you are not pestered by every -beggar and beast that wants money."</p> - -<p>"Decidedly, decidedly—I think you are right," said his listener, -standing now on one foot, now on the other.</p> - -<p>"Once you get the reputation of being rich you are ruined—what's the -matter with you?"</p> - -<p>"Twinges of gout, twinges of gout. I can't get rid of it."</p> - -<p>"Gout? Have you been to a doctor for it?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, don't mind what he says; try my remedy. Gout, my dear sir, is -incurable with drugs, I've tried 'em. You try hot air baths and -vegetarianism; it cured me. I don't say a <i>strictly</i> vegetarian diet, -but just as little meat as you can take. I get it myself. Hancock, we're -not so young as we were, and the wine and women of our youth revisit us; -yes, the wine and women——"</p> - -<p>He stopped. Fanny had just emerged from the shop.</p> - -<p>The cabman who drove Sir Henry Tempest that day from Oxford Street to -the Raleigh Club has not yet solved the problem as to "what the old -gent, was laughing about."</p> - -<p>"I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time," said Fanny, as they -wandered away, "but those shopmen are so stupid. Who was that -nice-looking old gentleman you were talking to?"</p> - -<p>"That was Sir Henry Tempest; but he never struck me as being especially -nice-looking. He is not a bad man in his way—but a bore; yes, very -decidedly a bore."</p> - -<p>"Come here," said Fanny, from whose facile mind the charms of Sir Henry -Tempest had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> vanished—"Come here, and I will buy you something." She -turned to a jeweller's shop.</p> - -<p>"But, my dear child," said James, "I never wear jewellery—never."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't mean <i>really</i> to buy you something, I only mean make -belief—window-shopping, you know. I often go out by myself and buy -heaps of things like that, watches and carriages, and all sorts of -things. I enjoy it just as much as if I were buying them really; more, I -think, for I don't get tired of them. Do you know that when I want a -thing and get it I don't want it any more? I often get married like -that."</p> - -<p>"Like what?" asked the astonished Mr Hancock.</p> - -<p>"Window-shopping. I see sometimes <i>such</i> a nice-looking man in the -street or the park, then I marry him and he's ever so nice; but if I -married him really I'm sure I'd hate him, or at least be tired of him in -a day or two. Now, see here! I will buy you—let me see—let me -see—<i>that</i>!" She pointed suddenly to an atrocious carbuncle scarf-pin. -"That, and that watch with the long hand that goes hopping round. You -can have the whole window," said Fanny, suddenly becoming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> lavishly -generous. "But the scarf-pin would suit you, and the watch would be -useful for—for—well, it looks like a business man's watch."</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock sighed. "Say an old man's watch, Fanny—may I call you -Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, if you like. But you're not old, you're quite young; at -least you're just as jolly as if you were. But come, or we will be late -for the Zoo."</p> - -<p>"Wait," said Mr Hancock; "there is lots of time for the Zoo. Now look at -the window and buy yourself a present."</p> - -<p>"I'll buy that," said Miss Lambert promptly, pointing to a little watch -crusted with brilliants.</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock noted the watch and the name and number of the shop, and they -passed on.</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock found that progress with such a companion in Oxford Street -was a slow affair. The extraordinary fascination exercised by the shops -upon his charge astonished him; everything seemed to interest her, even -churns. The normal state of her brain seemed only comparable to that of -a person's who is recovering from an illness.</p> - -<p>It was after twelve when they reached Mudie's library.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>"Now," said Mr Hancock, pausing and resting on his umbrella, "I am -rather perplexed."</p> - -<p>"What about?"</p> - -<p>"Luncheon. If we take a cab to the Zoo now, we will have to lunch there -or in the neighbourhood. I do not know whether they provide luncheons at -the Zoo or whether there is even a refreshment room there."</p> - -<p>"You can buy buns," said Fanny; "at least, I have a dim recollection of -buns when I was there last. We bought them for the bears; but whether -they were meant for people to eat, or only made on purpose for the -animals, I don't know."</p> - -<p>"Just so. I think we had better defer our visit till after luncheon; -but, meanwhile, what shall we do? It is now ten minutes past twelve; we -cannot possibly lunch till one. Shall we explore the Museum?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! not the Museum," said Fanny; "it always takes my appetite away. I -suppose it's the mummies. I'll tell you what, we will go and have ices -in that café over there."</p> - -<p>They crossed to the Vienna Café, and seated themselves at a little -marble table.</p> - -<p>"Father and I come here often," said Fanny, "when we are in this part of -the town; we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> know every one here." She bowed and smiled to the lady who -sits in the little glass counting house, who smiled and bowed in return. -"That was Hermann—the man who went for our ices; and that's Fritz, the -waiter, over there, with the bald head." She caught Fritz's eye, who -smiled and bowed. "I don't see Henri—I suppose he's married; he told us -he was going to get married the last time we were here, to a girl who -keeps the accounts in a café in Soho, somewhere, and I promised him to -send them a wedding present. He was such a nice man, like a Count in -disguise; you know the sort of looking man I mean. What shall I send -him?"</p> - -<p>James Hancock ran over all the wedding presents he could remember in his -mind; he thought of clocks, candlesticks, silver-plated mustard pots.</p> - -<p>"Send him a—clock."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'll send him a clock. Wait till I ask where they live."</p> - -<p>She rose and approached the lady at the counting-house; a brisk -conversation ensued, the lady speaking much with her hands and eyes, -which she raised alternately to heaven.</p> - -<p>Fanny came back looking sorrowful. "He's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> gone," she said; "I never -could have thought it!"</p> - -<p>"Why should he not go?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but he went with the spoons and forks and things, and there was no -girl at Soho."</p> - -<p>"Never trust those plausible gentlemen who look like Italian Counts," -said James Hancock, not entirely displeased with the melodramatic news.</p> - -<p>"Whom <i>is</i> one to trust?" asked Fanny, with the air of a woman whose -life's illusion is shattered.</p> - -<p>James Hancock couldn't quite say. "Trust <i>me</i>," rose to his lips, but -the sentiment was not uttered, partly because it would have been too -previous, and partly because Hermann had just placed before him an -enormous ice-cream.</p> - -<p>"You are not eating your ice!"</p> - -<p>"It's too hot—ah, um—I mean it's too cold," said Mr Hancock, waking -from a moment's reverie. "That is to say, I scarcely ever eat ices." The -fact that a sweet vanilla ice was simply food and drink to the gout was -a dietetic truism he did not care to utter.</p> - -<p>"If," said Fanny, with the air of a mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> speaking to her child, "if -you don't eat your ice I will never take you shopping with me again. -<i>Please</i> eat it, I feel so greedy eating alone."</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock seized a spoon and attacked the formidable structure before -him.</p> - -<p>"I hope I'll never grow old," sighed Miss Lambert, as Hermann approached -them with a huge dish of fantastic-looking cakes—cakes crusted with -sugar and chocolate, Moscow Gâteaux simply sodden with rum, and -Merangues filled with cream rich as Devonshire could make it.</p> - -<p>"We must all grow old," said Hancock, staring with ghastly eyes at these -atrocities. "But why do you specially fear age? Age has its beauties, it -must come to us all."</p> - -<p>"I don't want to grow old," said his companion, "because then I would -not care for sweets any more. Father says the older he grows the less he -cares for sweets, and that every one loses their sweet tooth at fifty. I -hope I'll never lose mine; if I do I'll—get a false one."</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock leisurely helped himself to one of the largest and -sweetest-looking of the specimens of "Italian confectionery" before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -him; Fanny helped herself to its twin, and there was silence for a -moment.</p> - -<p>It is strange that whilst a man may admit his age to a woman he cares -for, by word of mouth, he will do much before he admits it by his actions.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">A MEETING</span></h2> - -<p>Of all places in the world the Zoo is, perhaps, the most uninspiring to -your diffident lover, but Mr Hancock was fond of zoology. It was a mild -sort of hobby which he cultivated in his few leisure moments, and he was -not displeased to air his knowledge before his pretty friend, and to -show her that he had a taste for things other than forensic. Accordingly -in the Bird House he began to show off. This was a mistake. If you have -a hobby, conceal it till after marriage. The man with a hobby, once he -lets himself loose upon his pet subject or occupation, always bores. He -is like a man in drink, he does not know the extent of his own -stupidity;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> lost in his own paradise he is unconscious of the trouble -and weariness he is inflicting on the unfortunates who happen to be his -companions—unlike a man in drink, he is rarely amusing.</p> - -<p>There were birds with legs without end, and birds apparently with no -legs at all, nutcracker-billed birds, birds without tails, and things -that seemed simply tails without birds.</p> - -<p>Before a long-tailed bird that bore a dim resemblance to himself, Mr -Hancock paused and began to instruct his companion. When he had bored -her sufficiently they passed to the great Ape House, and from there to -the Monkey House.</p> - -<p>They had paused to consider the Dog-faced Ape, when Fanny, whose eyes -were wandering about the place, gave a little start and plucked her -companion by the sleeve. "Look," she said, "there's old Mr Bridgewater!"</p> - -<p>"Why! God bless my soul, so it is!" cried Hancock. "What the—what -the—what the——"</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER</span></h2> - -<p>The appearance of shame and conscious guilt that suffused the face and -person of Bridgewater caused the wild idea to rush through his -employer's mind that the old man had, vulgarly speaking, "scooped the -till" and was attempting evasion.</p> - -<p>Defaulters bound for America or France do not, however, as a rule, take -the Monkey House at the Zoo <i>en route</i>, and the practical mind of James -Hancock rejected the idea at once, and gripped the truth of the matter. -Bridgewater had been following him for the purpose of spying upon him.</p> - -<p>The unhappy Bridgewater had indeed been following him.</p> - -<p>When, emerging from the bar, he had perceived his quarry he had followed -them at a safe distance. When they went into the Vienna Café he waited; -it seemed to him that he waited three hours: it was, in fact, an hour -and a quarter. For, having finished her ice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> and its accompaniments, -Fanny had declared that she was quite ready for luncheon, and had -proposed that they should proceed to the meal at once without seeking a -new café.</p> - -<p>When they came out, Bridgewater took up the pursuit. They got into a -hansom: he got into another, and ordered the driver to pursue the first -vehicle at a safe distance. He did this from instinct, not as a result -of having read Gaboriau, or the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."</p> - -<p>The long wait, the upset of all his usual ways, and the fact that he had -not lunched, coupled with his dread of a hansom—hitherto when he had -moved on wheels it had always been on those of a four-wheeler or -omnibus—conspired to reduce him mentally to the condition of an -over-driven sheep.</p> - -<p>They left the part of the town he knew, and passed through streets he -knew not of, streets upon streets, and still the first vehicle pursued -its way with undiminished speed. He felt now a dim certainty that his -employer was going to be married, and now he tried to occupy his -scattered wits in attempting to compute what this frightful cab journey -would cost.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>At the Zoo gates the first hansom stopped.</p> - -<p>"Pull up," cried Bridgewater, poking his umbrella through the trap.</p> - -<p>He alighted a hundred yards from the gates. At the turnstile he paid his -shilling and went in, but Fanny and her companion had vanished as -completely as if the polar bear had swallowed them up.</p> - -<p>He wandered away through the gardens aimlessly, but keeping a sharp -look-out. He had never been to the Zoo before, but guessed it was the -Zoo because of the animals. The whole adventure had the complexion of a -nightmare, a complexion not brightened by the melancholy appearance of -the eagles and vultures and the distant roaring and lowing of unknown -beasts.</p> - -<p>He saw an elephant advancing towards him swinging its trunk like a -pendulum; to avoid it he took a path that led to the Fish House. His one -desire now was to get out of the gardens and get home. He recognised now -that he had made a serious mistake in entering the gardens at all. To -have returned at once to Miss Hancock with the information that her -brother had simply taken Miss Lambert to the Zoo would have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> the -proper and sensible course to have pursued.</p> - -<p>Now at any moment he might find himself confronted with the two people -he dreaded to meet. What should he say suppose he met them? What <i>could</i> -he say? The anguish of this thought drove him from the Fish House, where -he had taken temporary refuge. He took a path which ended in an -elephant; it was the same elephant he had seen before, but he did not -know it. A side path, which he pursued hastily, brought him to the polar -bear. Here he asked his way to the nearest gate of a young man and -maiden who were gazing at the bear. The young man promptly pointed out a -path; he took it, and found himself at the Monkey House.</p> - -<p>He took off his hat and mopped his head with his bandana handkerchief. -Looking round in bewilderment after this refreshing operation he saw -something approaching far worse than an elephant; it was Mr Hancock, and -with Mr Hancock, Fanny, making directly for him.</p> - -<p>He did not hesitate a moment in doing the worst thing possible; as an -animal enters a trap, he entered the Monkey House. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> would have shut -and bolted the door behind him had such a proceeding been feasible.</p> - -<p>Bridgewater had a horror of monkeys; he had always considered the common -organ-grinder's monkey to be the representative of all its kind, and the -last production of nature in frightfulness; but here were monkeys of -every shape, size, and colour, a symphony of monkeys, each "note" more -horrible than the last.</p> - -<p>If you have ever studied monkeys and their ways you will know that they -have their likes and dislikes just like men. That some people "appeal" -to them at first sight, and some people do not. Bridgewater did not. -When he saw Fanny entering at the door he retreated to the furthest -limits of the place and pretended to be engaged in contemplation of a -peculiarly sinister-looking ape, upon which, to judge from its -appearance, a schoolboy had been at work with a brushful of blue paint.</p> - -<p>The azure and sinister one endured the human's gaze for a few mutterful -moments, and then bursting into loud yells flew at the bars and -attempted to tear them from their sockets; the mandrills shrieked and -chattered,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> the lemur added his note, and Bridgewater beat a retreat.</p> - -<p>It was at this moment that Fanny's wandering gaze caught him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">A CONFESSION</span></h2> - -<p>Mr Hancock, asking Fanny to wait for him for a short time, took -Bridgewater by the arm and led him outside.</p> - -<p>"Now, Bridgewater, what is the meaning of this? Why have you left the -office? Why have you followed me? What earthly reason had you for doing -such a thing? Speak out, man—are you dumb?"</p> - -<p>"I declare to God, Mr James," said the unhappy Bridgewater, "I had no -reason——"</p> - -<p>"No reason!—are you mad? Bridgewater, you haven't been—drinking?"</p> - -<p>"Drinking!" cried Bridgewater, with what your melodramatist would call a -hollow laugh. "Drinking!—oh yes—drinking? No! No!—don't mind me, Mr -James. Drinking! One blessed glass of sherry, and not a bite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> have I -had—waiting two hours and more—following you in a cab—three shillings -the fare was—nearly torn in pieces by an ape—following you and hiding -in all sorts of places, and then told I've been drinking. Do I look as -if I had been drinking, Mr James? Am I given to drinking, Mr James? Have -you known me for forty years, Mr James, and have you ever seen me do -such a thing? Answer me that, Mr James——"</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush!—don't talk so loud," said Hancock, rather alarmed at the -old man's hysterical manner. "No, you are the last person to do such a -thing, but tell me, all the same, why you followed me."</p> - -<p>Bridgewater was dumb. Hungry, thirsty, frightened at being caught -spying, startled by elephants and addled by apes as he was, still his -manhood revolted at the idea of betraying Patience and sheltering -himself at her expense. All the same, he attempted very feminine tactics -in endeavouring to evade a direct reply.</p> - -<p>"Drinking! I have been in the office, man and boy, this fifty years and -more come next Michaelmas; it's fifty-one years, fifty-one years next -Michaelmas Day, every day at my place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> but Sundays and holidays, year -in, year out——"</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater," repeated Mr Hancock, "will you answer me the question I -just asked you? Why did you follow me to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord," said Bridgewater, "I wish I had never seen this day! Follow -you, Mr James? do you think I followed you for pleasure? Why, the -office—God bless my soul! it makes my hair stand on end—no one there -but Wolf to take charge, and I have been away hours and hours. It's -three o'clock now, and here am I miles and miles away; and I ought to -have called at the law courts at 3.20, and there's those bills to file. -It seems all like a horrible nightmare, that it does; it seems——"</p> - -<p>"I don't want to know what it seems. You have left your duty and come -away—for what purpose?"</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>"Ah well!" said Hancock, speaking not in the least angrily, "I see there -is a secret of some sort. I regret that a man in whom I have always -placed implicit trust should keep from me a secret that concerns me; -evidently—no matter, I am not curious. Yes, it is three o'clock; it -might be as well for you to return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> and look after things, though it is -too late for the law courts now."</p> - -<p>This tone and manner completely floored Bridgewater. The fountains of -his great deep were broken up, and if Patience Hancock could have seen -the damage done to his confidential reservoir, she would have shuddered.</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you the truth, Mr James. It's not my fault—she put me to the -work. I'll tell you the truth. I've been following you and spying upon -you, but it was for your own good, she said——"</p> - -<p>"Who said?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Patience."</p> - -<p>"Miss Patience told you to follow me to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"But what on earth—how on earth did she know I was—er—coming here?"</p> - -<p>"She didn't know."</p> - -<p>"Well, how the <i>devil</i> did she tell you to follow me, then?"</p> - -<p>"She wanted to know where you were going to."</p> - -<p>"But," roared Hancock, whose face had been slowly crimsoning, or -purpling rather, since the mention of his sister's name, "how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> the -<i>blazes</i> did she know I was going <i>anywhere</i>?"</p> - -<p>"When I saw you going out of the office with Miss Lambert I ran round -and told her."</p> - -<p>"When you saw me going out of the office with Miss Lambert you ran round -and told her!" said Hancock, spacing each word and speaking with such a -change from fire to ice that his listener shivered. "Oh, this is too -good! I pay you a large salary to spy upon me and to run round and tell -my sister my doings. Am I mad, or am I dreaming? And what—what—<span class="smaller">WHAT</span> -led you, sir, to leave the office and run round and tell my sister?"</p> - -<p>"For God's sake, Mr James, don't talk so loud!" said Bridgewater; "the -people are turning round to look at us. I didn't leave the office of my -own accord; it was Miss Patience, who said to me, she said, -'Bridgewater, I trust you for your master's sake to let me know if you -see him with a lady, for,' she said, 'there is a woman who has designs -on him.'"</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>"Those were her words. So when I saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> you going out with Miss Lambert I -ran round and told her."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>Mr Hancock had fallen from fury into a thoughtful mood: one of the -sharpest brains in London was engaged in unravelling the meaning to get -at the inner-meaning of all this.</p> - -<p>"My sister came round to the office some time ago asking me to spare you -for an hour as she wished for your advice about a lease. That, of -course, was all humbug: she wanted you for the purpose of talking about -me?"</p> - -<p>"That is true."</p> - -<p>"The lease was never mentioned?"</p> - -<p>"Not once, Mr James."</p> - -<p>"All the conversation was about me and my welfare?"</p> - -<p>"That it was."</p> - -<p>"Now see here, Bridgewater, cast your memory back. Is this the first -time in your life that my sister has invited you to my house in Gordon -Square to discuss my welfare?"</p> - -<p>"No indeed, sir. I've been there before."</p> - -<p>"How many times?"</p> - -<p>Bridgewater assumed the cast of countenance he always assumed when -engaged in reckoning.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>"That's enough," said Hancock, "don't count. Now tell me, when did she -first begin to take you into her confidence—twenty years ago?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr James, fully that."</p> - -<p>Hancock made a sound like a groan.</p> - -<p>"And twenty years ago it was the same tale: 'Protect my brother from a -designing woman.'"</p> - -<p>"Why, it was, and that's the truth," said Bridgewater, as if the fact -had just been discovered by him.</p> - -<p>"And you did your best, told her all about me and my movements, as far -as you knew them, and mixed and muddled, and made an ass of yourself and -a fool of me——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr James!"</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue!—a fool of me. Do you know, John Bridgewater, that -you have been aiding and abetting in a conspiracy—a conspiracy -unpunishable by law, but still a conspiracy—hold your tongue!—you are -innocent of everything but of being a fool; indeed, I ought not to call -any man a fool, for I have been a fool myself, and I ought to have seen -that the one end and aim of my sister's life was to secure her position -as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> my keeper, and her tenure of my house. You have shown me at one -flash a worm that has crawled through my past, cankering and corroding -all it touched. Money, money, money—that is my sister's creed. I am not -young, Bridgewater, and it seems to me that if instead of living all -these years side by side with this money-grub, I had lived side by side -with a wife, my lot would have been a better one. I might have had -children, grown-up sons now, daughters—things that make an interest for -us in our old age. Between me and all that has come my sister. That -woman has a very strong will. I see many things in the past now, ay, -twenty years ago, that I can explain. Bridgewater, you have done me a -great injury, but you did it for the best, and I forgive you. Half the -people in this world are pawns and chess-pieces, moved about by the men -and women of intellect who form the other half. If you had possessed -eyes to see, you might have seen that the really designing woman against -whom I should have been protected, was the woman with whom you leagued -yourself—my sister."</p> - -<p>The expression on Bridgewater's face was so wonderfully funny that -Hancock would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> laughed had he not been in such a serious mood.</p> - -<p>"However, what's done is done, and there is no use in crying over spilt -milk. You have at least done me a service by your stupidity in following -me to-day, for you have shown me the light. Miss Lambert pleases me, and -if I choose to make her mistress of my house, instead of my sister, -mistress of my house she will be. We will return now to—where I left -Miss Lambert, and we will all go home to Gordon Square and have dinner -with my sister."</p> - -<p>"Not me, Mr James," gasped Bridgewater, "I don't feel well."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! you need not fear my sister. She is no longer mistress of my -house; next week she shall pack bag and baggage. Come."</p> - -<p>He turned towards the Monkey House, and Bridgewater followed him, so -mazed in his intellect that it would be hard to tell whether monkeys, -men, Fanny Lambert, Patience Hancock, or elephants, were uppermost in -his brain.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">IN GORDON SQUARE</span></h2> - -<p>It was James Hancock's rule that a dinner should be served every night -at Gordon Square, to which he could invite any one, even a city -alderman.</p> - -<p>On this especial day a dinner, even better than usual, was in prospect. -Miss Hancock had a large circle of acquaintances of her own; she -belonged to several anti-societies. As before hinted, she was not -destitute of a certain kindness of heart, and the counterfoils of her -cheque book disclosed not inconsiderable sums subscribed to the Society -for the Total Abolition of Vivisection and Kindred Bodies.</p> - -<p>To-day she expected to dinner a person, a gentleman of the female -persuasion—that is to say, a sort of man. Mr Bulders, the person in -question, a member of the Anti-Tobacco League, was a crank of the -crankiest description. He wrote letters to the paper on every -conceivable subject, and in this way had obtained a dim and unholy sort -of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> notoriety. Fox hunting was his especial detestation, and his grand -hobby was cremation. "Why Fear the Flames?" by Emanuel Bulders, a -pamphlet of fifteen pages, privately printed, reposed in Miss Hancock's -private bookcase. But Mr Bulders has no place in this story; he is dead -and—cremated, let us hope. I shadow him forth as the reason why Miss -Hancock was sitting this evening by the drawing-room fireplace, dressed -in the dress she assumed when she expected visitors, and engaged in -crochet-work.</p> - -<p>The clock pointed to half-past six, Bulders was due—over-due, like the -Spanish galleon that was destined never to come into port. She had said -in her note, "Come early, I wish to talk over the last report of the -—— Society, and my brother has little sympathy with such subjects."</p> - -<p>Suddenly her trained ear distinguished the sound of her brother's -latchkey in the door below. Some women are strangely like dogs in so far -as regards the senses of hearing and smell.</p> - -<p>Patience Hancock, as she sat by the drawing-room fireplace, could tell -that her brother had not entered the house alone. She made out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> his -voice, and then the voice of Bridgewater. She supposed that James had -brought his clerk home to dinner to talk business matters over, as he -sometimes did; and she was relapsing from the attitude of strained -attention when a sound struck her, hit her, and caused her to drop her -crochet-work and rise to her feet.</p> - -<p>She heard the laughter of a girl.</p> - -<p>Almost instantly upon the laughter the door opened, and it seemed to -Miss Hancock that a dozen people entered the room.</p> - -<p>"This is my sister Patience—Patience, Miss Lambert. We've all come back -to dinner. Sit down, Bridgewater. By the way, Patience, there's a letter -for you; I took it from the postman at the hall door." He handed the -letter; it was from Mr Bulders, excusing himself for not coming to dine, -and alleging for reason a sore throat.</p> - -<p>Patience extended a frigid hand to Miss Lambert, who just touched it; -all the girl's light-heartedness and vivacity had vanished for the -moment, Patience Hancock acted upon her like a draught of cold air.</p> - -<p>"I think you have heard me mention Miss Lambert's name, Patience. We -have been to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> the Zoo, the whole three of us. Immensely amusing place -the Zoo—makes one feel quite a boy again. Hey, Bridgewater!"</p> - -<p>"I hope you enjoyed it," said Miss Hancock in a perfunctory tone, -glancing at Fanny, who was seated in a huge rocking-chair, the only -really comfortable chair in the room, and then at Bridgewater, who had -taken his seat on the ottoman.</p> - -<p>"Pretty well, thanks," said Fanny, speaking in a languid tone. She had -assumed very much the air of a fine lady all of a sudden: she was not -going to be patronised by a solicitor's daughter, and she had divined in -Patience Hancock an enemy. "The Zoo is very much like the world: there -is much to laugh at and much to endure. Taken as a whole, it is not an -unmixed blessing."</p> - -<p>James Hancock opened his mouth at these sage utterances, and then shut -it again and turned away to smile. Bridgewater had the bad manners to -scratch his head. Miss Hancock said, "Indeed?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you think so?"</p> - -<p>"I think the world is exactly what we choose to make it," said Patience -Hancock, quoting Bulders.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p><p>"You think <i>that</i>?" said Fanny, suddenly forgetting her fine lady -languors. "Well, I wish some one would show me how to make the world -just as I'd choose to make it. Oh, it would be such a world—no poor -people, and no rain, and no misery, and no debts."</p> - -<p>"You mean no debtors," said Patience, seizing her opportunity. "It is -the debtors that make debts, just as it is the drunken people who make -drunkenness."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose it is," said Fanny, suddenly abandoning her -argumentative tone for one of reverie. "It's the people in the world -that make it so horrid and so nice."</p> - -<p>"That's exactly it," said Hancock, who was standing on the hearthrug -listening to these banalities of thought, and contemplating Bridgewater. -"Miss Lambert is a true philosopher. It is the people who make the world -what it is; could we banish the meddlers and spies and traitors"—he -looked fixedly at his sister—"the world would not be an unpleasant -place to live in."</p> - -<p>"I hate spies," said Fanny, totally unconscious of the delicate ground -she was stepping upon—"people who poke about into other people's -business, and open letters, and that sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> thing." Miss Hancock -flushed scarlet, and her brother noted the fact. "James opens letters, I -caught him."</p> - -<p>"Who is James?" asked Miss Hancock.</p> - -<p>"He's our butler," said Fanny, looking imploringly at Mr Hancock as if -to say "Don't tell."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock rose. "May I show you to my room? you would like to remove -your hat."</p> - -<p>The dinner was not a success, intellectually speaking. James Hancock's -temper half broke down over the soles, the sauce was not to his liking; -the sweet cakes, ices, and other horrors he had consumed during the day -had induced a mild attack of dyspepsia. His nose was red, and he knew -it; and, worst of all, faint twinges of gout made themselves felt. His -right great toe was saying to him, "Wait till you see what you'll have -to-morrow." Then Boffins, the old butler, tripped on the cat, broke a -dish, and James Hancock's temper flew out.</p> - -<p>I have described James Hancock badly, if you have not perceived that he -was a man with a temper. The evil demons in the Merangues and ices, the -irritation caused by Bridgewater's confession, the provoking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>calmness -of his sister, the uric acid in his blood, and the smash of the broken -dish, all combined of a sudden and were too much for him.</p> - -<p>"Damn that cat!" he cried. "Cats, cats, cats! How often have I told -you"—to his sister—"that I will not have my house filled with those -sneaking, prowling beasts? Chase her out; where is she?"</p> - -<p>Boffins looked under the table and said "Scat," but nothing "scatted."</p> - -<p>"She's gone, Mr James."</p> - -<p>"I won't have cats in my house," said Mr James, proceeding with his -dinner and feeling rather ashamed of his outburst. "Dear Lord, Patience, -what do you call this thing?"</p> - -<p>"The cook," said Patience, "calls it, I believe, a <i>vol-au-vent</i>. What -is wrong with it?"</p> - -<p>"What is right with it, you mean. Don't touch it, Miss Lambert, unless -you wish to have a nightmare."</p> - -<p>"I think it's delicious," said Fanny, "and I don't mind nightmares. -They're rather fun—when they are over, and you wake up and find -yourself safe in bed."</p> - -<p>"Well, you'll have some fun to-night," grunted James. "The person who -cooked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> this atrocity ought to be made sleep with the person who eats -it."</p> - -<p>"James, you need not be <i>vulgar</i>," said his sister.</p> - -<p>"What's vulgar?"</p> - -<p>"Your remark."</p> - -<p>"Boffins, fill Miss Lambert's glass—let's change the subject. This -champagne is abominably iced—give me some Burgundy."</p> - -<p>"James!"</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Burgundy!"</p> - -<p>"Well, what about Burgundy?"</p> - -<p>"Surely you remember the gout—the frightful attack you had last time -after Burgundy."</p> - -<p>"Gout? I suppose you mean Arthritic Rheumatism? But perhaps you are -right, and Dr Garrod was wrong—let us call it gout. Fill up the glass, -Boffins. Bridgewater, try some Burgundy, and see if it affects your -gout. Boffins, that cat's in the room, I hear it purring. I hear it, I -tell you, sir! where is the beast?"</p> - -<p>The beast, as if in answer, poked its head from under the -table-cloth—it was in Miss Lambert's lap.</p> - -<p>Altogether the dinner was not a success.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>"Your father has known my brother some time?" said Miss Hancock, when -the ladies found themselves alone in the drawing-room after dinner.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, some time now," said Fanny. "They met over some law business. -Father had a dispute with Mr Bevan of Highshot Towers, the place -adjoining ours, you know, down in Buckinghamshire, and Mr Hancock was -very kind—he arbitrated."</p> - -<p>"Indeed? that is funny, for he is Mr Bevan's solicitor."</p> - -<p>"Is that so? I'm sure I don't know, I never trouble myself about law -business or money matters. I leave all that to father."</p> - -<p>They talked on various matters, and before Miss Lambert had been packed -into a specially chartered four-wheeler and driven home with Bridgewater -on the box beside the driver as chaperone, Miss Hancock had come to form -ideas about Miss Lambert such as she had never formed about any other -young lady. Ideas the tenor of which you will perceive later on.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PART IV</i></h2> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">"THE ROOST"</span></h2> - -<p>Mr Bevan, since his visit to Highgate, dreamed often at nights of -monstrous asparagus beds, and his friends and acquaintances noticed that -he seemed distrait.</p> - -<p>The fact was the mind of this orderly and precise individual had -received a shock; his world of thought had tilted somewhat, owing to a -slight shifting of the poles, and regions hitherto in darkness were -touched with sun.</p> - -<p>Go where he would a voice pursued him, turn where he would, a face. Wild -impulses to jump into a cab and drive to "The Laurels," Highgate, as -swiftly as cab could take him were subdued and conquered. Perhaps it -would be happier for some of us if we used less reason in steering our -way through life. Impulsive people are often sneered at, yet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> I dare -say that an impulse acted upon will as often make a man's life as mar -it.</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan was not an impulsive man. It was not for some days after his -visit to "The Laurels" that he carried out his determination to stop the -action once for all. He did not return to "The Laurels." He was engaged -and a man of honour, and as such he determined to fly from temptation. -Accordingly one bright morning he despatched a wire intimating his -arrival by the 3.50 at Ditchingham, having sent which he flung himself -into a hansom and drove to Charing Cross, followed by another hansom -containing Strutt, two portmanteaux, a hunting kit-bag and a bundle of -fishing-rods. An extraordinary accident happened to the train he -travelled by; it arrived at Paddock Wood only three minutes late, making -up for this deficiency, however, by crawling into Ditchingham at 4.10.</p> - -<p>On the Ditchingham platform stood two girls. One tall, pale, and -decidedly good-looking despite the <i>pince-nez</i> she wore; the other short -and rather stout, and rather pretty.</p> - -<p>The tall girl was Miss Pursehouse; the short was Lulu Morgan, Miss -Pursehouse's companion, an American.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>Pamela Pursehouse at this stage of her career was verging on thirty, -the only daughter of the late John Pursehouse of Birmingham, and an -orphan. She was exceedingly rich.</p> - -<p>Some months ago she had met Bevan on board Sir Charles Napier's yacht; -they had spent a fortnight cruising about the Balearic Islands and the -Riff coast of Morocco, had been sea-sick together, and bored together, -and finally had, one moonlight night, become engaged. It was a -cold-blooded affair despite the moonlight, and they harboured no -illusions one of the other, and no doubts.</p> - -<p>Pamela had a mind of her own. She had attended classes at Mason's -College and had quite a knowledge of Natural History; she also had an -interest in the ways of the working classes, and had written a paper to -prove that, with economy, a man, his wife and five children, could live -on an income of eleven shillings a week, and put by sixpence for a rainy -day; to disprove which she was eternally helping the cottagers round -about with doles of tea on a liberal scale, coal in the winter, and wine -in sickness. When the rainy day came she supplied the sixpence, which -ought to have been in the savings bank, for she was a girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> who found -her heart when she forgot her head.</p> - -<p>At Marseilles Lady Napier, Pamela, Lulu, and Charles Bevan had left the -yacht and travelled together to Paris; there, after a couple of days, he -had departed for London to look after his affairs. Pamela had remained -in Paris, where, through Lady Napier, she had the <i>entrée</i> of the best -society, and had met many people, including the Lamberts. She had indeed -only returned to England a short time ago.</p> - -<p>Outside the station stood a governess cart and the omnibus of the hotel. -Into the governess cart bundled the lovers and Lulu, into the omnibus -Strutt and the luggage. Pamela took the reins and the hog-maned pony -started.</p> - -<p>"Hot, isn't it?" said Charles, tilting his hat over his eyes, and -envying Strutt in the cool shelter of the omnibus.</p> - -<p>"Think so?" said Pamela. "It's July, you know. Why do men dress always -in summer in such heavy clothes? Seems to me women are much more -sensible in the matter of dress. Now if you were dressed as I am, -instead of in that Harris tweed, you wouldn't feel the heat at all."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>Charles tried to imagine himself in a chip hat and lilac cotton gown, -and failed.</p> - -<p>"You must have been fried in that train," said Lulu, staring at him with -a pair of large blue eyes, eyes that never seemed to shut.</p> - -<p>"Pretty nearly," answered Charles, and the conversation languished.</p> - -<p>Rookhurst stands on a hill; it is a village composed of gentlemen's -houses. Country "seats" radiate from it to a distance of some three -miles. Three acres and a house constitute a "seat."</p> - -<p>The conservatism of the old Japanese aristocracy pales when considered -beside the conservatism of Rookhurst. In this microcosm there are as -many circles as in the Inferno of Dante, and the circles are nearly as -painful to contemplate.</p> - -<p>When Pamela Pursehouse rented "The Roost" and took up residence there -she came unknown and untrumpeted. The parson and several curious old -ladies called upon her, but the seat-holders held aloof, she was not -received. Mrs D'Arcy-Jones—Rookhurst is full of people with -double-barrelled names, those double-barrelled names in which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> -second barrel is of inferior metal—Mrs D'Arcy-Jones discovered that -Pamela's father was of Birmingham. Mrs D'Arcy-Johnson found out that he -was in trade, and Mrs D'Arcy Somebody-else that her mother's maiden name -was Jenkins. There was much turning up of noses when poor Pamela's name -was mentioned, till one fine day when all the turned-up noses were -suddenly turned down by the arrival at "The Roost" of the Duchess of -Aviedale, her footman, her maid, her dog, and her companion. Then there -was a rush. People flung decency to the winds in their haste to know the -tradesman's daughter and incidentally get a lick at the Duchess's boots. -But to all callers Pamela was not at home; she had even the rudeness not -to return their visits.</p> - -<p>The snobs, beaten back, retired, feeling very much like damaged goods, -and Pamela was left in peace. Her aunt, Miss Jenkins, a sweet-faced and -perfectly inane old lady, lived with her and kept house, and Pamela, -protected by her wing, had all sorts of extraordinary people to visit -her. Sandyman, M.P., the Labour representative, came down for a week-end -once, and smoked shag tobacco<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> in the dining-room and wandered about the -village on Sunday in a Keir-Hardy cap; he also attended the tin chapel, -had a quart of beer at the village pub, and did other disgraceful things -which were all duly reported and set down to Pamela's account in the -D'Arcy-Jones-Johnson notebook.</p> - -<p>Pamela liked men, that is to say, men who were original and interesting; -yet she had engaged herself to the most unoriginal man in England: a -fact for which there is no accounting, save on the hypothesis that she -was a woman.</p> - -<p>The governess cart having climbed a long, long hill, the hog-maned pony -took to himself wings, and presently, in a cloud of dust, halted.</p> - -<p>"The Roost," though a fairly large house, did not boast a -carriage-drive. A gate in a high hedge led to a path through a -rose-garden which was worth all the carriage-drives in existence.</p> - -<p>"We have several people staying with us, did I tell you?" said Pamela as -she led the way. "Hamilton-Cox, the man who wrote the 'Pillar of Salt,' -and Wilson—Professor Wilson of Oxford, and—but come on, and I'll -introduce you."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>They entered a pleasant hall. The perfume of cigars and the sound of a -man's laughter came from a half-open door on the right. Pamela made for -it, and as Charles Bevan followed he heard a rich Irish voice. "My -friend Stacey, of Castle Stacey, raised one four foot broad across the -face; such a sunflower was never seen by mortal man, I measured it with -my own hands—four foot——"</p> - -<p>Bevan suddenly found himself before a man, an immense, good-looking, -priestly-faced man, in his shirt-sleeves, a cigar in his mouth, and a -billiard cue in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Mr Charles Bevan, Mr Lambert; Mr Bevan, Professor Wilson; Mr——"</p> - -<p>"Why, sure to goodness it's not my cousin, Charles Bevan of the -'Albany'!" cried the big man, effusively clasping the hand of Charles -and gazing at him with the astonished and joyous expression of a man who -meets a dear and long-lost brother.</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan intimated that he was that person.</p> - -<p>"But, sure to goodness," said the big man, dropping Charles' hand and -scratching his head with a puzzled air, then he turned on his heel: -"Where's my coat?" He found his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> coat and took from it a pocket-book, -from the pocket-book a telegram and a sheet of paper, whilst Pamela -turned to Professor Wilson and the novelist.</p> - -<p>"I got that from your lawyer, Mr Bevan," said he, "some days ago." -Charles read:</p> - -<p>"Bevan has stopped action. Isn't it sweet of him?—<span class="smcap">Hancock.</span>"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Charles rather stiffly, "I stopped the action, but Hancock -seems to have—been drinking."</p> - -<p>"And there's the reply I was going to send, only I forgot it," said -George Lambert, handing the copy of a telegram to Charles.</p> - -<p>"Tell Bevan I relinquish all fishing rights. Wish to be friends.—<span class="smcap">George -Lambert.</span>"</p> - -<p>"It is very generous of you," said Charles, really touched. "But I can't -have it, we'll divide the rights."</p> - -<p>"Come into the garden, my boy," said George, who had now resumed his -coat, linking his arm in that of Charles and leading him out through the -open French window, into the rose-scented garden, "and let's talk things -over. It's the pity of the world we weren't always friends. Damn the -fish stream and all the fish in it! I wish they'd been boiled before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -they were spawned. What's the <i>good</i> of fighting? Isn't life too short -for fighting and divisions? Sure, there's a rose as big as a red -cabbage, but you should see the roses at my house in Highgate—and where -did you meet Miss Pursehouse?"</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Charles. "I've known her for some time."</p> - -<p>"We met her in Paris, Fanny—that's my daughter—and me met her in -Paris. Fanny doesn't care for her much, and wouldn't come with me; but -there's never a woman in the world that really cares for another woman, -unless the other woman is as ugly as sin and a hundred. There's a melon -house for you, but you should see my melon houses in Highgate, the one's -I am going to have built by Arthur Lawrence of Cockspur Street; he's -made a speciality of glass, but he charges cruel. It's the passion of my -life, a garden."</p> - -<p>He leaned over the gate leading to the kitchen-garden, and whistled an -old Irish hunting song softly to himself as he contemplated the cabbages -and peas. Charles lit a cigar. He was a fine figure of a man, this -Lambert; one of those large natures in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> a large frame that dwarf other -individualities when brought in contact with them. Hamilton Cox would -pass in a crowd, and Professor Wilson was not unimpressive, but beside -George Lambert, Hamilton-Cox looked a shrimp, and the Oxford professor -somewhat shrivelled.</p> - -<p>"It's the passion of my life," reiterated Fanny Lambert's father, -addressing the cabbages, the marrow fat peas, Charles Bevan, and the -distant woods of Sussex. "And if I'd stuck to it and left horses alone, -a richer man I'd have been this day."</p> - -<p>"I say," said Charles, who had been plunged in meditation, "why did -Hancock telegraph to you, I wonder? It wasn't exactly solicitors' -etiquette; the proper course, I think, would have been to communicate -with your lawyers, Messrs Sykes and Fagan."</p> - -<p>George Lambert broke into a low, mellow laugh.</p> - -<p>"Faith," he said, "I suppose he did communicate with them, and they -answered that they weren't my lawyers any more. I've fought with them, -and that's a fact; and now that we're friends, you and me, I've an idea -of transferring my business to Hancock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> I've one or two little suits -pending; and I'm not sure but one of them won't be with Fagan for the -names I called him in his own office before his own clerks. 'I'll have -you indicted for slander,' he says. 'Slander!' said I, 'slander, you old -clothes-bag, have me up for slander, and I'll beat the dust out of your -miserable reputation in any court in the kingdom, ye old -wandering-Jew-come-to-roost,' and with that I left the office, and never -will I set my foot in it again."</p> - -<p>"I should think not."</p> - -<p>"Never again. He's a red Jew—always beware of red Jews; black Jews are -bad, but red Jews are the devil—bad luck to them! If I'd left Jews -alone, a richer man I'd have been this day. Who's that ringing a bell? -Oh, it's the afternoon tea-bell: let's go in and talk to the old -professor and Miss Pursehouse."</p> - -<p>They did not go in, for the Professor and Miss Pursehouse, Lulu Morgan, -and the author of the "Pillar of Salt" were having tea on the lawn. -There were few places pleasanter than the lawn of "The Roost," -especially on this golden and peaceful summer's evening, through which -the warm south wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> brought the cawing of rooks from distant elm trees.</p> - -<p>"Have you two finished your business?" asked Pamela, addressing Charles; -"if so, sit down and tell me all the news. I got your note. So sorry you -were bored by old Mr—Blundell—was it?—at the club. Mr Blundell is a -rose-bore, it seems," turning to Hamilton Cox; "he is mad on roses."</p> - -<p>"Blundell! what an excellent name for a bore!" said the "Pillar of Salt" -man dreamily, closing his eyes. "I can see him, stout and red-faced -and——"</p> - -<p>"Matter of fact, old Blundell isn't stout," cut in Charles, to whom -Hamilton-Cox did not appeal. "He's thin and white."</p> - -<p>"<i>All</i> white?"</p> - -<p>"No, his face, you know."</p> - -<p>"Ah! I had connected him with the idea of red roses. Why is it that in -thinking of roses one always figures them red?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, I don't know—I never do."</p> - -<p>"I do."</p> - -<p>"Well," put in Pamela, "when you escaped from Mr Blundell what did you -do with yourself that day—smoked, I suppose, and went to Tattersal's?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>"No, I was busy."</p> - -<p>"What was the business—luncheon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Charles Bevan, feeling that he was humorous in his reply, -and feeling rather a sneak, too. "Luncheon was part of the business."</p> - -<p>The remembrance of the fried whiting rose before him, backed by a vision -of Susannah holding in one hand a bottle of Böllinger, and in the other -a bottle of Gold-water.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">MISS MORGAN</span></h2> - -<p>It is so easy not to do some things. Bevan, had he acted correctly, -ought to have informed Mr Lambert of his visit to Highgate and all that -therein lay, yet he did not. There was nothing to hide, yet, as Sir -Boyle-Roche might have said, he hid it.</p> - -<p>During tea several things occupied his mind very much. The vision of -Fanny Lambert was constantly before him, so was the person of her -father. He could not but acknowledge that Lambert was a most attractive -personage—attractive to men, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> women, to children, to dogs, -cats—anything that could see and feel, in fact. Everything seemed to -brighten in his presence. Hamilton-Cox's dictum that if Lambert could be -bottled he would make the most excellent Burgundy, was not far wrong.</p> - -<p>Bevan, as he sipped his tea, watched the genial Lambert, and could not -but notice that he paid very marked attention to Pamela, and even more -marked attention to old Miss Jenkins, her aunt.</p> - -<p>This did not altogether please him, neither did the fact that Pamela -seemed to enjoy the attentions of this man, who was her diametrical -opposite.</p> - -<p>To the profound philosopher who indites these lines it seems that -between men and women in the mass there is very little difference. They -act pretty much the same, except, perhaps, in the presence of mice. -Bevan did very much what a woman would have done in his position: seeing -his true love flirting with some one else, he flirted with some one -else. Lulu Morgan was nearest to him, so he used her.</p> - -<p>"I've been in England a twelvemonth," answered Miss Morgan, in reply to -a query,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> "and I feel beginning to get crusted. They say the old carp in -the pond in Versailles get moss-grown after they've been there a hundred -and fifty years or so, and I feel like that. When I say I've been in -England a twelvemonth, I mean Europe. I've been in England three months, -and the rest abroad. Pamela picked me up in Paris, you'd just gone back -home; Lady Scott introduced me to her. I was looking out for a job. I -came over originally with the Vandervades, then Sadie Vandervade got -married; I was her companion, and I lost the job. Of course I could have -stayed on with old man Vandervade and his wife, but I wanted a job. I'm -like a squirrel, put me in a cage with nothing to do, and I'd die. I -must have a mill to turn, so I froze on to Pamela's offer. I write her -letters, and do her accounts, and interview her tradespeople. I guess -she's getting fat for want of work since I've been her companion. Yes, I -like England, and I like this place; if the people could be scraped out -of it clean, it would be considerably nicer. I went to church last -Sunday to have a good long considerate look at them; they all arrived in -carriages—every one here who has a shay of any description turns it out -to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> go to church in on Sunday. Well, I went to have a good long look at -them, and such a collection of stuffed images and plug-uglies I never -beheld. I'm vicious about them p'rhaps, for they treated Pamela so mean, -holding off from her when she first came, and then rushing down her -throat when they found she knew a duchess. They'd boil themselves for a -duchess. Say—you know the Lamberts? Isn't Fanny sweet?"</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan started in his chair, but Miss Morgan did not notice, engrossed -as she was with her own conversation.</p> - -<p>"We met them in Paris; and I don't know which is sweeter, Fanny or her -father. She was to have come down here with him, but she didn't. My, but -she is pretty. And don't the men run after her! there were three men in -Paris raving about her; she'd only known them two days, and they were -near proposing to her. Don't wonder at it, I'd propose to her myself, if -I was a man. But she's a little flirt all the same, and I told her so."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," said Bevan, "but I scarcely think you are justified—that -is—from what I have heard of Miss Lambert, I would scarcely suspect her -of being a—flirt."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>"Wouldn't you? Men never suspect a woman of being a flirt till they're -flirted with and done for. Fanny's the worst description of flirt—oh, -I've told her so to her face—for she doesn't mean it; she just leads -men on with her sweetness, and doesn't see they're breaking their hearts -for her. She's a regular trap bated with sugar. How did you escape, Mr -Bevan? You're the only man, I guess, who ever did."</p> - -<p>"I haven't the pleasure—er—of Miss Lambert's acquaintance," said -Charles, rather stiffly.</p> - -<p>"Well, you're safe, for you are engaged; only for that I'd say 'Don't -have the pleasure of her acquaintance.' What I like about her is that -she makes all the other women so furious; she sucks the men away from -them like a whirlpool. It's a pity she's so rich, for it's simply gilt -thrown away——"</p> - -<p>"Is Miss—Miss Lambert rich?"</p> - -<p>"Why, certainly; at least I conclude so."</p> - -<p>"Did she tell you so?"</p> - -<p>"No—but she gives one the impression; they have country houses like -mushrooms all over the place, and she dresses simply just as she -pleases; only really rich people can afford to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> do that. She went to the -opera in Paris with us in an old horror of a gown that made her look -quite charming. No one notices what she has on; and if she went to -heaven in a coffee-coat they'd let her in, for she'd still be Fanny -Lambert."</p> - -<p>"You saw a good deal of her in Paris?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, we went about a good deal."</p> - -<p>"Tell me," said Mr Bevan very gravely, "you said she was a flirt—did -you really mean that?"</p> - -<p>"Why, how interested you are! She is, but not a bad sort of flirt. She's -one of those people all heart—she loves everything and everybody—up to -a certain point."</p> - -<p>"Do you think she is in love with any man—beyond a certain point?"</p> - -<p>"Can't say," said Miss Morgan, shaking her head sagely; "but when she -does, she'll go the whole hog. The man she'll love she'll love for ever -and ever, and die on his grave, and that sort of thing, you know."</p> - -<p>"I believe you are right."</p> - -<p>"Why, how do you know? You've never met her."</p> - -<p>"I was referring to your description of her. Girls of her impulsive -nature—er—generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> do—I mean they are generally warm-hearted and -that sort of thing."</p> - -<p>"There's one man I think she has a fancy for," said Miss Morgan, staring -into space with her wide-open blue eyes, "but he's poor as a rat—an -awfully nice fellow, a painter; Mr Lambert fished him up somewhere in a -café. He and Fanny and I and a friend of his went and had dinner at a -little café near the Boul' Miche. Then we got lost—that is to say, I -and Heidenheimer lost sight of Fanny and her friend; and Fanny told me -afterwards she'd had no end of a good time finding her way home; so'd I. -'Twas awfully improper, of course, but no one knew, and it was in -Paris."</p> - -<p>"I may be old-fashioned, of course," said Mr Bevan stiffly, "but I think -people can't be too careful, you know—um—how long was Miss Lambert -lost with Mr——"</p> - -<p>"Leavesley—that's his name. Oh! she didn't turn up at the hotel till -after eight."</p> - -<p>"Did Mr Lambert know?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, but he wasn't uneasy; he said she was like a bad penny, sure to -turn up all right."</p> - -<p>"Good God!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>"What on earth!—why, there was no harm. Leavesley is the best of good -fellows, he looked after her like a grandmother; he worships the very -ground she walks on, and I'd pity the man who would as much as look -twice at Fanny if he was with her."</p> - -<p>"Um—Mr Leavesley, as you call him——"</p> - -<p>"I don't call him, he calls himself."</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr Leavesley may be all right in his way, but I should not care -to see a sister of mine worshipped by one of these sort of people. -Organ-grinders and out-of-elbow artists may be delightful company amidst -their own set, but I confess I am not accustomed to them——"</p> - -<p>"That's just your insular prejudice—seems to me I've heard that -expression before, but it will do—Leavesley isn't an organ-grinder. I -can't stand loafers myself, and if a man can't keep up with the -procession, he'd better hang himself; but Leavesley isn't a loafer, and -he'll be at the top of the procession yet, leading the elephant. Oh, he -paints divinely!"</p> - -<p>"Miss Lambert, you say, is in love with him?"</p> - -<p>"I didn't—I fancy she had a weakness; but maybe it's only a fancy."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>"Does he write to her?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know—very likely; these artistic people can do things other -people can't. We all went to see the Lamberts off at the Nord, and had -champagne at the buffet; and poor old Fragonard—he was another -worshipper, an artist you know—turned up with a huge big bouquet of -violets for Fanny; we asked him where he'd got them, and he said he'd -stolen them. They don't care a fig for poverty, artists; make a joke of -it you know. Yes, I daresay he writes to Fanny. Heidenheimer writes to -me every week—says he's dying in love with me, and sends poems, -screechingly funny poems, all about nightingales and arrows and hearts. -He's an artist too, and I'd marry him, I believe I would, only we're -both as poor as Lazarus."</p> - -<p>"Mr Leavesley is an artist you say?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but he's a genius, but genius doesn't pay—that's to say at -first—afterwards—afterwards it's different. Trading rats for diamonds -in famine time isn't in it with a genius when he gets on the make."</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan gazed reflectively at the tips of his shoes. He quite -recognised that these long-haired and out-at-elbowed anomalies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> y'clept -geniuses had the trick, at times, of making money. A dim sort of wrath -against the whole species possessed him. To a clean, correct, and -level-headed gentleman possessed of broad acres and a huge rent-roll, it -is unpleasant to think that a slovenly, shiftless happy-go-lucky -tatterdemallion may be a clean, correct and level-headed gentleman's, -superior both in brains, fascination, and even in wealth. We can fancy -the correct one subscribing sympathy, if not money, to a society for the -extinction of genius, were not such a body entirely superfluous in the -present condition of human affairs.</p> - -<p>"It may be," said Mr Bevan at last, "that those people are very pleasant -and all that, and useful in the world and so on, but I confess I like to -associate with people who cut their hair, and, not to put too fine a -point on it, wash——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Leavesley washes," said Miss Morgan, "he's as clean as a new pin. -And as for cutting his hair, my!—that's what spoils him in my opinion; -why, it's cut to the bone almost, like a convict's. All artists cut -their hair now; it's only Polish piano-players and violinists wear their -hair long."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>"Whether they cut their hair 'to the bone' or wear it long is a matter -of indifference," said Mr Bevan. "They're all a lot of bounders, and I'd -be sorry to see a sister of mine married amongst them—very sorry."</p> - -<p>Miss Morgan said nothing, the warmth of Mr Bevan on the subject of -Leavesley struck her as being somewhat strange; though she said nothing, -like the parrot, she thought the more, and began to consider Mr Bevan -more attentively and to "turn him over in her mind." Now the fortunate -or unfortunate person whom Miss Morgan distinguished by turning them -over in her mind, generally gave up their secrets in the process -unconsciously, subconsciously, or sometimes even consciously. Those -wide-open blue eyes that seemed always gazing into futurity and distance -saw many happenings of the present invisible to most folk.</p> - -<p>Professor Wilson and Hamilton-Cox had wandered away through the garden -discussing Oxford and modern thought. Miss Pursehouse, Lambert, and old -Miss Jenkins were talking and laughing, and seemingly quite happy and -content. Said Miss Morgan, looking round:</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>"Every one's busy, like the children in the Sunday-school story, and -we've no one to play with; shall we go for a walk in the village, and -I'll show you the church and the pump and the other antiques?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, I'll be delighted," said Charles, rising.</p> - -<p>"Then com'long," said Miss Morgan, "Pamela, I'm taking Mr Bevan to show -him the village and the creatures that there abound. If we're not back -by six, send a search-party."</p> - -<p>Rookhurst is, perhaps, one of the prettiest and most quaint of English -villages, and the proudest. If communities receive attention from the -Recording Angel, amidst Rookhurst's sins written in that tremendous book -will be found this entry, "It calls itself a town."</p> - -<p>"Isn't the village sweet and sleepy?" said Miss Morgan, as she tripped -along beside her companion; "it always reminds me of the dormouse in -'Alice in Wonderland'—always asleep except at tea-time, when it wakes -up—and talks gossip. That's the chemist's shop with the two little red -bottles in the window, isn't it cunning? The old man chemist doesn't -keep any poisons, for he's half blind and's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> afraid of mixing the -strychnine with the Epsom salts. His wife does the poisoning; she libels -every one indifferently, and she gave out that Pamela was a lunatic and -I was her keeper. She was the butcher's daughter, and she married the -chemist man for his money ten years ago, hoping he'd die right off, -which he didn't. He was seventy with paralysis agitans and a squint, and -the squint's got worse every year, and the paralysis agitans has got -better—serve her right. That's the butcher's with the one leg of mutton -hanging up, and the little pot with a rose-tree in it. He drinks, and -beats his wife, and hunts snakes down the road when he has the -jumps—but he sells very good mutton, and he's civil. Here comes a -queen, look!"</p> - -<p>A carriage drawn by a pair of chestnut horses approached and passed -them, revealing a fat and bulbous-faced lady lolling on the cushions, -and seen through a haze of dust.</p> - -<p>"A queen?" said Bevan; "she doesn't look like one."</p> - -<p>"No? She's the Queen of Snobs; looks as if she'd come out of a -joke-book, doesn't she? and her name is—I forget. She lives<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> in a big -house a mile away. That's a 'pub.' There are seven 'pubs' in this -village, and this is a model village—at least, they call it so; what an -immodel village in England must be, I don't know. There's a tailor lives -in that little house; he preaches in the tin chapel at the cross-roads. -I heard him last Sunday."</p> - -<p>"You go to Chapel?"</p> - -<p>"No, I'm Church. I heard him as I was passing by—couldn't help it, he -shouts so's you can hear him at 'The Roost' when the wind's blowing that -way—You religious?"</p> - -<p>"Not very, I'm afraid."</p> - -<p>"Neither'm I. That's the doctor's; he's Church and his wife's Chapel. -She has a sister in a lunatic asylum, and her aunt was sister of the -hair-cutter's first wife, so people despise her and fling it in her -teeth. We can raise some snobs in the States, but they're button -mushrooms to the toadstools you raise in England. Pamela is awfully good -to the doctor's wife just because the other people are nasty to her. -Pamela is grit all through. The parson lives there—a long, thin man, -looks as if he'd been mangled, and they'd forgot to hang him out to dry. -How are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> you, Mrs Jones? and how are the rheumatics?" Miss Morgan had -paused to address an old lady who stood at the door of a cottage leaning -on a stick.</p> - -<p>"That's Mrs Jones; she has more enquiries after her health than any -woman in England. Can you tell why?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Well, she has a sort of rheumatics that the least damp affects, and so -she's the best barometer in this part of the country. She's eighty, and -has been used to weather observation so long, she can tell what's -coming—hail, or snow, or rain to a T. That old man leaning on the gate, -he's Francis, the village lunatic, he's just ninety; fine days he crawls -down to Ditchingham cross-roads to wait for the soldiers coming back -from the Crimea. I call that pathetic, but they only laugh at it here. -He must have waited for them when he was a boy and seen them marching -along, and now he goes and waits for them—makes me feel s'if I could -cry. Here's a shilling for you, Francis; Miss Pamela is knitting you -some socks—good-day—poor old thing! Let's see now, those cottages are -all work-people's, and there's nothing beyond,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> only the road, and it's -dusty, and I vote to go back. Why, there's that old scamp of a Francis -making a bee-line for the 'Hand in Hand'; n'mind, I won't have to wear -his head in the morning."</p> - -<p>Miss Morgan chatted all the way back uninterruptedly, disclosing a more -than comprehensive knowledge of all the affairs of the village in which -she had lived some ten days or less.</p> - -<p>At the gate of "The Roost" she stopped suddenly. "My, what a pity!"</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing; only I might have called and seen Mrs Harmer. She has such a -pretty daughter, and I'd have liked you to have seen her, for she's the -image of Fanny Lambert." She stared full at Mr Bevan as she said this, -and there was a something in her tone and a something in her manner, and -a something in her glance that made Charles Bevan lose control of his -facial capillaries and blush.</p> - -<p>"Fanny's cooked him," thought the lady of the blue eyes as she retired -to dress for dinner. "But what in the nation did he mean by saying he -did not know her?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p><p>"What the deuce made her say that in such a way?" asked Mr Bevan of -himself as he assumed the clothes laid out for him by the careful Strutt.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">A CURE FOR BLINDNESS</span></h2> - -<p>"The British thoroughbred is not played out by any means. Look at the -success of imported blood all over the world. Look at Phantom, the -grandsire of Voltaire, and Bay Middleton——" Mr Bevan paused. He was -addressing George Lambert, and suddenly found that he was addressing the -entire dinner-table in one of those hiatuses of conversation in which -every tongue is suddenly held.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Hamilton-Cox, continuing some desultory remarks on -literature, in general, into which this eruption of stud book had -broken; "but you see the old French ballads are for the most part by the -greatest of all poets, Time. Beside those the greatest modern poems seem -gaudy and Burlington Arcady,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> if I may use the expression. An old -folk-song that has been handed from generation to generation, played on, -so to speak, like an old fiddle by all sorts of hands, gains a sweetness -and richness never imagined by the simple-minded person who wrote it or -invented it.</p> - -<p>"You write poems?" asked Miss Morgan.</p> - -<p>"My dear lady," sighed Hamilton-Cox, "nobody writes poems nowadays, or -if they do they keep the fact a secret. I have a younger brother who -writes poetry——"</p> - -<p>"Thought you said no one wrote it."</p> - -<p>"Younger brothers are nobodies. I say I have a younger brother, he -writes most excellent verse—reams of it. Some years ago he would have -been pursued by publishers. Well, only the other day he copied out some -of his most cherished productions and approached a London publisher with -them. He entered the office at five o'clock, and some few minutes later -the people in Piccadilly were asking of each other, 'What's all that row -in Vigo Street?' No, a publisher of to-day would as soon see a burglar -in his office as a poet."</p> - -<p>"I never took much stock in poetry," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> the practical Miss Morgan. -"I'm like Mr Bevan."</p> - -<p>"I can't stand the stuff," said Charles. "<i>The Boy Stood on the Burning -Deck</i>, and all that sort of twaddle, makes me ill."</p> - -<p>Pamela looked slightly pained. Charles was enjoying his dinner; Burgundy -and Moselle had induced a slight flush to suffuse his countenance. If -you are engaged and a gourmand never let your <i>fiancée</i> see you eat. A -man mad drunk is to the sensitive mind a less revolting picture than a -man "enjoying his food."</p> - -<p>"I heard a man once," said Miss Morgan, "he was squiffy——"</p> - -<p>"Lulu!"</p> - -<p>"Well, he was; and he was reciting <i>I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight</i>. -He'd got everything mixed, and had got as far as</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"'I stood on the moon by bridgelight</div> -<div>As the church was striking the tower—'</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>when every one laughed, and he sat down—on another man's hat. That's -the sort of poetry I like, something to make you laugh. Gracious! what's -the good of manufacturing misery and letting it loose in little poems -to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> buzz round and torment people? isn't there enough misery ready made? -Hood's <i>Song of the Shirt</i> always makes me cry."</p> - -<p>"Hood," said Professor Wilson, "was a man of another age, a true poet. -He could not have written his <i>Song of the Shirt</i> to-day; the -decadence——"</p> - -<p>"Now, excuse me," said Hamilton-Cox, "we have fought that question of -decadence out, you and I. Hood, I admit, could not have written his -<i>Song of the Shirt</i> to-day, simply because shirts are manufactured -wholesale by machinery, and he would have to begin it. -'Whir—whir—whir,' which would not be poetry. Women slave at coats and -waistcoats and other garments nowadays, and you could scarcely write a -song of the waistcoat or a song of the pair of—you understand my point. -Poetry is very false, the matchbox-maker is as deserving of the poet's -attention as the shirt-maker, yet a poem beginning 'Paste, paste, paste' -would be received with laughter, not with tears. You say we are -decadents because we don't encourage poetry. I say we are not, we are -simply more practical—poetry is to all intents and purposes dead——"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>"Is it?" said George Lambert. "Is <i>King Lear</i> dead? I was crying over -him last night, but it wasn't at his funeral I was crying. Is old -Suckling dead? I bought a first edition of him some time ago, and the -fact wasn't mentioned or hinted at in the verses. Is Sophocles dead? Old -Maloney at Trinity pounded him into my head, and he's there now alive as -ever; and if I was blind to-morrow, I'd still have the skies over his -plays to look at and the choruses to hear. Ah no, Mr Cox, poetry is not -dead, but they don't write it just now. They don't write it, but it's in -every one's heart waiting to be tapped, only there's no man with an -augur sharp enough and true enough to do the tapping."</p> - -<p>Pamela looked pleased.</p> - -<p>"I did not know that you were fond of poetry," she said.</p> - -<p>"I love it," said Lambert, in a tone that reminded Charles Bevan of -Fanny's tone when she declared her predilection for cats.</p> - -<p>"I declare it's delightful," said Professor Wilson, "to find a man of -the world who knows all about horses, and is a good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>billiard-player, -and all that, confessing a love for poetry."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps Mr Lambert is a poet himself," said Hamilton-Cox, with a -suspicion of a sneer, "or has written poetry."</p> - -<p>"Poetry! yards of it," answered the accused with a mellow laugh, "when I -was young and—wise. The first poem I ever wrote was all about the moon; -I wrote it when I was eleven, and sent it to a housemaid. Oh, murder! -but the things that we do when we are young."</p> - -<p>"Did she read it?"</p> - -<p>"She couldn't read; it was in the days before the Board schools and the -higher education of women. She couldn't read, she was forty, and ugly as -sin; and she boxed my ears and told my mother, and my mother told my -father, and he leathered me. He said, 'I'll teach you to write poetry to -housemaids.' But somehow," said Mr Lambert, admiring with one eye the -ruby-tinted light in his glass of port, "somehow, with all his teaching, -I never wrote a poem to a housemaid again."</p> - -<p>"That must have been a loss to literature."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, but it was a gain to housemaids; and as housemaids seem the main -producers of novels and <i>poems</i> nowadays, begad," said Mr Lambert, -"it's, after all, a gain to literature."</p> - -<p>"That's one for you, Cox," said Professor Wilson, and Hamilton-Cox -laughed, as he could well afford to do, for his lucubrations brought him -in a good fifteen hundred a year, and his reputation was growing.</p> - -<p>On the lawn, under the starlit night after dinner, Bevan had his -<i>fiancée</i> for a moment alone. They sat in creaky basket-work chairs a -good yard apart from each other. The moon was rising over the hills and -deep, dark woods of Sussex, the air was warm and perfumed: it was an -ideal night for love-making.</p> - -<p>"When I left you I had some dinner at the Nord," said Mr Bevan, tipping -the ash off his cigar. "The worst dinner I've ever had, I think. Upon my -word, I think it was the worst dinner I ever had. When I got to Dover I -was so tired I turned into the hotel, and came on next morning. What -sort of crossing did you have?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, very fine," said Pamela, stifling a yawn, and glancing sideways at -a group of her guests dimly seen in a corner of the garden, but happy, -to judge from the laughter that came from them.</p> - -<p>"Are the Napiers back in England yet?"</p> - -<p>"No, they are still in Paris."</p> - -<p>"What on earth do they want staying there for so long? it must be empty -now."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it was emptying fast when we left, wasn't a soul left scarcely. Do -you know, I have a great mind to run over to Ostend for a few weeks. The -Napiers are going there; it's rather fun, I believe."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't. What's the good of going to these foreign places? stay -here."</p> - -<p>Pamela was silent, and the inspiriting dialogue ceased.</p> - -<p>A great beetle moving through the night across the garden filled the air -with its boom. The group in the corner of the garden still were laughing -and talking; amidst their voices could be distinguished that of -Hamilton-Cox. Mr Cox had not a pleasant voice; it was too highly -pitched, and it jarred on the ear of Mr Bevan and on his soul. His soul -was in an irritable mood. When we speak of the soul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> we refer to an -unknown quantity, and when we speak of its condition we refer sometimes, -perhaps, to just a touch of liver, or sometimes to an extra glass of -champagne.</p> - -<p>"I can't make out what induces you to surround yourself with those sort -of people," said Mr Bevan, casting his cigar-end away and searching for -his cigarette case.</p> - -<p>"What sort of people?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that writer man."</p> - -<p>"Hamilton-Cox?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—is that his name?"</p> - -<p>"I am not surrounding myself with Mr Cox; the thing is physically and -physiologically impossible. Do talk sense, Charles."</p> - -<p>Charles retired into silence, and Miss Pursehouse yawned again, -sub-audibly. After a few moments—"Where did you pick up the Lamberts?"</p> - -<p>"You mean Mr Lambert and his daughter?"</p> - -<p>"Has he a daughter?"</p> - -<p>"Has he a daughter? Why, Lulu Morgan, when I asked her what you and she -had found to talk about, said Fanny Lambert——"</p> - -<p>"It is perfectly immaterial what Miss Morgan said; some of her sayings -are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> scarcely commendable. I believe she did say something about a Miss -Lambert. When I said 'has he a daughter?' I spoke with a meaning."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to hear that."</p> - -<p>"What I meant was, that it would have been much better for him to have -brought his daughter down here with him."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to insinuate that she is—unable to take care of herself in -town?"</p> - -<p>"I mean to insinuate nothing, but according to my old-fashioned -ideas——"</p> - -<p>"Go on, this is interesting," said Miss Pursehouse, who guessed what was -coming.</p> - -<p>"According to my old-fashioned ideas it is scarcely the thing for a man, -a married man, to pay a visit——"</p> - -<p>"You mean it's improper for me to have Mr Lambert staying here as a -guest?" "Improper was not the word I used."</p> - -<p>"Oh, nonsense! you meant it. Well, I think I am the best judge of my own -propriety, and I see nothing improper in the transaction. My aunt is -here, Lulu Morgan is here, you are here, Professor Wilson is here, -there's a poet coming to-morrow—I suppose that's improper too. I do -wish you would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> sensible; besides, Mr Lambert is not a married man, -he is a widower."</p> - -<p>"Does he know that you are engaged?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, I don't know. I don't go about with a placard with 'I am engaged' -written on it on my back. Why do you ask?"</p> - -<p>"Well—um—if a stranger had been here at tea to-day he would scarcely -have thought that the engaged couple——"</p> - -<p>"Go on, this is delightful; it's absolutely bank-holidayish—the engaged -couple—go on."</p> - -<p>"Were you and I."</p> - -<p>"You mean you and <i>me</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"The behaviour of 'engaged couples' in decent society is, I believe, -pretty much the same as our behaviour has been, and I hope will be. How -would you have it? Would you like to walk about, I clinging to your arm, -and you playing a mouth-organ? Ought we to exchange hats with each -other? Shall I call you Choly and put ice down your neck at dinner? -Ought we to hire a brake and go on a bean feast? I wish you would -instruct me. I hate to appear <i>gauche</i>, and I hate not to do the correct -thing."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>"Vulgarity is always painful to me," said Mr Bevan, "but senseless -vulgarity is doubly so."</p> - -<p>"Thanks, your compliments are charming."</p> - -<p>"I was not complimenting you, I simply——"</p> - -<p>"I know, simply hinting that I was senseless and vulgar."</p> - -<p>"I never——"</p> - -<p>"I know. Shall we change the subject—what's all this?"</p> - -<p>"Please come and help us," said Miss Morgan, coming up. "We've got the -astronomical telescope, and we can't make head or tail of it."</p> - -<p>Miss Pursehouse rose and approached the group surrounding an -astronomical telescope that stood on the lawn. It was trained on the -moon, and Hamilton-Cox, with a hand over one eye and the other eye at -the eyepiece, was making an observation.</p> - -<p>"Sometimes I can see stars, and sometimes nothing. I can't see the moon -at all."</p> - -<p>"Shut the other eye," said Lambert.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Miss Pursehouse, "if you remove the cap from the -telescope you will be able to see better. A very simple thing sometimes -cures blindness."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">TIC-DOULOUREUX</span></h2> - -<p>Mr Bevan found no chance for a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with his <i>fiancée</i> again -that night, perhaps because he did not seek one; he was not in the -humour for love-making. He felt—to use the good old nursery term that -applies so often, so very often, to grown-ups—"fractious."</p> - -<p>He retired to his bedroom at half-past eleven, and was sitting with an -unlit cigarette in his mouth, staring at the wood-fire brightly burning -in his grate, when a knock came to the door and Lambert appeared.</p> - -<p>"I just dropped in to say good-night. Am I disturbing you?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit; sit down and have a cigarette."</p> - -<p>Mr Lambert helped himself to a Marcovitch from a box on the table, drew -up an easy-chair to the fire and sank into it with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"It seems funny," said he in a meditative tone, "that I should be -sitting here smoking and yarning with you to-night, and only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> yesterday, -so to speak, we were fighting like bull-dogs; but we're friends now, and -you must come and see me when you're back in town. You live in the -'Albany'? I had rooms there once, years ago—years ago. Lord! what a -change has come over London since the days when Evans' was stuffed of a -night with all manner of people—the rows and ructions I remember! The -things that went on. One night in Evans' I remember an old gentleman -coming in and ordering a chop, and no sooner had he put on his -spectacles and settled down to it with a smile all over his face, than -Bob O'Grady, of the 10th—Black O'Grady—who'd been watching him—he was -drunk as a lord—rose up and said, ''Scuse me,' he said, and took the -chop by the shank-bone and flung it on the stage. A man could take his -whack in those days, and be none the worse for it; but men are -different, somehow, now, and they go in for tea and muffins and nerves -just as the women used to, when I was twenty; and the women, begad, are -the best men now'days. Look at Miss Pursehouse! as charming as a woman -and as clever as a man. Look at this house of hers! One would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> think a -man owned it, everything is so well done: brandies and sodas at your -elbows, matches all over the place, and electric bells and a telephone. -That's the sort of woman for me—not that I'm not fond of the -old-fashioned sort of woman too. Fanny, my daughter—I must introduce -you to her—is as old-fashioned as they make 'em. Screeches if she sees -a rat, and knows nothing of woman's rights or the higher education of -females, and is always ready to turn on the water-works, bless her -heart! ready and willing to cry over anything you may put before her -that's got the ghost of a cry in it. But, bless you! what's the good of -talking about old-fashioned or modern women? From Hecuba down, they're -all the same—born to deceive us and make our lives happy."</p> - -<p>"Can't see how a woman that deceives a man can make him happy."</p> - -<p>"My dear fellow, sure, what's happiness but illusion, and what's -illusion but deception, and talking about deception, aren't men—the -blackguards!—just as bad at deceiving as women?"</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan made no reply to this; he shifted uneasily in his chair.</p> - -<p>"You live at Highgate?" he said.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p><p>Lambert woke up from a reverie he had fallen into with a start.</p> - -<p>"Yes, bad luck to it! I've got a house there I can't get rid of, and, -talking of old-fashioned things, it's an old-fashioned house. There -aren't any electric bells, and if there were you'd as likely as not ring -up the ghost. For there's a ghost there, sure enough; she nearly -frightened the gizzard out of my butler James."</p> - -<p>He leaned back luxuriously in his chair, blowing cigarette rings at the -fire, whilst Charles Bevan mentally recalled the vision of "My butler -James."</p> - -<p>He could not but admit that Lambert carried his poverty exceedingly -well, and with a much better grace than that with which many men carry -their wealth. The impression that Fanny Lambert had made upon him was -not effaced in any way by the impression made upon him by her father. -Lambert was not an impossible man. Wildly extravagant he might be, and -reckless to the verge of lunacy, but he was a gentleman; and in saying -the word "gentleman," my dear sir or madam I do not refer to birth. -There lives many a hideous bounder who yet can fling his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> -great-great-great-grandfather at your head, and many a noble-minded -gentleman, the present or past existence of whose father is demonstrable -only by the logic of physiology.</p> - -<p>Lambert went off to his room at twelve, and Mr Bevan passed a broken -night. He dreamt of lawyers and sunflowers. He dreamt that he saw old -Francis, the village lunatic, waiting at the cross-roads; and when he -asked him what he was waiting for, Francis replied that he was waiting -to see his (Mr Bevan's) marriage procession go by: a dream which was -scarcely a hopeful omen, considering the object of the old man's daily -vigil as revealed by Lulu Morgan.</p> - -<p>He came down to breakfast late. His hostess did not appear, and Miss -Morgan announced that her friend was suffering from tic-douloureux.</p> - -<p>"'S far as I can make out, it's like having the grippe in one eye. I've -physicked her with Bile Beans and Perry Davis, and I've sent for some -Antikamnia. If she's not better by luncheon I'll send for the doctor."</p> - -<p>She was not down by luncheon. After that meal, Charles, strolling across -the hall to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> billiard-room, felt something pluck at his sleeve. It -was Miss Morgan.</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you alone for a minute," said she. "Come into the -garden; there's no one there."</p> - -<p>He followed her, much wondering, and they passed down a shady path till -they lost sight of the house.</p> - -<p>"Pamela's worried," said Lulu, "and I want to talk to you about her——"</p> - -<p>"Why, what can be——"</p> - -<p>"We've been sitting up all night, she and I, and we've been discussing -things, you 'specially."</p> - -<p>"Thank you——"</p> - -<p>"Now, don't you be mad, for Pamela's very fond of you, and I like you, -for you're a right good sort; but, see here, Pamela thinks she's made a -mistake."</p> - -<p>A queer new feeling entered Mr Bevan's mind, peeped round and passed -through it, so to speak—a feeling of relief—or more strictly speaking, -release.</p> - -<p>"Indeed?"</p> - -<p>"She thinks you have both made a mistake, and—you know——"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>"The fact is, she doesn't want to marry me; why not say it at once? or, -rather, why doesn't she say so to me frankly, instead of deputing -another person to do so?"</p> - -<p>"There's a letter," said Miss Morgan, producing one from her pocket. -"She wrote it and told me to give it to you; it's eight pages long, and -all sorts of things in it—she's very fond of you—keep it and read it. -But I tell you one line that's in it, she says she will always feel as a -sister to you, or be a sister to you, or words to that effect—that's -fatal—once a girl says that she's said the last word."</p> - -<p>"I don't think she ever cared for me, really," said Mr Bevan—"let us -sit down on this seat—no, I don't think she really ever cared for me."</p> - -<p>"What <i>made</i> you two get engaged"</p> - -<p>"Why should we not?"</p> - -<p>"Because you're too much alike; you are both rich, and both steady and -well-balanced, you know, and that sort of thing. Likes ought never to -get married. Dear—dear—dear—what a pity——"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"I was only thinking of all the love-making there's wasted in the world. -Now I know so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> many girls who would suit you to a T. I'll tell you of -one, if you like——"</p> - -<p>"Thank you, I—um——"</p> - -<p>"I was thinking of Fanny Lambert," said Miss Morgan in a dreamy voice. -"The girl I told you of yesterday——"</p> - -<p>Now, Mr Bevan was the last man in the world—as I daresay you -perceive—to discuss his feelings with any one. But Miss Morgan had a -patent method of her own for extracting confidences, of making people -talk out, as she would have expressed it herself.</p> - -<p>"I said to you yesterday that I had never met Miss Lambert: I had -reasons connected with some law business for saying so—as a matter of -fact, I have met her—once."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's quite enough. If you've met Fanny Lambert once, you have met -her for ever. Does she like you?—I don't ask you do you like her, for, -of course, you do."</p> - -<p>"I think—she does."</p> - -<p>"You mustn't think—women hate men that think, they like them to be -sure. If a man was only bold enough he could marry any woman on earth."</p> - -<p>"Is that your opinion?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>"'Tis, and my opinion is worth having. What a woman wants most is some -one to make up her mind for her. Go and make Fanny's mind up for her; -you and she are just suited."</p> - -<p>"In what way?"</p> - -<p>"To begin with, you're rich and she's poor."</p> - -<p>"You said yesterday that she was rich."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but Pamela told me last night the Lamberts are simply stone-broke. -Mr Lambert told her all his affairs, his estates are all encumbered. She -says he's just like a child, and wants protecting; so he is, and so's -Fanny; they're both a pair of children, and you are just the man to keep -Fanny straight, and make her life happy and buy her beautiful clothes -and diamonds. Why, she'll be the rage of London, Fanny will, if she's -only properly staged—and she's a dear and a good woman, and would make -any man happy. My!"</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan had taken Miss Morgan's hand in his and squeezed it.</p> - -<p>"Thank you for saying all that," said he. "Few women praise another -woman. I shall leave here by this evening's train, of course; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> cannot -stay here any longer. I will think over what course I will pursue."</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake, don't think, or you'll find her snapped up; I have a -prevision that you will. Go and say to Fanny 'marry me.' I <i>do</i> want to -see her settled, she's not like me, that can rough it, and she's just -the girl to fling herself away on some rubbish."</p> - -<p>"I will see," said Mr Bevan. "I frankly confess that Miss Lambert—of -course, this is between you and me—that Miss Lambert has made me think -a good deal about her, but these things are not done in a moment."</p> - -<p>"Aren't they? I tell you love-making is just like making pancakes, if -you don't do them quick they're done for. You just remember this, that -many a man has proposed to a girl the first time he's met her and been -accepted. Women like it, it's so different from the other thing—and, -look here, kiss her first and ask her afterwards. Have two or three -glasses of champagne—you've just got the steady brain that can stand -it—and it will liven you up. I'm an old stager."</p> - -<p>"I will write to Miss Pursehouse from London to-morrow."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p><p>"Dear me! I don't believe you've been listening to a word I've been -saying. Well, go your own gate, as the old woman said to the cow that -<i>would</i> burst through the hedge and tumbled into the chalk-pit and broke -its leg. What you going to do with that letter?"</p> - -<p>"I will read it in the train."</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">THE AMBASSADOR</span></h2> - -<p>It never rains but it pours. It was pouring just now with Leavesley.</p> - -<p>The morning after the excursion to Epping Forest he had written a long -letter to Fanny: a business-like letter, explanatory of his prospects in -life.</p> - -<p>He had exhibited in this year's Academy; he had exhibited in the New -gallery—more, he had sold the Academy picture for forty pounds. He had -a hundred a year of his own, which, as he sagaciously pointed out, was -"something." If Fanny would only wait a year, give him something to hope -for, something to live for, something to work for. Three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> pages of -business-like statements ending with a fourth page of raving -declarations of love. The letter of a lunatic, as all love-letters more -or less are.</p> - -<p>He had posted this and waited for a reply, but none had come. He little -knew that his letter and a bill for potatoes were behind a plate on the -kitchen dresser at "The Laurels," stuffed there by Susannah in a fit of -abstraction, also the outcome of the troubles of love.</p> - -<p>On top of this all sorts of minor worries fell upon him. Mark Moses and -Sonenshine, stimulated by the two pounds ten paid on account, were -bombarding him with requests for more. A colour-man was also active and -troublesome, and a bootmaker lived on the stairs.</p> - -<p>Belinda, vice-president of the institution during Mrs Tugwell's sojourn -at Margate, was "cutting up shines," cooking disgracefully, not cleaning -boots, giving "lip" when remonstrated with, and otherwise revelling in -her little brief authority. A man who had all but commissioned a -portrait of a bull-dog sent word to say that the sittings couldn't take -place as the dog was dead.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>Then a cat had slipped into his bedroom and kittened on his best suit -of clothes; and Fernandez, the picture dealer to whom he had taken the -John the Baptist on the top of a four-wheeler, had offered him five -pounds ten for it; and, worst of all, driven by necessity, he had not -haggled, but had taken the five pounds ten, thus for ever ruining -himself with Fernandez, who had been quite prepared to pay fifteen.</p> - -<p>The Captain, who had suddenly come in for a windfall of eighty pounds, -was going on like a millionaire—haunting the studio half-tipsy, profuse -with offers of assistance and drinks, and, to cap all, the weather was -torrid. The only consolation was Verneede, who would listen for hours to -the praises of Miss Lambert, nodding his head like a Chinese mandarin -and smoking Leavesley's cigarettes.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what to do," said the unhappy young man, during one of -these conferences, "I don't know what to do. It's so unlike her."</p> - -<p>"Write again."</p> - -<p>"Not I—at least, how can I? If she won't answer <i>that</i> letter there's -no use in writing any more."</p> - -<p>"Call."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p><p>"I'm not going to creep round like a dog that has been beaten."</p> - -<p>"True."</p> - -<p>"She may be ill, for all I know. How do I know that she is not ill?"</p> - -<p>"Illness, my dear Leavesley, is one of those things——"</p> - -<p>"I know—but the question is, how am I to find out?"</p> - -<p>"Could you not apply to their family physician? I should go to him, -frankly——"</p> - -<p>"But I don't know who their doctor is—do talk sense. See here! could -<i>you</i> call and ask—ask did she get home all right, and that sort of -thing?"</p> - -<p>"Most certainly, with pleasure, if it would relieve your feelings. -Anything—anything I can do, my dear Leavesley, in an emergency like -this you can count on me to do."</p> - -<p>"You needn't mention my name."</p> - -<p>"I shall carefully abstain."</p> - -<p>"Unless she asks, you know."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, unless she asks."</p> - -<p>"Armbruster came in this morning, he's going to America. He's got on to -a big firm for book illustrating; he wanted me to go with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> him and try -my luck—offered to pay the expenses. You might hint, perhaps, if the -subject turns up, that you think I am going to America."</p> - -<p>"Certainly."</p> - -<p>"When can you go?"</p> - -<p>"Any time."</p> - -<p>"You might go now, for I'm awfully anxious to hear if she is all right. -What's the time? Two—yes—if you go now you will get there about four."</p> - -<p>"Highgate?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—'The Laurels,' John's Road. Have you any money?"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately I am rather unprovided with the necessary——"</p> - -<p>"Wait."</p> - -<p>Leavesley went to a little jug on the mantel and turned the contents of -it into his hand.</p> - -<p>"Here's five shillings; will that be enough?"</p> - -<p>"Ample."</p> - -<p>"Now go, like a good fellow, and do come back here straight."</p> - -<p>"As an arrow."</p> - -<p>"Don't say anything about my letter."</p> - -<p>"Not a word, not a word."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>Mr Verneede departed, and the painter went on with his painting, -feeling very much as Noah must have felt when the dove flew out of the -Ark.</p> - -<p>Mr Verneede first made straight for his lodgings. He inhabited a -top-floor back in Maple Street, a little street leading out of the -King's Road.</p> - -<p>Here he blacked his boots, put bear's grease on his hair, and assumed a -frock-coat a shade more respectable than the one he usually wore. Then, -with his coat tightly buttoned, his best hat on his head, and his -umbrella under his arm, he made off on his errand revolving in his -wonderful mind the forthcoming interview. To assist thought, he turned -into the four-ale bar of the "Spotted Dog." Here stood a woman with a -baby in her arms, a regular customer, who was explaining domestic -troubles to the sympathetic barmaid. Seeing Verneede seated with his ale -before him, she included him in her audience. Half an hour later the old -gentleman, having given much advice on the rearing of babies and -management of husbands, emerged from the "Spotted Dog" slightly flushed -and entirely happy.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>It seemed so much pleasanter and cooler to enter a public house than an -omnibus, that the "King's Arms," where the omnibuses stood, swallowed -him easily. Here an anarchistical house-painter, who was destructing the -British Empire, included him in his remarks; and it was, somehow, nearly -five o'clock before he left the "King's Arms" more flushed and most -entirely happy, and took an omnibus for Hammersmith.</p> - -<p>At nine o'clock he was wandering about Hammersmith asking people to -direct him to "The Hollies" in James' Road; at eleven he was criticising -the London County Council in a bar-room somewhere in Shepherd's Bush, -but it might have been in Paris or Berlin, Vienna or Madrid, for all -<i>he</i> knew or cared.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">A SURPRISE VISIT</span></h2> - -<p>Verneede having departed on his mission, Leavesley resumed his work with -a feeling of relief.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>He had done something. There is nothing that strains the mind so much -as sitting waiting with hands folded, so to speak, doing nothing.</p> - -<p>When Noah closed the trap-door of the Ark having let forth the dove, he -no doubt followed its flight with his mind's eye—here flitting over -wastes of water, here perched on the island he desired.</p> - -<p>Even so Leavesley, as he worked, followed the flight of Verneede towards -the object of his desires.</p> - -<p>Leavesley was one of those unhappy people who meet their pleasures and -their troubles half-way. He was an imaginative man, moving in a most -unimaginative world, and as a result he was always knocking his nose -against the concrete. Needless to say, his forecasts were nearly always -wrong. If he opened a letter thinking it contained a bill, it, ten to -one, enclosed a theatre ticket or a cheque, and if he expected a cheque, -fifty to one he received a bill.</p> - -<p>This temperament, however, sometimes has its advantages, for he was -sitting now quite contentedly painting and getting on with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> picture, -whilst Mr Verneede was sitting quite contentedly in the bar of the -"Spotted Dog."</p> - -<p>He was also smoking furiously with all the windows shut. To the artistic -temperament at times comes moods, when it shuts all the windows, -excluding noise and air, lights the foulest old pipe it can find, and, -to use a good old public school term, "fugs."</p> - -<p>Suddenly he stopped work, half-sprang to his feet, palette in one hand, -pipe in the other. A footstep was on the landing, a girl's footstep—it -was <i>her</i>!</p> - -<p>The door opened, and his aunt stood before him.</p> - -<p>Since the other night when Fanny had dined with them, Miss Hancock had -been much exercised in her mind.</p> - -<p>How on earth had Leavesley known of the affair? Had he referred to Fanny -when he made that mysterious remark about his uncle and a girl, or was -there <i>another</i> girl? She had an axiom that when a man once begins to -make a fool of himself he doesn't know where to stop; she had also a -strong dash of her nephew's imaginative temperament.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> Fanny had troubled -her at first; seraglios were now rising in her mental landscape. She had -an intuition that her brother had broken the ice as regards the other -sex, and a dreadful fear that now he had broken the ice he was going to -bathe.</p> - -<p>"Whew!" said Miss Hancock, waving her parasol before her to dispel the -clouds of smoke.</p> - -<p>"Aunt!"</p> - -<p>"For goodness sake, open the window. Open something—achu!—do you -<i>live</i> in this atmosphere?"</p> - -<p>Leavesley opened wide the windows, tapped the ashes of his pipe out on a -sill, and turned to his aunt, who had taken her seat in an uncomfortable -manner on a most comfortable armchair.</p> - -<p>"This is an unexpected pleasure!"</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock made no reply. It was the first time she had been in the -studio, the first time she had been in any studio.</p> - -<p>She noticed the dust and the litter. The place was, in fact, -extraordinarily untidy, for Belinda, engaged just now in the fascination -of a policeman, had scarcely time even for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> such ordinary household -duties as making beds without turning the mattresses, and flinging eggs -into frying pans full of hot grease.</p> - -<p>As fate would have it, or curiosity rather, Belinda at this moment -entered the studio, attired in a sprigged cotton gown four inches -shorter in front than behind as if to display to their full a pair of -wonderful feet shod in list slippers. Her front hair was bound in -Hindes' hair-binders tight down to her head, displaying a protruberant -forehead that seemed to have been polished. It was the only thing -polished about Belinda, and she made a not altogether pleasing picture -as she slunk into the studio to "look for something," but in reality to -take stock of the visitor.</p> - -<p>It would have been much happier for her if she had stayed away.</p> - -<p>She was slinking out again when Miss Hancock, who had been following her -every movement, said:</p> - -<p>"Stop, please!"</p> - -<p>Belinda, with her hand on the door handle, faced round.</p> - -<p>"Are you the servant here?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p><p>"Yus"—sulkily.</p> - -<p>"And I suppose you are paid to keep this room in order. Where's your -mistress?"</p> - -<p>"She's in Margate," cut in Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"Stop twiddling that door handle," said Miss Hancock, entirely ignoring -Leavesley, "and attend to what I'm saying. If you are paid to keep this -room in order you are defrauding your mistress, and girls who defraud -their mistresses end in something worse. Go, get a duster."</p> - -<p>The feelings of Cruiser, when he first came under the hands of Mr Rarey, -may have been comparable to the feelings of Belinda before this -servant-tamer.</p> - -<p>She recognised a mistress, but she did not give in at once. She stood -looking sulkily from Leavesley to his aunt, and from his aunt to -Leavesley.</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock had no legal power over her, it was all moral.</p> - -<p>"Go, get a duster and a broom," cried Miss Hancock, stamping her foot.</p> - -<p>One second more the animal stood in mute rebellion, then it went off and -got the duster and the broom.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p><p>"Take up that strip of carpet," commanded Mr Leavesley's aunt, when the -duster and the broom returned in the hands of the animal. "Whew! Throw -it outside the door and beat it in the back garden, if you have such a -thing—burn it if you haven't. Give me the duster. Now sweep the floor, -whilst I do these shelves; Frank, put those books in a heap. Whew! does -no one ever clean this place? Ha! what are you doing sweeping under the -couch? Pull out that couch. Mercy!!!"</p> - -<p>Under the couch there was a heap of miscellaneous things—empty -cigarette tins, an empty beer bottle, an empty whisky bottle, half a -pack of cards, a dress tie, a glove, "The Three Musketeers," and an old -waistcoat—<i>and</i> dust, mounds of dust.</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock looked at this. Like the coster who looked back along the -City road to see the way strewn with cabbages, lettuces, and onions -which had leaked from his faulty barrow, language was quite inadequate -to express her feelings.</p> - -<p>"Go, get a dust-pan," she said at last, "and a basket. Be quick about -it. Mercy!!!"</p> - -<p>By the time the place was in order, Belinda,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> to Leavesley's -astonishment, had become transformed from a sulky-looking slattern to a -semi-respectable-looking servant girl.</p> - -<p>"That will do," said Miss Hancock in a magisterial voice, when the last -consignment of rubbish had been removed. "Now, you can go."</p> - -<p>As the boar sharpens its tusks against a tree preparatory to using them -to carve human flesh, so had Miss Hancock sharpened the tusks of her -temper upon Belinda.</p> - -<p>"No thanks, I don't want any tea," she said, replying to Leavesley's -invitation. "I've come to ask you for an explanation."</p> - -<p>"What of?"</p> - -<p>"What you said the other day."</p> - -<p>"What did I say the other day?"</p> - -<p>"About your uncle."</p> - -<p>"About my uncle?" he replied, wrinkling his forehead. He couldn't for -the life of him think what she was driving at; he had quite forgotten -his Parthian remark about the "girl," the thing had no root in his -mind—a bubble made of words that had risen to the surface of his mind, -burst, and been forgotten.</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock had her own way of dealing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> with hypocrites. "Well, we will -say no more about your uncle. How about Miss Lambert?"</p> - -<p>Leavesley made a little spring from his chair, as if some one had stuck -a pin into him, and changed colour violently.</p> - -<p>"How—what do you know about Miss Lambert?——"</p> - -<p>"I know all about it," said Miss Hancock grimly. She was so very clever -that she had got hold of the wrong end of the stick entirely, as very -clever people sometimes do. If she had come to him frankly she would -have found out that he was Fanny's lover, and not James Hancock's -confidant and go-between, as she now felt sure he was.</p> - -<p>Unhappy Leavesley! his love affair with Fanny seemed destined to be -mulled by every one who had a hand in it.</p> - -<p>"If you know all about it," he said sulkily, "that ends the matter."</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately it doesn't."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"It's dreadful," said Miss Hancock, apparently addressing a tobacco jar -that stood on the table, "it's dreadful to watch a man consciously and -deliberately making a fool<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> of himself—to sit by and watch it, and not -be able to move a hand."</p> - -<p>Of course he thought she referred to himself, but he was so accustomed -to hear his aunt calling people fools that her remarks did not ruffle -him.</p> - -<p>"But what I can't understand is this," he said. "Who <i>told</i> you about -Fanny—I mean Miss Lambert?"</p> - -<p>"Fanny!" said the lady with a sniff. "You call her Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>"Of <i>course</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Why <i>not</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"The world has altered since I was a girl, that's all." Then with deep -sarcasm—"Does your uncle know that you call her Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not; I've never told him."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock stared at him stonily, then she spoke. "Are <i>you</i> in love -with her too?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean by 'too'?"</p> - -<p>"Frank Leavesley, don't shuffle and prevaricate. Are you in love with -her?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>"Of course I am; every one who meets her must love her. I believe old -Verneede is in love with her. Love with her! I'd lay my life down for -her, but it's hopeless—hopeless——"</p> - -<p>"I trust so indeed," replied Miss Hancock.</p> - -<p>For a minute he thought his aunt must be a little bit mad: this was more -than her ordinary contrariness; then he went back to his original -question.</p> - -<p>"I want to know who told you about this."</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater, for one," replied Miss Hancock.</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Bridgewater."</p> - -<p>"But he knows nothing about it," cried Leavesley. "He couldn't have told -you."</p> - -<p>"He told me everything—Miss Lambert's visit to the Zoological Gardens, -her——"</p> - -<p>"You may as well be exact whilst you are about it; it wasn't the -Zoological Gardens, it was Epping Forest."</p> - -<p>"Frank Leavesley, a lie is bad enough, but a silly lie is much worse. -Miss Lambert herself told me it was the Zoological Gardens; perhaps she -has been to Epping Forest as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> well; perhaps next it will be a visit to -Paris. <i>I</i> wash my hands of the affair."</p> - -<p>"You have seen Miss Lambert?"</p> - -<p>"No matter what I have seen. I have seen enough to make me open my -eyes—and shut them again."</p> - -<p>Leavesley was now fuming about the studio. What on earth had possessed -Bridgewater? How on earth had he found out about the affair, and how had -he come to twist Epping Forest into the Zoological Gardens?</p> - -<p>"——<i>and</i> shut them again," resumed Miss Hancock. "However, it is none -of my business, but if there is such a thing as honour you ought, in my -humble opinion, to go to your uncle and tell him the state of your -feelings towards Miss Lambert."</p> - -<p>"I'll go," said Leavesley—"go to the office to-day; and if uncle -chooses to keep that antiquated liar of a Bridgewater in his service any -longer after what I tell him, it will be his own look-out."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock had not reckoned on this, she looked uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater is an honourable man, who has acted for the best."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>"I know," said Leavesley. "Now, I must go out; I have some business. -Are you sure you won't have some tea?"</p> - -<p>"No tea, thank you," replied Miss Hancock, rising to depart.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">THE UNEXPLAINED</span></h2> - -<p>It was just as well she refused the tea, for there was no one to make -it. She had hypnotised Belinda, and Belinda coming out of the hypnotic -state was having hysterical convulsions in the kitchen, assisted by the -charwoman.</p> - -<p>"Belinda," cried Leavesley down the kitchen stairs, he had rung his bell -vainly, "are you there?"</p> - -<p>"She's hill, sir," replied a hoarse voice, "I'm a-lookin' arter her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, if a Mr Verneede calls, will you ask him to wait for me? I'll -be back soon."</p> - -<p>"Yessir."</p> - -<p>He left the house and proceeded as fast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> as omnibuses could take him to -Southampton Row.</p> - -<p>Bridgewater was out, but Mr Wolf, the second in command, ushered him -into Hancock's room.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Hancock, who was writing a letter—"Oh, it's you. Sit down, -sit down for a minute."</p> - -<p>He went on with his letter, and Leavesley took his seat and sat in a -simmering state listening to the squeaking of the quill pen, and framing -in his mind indictments against Bridgewater.</p> - -<p>If he had been in a state of mind to absorb details he might have -noticed that his uncle was looking younger and brighter. But the -youthfulness or brightness of Mr Hancock were indifferent to him -absorbed as he was with his own thoughts.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Hancock, finishing his letter with a flourish and leaning -back in his chair.</p> - -<p>"Aunt came to see me to-day," said Leavesley, "and I came on here at -once. It's most disgraceful."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater. You've got a man in your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> office who is not to be trusted, -a mischief-making old——"</p> - -<p>"Dear me, what's all this? A man in the office not to be trusted? To -whom do you refer?"</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater."</p> - -<p>"Bridgewater?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What has he been doing?"</p> - -<p>"Doing! He has been sneaking round to my aunt telling tales about a -lady; that's what he has been doing."</p> - -<p>"What lady?"</p> - -<p>"A Miss Lambert. He told her she had been to the Zoological Gardens -with——"</p> - -<p>Hancock raised his hand. "Don't go on," he said, "I know it all."</p> - -<p>"You know it all?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and I have given Bridgewater a right good dressing down—meddling -old stupid!"</p> - -<p>Leavesley was greatly taken back at this.</p> - -<p>"It's not his fault," continued Hancock. "It's your aunt's fault; she -put him on to spy. However, it's rather a delicate subject, and we won't -pursue it, but"—suddenly and in a friendly tone—"I take it very kindly -of you to come round and tell me this."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>"I thought I'd better come," said the young man; "besides, the thing -put me in such a wax. Of course, if he was egged on by aunt, it's not so -much his fault."</p> - -<p>"I take it very kindly of you, and we'll say no more about it." He -lapsed into meditation, and Leavesley sat filled with a vague feeling of -surprise.</p> - -<p>Every one seemed a little out of the ordinary to-day. Why on earth did -his uncle take this news so very kindly?</p> - -<p>"I've been thinking," said Hancock suddenly—then abruptly: "How are you -financially, now?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, pretty bad. I had to sell a picture of John the Baptist for five -pounds the other day; it was worth twenty."</p> - -<p>"When your mother married your father," said Hancock, leaning back in -his chair, "she flew in the face of her family. He was penniless and a -painter."</p> - -<p>"I don't want to hear anything against my father," said Leavesley -tartly. "Yes, he was penniless and a painter, and she married him, and -I'm glad she did. She loved him, that was quite enough."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>"If you will excuse me," said Hancock, "I was going to say nothing -against your father. I think a love-match—er—um—well, no matter. I am -only stating the facts. She flew in the face of her family, and as a -result the money that might have been hers, went to your aunt."</p> - -<p>"And a nice use she makes of it."</p> - -<p>"The hundred a year left you by your parents," resumed the lawyer, -ignoring this reply, "is, I admit, a pittance. I offered you, however, -as the head of the family, and feeling that your mother had not received -exactly justice, I offered you the choice of a profession. I offered to -take you into this office. You refused, preferring to be a painter. Now, -I am not stingy, but I have seen much of the world, and in my -experience, the less money a young man has in starting in life, the more -likely is he to arrive at the top of the tree. You have, however, now -started; I have been making enquiries, and you seem to be working, and I -am pleased with you for two things. Firstly, when you came to me the -other day for money for a—foolish purpose you didn't lie over the -matter and say you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> wanted the money for your landlady, as nine out of -ten young men would have done. Secondly, for coming to me to-day and -apprising me of the unpleasant intelligence, to which we will not again -refer. I appreciate loyalty."</p> - -<p>He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his note-case.</p> - -<p>"What's your present liabilities?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I owe about ten pounds."</p> - -<p>"Sure that's all?"</p> - -<p>"Of course, I'd tell you if it was more; it's somewhere about that."</p> - -<p>Hancock took a five-pound note and a ten-pound note out of the -note-case, looked at them both, and then put the ten-pound note back.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to lend you five pounds," he said. "It will serve for present -expenses, and I expect you to pay me it back before the end of the -week." He held out the note.</p> - -<p>"You had better keep it," said his nephew, "for there's not the remotest -chance of my paying you before the end of the week."</p> - -<p>"Take the note," said Hancock testily, "and don't keep me holding it out -all day;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> you don't know what may happen in the course of a week. Take -the note."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll take it if you <i>will</i> have it so; and I'll pay you back some -time if I don't this week."</p> - -<p>"Now good day," said Hancock. "I'm busy."</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR</span></h2> - -<p>He left the office feeling depressed. Spent anger generally leaves -depression behind it.</p> - -<p>Hancock's admission that his mother had been treated harshly by her -family, though a well-known fact to him, did not decrease his gloom. He -considered the thousands that ought to have fallen to her share, that -had fallen to the share of Patience instead. For a second a wild hatred -of the Hancocks and all their ways filled his breast, and he felt an -inclination to take the five-pound note from his pocket, roll it into a -ball, and fling it into the gutter. Not being a lunatic, he didn't.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> He -went and dined instead, though it was only a little after five, and -having dined he went back to the studio.</p> - -<p>Verneede had not yet returned. At ten o'clock Verneede had not yet -returned. Midnight struck.</p> - -<p>"Can he be staying there the night?" thought Leavesley, who had gone to -bed with a novel and a pipe and an ear, so to say, on every footstep -ascending the stairs.</p> - -<p>People often stayed the night at the Lamberts' drinking punch and -playing cards; he had done so himself once.</p> - -<p>He woke at seven and dressed, and at eight he was standing before the -house of Verneede in Maple Street.</p> - -<p>"Hin!" said the landlady, "I should think he was hin; and thankful he -ought to be he's not hin the police station."</p> - -<p>"Good gracious, what has happened?"</p> - -<p>"Woke us up at two in the mornin' hangin' like a coal sack over the -railin's; might a-tumbled into the airy and broke his neck. Disgraceful, -I call it!"</p> - -<p>"May I go up and see him?"</p> - -<p>"Yus, you can go up—he's in the top floor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> back—trouble enough we had -to get him there."</p> - -<p>Leavesley went up to the top floor back. The unfortunate Verneede was in -bed, trying to remember things. He had brought his umbrella home safely, -but in the pockets of his clothes, after diligent search in the grey -dawn, he had been able to discover only one halfpenny. To make up for -this deficiency, his head was swelled up till it felt like a pumpkin.</p> - -<p>"Good gracious, Verneede," cried Leavesley, staring at him, "what on -earth has happened to you?</p> - -<p>"A fit, I think," said Verneede.</p> - -<p>"Did you go to Highgate?"</p> - -<p>"Of course—of course; pray, my dear Leavesley, hand me the washing -jug."</p> - -<p>He began to drink from the jug.</p> - -<p>"Stop!" said Leavesley, "you'll burst!"</p> - -<p>"I'm better now," said Mr Verneede, placing the jug, half empty, on the -floor, and passing his hand across his brow.</p> - -<p>"Then go on and tell me all about it."</p> - -<p>Verneede had no recollection of anything at all save a few more or less -unpleasant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> incidents. He remembered the "Spotted Dog," the "King's -Arms"; he remembered streets; he remembered being turned out of -somewhere.</p> - -<p>"Tell you about what?"</p> - -<p>"Good gracious—about the Lamberts, of course. What time did you get -there?"</p> - -<p>"Half-past two, I think."</p> - -<p>"You couldn't; you only left the studio at two."</p> - -<p>"Half-past four, I mean; yes, it was half-past four."</p> - -<p>"When did you leave?"</p> - -<p>Verneede scratched his head.</p> - -<p>"Six."</p> - -<p>"You saw Miss Lambert?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Look here, Verneede, you were all right when you got there, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly, absolutely."</p> - -<p>"What did you talk about?"</p> - -<p>"We talked of various topics."</p> - -<p>"Did you mention my name?"</p> - -<p>"Ah yes," said Verneede, "I told her what you said."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"About your going to Australia."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p><p>"America, you owl," cried Leavesley.</p> - -<p>"America, I mean—America, of course—America."</p> - -<p>"What did she say?"</p> - -<p>"She said—she hoped you'd have a fine voyage, that the weather would be -fine, in short, or words to that effect."</p> - -<p>Leavesley sighed.</p> - -<p>"Was that all she said?"</p> - -<p>"Absolutely."</p> - -<p>"Did you say anything about the letter I wrote her?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; I remembered that."</p> - -<p>"But I told you <i>not</i>."</p> - -<p>"It escaped me," said Verneede weakly.</p> - -<p>"What did she say?"</p> - -<p>"She said it didn't matter; at least that is what I gathered from her."</p> - -<p>"How do you mean gathered from her?"</p> - -<p>"From her manner."</p> - -<p>Leavesley sighed again, and Verneede leaned back on his pillow. He did -not know in the least whether he had been at Lamberts' or not—he hoped -he hadn't.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PART V</i></h2> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">GOUT</span></h2> - -<p>Since her visit to Leavesley Miss Hancock felt certain that her system -of petty espionage had been discovered: the question remained as to what -course her brother would take. He had as yet said nothing.</p> - -<p>One fact stood before her very plainly: his infatuation for Miss -Lambert. She had examined Fanny very attentively, and despite the fact -that she had plotted and planned for years to keep her brother single, -had he at that moment entered the room with the news that he was engaged -to be married to George Lambert's daughter, she would have received it -not altogether as a blow. In her lifelong opposition to his marrying, -she had always figured his possible wife as a woman who would oust her, -but Fanny was totally unlike all other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> girls she had ever met—very -different from Miss Wilkinson and the other middle-class young women, -with minds of their own, from whom she had fortunately or unfortunately -guarded her brother. There were new possibilities about Fanny. She was -so soft and so charmingly irresponsible that the idea of hectoring, -ordering, directing and generally sitting upon her was equivalent to the -idea of a new pleasure in life. To order, to put straight, to admonish -were functions as necessary to Miss Hancock's being as excretion or -respiration; a careless housemaid to correct, or a shiftless friend to -advise, called these functions into play; and the process, however it -affected the housemaid or the friend, left Miss Hancock a healthier and -happier woman.</p> - -<p>The Almighty, who, however we may look at the fact, made the fly to be -the intimate companion of the spider, seemed in the construction of Miss -Lambert to have had the vital requirements of Miss Hancock decidedly in -view.</p> - -<p>She had almost begun to form plans as to Fanny's dress allowance, in the -event of her marriage—how it should be spent; her hair,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> how it should -be dressed; and her life, how it should be generally made a -conglomeration of petty miseries.</p> - -<p>On the night before the day Bevan left for Sussex Mr Hancock and his -great toe had a conversation. What his right great toe said to Mr -Hancock that night I will report very shortly for the benefit of elderly -gentlemen in general; Anacreon has said the thing much better in verse, -but verse is out of date. Said the right great toe of Mr Hancock in a -monologue punctuated with the stabs of a stiletto:</p> - -<p>"How old are you? Sixty-three? (stab), that's what you say, but you know -very well you were born sixty-five years and six months ago. Wake up -(stab, stab), you must not go to sleep. Sixty-five—five years more and -you will be seventy; fifteen years more and you'll be <i>eighty</i>, and you -are in love (stab, stab, stab). <i>I'll</i> teach you to eat sweet cakes and -ice creams; I'll (stab) teach you to drink Burgundy. And you dared to -call me Arthritic Rheumatism the other night, you (stab) dared! Now, go -to sleep (stab, stab) ... wake up again, I want to speak to you," etc., -etc., etc.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>Gout talks to one very like a woman: you cannot reply to it, it simply -talks on.</p> - -<p>At eight o'clock next morning, when Miss Hancock left her room, Boffins -informed her that her brother was ill and wished to see her.</p> - -<p>"I'm all right," said James, who was lying in bed with the sheets up to -his nose, "I'm all right—for heaven's sake, don't fidget with that -window blind—I want my letters brought up; shan't go to the office -to-day. You can send round and tell Bridgewater to call, and send for -Carter, I've got a touch of this Arthritic Rheumatism (ow!)—do ask that -servant to make less row on the stairs. No, don't want any breakfast."</p> - -<p>"Well, Hancock," said Dr Carter, when he arrived, "got it again—whew! -There's a foot! What have you been eating?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," groaned the patient; "it's worry has done it, I believe."</p> - -<p>"Now, don't talk nonsense. What have you been eating and drinking?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I believe I had an ice-cream some days ago, and—a cake."</p> - -<p>"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of port—come, confess your -sins."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>"No, a glass of Burgundy."</p> - -<p>"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of Burgundy—well, you can commit -suicide if you choose, but I can only warn you of this that if you wish -to commit suicide in a <i>most unpleasant manner</i> you'll do such a thing -again."</p> - -<p>"Dash it, Carter—oh, Lord! go gently, don't touch it there! What's the -good of being alive? I remember the days when I could drink a whole -bottle of port without turning a hair."</p> - -<p>"I know—but you're not as young as you were then, Hancock."</p> - -<p>"Oh, do say something original—say I'm getting old, and have done with -it!"</p> - -<p>"It's not your age so much as your diathesis," said the pitiless Carter. -"It's unfortunate for you, but there you are. You might be worse, every -man is born with a disease. Yours is gout—you might be worse. Suppose -you had aneurism? Now, here's a prescription; get it made up at once. -Thank goodness, you can stand colchicum."</p> - -<p>"How long will it be before I'm all right?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p><p>"A week, at least."</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord!"</p> - -<p>"There, you are grumbling. Remember, my dear fellow, that living is a -business as well as lawyering. Take life easy, and forget the office for -a few days."</p> - -<p>"I wasn't thinking of the office—give me that writing-case over there; -I must write a letter."</p> - -<p>When Bridgewater arrived half an hour later, he found his master -laboriously addressing an envelope.</p> - -<p>"Take that and post it, Bridgewater." Bridgewater took it and placed it -in his pocket without looking at the address upon it, and having -reported on the morning letters, and received advice as to dealing with -one or two matters, ambled off on his errand.</p> - -<p>That evening at five o'clock, when Patience brought him up a cup of tea -and the evening newspaper, James, considerably eased by the colchicum -and pills of Dr Carter, said: "Put the tea on the table there, and sit -down, Patience. I wish to speak to you."</p> - -<p>Patience sat down, took her knitting from her apron pocket, and began to -knit.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>"I have written a letter to-day to Miss Lambert."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"An important letter, a vitally important letter to me."</p> - -<p>"You mean, James, that you have written a letter of proposal—that you -intend, in short, to marry Miss Lambert?"</p> - -<p>"That is precisely my meaning."</p> - -<p>"Humph!"</p> - -<p>"Does the idea displease you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and no."</p> - -<p>"Please explain what you mean by 'yes' and 'no'; the expression lacks -lucidity, to say the least of it."</p> - -<p>"I mean that it would be much better for you to remain as you are; but -if you do intend to commit yourself in this way, well—Miss Lambert is -at least a lady."</p> - -<p>The keen eye of James examined his sister's face as she spoke, and he -knew that what she said she meant. Despite all his tall talk to -Bridgewater about sending his sister packing her influence upon him was -very strong; thirty years of diffidence to her opinion in the minor -details of life had not passed without leaving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> their effect upon his -will; besides he, as a business man, had great admiration for her -astuteness and power of dealing with things. Active opposition to his -matrimonial plans would not have altered them, but it would have made -him unhappy.</p> - -<p>"I am glad you think that," he said. "Give me the tea."</p> - -<p>"Mind," said Miss Hancock, as she handed the beverage, "I wash my hands -of the matter; I think it distinctly unwise, considering your age, -considering her age, considering everything."</p> - -<p>"Well, all that lies with me. You will be civil and kind to her, -Patience?"</p> - -<p>"It is not my habit to be unkind to any one. You have written, you say, -to her to-day; you wrote without consulting me—the step is taken, and -you must abide by it. I hope it will be for your happiness, James."</p> - -<p>He was watching her intently, and was satisfied.</p> - -<p>"I wish," he said, putting the cup down on the table beside the bed, "I -wish you knew her better."</p> - -<p>"I will call upon her," said Miss Hancock,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> counting her stitches; "she -left her parasol behind her last night, I will take it back to her——"</p> - -<p>"No, don't, for goodness sake!" said James, the Lambert <i>ménage</i> rising -before him, and also a vague dread that his sister, despite her -appearance and words of goodwill—or rather semi-goodwill—might be -traitorously disposed at heart. "At least—I don't know—I suppose it -would be the right thing to do."</p> - -<p>"I am not especially anxious to call," said Miss Hancock, who had quite -made up her mind to journey to Highgate on the morrow and spy out the -land of the Lamberts for herself. "In fact, the only possible day I -could call would be to-morrow before noon. I have a meeting in Sloane -Square to attend at five, and on Wednesday I have three engagements, two -on Thursday; Friday I have to spend the day with Aunt Catherine at -Windsor, where I will remain over Sunday."</p> - -<p>"Well, call to-morrow and bring her back her parasol—oh, <i>damn</i>!"</p> - -<p>"James!"</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord! I thought some one had shot a bullet into my foot. Give me the -medicine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> quick, and send round for Carter. I must have some opium, or -I won't sleep a wink."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock administered the dose, and retired downstairs, when she -sent a message to Dr Carter and ordered the lilac parasol of Miss -Lambert to be wrapped in paper. Then she sent a message to the livery -stables to order the hired brougham, which she employed several times a -week, to be in attendance at 9.30 the following morning, to drive her to Highgate.</p> - -<p>But next morning her brother was so bad that she could not leave him. -But she called one morning later on.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE RESULT</span></h2> - -<p>The Lamberts as a rule took things easy in the morning. Breakfast was at -any time that was suitable to the convenience and appetite of each -individual; the things were generally cleared away by half-past eleven -or twelve, a matter of half an hour lost in the forenoon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> made little -difference in the revolution of their day.</p> - -<p>At half-past ten on the morning of Miss Hancock's descent upon her, -Fanny was seated at the breakfast-table. It was a glorious day, filled -with the warmth of summer, the scent of roses, and the songs of birds. A -letter from her father lay beside her on the table; it had arrived by -the morning's post, and contained great news—good news, too, yet the -goodness of it was not entirely reflected in her face.</p> - -<p>The worries of life were weighing on Miss Lambert; James Hancock's -unanswered letter was not the least of these. She had laughed on -receiving it, then she had cried. She had written three or four letters -in answer to it, beginning, "Dear Mr Hancock," "My dear Mr Hancock," -"<i>Please</i> do not think me horrid," etc.; but it was no use, each was a -distinct refusal, yet each seemed either too cold or too warm. "If I -send this," said she, "it will hurt him horribly, and he has been so -kind. Oh dear! why will men be so stupid, they are so nice if they'd -only not worry one to marry them. If I send <i>this</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> it will only make -him think that I will 'have him in the end,' as Susannah says. I wish I -were a man."</p> - -<p>Besides love troubles household worries had their place. James had gone -very much to pieces morally in the last few days. He had taken -diligently to drink, the writing and quoting of poetry, and the pawning -of unconsidered trifles; between the bouts, in those fits of remorse, -which may be likened to the Fata Morgana of true repentance, he had -expended his energy on all sorts of household duties not required of -him: winding up clocks to their destruction, smashing china, and -scattering coals all over the place in attempts to convey over-full -scuttles to wrong rooms and in the face of gravity. The effect upon -Susannah of these eccentricities can be best described by the fact that -she lived now most of her time with her apron over her head. Housework -under these circumstances became a matter of some difficulty.</p> - -<p>It wanted some twenty minutes to eleven when the "brougham with -celluloid fittings," containing Miss Hancock, drove up the drive and -stopped before "The Laurels."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p><p>Miss Hancock stepped out and up the steps, noticing to the minutest -detail the neglect before and around her.</p> - -<p>She gave her own characteristic knock—sharp, decided, and -business-like; she would also have given her own characteristic ring, -but that the bell failed to respond, the pull produced half a foot of -wire but no sound, and the knob, when she dropped it, dangled wearily as -if to say, "Now see what you've done! N'matter, <i>I</i> don't care."</p> - -<p>She waited a little and knocked again; this time came footsteps and the -sound of bars coming down and bolts being unshot, the door opened two -inches on the chain, and the same pale blue eye and undecided-coloured -fringe that had appeared to Mr Bevan, appeared to the now incensed Miss -Hancock.</p> - -<p>Just as the rabbit peeping from its burrow sees the stoat and recognises -its old ancestral enemy, so Susannah, in Miss Hancock, beheld the Foe of -herself and all her tribe.</p> - -<p>"Is Miss Lambert at home?" asked the visitor sharply.</p> - -<p>"Yus, she's in."</p> - -<p>"Then open the door, I wish to see her."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p><p>Susannah banged the door to, not to exclude the newcomer, but simply to -release the chain. Then she opened it again wide, as if to let in an -elephant.</p> - -<p>Susannah had not presented a particularly spruce appearance on the day -when Mr Bevan called and we first met her, but this morning she was -simply—awful.</p> - -<p>A lock of hair like a bight of half-unravelled cable hung down behind -her ear, her old print dress was indescribable, and she had, apparently, -some one else's slippers on. She had also the weary air of a person who -had been watching in a sick room all the night.</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock took this figure in with one snapshot glance; also the hall -untidied, the floor undusted, the dust-pan and brush laid on the stairs, -a trap for the unwary to step on; the grandfather's clock pointing to -quarter to six, and many other things which I have not seen or noticed, -but which were clear to Miss Hancock, just as nebulæ and stars which, -looking in the direction of I cannot see, are clear to the two-foot -reflecting telescope of the Yerkes observatory.</p> - -<p>Susannah escorted the sniffing visitor into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> the library, dusted with -her apron the very same chair she had dusted for Mr Bevan, said, "I'll -tell Miss Fanny," and left the room, closing the door with a snap that -spoke, not volumes, but just simply words.</p> - -<p>The night before, after the other members of the household had retired, -James had taken it into his head to sit up in the library over the -remains of the fire left by Fanny. The room, as a consequence, reeked of -stale tobacco, a tumbler stood on the table convenient to the armchair. -Needless to say, the tumbler was empty.</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock looked around her at the books, at the carpet, at the -general litter. She came to the mantelpiece and touched it, looked at -the tip of her gloved finger to assay the quantity of dust to the square -millimetre, said, "Pah!" and sat down in the armchair. A <i>Pink Un</i> of -George Lambert's lay invitingly near her on the table; she picked it up, -glanced at the title, read a joke, turned purple, and dropped the -raciest of all racing papers just as Fanny, fresh and charming, but -somewhat bewildered-looking, entered the room.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p><p>Fanny felt sure that this visit of Miss Hancock's had something to do -with the letter of her brother's. She was relieved when her visitor, -after extending a hand emotionless and chill as the fin of a turtle, -said:</p> - -<p>"I had some business in Highgate, so I thought I would take the -opportunity of returning your parasol, which you left behind you the -other night."</p> - -<p>"Thanks awfully," said Fanny; "it's awfully good of you to take the -trouble. Please excuse the untidiness; we are in a great upset for—the -painters are coming in. Won't you come into the breakfast-room? There's -a fire there; it's not cold, I know, but I always think a fire is so -bright."</p> - -<p>She led the way to the breakfast-room, her visitor following, anxious to -see as much as she could of the inner working of the Lambert household.</p> - -<p>She gave a little start at the sight of the breakfast things not -removed, and another start at sight of the provender laid out for one -small person. The remains of a round of beef graced one end of the -board, and a haddock that, had it been let grow, would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> assuredly have -ended its life in the form of a whale, the other; there was also jam and -other things, including some shortbread on a plate.</p> - -<p>"Have you had breakfast?" asked Fanny in a hospitable tone of voice.</p> - -<p>"I breakfasted at quarter to eight," said Miss Hancock with a scarcely -perceptible emphasis on the "I."</p> - -<p>"I know we're awfully late as a rule," said Fanny, as they sat down near -the window, in and out of which the wasps were coming, and through which -the sun shone, laying a burning square on the carpet, "but I hate early -breakfast. When I breakfast at eight I feel a hundred years old by -twelve. Did you ever notice how awfully long mornings are?"</p> - -<p>"My mornings," said Miss Hancock, laying a scarcely perceptible accent -on the "my," "are all too short; an hour lost in the morning is never -regained. You cannot expect servants to be active and diligent without -you set them the example. We are placed, I think, in a very responsible -position with regard to our servants: as we make them so they are."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" said Fanny, trying to consider what part she possibly -could have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> had in the construction of James and the helpmeet Susannah.</p> - -<p>"I am sure of it. If we are idle or lazy ourselves they imitate us; they -are like children, and we should treat them as such. I ring the bell at -half-past five every morning for the maids, and I expect them to be down -by six."</p> - -<p>"What time do you get up?"</p> - -<p>"Half-past seven."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Fanny, laughing, "you don't set them—I mean they set you -the example, for they are up before you."</p> - -<p>"I spoke figuratively," said Miss Hancock rather stiffly, and eyeing the -handmaiden who had just appeared at the door to remove the things.</p> - -<p>"Give the fish to the cats, Susannah," said her mistress, "and be sure -to take the bones out; one nearly choked," she said, resuming her -conversation with her visitor, "the other morning."</p> - -<p>"Hum!" said Miss Hancock, unenthusiastic on the subject of choking cats. -"Do you always feed your animals on—good food?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course."</p> - -<p>"You are very young, and, of course, it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> no affair of mine, but I -think in housekeeping—having first of all regard to waste—one ought to -consider how many poor people are starving. I send all my scraps to the -St Mark's Refuge Home, an excellent institution."</p> - -<p>"I used to give a lot of food away," said Fanny, "but I found it didn't -pay, people didn't want it. We had a barrel of beer that no one drank, -so I gave a tramp a jugful once, and he made a mark somewhere on the -house, and after that twenty or thirty tramps a day called. We couldn't -find the mark, so father had to have the whole lower part of the house -lime-washed, and the gate pillars. After that he said no more food was -to be given away, or beer."</p> - -<p>"There are poor and poor. To give beer to a tramp is in my opinion a -distinctly wicked act; it is simply feeding the flames of drunkenness, -as Mr Bulders says. You have heard of Mr Bulders?"</p> - -<p>"N—no."</p> - -<p>"I must introduce you. I hope you will like him, he is a great friend of -ours. Your Christian name is Fanny, I believe. May I call you Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Fanny. "How queer it is,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> nobody knows me for—I mean, -everybody always asks me that before I have known them for more——"</p> - -<p>"Everybody?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Gentlemen, my dear child, surely not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, they do."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock said nothing, but sat for a moment in silence gloating over -the girl before her. Here was a gold-mine of pure correction—the -metaphor is mixed perhaps, but you will understand it. Then she said: -"And do you permit it?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, <i>I</i> don't care."</p> - -<p>"But I fancy, your father——" Miss Hancock paused.</p> - -<p>"Oh, father doesn't mind; every one has called me Fanny since I was so -high."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but, my dear girl, you are no longer a <i>child</i>. Fathers are -indulgent, and sometimes blind to what the world thinks; consider, when -you come to marry, when you come to have a husband——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I hope it'll be a long time before I come to that," said Fanny, in -a tone of voice as if general service or the workhouse were the topic of -discussion.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>Miss Hancock took a rather deep inspiration, and was dumb for a moment.</p> - -<p>"I understood my brother to say that he had written to you on a subject -touching your welfare and his happiness?"</p> - -<p>Fanny flushed all over her face and neck. Only a little child or a very -young girl can blush like that—a blush that passes almost as quickly as -it comes, and is, perhaps, of all emotional expressions the most natural -and charming.</p> - -<p>"I did have a letter," she faltered, "and I have tried to answer it, am -going to answer it—I am so sorry——"</p> - -<p>"I don't see the necessity of being sorry," said the elder lady. "One -does not answer a letter of that description flippantly and by the next -post; my brother will quite understand and appreciate the cause of -delay."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but it's not the <i>delay</i> I'm sorry for, it's the—it's the having -to say that—I can't say what he wants me to say."</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock raised her eyebrows. Miss Lambert's English was enough to -raise a grammarian from the grave, but it was not at the English that -Miss Hancock evinced surprise.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>James Hancock was not as old to his sister as he appeared to the rest -of the world, though she knew his age to a day and had quoted it as an -argument against his marriage; she did not appreciate the fact that he -looked every day of his age, and even perhaps a few days over.</p> - -<p>It is a pathetic and sometimes beautiful—and sometimes ugly—fact that -we are blind to much in the people we live with and grow up with. Joan -sees Darby very much as she saw him thirty years ago, and to Miss -Hancock her younger brother was her younger brother; and her younger -brother, to a woman, is never old. Besides being in the "prime of life," -James was clever; besides being clever, he was rich, very rich. What -more could a girl want?</p> - -<p>"You mean," said Patience, "that you cannot accept his proposition."</p> - -<p>"N—no—that is, I'd <i>like</i> to, but I can't."</p> - -<p>"If you 'liked' to do it, I do not see what is to prevent you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's not that sort of liking. I mean I'd like to like him, I do -like him, but not in the way he wants."</p> - -<p>"It is no affair of mine," said Miss Hancock,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> "not in the least, but I -would urge you not to be too hasty in your reply. Think over it, weigh -the matter judicially before you decide upon what, after all, is the -most important decision a young girl is ever called upon to make."</p> - -<p>"I hate myself," broke out Fanny, who had been listening with bent head, -and finger tracing the pattern on the cloth of the table beside her. "I -hate myself. People are always doing me kindnesses and I am always -acting like a beast, so it seems to me, but how can I help it?" lifting -her head suddenly with a bright smile. "If I were to marry them all, I'd -have about fifty husbands, now—<i>more!</i>—so what am I to do?"</p> - -<p>Miss Hancock sniffed; she had never been in the same position herself, -so could give no advice from experience. The question rather irritated -her, and a smart lecture rose to her lips on the impropriety and -immodesty of girls allowing people of the other sex to "care for them," -etc., etc., but the lecture did not pass her lips.</p> - -<p>Since entering the house of the Lamberts the demon of Order had swelled -Jinnee-like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> in her breast, and the seven devils of spring cleaning, -each of whose right hands is a cake of soap, and whose left hands are -scrubbing-brushes, arose and ramped. The whole place and the people -therein, from the bell-pull to the cats'-breakfast-destined haddock, -from Susannah to her mistress, exercised a fascination upon Miss Hancock -beyond the power of words to describe. She had measured Susannah from -her sand-coloured hair to her slipshod feet, gauged her capacity for -work and her moral ineptitude, and had already dismissed her, in her -mind; as for the rest of the business, the ordering of Fanny and of her -father, whom she divined, the setting of the house to rights and the -righting of all the Lamberts' affairs, mundane and extra-mundane—this, -she felt, would be a work, which accomplished, she could say, "I have -not lived in vain." All this might be lost by a lecture misplaced.</p> - -<p>"Of course you will please yourself," she said. "I would only say do -nothing rashly; and in whatever way you decide, I hope you will always -be our friend. You are very young to have the cares of a house and the -ordering of servants thrust upon you, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> any assistance or advice I -can give you, I should be very glad to give."</p> - -<p>"Thanks <i>so</i> much!"</p> - -<p>"I would be very glad to call some day and have a good long chat with -you; my experience in housekeeping might be of assistance."</p> - -<p>"I should be <i>delighted</i>," gasped Fanny, who felt like a bird in the net -of the fowler, and whose soul was filled with one wild longing—the -longing to escape.</p> - -<p>"What day shall we say?"</p> - -<p>"Monday—no, not Monday, I have an engagement. Tuesday—I am not sure -about Tuesday. Suppose—suppose I write?"</p> - -<p>"I am disengaged all next week; any day you please to appoint I shall be -glad to come. What a large garden you have!"</p> - -<p>"Would you like to come round it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; I will wait till you put on your hat."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I scarcely ever wear a hat in the garden. If you come this way we -can go out through the side door."</p> - -<p>They wandered around the garden, Miss Hancock making notes in her own -mind. As they passed the kitchen window, a face<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> gazed out, a beery, -leery face, behind which could be seen the pale phantom of Susannah. The -face was gazing at Miss Hancock with an expression of amused and -critical impudence that caused that lady to pause and snort.</p> - -<p>"Did you see that man looking from the window?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Fanny in an agony, "it must have been the plumber; he came -this morning to mend the stove. Oh, here is your carriage waiting; <i>so</i> -glad you called. Yes, I'll write."</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">THE RESULT—(<i>continued</i>)</span></h2> - -<p>Miss Lambert ran back to the house. She made a bee-line for the library, -sat down at the writing-table, seized a pen and a sheet of paper, and -began writing as if inspired. This is what she wrote, in part:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Mr Hancock</span>,—I have written several letters to you in -reply to yours, but I tore them up simply because I found it so -difficult to express what I wanted to say....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> I can never, never, -marry you; I don't think I shall ever marry any one, at least, not -for a long time ... deeply, deeply respect you, and father says you -are the best man he ever met. Why not let us always be friends?... -It's a horrible world, and there are so few people who are really -nice in it ... you will quite understand ... etc."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Four pages of this signed,</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"Always your sincere friend,<span class="s2"> </span><br />"<span class="smcap">Fanny Lambert</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Now we have seen that Miss Hancock had endeavoured as far as in her lay -to help along her brother's interests with Miss Lambert. Yet on the -receipt of the above letter the conviction entered the mind of James -Hancock, never to be evicted, that his sister had, vulgarly speaking, -"dished" the affair, and, moreover, that she had done so wittingly and -of malice prepense.</p> - -<p>Having gummed and stamped the envelope she went out herself and posted it.</p> - -<p>When she came back she found Leavesley waiting for her.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">"JOURNEY'S END"</span></h2> - -<p>For some days past, ever since Verneede's fiasco in fact, Leavesley had -been very much down in the mouth.</p> - -<p>There is a tide in the affairs of man that when it reaches its lowest -ebb usually takes a turn. The tide had been out with Leavesley for some -time, and acres of desolate mud spoke nothing of the rolling breakers -that were coming in.</p> - -<p>The first roller had arrived by the first post on this very morning. It -was a letter from his uncle.</p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Gordon Square.</span></p> - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Frank</span>,—I am in bed with a bad foot, or I would ask you to -call and see me.</p> - -<p>"I want that five pounds back. I made a will some years ago, by -which you benefited to the extent of two thousand pounds; I am -destroying that will, and drafting another.</p> - -<p>"It's this way. I don't intend to die just yet, and you may as well -have the two thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> now, when it will be of use to you. Call on -Bridgewater, he will hand you shares to the amount in the Great -Western Railway. Take my advice and don't sell them, they are going -to rise, but of course, as to this you are your own master.—Your -affectionate uncle,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">James Hancock</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>"Two thousand pounds!" yelled Leavesley, "Belinda!" (he had heard her -foot on the stairs).</p> - -<p>"Yessir."</p> - -<p>"I've been left two thousand pounds." Belinda passed on her avocations; -she thought it was another of Mr Leavesley's jokes.</p> - -<p>He ate a tremendous breakfast without knowing what he was eating, and in -the middle of it the second roller came in.</p> - -<p>It was a telegram.</p> - -<p>He felt certain it was from Hancock revoking his legacy. It was from -Miss Lambert.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"Only just found your letter. Please call this morning. Good news -to tell you."</p></blockquote> - -<p>"Fanny!" cried Leavesley, as he stood before her in the drawing-room of -"The Laurels" (she had just entered the room, having returned from -posting her letter).</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p><p>"Think—I've got two thousand pounds this morning!"</p> - -<p>"Mercy!" cried Miss Lambert. "Where did you get it from?"</p> - -<p>"Uncle."</p> - -<p>"Mr Hancock?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he was going to have left me it in his will, but he's given me it -instead."</p> - -<p>"How good of him!" said Fanny. She was about to say something else, but -she stopped.</p> - -<p>"That's my good news," continued Leavesley. "What's yours?"</p> - -<p>"Mine? Oh—just think! Father's engaged to be married."</p> - -<p>"To be married?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, to a Miss Pursehouse; she's <i>awfully</i> rich."</p> - -<p>He did not for a moment grasp the importance of this piece of -intelligence. Then it broke on him. Now that Fanny's father was provided -for, she would be free to marry any one she liked.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>"I was nearly heart-broken," mumbled Leavesley into Fanny's hair—they -were seated on the couch—"when you didn't reply."</p> - -<p>"The letter was on the kitchen dresser all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> the time," replied Fanny in -a happy and dreamy voice, "behind a plate."</p> - -<p>"And then when old Verneede called, and you seemed so indifferent—at -least, he said you did."</p> - -<p>"Who said I did?"</p> - -<p>"Verneede; when he called here that day."</p> - -<p>"He never called here."</p> - -<p>"<i>Verneede</i> never called here?"</p> - -<p>"Never in his life."</p> - -<p>"He said he did, and he saw you, and told you I was going to Australia, -and you didn't care."</p> - -<p>"Oh, what a horrid, wicked story! He never came here."</p> - -<p>"He must have been dreaming then," said Leavesley, who began to see how -matters stood as regards the veracity of Verneede. "No matter, I don't -care now. Hold me tighter, Fanny."</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Till some one discovers the art of printing kisses, asterisks must -serve.</p> - -<p>"But," said Leavesley after an interval of sweet silence, "what I can't -make out is how Bridgewater found out about you and me."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>"Bridgewater!"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he told my aunt all about us, and our going to Epping Forest: only -the old fool said we went to the Zoo."</p> - -<p>Fanny was silent. Then she said in a perplexed voice: "I want to tell -you something. I did go to the Zoo."</p> - -<p>"When?"</p> - -<p>"The other day."</p> - -<p>"Who with?"</p> - -<p>"Guess!"</p> - -<p>"Not—not Bevan?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Fanny, "with your uncle."</p> - -<p>Leavesley laughed.</p> - -<p>"What a joke! Are you really in earnest?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he wrote to ask if I'd like to go, and I went. We met Mr -Bridgewater."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that accounts for it; he's mixed me and uncle up together—he must -be going mad. Every one seems a little mad lately, uncle -especially—taking you to the Zoo, and giving me two thousand, -and—and—no matter, kiss me again."</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * *</p> - -<p>"Now," said Fanny, suddenly jumping up, "I must see after the house. -Father wired this morning that he was bringing Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> Pursehouse here -to-day to see the place, and I must get it tidy. Who's there?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Fanny," said Susannah, opening the door an inch. Miss Lambert left -the room hurriedly and closed the door. There was something in -Susannah's voice that told her "something had happened."</p> - -<p>"He's downstairs in the library."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my goodness!" murmured Fanny with a frown; visions of Mr Hancock in -all the positions of love-making rose before her. "<i>Why</i> didn't you say -I was out?"</p> - -<p>"I did, miss, and he said he'd wait."</p> - -<p>Fanny went downstairs and into the library, and there before her stood -Mr Bevan on the hearthrug.</p> - -<p>Her face brightened wonderfully.</p> - -<p>"I <i>am</i> so glad—when did you come? Guess who I thought it was? I -thought it was Mr Hancock."</p> - -<p>"Hancock?" said Charles, who had held her outstretched hand just a -moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "Oh, that affair is all -over. I stopped the action—by the way, I believe old Hancock's cracked; -sent your father a most extraordinary wire, saying I was—what was it he -said?—a duck, I think."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>"Where have you seen father?"</p> - -<p>"Why, I was staying in the same house with him down in Sussex for a -day."</p> - -<p>"At Miss Pursehouse's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"How awfully funny! Did he tell you?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"That he's engaged to be married to Miss Pursehouse. I had the letter -this morning—oh, of course he couldn't have told you, for he only -proposed yesterday afternoon. He wrote in an awful hurry, just a line to -say he's 'engaged and done for.' Isn't he funny? There was another man -after her, and father says he has 'cut him out.' Do tell me all about -them; did you see the other man? and what did you think of father—isn't -he a dear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Mr Bevan abstractedly. He was flabbergasted with the news -and irritated, although he was not in love, and never had been in love, -with Miss Pursehouse, still, it was distinctly unpleasant to think that -he had been "cut out."</p> - -<p>"I thought he seemed fond of her in Paris," continued Fanny, "but one -never can tell. I'm glad he got the telegram all right. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> was I that -sent it. I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock——"</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon?" said Mr Bevan.</p> - -<p>"I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock. Oh, I have such a lot to tell -you, but promise me first you'll never tell."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well—guess what's happened?"</p> - -<p>"Can't think."</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr Hancock proposed to me—but you won't tell, will you?"</p> - -<p>Mr Bevan gasped.</p> - -<p>"<i>Hancock!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he wrote such a funny, queer little letter. It made me cry."</p> - -<p>"<i>Hancock!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but you've promised never to tell. Every one seems to have been -proposing to me in the last three months, and I wish they'd stop—I wish -they'd stop," said Miss Lambert, half-talking to herself and half to -Bevan, half-laughing and half-crying all at the same time; "it's got on -my nerves. James will be the next—it's like the influenza, it seems in -the air——"</p> - -<p>"I came to-day," said Mr Bevan with awful and preternatural gravity, "to -speak to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> you, Fanny—to tell you that ever since I saw you first, I -have thought of nobody else——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, stop," said Fanny, "stop, stop—oh, this is too bad! I never -thought <i>you</i> would do it. I thought I had one f-f-friend."</p> - -<p>"<i>Don't</i> cry; Fanny, listen to me."</p> - -<p>"I can't help it, it's too awful."</p> - -<p>"Fanny!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Charles?"</p> - -<p>"Dry your eyes, and tell me this; am I so very dreadful? Don't you think -if you tried you could care for me? I know I'm not clever and all -that—look up." He took her hand, and she let him hold it.</p> - -<p>Then she spoke these hope-destroying words:</p> - -<p>"If I h—hadn't met <i>him</i>, I believe I—I—I'd have married you—if -you'd asked me."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my God!—it's all up then," said Bevan.</p> - -<p>"We're both so poor," said Fanny, "that you needn't envy us, dear Cousin -Charles; all we've got in the world is our love for each other."</p> - -<p>"He's a painter, is he not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Fanny, peeping up; "but how did you know?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Morgan, that American girl, told me something about him." Mr Bevan -stood silent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> for a moment, and then went on: "Look here, Fanny, just -think this matter over and tell me your mind. I'll put my case before -you. You like me, I think?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I <i>do</i>."</p> - -<p>"Well, I am not so very old, and I am rich; between one thing and -another I have about eight thousand a year. We might be very happy -together—don't interrupt me, I am just stating my case—money means a -lot in this world; it's not everything, I admit—there are some men -richer than I, that I would be sorry to see any girl married to. Well, -on the other hand, there is this other man; he may be awfully jolly, and -all that sort of thing, but he's poor—very poor, from what I can -gather. Before you kick me over, think of the future—think well."</p> - -<p>"Do you know," said Fanny, "that if you had come yesterday, and had -asked me to marry you, I believe I would have said 'yes,' and then we -would have been always miserable. I would have married you for your -money; not for myself, but to help father. But you see now that he is -going to be married to Miss Pursehouse <i>she'll</i> take care of him."</p> - -<p>"He is not married to her yet," said Charles,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> thinking of Lulu Morgan's -words, and cursing himself for having let days slip by, for he could -have called yesterday, or the day before, but for indecision—that most -fatal of all elements in human affairs.</p> - -<p>"No, but he will marry her, for when father makes up his mind to do a -thing he always does it."</p> - -<p>"So then," he said, "you have made up your mind irrevocably not to have -anything to do with me?"</p> - -<p>"I must, I must—Oh dear, I wish I were <i>dead</i>. I will always be your -friend—I will always be a sister to you."</p> - -<p>"Don't—don't say anything more about it, please. You can't help -yourself—it's fate."</p> - -<p>"You're not angry with me?"</p> - -<p>"No—let us talk of other things. How are you getting on, has that man -been giving any more trouble?"</p> - -<p>"James—oh, he's been dreadful. His wife has run away from their -lodgings; and now he says she was not his wife at all, and Susannah is -breaking her heart, for she can't bring him to the point. When she -suggests marriage he does all his things up in a bundle and says he's -going to Australia. I'll get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> father to turn him out when he comes -back."</p> - -<p>"Let me," said Charles, who felt an imperative desire to kick some -one—himself, if possible—that being out of the question—James.</p> - -<p>"No," said Fanny, as he rose and took his hat preparatory to departing, -"for she'd follow him, and I'd be left alone. Who is this?"</p> - -<p>A hansom cab was crashing up the gravel drive.</p> - -<p>"It's father—and Miss Pursehouse."</p> - -<p>"Who do you say?" cried Bevan.</p> - -<p>"Miss Pursehouse."</p> - -<p>"Fanny!" cried Mr Bevan in desperation.</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Don't let them in here, don't let them see me."</p> - -<p>"Then quick," said Fanny, not knowing the truth of the matter, but -guessing that Charles as a rejected lover had his feelings, and -preferred not to meet her father.</p> - -<p>She led him across the hall and down some steps, then pushed him into a -passage, which, being pursued, led to the kitchen, whence through the -scullery flight might be effected by the back entry of "The Laurels."</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny Lambert, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - -***** This file should be named 55454-h.htm or 55454-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/4/5/55454/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny Lambert - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: August 29, 2017 [EBook #55454] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -FANNY LAMBERT - -A Novel - -BY - -HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE - -AUTHOR OF "THE CRIMSON AZALEAS" -"THE BLUE LAGOON" ETC., ETC. - -[Illustration: Decoration] - -R. F. FENNO & COMPANY -18 East 17th Street, New York - -T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON - - - - -CONTENTS - - -PART I - -CHAP. PAGE - I. MR LEAVESLEY 1 - - II. A LOST TYPE 4 - - III. A COUNCIL OF THREE 12 - - IV. HANCOCK & HANCOCK 26 - - V. OMENS 31 - - VI. LAMBERT _v._ BEVAN 36 - - VII. THE BEVAN TEMPER 41 - -VIII. AT "THE LAURELS" 48 - - IX. "WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" 62 - - X. ASPARAGUS AND CATS 76 - - -PART II - - I. A REVELATION 86 - - II. THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE 113 - - III. TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT 125 - - IV. THE DAISY CHAIN 131 - - -PART III - - I. AN ASSIGNATION 141 - - II. THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER 150 - - III. AN OLD MAN'S OUTING 159 - - IV. A MEETING 169 - - V. THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER 171 - - VI. A CONFESSION 176 - - VII. IN GORDON SQUARE 185 - - -PART IV - - I. "THE ROOST" 194 - - II. MISS MORGAN 207 - - III. A CURE FOR BLINDNESS 223 - - IV. TIC-DOULOUREUX 235 - - V. THE AMBASSADOR 245 - - VI. A SURPRISE VISIT 251 - - VII. THE UNEXPLAINED 263 - -VIII. RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR 269 - - -PART V - - I. GOUT 274 - - II. THE RESULT 283 - - III. THE RESULT (_continued_) 299 - - IV. "JOURNEY'S END" 301 - - - - -FANNY LAMBERT - - - - -_PART I_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MR LEAVESLEY - - -"You may take away the things, Belinda," said Mr Leavesley, lighting his -pipe and taking his seat at the easel. "Nobody called this morning, I -suppose?" - -"Only the Capting, sir," replied Belinda, piling the tray. "He called at -seven to borry your umbrella." - -"Did you give it him?" - -"No, sir, Mr Verneede's got it; you lent it to him the night before -last, and he hasn't brought it back." - -"Ah, so I did," said Mr Leavesley, squeezing Naples yellow from an -utterly exhausted looking tube. "So I did, so I did; that's the -fifteenth umbrella or so that Verneede has annexed of mine: what does he -_do_ with them, do you think, Belinda?" - -"I'm sure _I_ don't know, sir," replied the maid-of-all-work, looking -round the studio as if in search of inspiration, "unless he spouts -them." - -"That will do, Belinda," said the owner of the lost umbrellas, turning -to his work, and the servant-maid departed. - -It was a large, pleasant studio, furnished with very little affectation, -and its owner was a slight, pleasant-faced youth, happy-go-lucky -looking, with a glitter in his grey eyes suggesting a touch of genius or -insanity in their owner. - -He was an orphan blessed with a small competency. His income, to use his -own formula, consisted of a hundred a year and an uncle. During the -first four months or so of the year he spent the hundred pounds, during -the rest of the year he squandered his uncle; that is to say he would -have squandered him only for the fact that Mr James Hancock, of the firm -of Hancock & Hancock, solicitors, was a person most difficult to -"negotiate." - -Art, however, was looking up. He had sold several pictures lately. The -morning mists on the road to success were clearing away, leaving to the -view in a prospect distant tremulous and golden the mysterious city of -attainment. - -He would have whistled as he worked only that he was smoking. - -Through the open windows came the pulse-like sound of the omnibuses in -the King's Road, the sleigh bells of the hansoms, the rattle of the -coster's barrow, and voices. - -As he painted, the sounds outside brought before him the vision of the -King's Road, Chelsea, where flaming June was also at work with her -golden brush and palette of violet colours. - -He saw in imagination the scarlet pyramids of strawberries in the shops. -The blazing barrow of flowers all a-growing and a-blowing, the late-June -morning crowd, and through the crowd wending its way the figure of a -girl. - -He was in love. - -In the breast-pocket of his coat (on the heart side) lay a letter he had -received by the early morning post. The handwriting was large and -generous and careless, for no man living could tell the "m's" from the -"w's," or the "t's" from the "l's." It ran somewhat to this effect: - - - "THE LAURELS, HIGHGATE. - - "Father is worrying dreadfully, and I want your advice. I think I - will be in the King's Road to-morrow, and will call on you. Excuse - this scrawl.--In wild haste, - - "FANNY LAMBERT. - - "How's the picture?" - - -Occasionally as he painted he touched his coat where the letter lay, as -if to make sure of its presence. - -Suddenly he ceased working. There was a step on the stairs, a knock at -the door. Could it be?---- - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A LOST TYPE - - -"My young friend Leavesley," cried the apparition that had suddenly -framed itself in the doorway; "busy as usual--and how is Art?" - -"I don't know. Come in and shut the door; take a seat, take a -cigarette--bother this drapery--well, what have you been doing with -yourself?" - -Mr Verneede took neither a seat nor a cigarette. He took his place -behind the painter, and gazed at the work in progress with a critical -air. - -He was a fantastic-looking old gentleman, dressed in a tightly-buttoned -frock coat. A figure suggestive of Count d'Orsay gone to the dogs. -Mildewed, washed, and mangled by Fate, and very much faded in the -process. - -He said nothing for a moment, and then he said, after a long and -critical survey of the little _genre_ picture on which our artist was -engaged: - -"Your work improves, decidedly your work improves, Leavesley--improves, -very much so, very much so, very much so." - -The artist said nothing, and the irresponsible critic, placing his hat -on the floor and tightly clasping the umbrella he carried under his left -arm, made a funnel of his hands and gazed through it at the picture. - -"Decidedly, decidedly; but might I make a suggestion?" - -"Yes, yes." - -"Well, now, frankly, the attitude of that man with the axe----" - -"Which man with the axe?" - -"He in the right-hand corner by the----" - -"That's not a man with an axe, that's a lady with a _fan_, you old owl." - -"Heavens!" cried Mr Verneede. "How could I have been so deceived, it was -the light. Of course, of course, of course--a lady with a fan, it's -quite obvious now. A lady with a fan--do you find these very small -pictures pay, Leavesley?" - -"Yes--no--I don't know. Sit down, like a good fellow; that's right--look -here." - -"I attend." - -"I'm expecting a young lady to call here to-day." - -"A young lady?" - -"Yes, and I wish you'd wait and see her." - -"I shall be charmed." - -"You will when you see her--but it's not that. See here, Verneede, I -want to explain her to you." - -"I listen." - -"She's quite unlike any one else." - -"Ha!" - -"I mean in this way, she's so jolly and innocent and altogether good, -that upon my word I wish she wasn't coming here alone." - -"You fear to trust yourself----" - -"Oh, rubbish! only, it doesn't seem the thing." - -"Decidedly not, decidedly not." - -"Oh, _rubbish_! she's as safe here as if she were with her -grandfather--what I mean to say is this, she's so innocent of the world -that she does things quite innocently that--that conventional people -don't do, don't you know. She has no mother." - -"Poor young thing!" - -"And her father, who is one of the jolliest men in the world, lets her -do anything she likes. I wish I had a female of some sort to receive her -here, but I haven't," said Mr Leavesley, looking round the studio as if -in search of the article in question. - -"I know of an eminently respectable female," said Mr Verneede -meditatively, "who would fall in with your requirements; unfortunately, -she is not available at a short notice; she lives in Hoxton, as a matter -of fact." - -"That's no use, might as well live in the moon. No matter, _you'll_ do, -an excellent substitute like What's-his-name's marmalade." - -"May I ask," said Mr Verneede, rather stiffly, as if slightly ruffled -by this last remark, "is this young lady, from a worldly point of view, -an _eligible partie_?" - -"Don't know, she's a most lovable girl. I met them in Paris, she and her -father, and travelled back with them. They have a big house up at -Highgate, and an estate somewhere in the country, but, somehow, I fancy -their affairs are involved. Mr Lambert always seems to be going to law -with people. No matter, I want to get some cakes--cakes and tea are the -right sort of things to offer a person--a girl--wine is impossible. -What's the time? After two! Wait here for me, I won't be long." - -He took his hat, and left the studio to Mr Verneede. - -Verneede was one of those _bizarre_ figures, with whose construction -Nature seems to have had very little to do. What he had been was a -mystery, where he lived was to most people a mystery, and what he lived -on was a mystery to every one. Some tiny income he must have had, but no -man knew from whence it came. Useless and picturesque as an old -fashion-plate, he wandered through life with an umbrella under his arm, -ready to stand at any street corner in the chill east wind or the -broiling sun and listen to any tale told by any man, and give useless -advice or instruction on any subject. - -His criticisms were the despair and delight of artists, according to -their liability to be soothed or maddened by the absolutely inane. - -For the rest, he was quite harmless, his chiefest vice, after a taste -for beer, a passion for borrowing umbrellas and never returning them. - -Mr Verneede seated, immersed in his own weird thoughts and -contemplations, came suddenly to consciousness again with a start. - -A dark-haired girl of that lost type which recalls La Cruche Cassee and -the Love-in-April conceptions of Fragonard, exquisitely pretty and -exquisitely dressed, was in the studio. He had not heard her knock, or -perceived her enter. Had she descended through the ceiling or risen from -the floor? was it a real girl, or was it June materialised in a gown of -corn-flower blue, and with wild field poppies in her breast? - -"God bless my soul!" said Mr Verneede. - -"You were asleep, I think," said the girl. "I'm so sorry to have -disturbed you, but I want to see Mr Leavesley; this _is_ his studio, I -think." - -"Oh, certainly, yes, this is his studio, I believe. Pray take a seat. -Ah, yes--dear me, what a strange coincidence----" - -"And these are his pictures?" said the girl, looking round her in an -interested way. She had placed a tiny parcel and an impossible parasol -on the table, and was drawing off a suede glove leisurely, as she -glanced around her. - -"These are his pictures," answered the old gentleman, "works of -art--very much so, the highest art inspired by the truest genius." - -Miss Lambert--for the June-like apparition was Miss Lambert--followed -with her little face the sweep of the old gentleman's arm as he pointed -out the highest art inspired by the truest genius. Rough studies, -canvases turned face to the wall, and one or two small finished -pictures. - -Then, realising that he had found an innocent victim, he began to -expatiate on art and on the pictures around them, and she to listen, -innocence attending to ignorance. - -"He is very clever, isn't he?" put in Miss Lambert, during a pause in -the exordium. - -"A genius, my dear young lady, a genius," said Mr Verneede, looking at -her over his shoulder as he replaced on a high bracket a little picture -he had reached down to show her. - -"One of the few living artists who can paint light. I may say that he -paints light with a delicacy and an elegance all his own. _Fiat -Lux_"--the shelf came down with a crash and a cloud of dust--"as the -poet says--pray don't move, I will restore the _debris_--as the poet -says. Now the gem of my young friend Leavesley's collection, in my mind, -is the John the Baptist." - -He went to a huge canvas which stood with its face to the wall, seized -it with arms outstretched, and turned it towards the girl. - -It was a picture of a semi-nude female after Reubens that the blundering -old gentleman had seized upon. - -"Observe the sunlight on the beard," came the voice of the showman from -behind the canvas, "the devotion in the eyes, the--ooch!!" - -A pillow caught from the couch by Frank Leavesley who had just entered, -and dexterously thrown, had flattened canvas and showman beneath a cloud -of dust. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A COUNCIL OF THREE - - -"Now, let's all be happy," said Miss Lambert; they had finished tea and -Belinda was removing the things, "for I must be going in a minute, and I -have such a lot of things to say--oh dear me, that reminds me," her -under-lip fell slightly. - -"What?" asked Leavesley. - -"That I'm perfectly miserable." - -"Oh, don't say that----" - -"My dear young lady----" - -"I mean I _ought_ to be perfectly miserable," said Miss Lambert with a -charming smile, "but somehow I'm not. Do you know, I never am what I -ought to be. When I ought to be happy I'm miserable, and when I ought to -be miserable I'm happy. Father says I was addled at birth, and that I -ought to have been put out of doors on a red-hot shovel as they used to -do long ago in Ireland with the omadlunns, or was it the changelings--no -matter. I wanted to talk to you about father--no, please don't go," to -Verneede, who had made a little movement as if to say "Am I _de trop_?" -"You are both so clever I'm sure you will be able to give me good -advice. He's worrying so." - -"Ah!" said Mr Verneede, with the air of a physician at a consultation. -He was in his element, he saw a prospect of unburthening himself of some -of his superfluous advice. - -"It's this Action," resumed Fanny, as if she were speaking of a tumour -or carbuncle, "that makes him so bad; I'm getting quite frightened about -him." - -"Was that the action he spoke to me about?" asked Leavesley. - -"Which?" asked Fanny. - -"The one against a bookseller?" - -"Oh no, I think that's settled; it's the one against our cousin, Mr -Bevan." - -"Ah!" - -"It's about the right-of-way--I mean the right of fishing in a stream -down in Buckinghamshire. They've spent ever so much money over it, it's -worrying father to death, but he _won't_ give it up. I thought perhaps -if _you_ spoke to him you might have some influence with him." - -"I'd be delighted to do anything," said Leavesley. "What is this man -Bevan like?" - -"Frightfully rich, and a beast." - -"That's comprehensive anyhow," said Leavesley. - -"Most, most--most clear and comprehensive," concurred Mr Verneede. - -"I hate him!" said Fanny, her eyes flashing, "and I wish he and his old -fish stream were--boiled." - -"That would certainly solve the difficulty," said Leavesley, scratching -the side of his hand meditatively. - -"And his beastly old solicitor too," continued the girl, tenderly -lifting a lady-bird, that had somehow got into the studio and on to her -knee, on the point of her finger. "Isn't he beautiful?" - -"Most," assented Leavesley, gazing with an artist's delight at the white -tapering finger on which the painted and polished insect was balancing -preparatory to flight. - -"Who is his solicitor, by the way?" - -"Mr Hancock of Southampton Row." - -"Mr Who?" - -"Hancock." - -"Why, he's my uncle." - -"Oh!" cried Fanny, "I _am_ sorry." - -"That he's my uncle?" - -"No--that I said that----" - -"Oh, that doesn't matter. I've often wished him boiled. It's awfully -funny, though, that he should be this man Bevan's solicitor--very." - -"I have an idea," said Verneede, leaning forward in his chair and -pressing the points of his fingers together. - -"My dear young lady, may I make a suggestion?" - -"Yes," said Fanny. - -"Two suggestions, I should have said." - -"Fire away," cut in Leavesley. - -"Well, my dear young lady, if my advice were asked I would first of all -say 'dam the stream.'" - -"Verneede!" cried Leavesley. "What are you saying?" - -"Father's always damning it," replied Miss Lambert with a laugh, "but it -doesn't seem to do much good." - -"My other suggestion," said Verneede, taken aback at the supposed -beaver-like attributes of Mr Lambert, "is this, go in your own person to -the friend of my friend Leavesley. I mean the uncle of my friend. Go to -Mr Hancock, go to him frankly, fearlessly, tell him the tale you have -told us; tell it to him with your own lips, in your own manner, with -your own charm; say to him 'You are killing my father--cease.' Speak to -him in your own way, smile at him----" - -"_That's_ not a bad idea," said Miss Lambert, turning to Leavesley, who -was seated mouth open, aghast at this lunatic proposition. - -"That's a _splendid_ idea, and I'll _do_ it." - -"Say to him 'Cease!'" continued Verneede, speaking in an inspired voice. -"Say to him----" - -"Oh, shut up!" cried Leavesley, shaken out of politeness. "Do you know -what you're talking about? Hancock is Bevan's solicitor." - -"That's just why I'm going to him," said Miss Lambert. - -"But it's against all the rules of everything. I'm not sure that it -wouldn't be considered tampering with--um--Justice." - -"It's not a question of justice, it's a question of common-sense," said -Miss Lambert. - -"Exactly," said Verneede, "common-sense; if this Mr--er--the uncle of my -friend Leavesley, is endowed with common-sense and a sense of -justice--yes, justice and a feeling for beauty----" - -"Oh, do stop!" said Leavesley, the prosaic vision of James Hancock -rising before him. - -"What on earth do lawyers know of justice or beauty or----" - -"If they don't," replied Fanny, "it's quite time they were taught." - -"Quite," concurred Verneede. - -When certain chemicals are brought into juxtaposition certain results -result. So it is with brains. Mr Leavesley for a moment sat -contemplating the crazy plan propounded by Mr Verneede. Then he broke -into a laugh. His imagination pictured the interview between Miss -Lambert and his uncle. - -"Well, go ahead," he said. "Perhaps you're right; I don't know much -about the law, but, anyhow, it's not a hanging matter. When are you -going?" - -"Now," said Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. - -Leavesley looked at his watch. - -"You'll scarcely catch him at the office unless you take a cab." - -"I'll take a cab. Will you come with me?" - -"Yes, rather!" - -"Only as far as the door," said Miss Lambert. - -"It's like going to the dentist; I always take father with me to the -dentist's as far as the door, for fear I'd run away. Once I'm in I don't -care a bit; it's the going in is the dreadful part." - -"I know," said Leavesley, reaching for his hat. "It's like facing the -music, the overture is the worst part." - -"I don't think you'd call it music," said Miss Lambert, "if you heard me -at the dentist's when he's working that drill thing--ugh! Come." - -They left the studio. - -The prospect of having Miss Lambert all alone to himself in a cab made -the heart of Mr Leavesley palpitate, mixed emotions filled his soul. -Blue funk was the basis of these emotions. He was going to propose, so -he told himself, immediately, the instant they were in the cab and the -horse had started. That was all very well as a statement made to -himself: it did not conceal the fact that Miss Lambert was a terribly -difficult girl to propose to. One of those jolly girls who treat one as -a brother are generally the most difficult to deal with when one -approaches them as a lover. But Miss Lambert, besides the fact of her -jollity and her treatment of Mr Leavesley as a brother, had a -personality all her own. She seemed to him a combination of the -practical and the unpractical in about equal proportions, one could -never tell how she would take things. - -They walked down the King's Road looking for a cab, Miss Lambert and -Verneede engaged in vivacious conversation, Leavesley silent, engaged in -troubled attempts to think. - -I give a few links from the chain of his thoughts just as a specimen. - -"Fanny, I love you--no, I can't say that, it's too bald and brutal. Miss -Lambert, I have long wanted to--oh, rubbish! How would it do to take her -hand--I _daren't_--bother!--does she care a button about me? Perhaps it -would be better to put it off till the next time--I'm not going to funk -it--may I call you Fanny?--or Fanny--may I call you Fanny? or Miss -Lambert may I call you Fanny? How would it be to write? No, I'll _do_ -it." - -They stopped, Mr Verneede had hailed a cab, and Leavesley came out of -his reverie to find a four-wheeler drawing up at the pavement. - -"Hullo," he said to Verneede, "what did you call that thing for?" - -"To drive in," replied Fanny, whilst Verneede opened the door. "Get in, -I'm in a horrible fright." - -"But," said Leavesley, "a four-wheeler--why not a hansom?" - -"No, no," said Miss Lambert, getting into the vehicle, "I hate hansoms, -I was thrown out of one once. Besides, this is more _respectable_. Do -get in quick, and tell the man to drive fast; I want to get the agony -over." - -"Corner of Southampton Row," cried Leavesley to the driver. He got in, -Verneede shut the door and stood on the pavement, bowing and smiling in -an antiquated way as they drove off. - -It was a four-wheeler with pretensions in the form of maroon velveteen -cushions and rubber tyres, a would-be imitation brougham, but the old -growler blood came out in its voice, every window rattled. Driving in -it, one could hear oneself speak, but conversation with a companion to -be intelligible had to be conducted in a mild shout. - -"I don't in the least know what I'm going to say to him," cried Miss -Lambert, leaning forward towards her companion--he was seated opposite -to her on the front seat. "I'm so nervous, I can't think." - -"Don't go to him." - -"I must, now we've taken the cab." - -"Let's go somewhere else." - -"Where?" - -"Anywhere--Madame Tussaud's." - -"No, no, I'm _going_. Don't let's talk of it, let's talk of something -pleasant." She opened her purse, turned its meagre contents into her -lap, and examined some bills that were stuffed into a side compartment. - -"What's two-and-six, and three shillings, and eighteen pence?" - -"Eight shillings, I think," answered Leavesley after a moment's thought. - -"Then I've lost a shilling," pouted Miss Lambert, counting her money, -replacing it, and closing the purse with a snap. "No matter, let's think -of something pleasant. Isn't old Mr Verneede sweet?" - -"Fanny," said Leavesley, ignoring the saccharine possibilities of Mr -Verneede--"may I call you Fanny?" - -"Of course, every one does. I say, is this cabman taking us right?" - -"Yes, quite. What I was going to say," weakly and suddenly, "Fanny, -let's go somewhere some day, and have a really good time." - -"Where?" - -"Up the river--anywhere." - -"I'd love to," said Miss Lambert. "I haven't been up the river for ages; -let's have a picnic." - -"Yes, let's; what day could you come?" - -"Any day--at least some day. Some day next week--only father is going -away next week, and a picnic would be nothing without _him_." - -"Suppose you and I and Verneede went for a picnic next week?" - -"That would be fun," said the girl; "we can make tea--oh, don't let us -talk of picnics, I feel miserable. Will he _eat_ me, do you think?" - -"Who?" - -"Mr Hancock." - -"Not he--unless he has the gout, he's perfectly savage when he has the -gout--I say?" - -"What?" - -"You'd better not tell him you know me." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, because I've been fighting with him lately. I quarrel with him -once in three months or so. If he thought you and I were friends, it -might put his back up." - -"I'll be mum," said Miss Lambert. - -"I'll wait for you at the corner till you come out," said Leavesley, -"and tell me, Fanny." - -"What?" - -"You _will_ come for a picnic, won't you?" - -"Rather, if I'm alive. I feel like the young lady of Niger--wasn't -it?--who went for a ride on a tiger, just before she saddled it----" - -The cab rattled and rumbled them at last into Oxford Street. At the -corner of Southampton Row it stopped. They got out, and Leavesley paid -and dismissed the driver. - -"That's the house down there," said he, "No. --. I'll wait for you here; -_don't_ be long." - -"I won't be a minute, at least I'll be as short as I can. Now I'm -_going_." - -She tripped off, and Leavesley watched her flitting by the grim, -business-like houses. She turned for a second, glanced back, and then -No. -- engulfed her. - -Leavesley waited, trying to picture to himself the interview that was -in progress. Trying to fancy what Miss Lambert was saying to Mr James -Hancock, and what Mr James Hancock was saying to Miss Lambert. - -Surely no one in London could have suggested such a proceeding except -Verneede, a proceeding so hopelessly insane from a business point of -view. - -To call on your adversary's solicitor, and tell him to cease because he -was worrying your father to death! - -Besides, Lambert was the man who ought to cease, because it was Lambert -who was the plaintiff. - -Punching a man's head, and then telling him to cease! - -Mr Leavesley burst into a laugh that caused a passing old lady to hurry -on her way. - -He waited. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen; _what_ was happening? - -It was nearly closing time at the office. Twenty minutes passed. Could -James Hancock really have devoured Fanny in a fit of gout and -irritation? - -He saw Bridgewater, the old chief clerk, come out and make off down -Southampton Row with a bag in his hand. - -Three-quarters of an hour had gone, and Leavesley had taken his watch -out for the twentieth time, when from the doorway of No. -- Fanny -appeared, a glimmer of blue like a butterfly just broken from its -chrysalis. - -Leavesley made two steps towards her, then he paused. Immediately after -Fanny came James Hancock, umbrella in hand, and hat on the back of his -head. - -He was accompanying her. - -Fanny glanced in Leavesley's direction, and then she and her companion -walked away down Southampton Row, Hancock walking with his long stride; -Fanny trotting beside him, neither, apparently, speaking one to the -other. - -Leavesley followed full of amazement. - -He could tell from his uncle's manner of walking, and from the way he -wore his hat, that he was either irritated or perplexed. He walked -hurriedly, and, viewed from behind, he had the appearance of a physician -who was going to an urgent case. - -Much marvelling, the artist followed. He saw Hancock hail a passing -four-wheeler, and open the door. Fanny got in, her companion gave some -directions to the driver, got in after the girl, closed the door, and -the cab drove off. - -"Now, what on earth can this mean?" asked Mr Leavesley, taking off his -hat and drawing his hand across his brow. - -Disgust at being robbed of Fanny struggled in his mind with a feeling of -pure, unadulterated wonder. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HANCOCK & HANCOCK - - -Frank Leavesley's uncle, Mr James Hancock of Gordon Square and -Southampton Row, Solicitor, was, in the year of this story, still -unmarried. - -The firm of Hancock & Hancock had thrived in Bloomsbury for upwards of a -hundred years. By a judicious exercise of the art of dropping bad -clients and picking up good, and retaining the good when picked up, it -had built for itself a business second to none in the soliciting world -of the Metropolis. - -To be a successful solicitor is not so easy a matter as you may -suppose. Take your own case, for instance, and imagine how many men you -would trust with the fact that your wife is in a madhouse and not on a -visit to her aunt; with the reason why your son requires cutting off -with a shilling; why you have to pay so much a month to So-and-so--and -so on. How many men would you trust with your title-deeds, and bonds, -and scrip, even as you would trust yourself? - -The art of inspiring confidence combined with the less facile arts of -straight dealing and right living, had placed the Hancocks in the first -rank of their profession, and kept them there for over a hundred years. - -James, the last of the race, was in personal appearance typical of his -forebears. Rather tall, thin, with a high colour suggestive of port -wine, and a fidgety manner, you would never have guessed him at first -sight to be one of the keenest business men in London, the depository of -awful secrets, and the instigator and successful leader of legal forlorn -hopes. - -His dress was genteel, verging on the shabby, a hideous brown horse-hair -watch guard crossed his waistcoat, and he habitually carried an -umbrella that would have damned the reputation of any struggling -professional man. - -His sister kept house for him in Gordon Square. She was just one year -his senior. An acid woman, early-Victorian in her tendencies and get-up, -Patience Hancock, to use the cook's expression, had been "born with the -key of the coal cellar in her pocket." She certainly carried the key of -the wine cellar there, and the keys of the plate pantry, larder, jam -depository, and Tantalus case. Everything lock-upable in the Gordon -Square establishment was locked up, and every month or so she received a -"warning" from one of the domestics under her charge. - -The art of setting by the ears and treading on corns came to her by -nature, it was her misfortune, not her fault, for despite her acidity -she had a heart, atrophied from disuse, perhaps, but still a heart. - -She treated her brother as though she were twenty years his senior, and -she had prevented him from marrying by subtle arts of her own, exercised -unconsciously, perhaps, but none the less potently. His affair with Miss -Wilkinson, eldest daughter of Alderman Wilkinson, an affair which -occurred twenty years ago, had been withered, or blasted, if you like -the expression better, by Patience Hancock. She had caused no bitter -feelings towards herself in the breast of either of the parties -concerned in this old-time love affair, but all the same she had parted -them. - -Two other attempts on the part of James Hancock to mate and have done -with the business failed for no especial reason, and of late years, from -all external signs, he appeared to have come to the determination to -have done with the business without mating. - -Patience had almost dismissed the subject from her mind; secure in the -conviction that her brother's heart had jellified and set, she had -almost given up espionage, and had settled down before the prospect of a -comfortable old age with lots of people to bully and a free hand in the -management of her brother and his affairs. - -Bridgewater, Hancock's confidential clerk, a man of seventy adorned with -the simplicity of a child of ten, had hitherto been her confidant. - -Bridgewater, seduced with a glass of port wine and a biscuit, had helped -materially in the blasting of the Wilkinson affair twenty years before. -He had played the part of spy several times, unconsciously, or partly -so, and to-day he was just the same old blunderer, ready to fall into -any trap set for him by an acute woman. - -He adored Patience Hancock for no perceptible earthly reason except that -he had known her in short frocks, and besides this weak-minded adoration -he regarded her as part and parcel of the business, and regarded her -commands as equivalent to the commands of her brother. - -Of late years his interviews with Patience had been few, she had no need -for him; and as he sat over his bachelor's fire at nights rubbing his -shins and thinking and dreaming, sometimes across his recollective -faculty would stray the old past, the confidences, the port, and the -face of Patience Hancock all in a pleasant jumble. - -He felt that of late years, somehow, his power to please had in some -mysterious manner waned, and, failing a more valid reason, he put it -down to that change in things and people which is the saddest -accompaniment of age. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -OMENS - - -One day this late June, or one morning, rather, Miss Hancock's dreams of -the future and her part in it became again troubled. - -James Hancock, to use a simile taken from the garden, showed signs of -sprouting. A new hat had come home the night before from the hatter's, -and he had bought a new necktie _himself_. Hitherto he had paid for his -neckties and Patience had bought them, sombre neckties suitable to a -lawyer and a celibate. This thing from Amery and Loders, a thing of -lilac silk suitable enough for a man of twenty, caused Patience to stare -when it appeared at breakfast one morning round the neck of her brother. - -But she said nothing, she poured out the tea and watched her brother -opening his letters and reading his newspaper, and munching his toast. -She listened to his remarks on the price of consols and the fall in -Russian bonds, and his grumbles because the "bacon was fried to a -cinder," just as she had watched and listened for the last thirty -years. Then, when he had finished and departed, she rose and went -downstairs to bully the cook and terrorise the maids, which -accomplished, she retired to her own room to dress preparatory to going -out. - -The house in Gordon Square had the solidity of structure and the gloom -peculiar to the higher class houses in Bloomsbury. The great -drawing-room had a chandelier that lived in a bag, and sofas and chairs -arrayed in brown holland overalls; there were things in woolwork that -Amelia Sedley might have worked, and abominations of art, deposited by -the early Victorian age, struggled for pride of place with Georgian -artistic attempts. The dining-room was furnished with solid mahogany, -and everything in and about the place seemed solid and constructed with -a view to eternity and the everlasting depression of man. - -A week's sojourn in this house explained much of a certain epoch in -English History to the mind of the sojourner; at the termination of the -visit one began to understand dimly the humours of Gillray and the -fidelity to truth of that atmosphere of gloom pervading the pictures of -Hogarth. One understood why, in that epoch, men drank deep, why women -swooned and improved swooning into a fine art, why Society was generally -beastly and brutal, and why great lords sat up all night soaking -themselves with brandy and waiting to see the hangman turn off a couple -of poor wretches in the dawn; also, why men hanged themselves without -waiting for the hangman, alleging for reason "the spleen." - -Miss Hancock, having arranged herself to her own satisfaction, took her -parasol from the stand in the hall, and departed on business bent. - -She held three books in her hand--the butcher's, the baker's, and the -greengrocer's. She felt in a cheerful mood, as her programme included -and commenced with an attack on the butcher--_Casus Belli_--an -overcharge made on the last leg of mutton but one. Having defeated the -butcher, and tackled the other unfortunates and paid them, she paused -near Mudie's Library as if in thought. Then she made direct for -Southampton Row and the office of her brother, where, as she entered the -outer office, Bridgewater was emerging from the sanctum of his master, -holding clutched to his breast an armful of books and papers. - -Bridgewater would have delighted the heart of John Leech. He had a red -and almost perfectly round face; his spectacles were round, his body was -round, his eyes were round, and the expression of his countenance, if I -may be allowed the figure, was round. It was also slightly mazed; he -seemed forever lost in a mild astonishment, the slightest thing out of -the common, heightened this expression of chronic astonishment into one -of acute amazement. A rat in the office, a fall in the funds, a clerk -giving notice to leave, any of these little incidents was sufficient to -wreathe the countenance of Mr Bridgewater with an expression that would -not have been out of place had he been gazing upon the ruins of Pompeii, -or the eruption of Mont Pelee. He had scanty white hair and enormous -feet, and was, despite his bemazed look, a very acute old gentleman in -business hours. The inside of his head was stuffed with facts like a -Whitaker's almanac, and people turned to him for reference as they would -turn to "Pratt's Law of Highways" or "Archbold's Lunacy." - -Bridgewater seeing Miss Hancock enter, released somewhat his tight hold -on the books and papers, and they all slithered pell mell on to the -floor. She nodded to him, and, stepping over the papers, tapped with the -handle of her parasol at the door of the inner office. Mr Hancock was -disengaged, and she went in, closing the door behind her carefully as -though fearful of some secret escaping. - -She had no secret to communicate, however, and no business to transact, -she only wanted a loan of Bridgewater for an hour to consult him about -the lease of a house at Peckham. (Miss Hancock had money in her own -right.) Having obtained the loan and stropped her brother's temper to a -fine edge, so that he was sharp with the clerks and irritable with the -clients till luncheon time, Miss Hancock took herself off, saying to the -head clerk as she passed out, "I want you to come round to luncheon, -Bridgewater, to consult you about a lease; my brother says he can spare -you. Come at half-past one sharp; Good-day." - -"Well to be sure!" said Bridgewater scratching his encyclopaedic head, -and gazing in the direction of the doorway through which the lady had -vanished. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LAMBERT _V._ BEVAN - - -Now the germinal spot of this veracious history consists in the fact -that numbered amongst Mr James Hancock's most prized clients was a young -gentleman of the name of Bevan; the gentleman, in short, whom Miss Fanny -Lambert described as "frightfully rich and a beast." - -Mr Charles Maximilian Bevan, to give him his full title, inhabited a set -of chambers in the "Albany," midway between the Piccadilly end and the -end opening upon Vigo Street. - -He was a young man of about twenty-three years of age, of a not -unpleasing but rather heavy appearance, absolutely unconscious of the -humour that lay in himself or in the world around him, and possessed of -a fine, furious, old-fashioned temper; a temper that would burst out -over an ill-cooked beef steak or a missing stud, and which vented itself -chiefly upon his valet Strutt. In most of us the port of our ancestors -runs to gout; in Mr Bevan it ran to temper. - -He was a bachelor. Hamilton Cox, the author of "The Pillar of Salt," -once said that the Almighty had appointed Charles Bevan to be a -bachelor, and that he had taken up his appointment. To his friends it -seemed so, and it seemed a pity, for he was an orphan and very wealthy, -and had no unpleasant vices. He possessed Highshot Towers and five -thousand acres of land in the richest part of Buckinghamshire, a moor in -Scotland which he let each autumn to a man from Chicago, and a house in -Mayfair which he also let. - -Mr Bevan was not exactly a miser, but he was careful; no cabman ever -received more from him than his legal fare; he studied the city news in -the _Times_ each morning, and Strutt was kept informed as to the price -of Consols by the state of his master's temper, also as to the dividends -declared by the Great Northern, South Eastern, London North Western -Railways, and the Glasgow Gas Works, in all of which concerns Mr Bevan -was a heavy holder. - -In his life he had rarely been known to give a penny to a beggar man, -yet each year he gave a good many pounds to the Charity Organisation -Society, and the Hospitals, feeling sure that money invested in these -institutions would not be misspent, and might even, perhaps, bear some -shadowy dividend in the life to come. - -He had a horror of cardsharpers, poets, foreigners, inferior artists, -and badly dressed people in general--every one, in fact, beyond the pale -of what he was pleased to call "Respectability"--but beyond all these -and above all these, he had a horror of spendthrifts. - -The Bevans had always been like that; there had been drinking Bevans, -and fighting Bevans, and foolish Bevans of various descriptions, even -open-handed Bevans, but there had never been a thoroughpaced squandering -Bevan. Very different was it with the Lamberts, whose estate lay -contiguous to that of Bevan, down in Bucks. How the Lamberts had held -together as a family for four hundred years, certain; through the -spacious times of Elizabeth, the questionable time of Charles, the -winter of the Commonwealth; how the ship of Lambert passed entire -between the Scylla of the Cocoa tree and the charybdis of Crockfords; -how it weathered the roaring forties, are question constituting a -problem indissoluble, even when we take into account the known capacity -of the Lamberts for trimming, swashbuckling and good fellowship -generally. A problem, however, upon which the present story will, -perhaps, cast some light. - -How jolly Jack Lambert played with Gerald Fiennes till he lost his -house, his horses, his carriages, and his deaf and dumb negro servant. -How with a burst of laughter he staked his wife and won back his negro, -staked both, and retrieved his horses and his carriages, and at five -o'clock of a bright May morning rose from the table having eternally -broken and ruined Fiennes, was a story current in the days when William, -the first of the Bevans, was a sober cloth merchant in Wych Street, and -Charles, the first of the Stuarts, held his pleasant Court at -Windsor--_Carpe Diem_, it was the motto of jolly Jack Lambert. _Festina -Lente_ said William of the cloth-yard. - -The houses of Bevan and Lambert had never agreed, brilliancy and dulness -rarely do, they had intermarried, however, with the result that the -present George Lambert and the present Charles Bevan were cousins of a -sort, cousins that had never spoken one to the other, and, moreover, at -the present moment, were engaged, as we know, in active litigation as to -the rights of fishing in an all but fishless stream some twelve feet -broad, which separated the estates and the kinsmen. - -Some twelve months previously it appears Strutt being sent down to -Highshot Towers to superintend some alterations, had found in the -gun-room a fishing-rod, and yielding to his cockney instincts, had -fished, catching by some miracle a dilapidated looking jack. - -He had promptly been set upon and beaten by a person whom Lambert called -his keeper, and who, according to Strutt, swam the stream like an otter, -hit him in the eye, broke the rod, and vanished with the jack. - -So began the memorable action of Bevan _v._ Lambert, which, having been -won in the Queen's Bench by Charles Bevan, was now at the date of our -story, waiting its turn to appear before the Lords Justices of Appeal. -It was stated, such was the animus with which this lawsuit was -conducted, that George Lambert was cutting down timber to defray the -costs of the lawyers, a fallacious statement, for the estate of Lambert -was mortgaged beyond the hope of redemption. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE BEVAN TEMPER - - -On a fine morning, two days after Miss Lambert's visit to Mr Hancock, Mr -Bevan entered his sitting-room in the "Albany" dressed for going out. He -wore a tea rose in his buttonhole, and Strutt, who followed his master, -bore in his hands a glossy silk hat far more carefully than if it had -been a baby. - -A most comfortably furnished and tastefully upholstered room was this in -which Charles Bevan smoked his one cigar and drank his one whisky and -seltzer before retiring to bed each night; everything spoke of an -orderly and well-regulated mind; of books there were few in bindings -sedate as their subject matter, and they had the air of prisoners rarely -released from the narrow cases that contained them. On the walls hung a -series of Gillray's engravings depicting "the flagitious absurdities of -the French during their occupation of Egypt." On the table reposed the -_Field_, the _Times_, and the _Spectator_ (uncut). - -"But what the deuce can he _want_?" said Charles, who was holding an -open letter in his hand. It was a letter from the family lawyer asking -his attendance in Southampton Row at his earliest convenience. - -"Maybe," said Strutt, blowing away a speck of dust that had dared to -settle on the hat, "Maybe, sir, it's about the lawsuit." - -Bevan put the letter in his pocket, took his hat and stick from the -faithful Strutt and departed. - -He made for "Brooks'." - -Mr Bevan patronised "Brooks'" and the "Reform." - -In the deserted smoking-room of "Brooks'" he sat down to write some -letters, and here followeth the correspondence of a modern Chesterfield. - - - "TO J. HOLDSWORTH, - HAY STREET, PIMLICO. - - "Sir,--The thing you sent for my inspection yesterday is no use. - I'm not anxious to buy camels. Please do not trouble any more in - the matter. I wasted half an hour over this yesterday and my time - is valuable if the time of your groom is not.--Yours truly, - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MRS NEURAPATH, - Secretary to Neurapath's Home for - Lost and Starving Cats, BERMONDSEY. - - "Madam,--In answer to your third demand for a contribution to your - funds, I write to tell you that it is my fixed rule never to - contribute to private charities.--Yours, etc., - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MESSRS TEITZ; - Breeches Makers, OXFORD STREET. - - "Sir,--Please send your foreman to see me in the 'Albany' to-morrow - at ten A.M. The breeches don't fit.--Yours, etc., - - "C. M. BEVAN." - - - "TO MISS PAMELA PURSEHOUSE, - THE ROOST, ROOKHURST, KENT. - - "My Dearest Pam,--Just a line scribbled in a hurry to say I will be - down in a few days. I am writing this at 'Brooks''. It's a - beautiful morning, but I expect it will be a scorching day, like - yesterday, it's always the way with this beastly climate, one is - either scorched, or frozen, or drowned. Just as I am writing this, - old Sir John Blundell has come into the room, he's the most - terrible bore, mad on roses and can't talk of anything else, he's - fidgetting about behind me trying to attract my attention, so I - have to keep on writing and pretending not to see him. I'm sorry - the buff Orpington cock is dead, was he the one who took the first - prize? I'll get you another if you let me know where to send. I - _think_ there are some buff Orpingtons at Highshot but am not sure, - I don't take any interest in hens--only of course in yours. They - say hen-farming pays on a big scale, but I don't see where the - profit can come in. Thank goodness, that old fool Blundell has just - gone out--now I must stop,--With love, ever yours (etc., etc.), - - "CHARLEY." - - -The author of this modern Englishman's love letter, having stamped and -deposited his correspondence in the club letter-box, entered the hansom -which had been called for him, and proceeded to his solicitor, James -Hancock, of the firm of Hancock & Hancock, Southampton Row. - -When Bevan was shown in, Mr Hancock was seated at his desk table, -writing a letter with a quill pen. He tossed his spectacles up on his -forehead and held out his hand. - -"I am sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of calling," said he, -crossing his legs, and playing with a paper knife, "but the fact is, I -have received a communication from the other side, who seem anxious to -bring this affair to a conclusion." - -"Oh, do they?" said Charles Bevan. - -"The fact is," continued the elder gentleman slapping his knee with the -flat of the paper knife as he spoke, "the fact is, Mr George Lambert is -in very great financial straits, and if the truth were known, I verily -believe the truth would be that he is quite insolvent." - -Charles made no reply. - -"But he will go on fighting the case, unless we can come to terms, even -though he has to borrow money for the purpose, for he is a very -litigious man this Mr George Lambert, a very litigious man!" - -"Well, let him fight," cried Charles; "_I_ ask nothing better." - -"Still," said the old lawyer, "I thought it better to lay before you the -suggestion that has come from the other side, and which is simply -this----" He paused, drew a tortoiseshell snuff-box from his pocket, and -took a furious pinch of snuff. "Which is simply this, that each party -pay their own costs, and that the fishing rights be shared equally. We -beat them in the Queen's Bench, but when the matter comes before the -Court of Appeal, who knows but----" - -"Pay _what_?" cried Charles Bevan. "Pay my own costs after having fought -so long, and nearly beaten this pirate, this poacher! Show me the -letter containing this proposal, this infamous suggestion." - -"Dear me, dear me, my dear sir, pray do not take the matter so -crookedly," cried the man of law lowering his spectacles and beginning -to mend a quill pen in an irritable manner. "There is nothing infamous -in this proposal, and indeed it reached me not through the mediumship of -a letter, but of a young lady. Mr George Lambert's daughter called upon -me in person, a most--er--charming young lady. She gave me to understand -from her conversation--her most artless conversation--that her -unfortunate father is on the brink, the verge, I may say the verge of -ruin. But he himself does not see it, pig-headed man that he is. In fact -she, the young lady herself, does not seem to see it. Dear me, dear me, -their condition makes me shudder." - -"When did she call?" asked Bevan. - -"Two days ago," blurted out the old lawyer splitting the quill and -nearly cutting his finger with the penknife. - -"Why was I not informed sooner of this disgraceful proposition," -demanded Bevan. - -"I declare I have been so busy----" said the other. - -"Well, tell George Lambert, I will fight as long as I have teeth to -fight with, and if I lose the action I'll break him anyhow," foamed -Charles who was now in the old-fashioned port-wine temper, which was an -heirloom in the Bevan family. "I'll buy up his mortgages and foreclose, -tell his wretched daughter----" - -"Mr Bevan," suddenly interposed the lawyer, "Miss Fanny Lambert is a -most charming lady for whom I have a deep respect--I may say a very deep -respect--the suggestion came from her informally. I doubt indeed if Mr -George Lambert would listen to any proposals for an amicable settlement, -he declares you have treated him, to use his expression--er--not as one -gentleman should treat another." - -Charles turned livid. - -"Where does this Lambert live now?" - -"At present he resides I believe, at his town house 'The Laurels,' -Highgate----. Why! Mr Bevan----" - -Charles had risen. - -"He said I was not a gentleman, did he? and you listened to him, I -suppose, and agreed with him, and you--no matter, I'll be my own -solicitor, I'll go and see him, and tell him he ought to be ashamed of -tampering with my business people through the medium of his daughter. -Yes, we'll see--'The Laurels' Highgate." - -"Mr Bevan, Mr Bevan!" cried old James Hancock in despair. - -But Mr Bevan was gone, strutting out like an enraged turkey-cock through -the outer office. - -"I am afraid I have but made matters worse, I am afraid I have but made -matters worse," moaned the peace-loving Mr Hancock, rubbing his -shrivelled hands together in an agony of discomfiture, whilst Charles -Bevan hailed a cab outside, determined to have it out man to man with -this cousin who had dared to say that a Bevan had behaved in a -dishonourable manner. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AT "THE LAURELS" - - -Up in Highgate an hour later you might have seen a hansom driving about, -pausing here and there to ask of policemen, pedestrians, and others for -"The Laurels." - -"There's a' many Laurels," said the milkman, who was also the first -director, and so after awhile Mr Bevan found to his cost. - -But at last they found, with the aid of a local directory, the right -one, a spacious house built of red brick seen through an avenue of lime -trees all abuzz with bees. - -There was no sign of life in the little gate lodge, and the entrance -gate was pushed back; the orderly eye of Charles Bevan noticed that it -was half off its hinges; also, that the weeds in the avenue were -rampant. - -A laburnum had pushed its way through the limes, and a peony, as large -almost as a cabbage, had laid its head on the avenue-way, presenting a -walk-over-me-_I_-don't-care appearance, quite in accordance with the -general aspect of things. - -The hansom drew up at the door and the traveller from Southampton Row -flung away his cigar end, alighted, and ran up the three steps leading -to the porch. He rang the bell, and then stood wondering at the -luxuriance of the wisteria that overspread the porch, and contemplating -the hind hocks of the cab-horse which had been fired. - -What he was about to do or say when he found himself in the presence of -his enemy was not very clear to the mind of Mr Bevan. What did occur to -him was that George Lambert would have the advantage over him in the -interview, seeing that he would be in his own house--on his own -dunghill, so to speak. - -He might have got into the hansom and returned to town, but that would -have been an admission to himself that he had committed a fault, and to -admit themselves in fault, even to themselves, was never a way with the -Bevans. - -So he rang and waited, and rang again. - -Presently shuffling footsteps sounded from behind the door which opened -some two inches, disclosing a pale, blue eye, part of a nose, and an -uncertain coloured fringe. - -"What do you want?" cried a voice through the crack. - -"Does Mr George Lambert live here?" - -"He does, but he's from home." - -"Dear me," murmured Charles, whose curiosity was now greatly aroused by -the neglected aspect of the place and the mysterious personage hidden by -the door. He felt a great desire to penetrate further into the affairs -of his enemy and see what was to be seen. - -"Is Miss Lambert in?" - -"Yus." - -"Then give her my card, please. I would like to speak to her." - -The person behind the door undid the chain, satisfied evidently by -Bevan's voice and appearance that he was not a dun or a robber. The door -opened disclosing a servant maid, very young and very dirty. - -This ash-cat took the piece of pasteboard, and made a pretence of -reading it, invited Charles to enter, and then closing the door, and -barring it this time as if to keep him in, should he try to escape, led -the way across a rather empty hall to a library. - -Here she invited him to sit down upon a chair, having first dusted it -with her apron, and declaring that she would send Miss Fanny to him in -"a minit," vanished, and left him to his meditations. - -"Most extraordinary place," said Charles, glancing round at the books in -their cases. "Most extraordinary place I ever entered." - -As he looked about him, he heard the youthful servant's voice raised now -to its highest pitch, and calling "Miss Fanny, Miss Fanny, Miss -F-a-a-anny" and dying away as if in back passages. - -The library was evidently much inhabited by the Lamberts; it was -pleasantly perfumed with tobacco, and in the grate lay the expiring -embers of a morning fire. The Lamberts were evidently not of the order -of people who extinguish their fires on the first of May. There were -whips and fishing-rods, and a gun or two here and there, and books -everywhere about, besides those on the shelves. The morning paper lay -spread open on the floor, where it had been cast by the last reader, and -on the floor lay other things, which in most houses are to be found on -tables, envelopes crumpled up, letters, and other trifles. - -On a little table by the window grew an orange-tree in a flower-pot, -bearing oranges as large as marrow-fat peas; through the half-open -window came wasps in and out, the perfume of mignonette and the murmur -of distant bees. - -He came to the window and looked out. - -Outside lay the ruins of a garden bathed in the golden light of summer, -the light that - - - "Speaks wide and loud - From deeps blown clean of cloud, - As though day's heart were proud - And heaven's were glad." - - -Beyond lay a paddock in whose centre lay the wraith of a tennis lawn; -the net hung shrivelled between the tottering poles, and close to the -net he saw the forlorn figure of a girl playing what seemed a fantastic -game of tennis all alone. - -She would hit the ball into the air and strike it back when it fell; if -it went over the net she would jump after it. - -Now appeared the slattern maid, card between finger and thumb, picking -her way like a cat along the tangled garden path in the direction of the -girl. - -Mr Bevan turned away from the window and looked at the books lining the -wall, his eye travelling from Humboldt's works to the tooled back of -Milton--he was trying to recollect who Schopenhauer was--when of a -sudden the door opened and an amazingly pretty girl of the old-fashioned -school of beauty entered the room. She was dark, and she came into the -room laughing, yet with a half-frightened air as if fearful of being -caught missing from some old canvas. - -"You won't tell," said she as they shook hands like intimate -acquaintances. "If father knew I had asked Mr Hancock, you know what, -he'd kill me; I really believe he would." She put down her tennis -racquet on the table, her hat she had left outside, and evidently in a -hurry, to judge by the delightful disorder of her hair. - -Mr Bevan, who was trying to stiffen his lip and appear very formal, had -taken his seat on a low chair which made him feel dwarfed and -ridiculous. He had also, unfortunately, left his hat on the table some -yards away, and so had nothing with which to occupy his hands; he was, -therefore, entirely at the mercy of Miss Lambert, who had taken an -armchair near by, and was now chattering to him with the familiarity, -almost, of a sister. - -"It seems so fortunate, you know," said she suddenly, discarding a -discussion about the weather. "It seems so fortunate that idea of mine -of speaking to Mr Hancock. I hate fighting with people, but father -_loves_ it; he'd fight with himself, I think, if he could find no one -else, and still, if you knew him, he's the sweetest-tempered person in -the world, he is, he would do anything for anybody, he would lay his -life down for a friend. But you will know him now, now that that -terrible affair about the fish stream is settled." - -Mr Bevan swallowed rapidly and cast frantic glances at his hat. Had -Miss Lambert been of the ordinary type of girl he might possibly have -intimated that the fish stream business was not so settled as she -supposed, but with this sweet-tongued and friendly beauty, it was -impossible. He felt deeply exasperated at the false position in which he -found himself, and was endeavouring to prepare some reply of a -non-committal character when, of a sudden, his eye caught a direful -sight, which for a moment made him forget both fish stream and false -position--the little boot of Miss Lambert peeping from beneath her skirt -was old and broken. - -"I would not deny him anything, goodness knows," continued Fanny -Lambert, as if she were talking of a child. "But this action _costs_ -such a lot, and there are so many people he could fight cheaply with if -he wants to," she broke into an enchanting little laugh. "I think, -really, it's the expense that makes him think so much of it; he has a -horror of cheap things." - -"Cheap things are never much good," conceded Mr Bevan, upon whose mind a -dreadful sort of imbecility had now fallen, his will cried out -frantically to his intellect for help, and received none. Here had he -come to demand explanations, to put his foot down--alas! what is the -will of man beside the beauty of a woman? - -"That's what father says," said Fanny. "But as for me, I love them, that -is to say bargains, you know." - -The door burst open and a sort of poodle walked in, he was not exactly -Russian and not exactly French, he had points of an Irish water-spaniel. -Bevan gazed at him and marvelled. - -Having inspected the pattern of the visitor's trousers, and seeming -therewith content Boy-Boy--such was his name--flung himself on the floor -and into sleep beside his mistress. - -"He sleeps all day," said Fanny, "and I wish he wouldn't, for he spends -the whole night barking and rushing after the cats in the garden. Isn't -he just like a door mat, and doesn't he snore?" - -"He certainly does." - -"I got him for three and sixpence and an old pair of boots from one of -those travelling men who grind scissors and things," said Miss Lambert, -looking lovingly at her bargain. "He was half starved and _so_ thin. He -ate a whole leg of mutton the first day we had him." - -"That was very unwise," said Mr Bevan, who always shone on the topic of -dogs or horses; "you should never give dogs much meat." - -"He took it," said Fanny. "It was so clever of him, he hid it in the -garden and buried the bone--who is that at the door, is that you, -Susannah?" - -"Luncheon is ready, Miss," said the voice of Susannah, who spoke in a -muted tone as if she were announcing some unsavoury fact of which she -was half ashamed. - -Charles Bevan rose to go. - -"Oh, but you'll stay to luncheon," said Fanny. - -"I really--I have an engagement--that is a cab waiting." Then addressing -his remarks to the eyes of Miss Lambert, "I shall be delighted if such a -visitation does not bore you." - -"Not a bit--Susannah, hang Mr Bevan's hat up in the hall. Come this -way." - -Mr Bevan followed his hostess across the hall to the breakfast-room; as -he followed he heard with a shudder Susannah attempting to hang his hat -on the high hall rack, and the hat falling off and being pursued about -the floor. - -Luncheon was laid in a free-handed and large-hearted manner. Three -whitings on a dish of Sheffield plate formed the _piece de resistance_, -there was jam which appeared frankly in a pot pictured with plums, but -in the centre of the table stood a vase of Venetian glass filled with -roses. - -As they took their seats Susannah, who had apparently been seized with -an inspiration, appeared conveying a bottle of Boellinger in one hand, -and a bottle of Gold-water in the other. - -"I brought them from the cellar, Miss," said the maid with a side glance -at Charles--she was a good-natured-looking girl when not defending the -hall door, but her under jaw seemed like the avenue gate, half off its -hinges, and her intellect to be always oozing away through her half-open -mouth. "They were the best I could find." - -"That's right, Susannah," said her mistress; "try if you can get one of -those little bottles of port, the ones with red seals on them and -cobwebs; and close the door." - -Mr Bevan opened the champagne and helped himself, Miss Lambert -announcing the fact that she was a teetotaler. - -"There is a man in the kitchen," said she, after an apology for the -general disorder of things, and for the whiting which were but -indifferently cooked. "James, you know, and when he is in the kitchen -whilst meals are being prepared Susannah loses her head and often spoils -things. Father generally sends him out to dig in the garden whilst she -is cooking. I didn't send him to-day because he won't take orders from -me, only from father. He says a man cannot serve two masters; he is -always making proverbs and things, his father was a stationer and he has -written poetry. He might have been anything only for his wife, he told -me so the other night. It _does_ seem such a pity." - -"Yes," said Charles tentatively, wondering who "James, you know" might -be. - -"What is he?" - -"He's in the law," said Miss Lambert cautiously, then after a moment's -hesitation, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you, you are our cousin. -Father had a debt and----" - -"You don't mean to say he's----" - -"Yes, he has come to take possession as they call it." - -Mr Bevan laid down his knife and fork. - -"Good gracious!" - -"I never cried so much as when he came," said Fanny, stroking the head -of Boy-Boy, who was resting beside her; "it seemed so terrible. I never -knew what a comfort he would turn out; he fetches the coals for Susannah -and pumps the water. It sounds strange to say it, but I don't know what -we should do without him now." - -"Oh, you poor child," thought Charles, "how much you must have suffered -at the hands of that pig-headed fool of a father of yours--to think of a -good estate coming to this!" - -"Tell me," he said aloud, "how long has that man been here?" - -"A week," said Fanny, "but it seems a year." - -"Who--er--put him in." - -"A Mr Isaacs." - -"What was the debt for, Cousin Fanny?" - -"We went to Paris." - -"I don't----" - -"I wanted to go to Paris, and father said I should, but he would have to -think first about the money. Then he went into the library, and took me -on his knee, and smoked a pipe. He always gets money when he sits and -has what he calls a 'good think' and smokes a pipe. So he got the money -and we went to Paris. We had a lovely time!" - -"And then," said Bevan with an expression on his face as if he were -listening to a fairy tale which he _had_ to believe, "I suppose Mr -Isaacs applied for his money?" - -"He sent most impertinent letters," said Fanny, "and I told father not -to mind them, then James came." - -Mr Bevan went on with his luncheon, all his anger against his cousin, -George Lambert, had vanished. Anger is impossible to a sane mind when -the object of that anger turns out to be a lunatic. - -He went on with his luncheon; though the whiting were indifferently -cooked, the champagne was excellent, and his hostess exquisite. It was -hard to tell which was more attractive, her face or her voice, for the -voice of Miss Lambert was one of those fatal voices that we hear perhaps -twice in a lifetime, and never forget, perfectly modulated golden, -soothing--maddening. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -"WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" - - -"Now tell me," said Mr Bevan, they were walking in the garden after -luncheon, "tell me, Cousin Fanny"--Miss Lambert, had vanished with the -Boellinger--"don't you think your father is a little -bit--er--extravagant?" - -"He may be a bit extravagant," murmured Fanny, plucking a huge daisy and -putting it in her belt. "But then--he is such a dear, and I know he -tries to economise all he can, he sold the carriage and horse only a -month ago, and just look at the garden! he wont go to the expense of a -gardener but does it all himself; it would be disgraceful only it's so -lovely, with all the things running wild; see, here is one of his garden -gloves." - -She picked a glove out of a thorn bush and kissed it, and put it in her -pocket. - -"He does the garden himself!" - -"He and James." - -"You don't mean----" - -"Mr Isaacs' man, they have dug up a lot of ground over there and planted -asparagus. James was a gardener once, but as I have told you, he had -misfortunes and had to take to the law. He is awfully poor, and his wife -is ill; they live in a little street near Artesian Road, and father has -been to see her; he came with me, and we brought her some wine; I -carried it in a basket. See, is not that a beautiful rose?" she smiled -at the rose, and Charles could not but admire her beauty. - -"And then," resumed Fanny, the smile fading as the wind turned the -rose's face away, "father is so unfortunate, all the people he lends -money to won't pay him back, and stocks and shares and things go up and -down, and always the wrong way, so he says, and he gets into such a rage -with the house because he can't mortgage it--it was left in trust for -me--and we _can't_ let it, so we have to live in it." - -"Why can you not let it?" - -"Because of the ghost." - -"Good gracious goodness!" gobbled Charles, taking the cigar from his -mouth. "What nonsense are you talking, Cousin Fanny? Ghost! there are no -such things as ghosts." - -"_Aren't_ there?" said Fanny. "I wish you saw our one." - -"Do you really mean to try to make me believe----" cried Charles, then -he foundered, tied up in his own vile English. - -"We did let it once, a year ago, to a Major Sawyer," said Fanny, and she -smiled down the garden path at some presumably pleasant vision. "It was -in May; we let it to him for three months and went down to Ramsgate to -economise. Major Sawyer moved in on a Friday; I remember that, for the -next day was Saturday, and I shall never forget that Saturday. - -"We were sitting at breakfast, when a telegram was brought, it was from -the Major, and it was from the South Kensington Hotel; it said, as well -as I can remember, 'Call without a moment's delay.'" - -"Of course we thought 'The Laurels' were burnt down, and you can fancy -the fright we were in, for it's not insured--at least the furniture -isn't." - -"Not insured!" groaned Charles. - -"No; father says houses never catch fire if they are not insured, and he -wouldn't trust himself not to set it on fire if it _was_ insured, so -it's not insured." - -"Go on." - -"Let us sit down on this seat. Well, of course we thought we were -ruined, and father was perfectly wild to get up to town and know the -worst, he can't stand suspense. He wanted to take a special train, and -there was a terrible scene at the station; you know we have Irish blood -in us: his mother was Irish, and Fanny Lambert, my great-grandmother, -the one that hung herself, was an Irishwoman. There was a terrible scene -at the station, because they wouldn't take father's cheque for the extra -twenty-five pounds for the special train. 'I tell you I'm _ruined_,' -said father, but the station-master, a horrible little man with -whiskers, said he couldn't help that. Oh! the world is horribly cold and -cruel," said Fanny, drawing closer to her companion, "when one is in a -strange place, where one doesn't know people. Once father gets to know -people he can do anything with them, for every one loves him. The wife -of the hotel-keeper where we stayed in Paris wept when we had to go away -without our luggage." - -"I should think so." - -"You see we only took half of the money we got from Mr Isaacs to Paris; -we locked half of it up in the bureau in the library for fear we would -spend it, then when the fortnight was up we hadn't enough for the bill. -Father wanted to leave Boy-Boy, but they said they'd sooner keep the -luggage. They were very nice over it, the hotel-keeper and his wife, but -people are horrid when they don't know one. - -"Well, we came by a later train, and found Major Sawyer waiting for us -at the South Kensington Hotel. He was such a funny old man with fiery -eyes and white hair that stood up. We did not see Mrs Sawyer, so we -supposed she had been burnt in the fire; but we scarcely had time to -think, for the Major began to abuse father for having let him such a -house. - -"I was awfully frightened, and father listened to the abuse quite -meekly, you see he thought Mrs Sawyer was burnt. Then it came out that -there had been no fire, and I saw father lift up his head, and put his -chin out, and I stopped my ears and shut my eyes." - -"I suppose he gave it to old Sawyer." - -"Didn't he! Mrs Sawyer told me afterwards that the Major had never been -spoken to so before since he left school, and that it had done him a -world of good--poor old thing!" - -"But what was it all about--I mean what made him leave the house?" - -"Why, the ghost, to be sure. The first night he was in the house he went -poking about looking for burglars, and saw it or heard it, I forget -which; they say he did not stop running till he reached the police -station, and that's nearly a mile away, and he wouldn't come back but -took a cab to the hotel in his pyjamas. But the funny thing is, that -ever since the day father abused him, he has been our best friend; he's -helped us in money matters lots of times, and he always sends us hares -and things when he goes shooting. The ghost always brings us luck when -she can--always." - -"You believe in Luck?" - -"I believe in everything, so does father." - -"And this ghost, it's a 'she' you said, I think?" - -"It's Fanny Lambert." - -"Oh!" - -"My great-grandmother." - -"Tell me about her," said Charles, lighting a new cigar and leaning back -luxuriously on the seat. - -The seat was under a chestnut tree, before them lay a little -wilderness, sunflowers unburst from the bud, stocks, and clove pinks. - -In its centre stood a moss-grown sun-dial bearing this old dial -inscription in Latin, "The hours pass and are numbered." From this -wilderness of a garden came the drone of bees, a dreamy sound that -seemed to refute the motto upon the dial. - -"She lived," said Fanny, "a hundred, or maybe two hundred, years ago; -anyhow it was in the time of the Regency--and I wish to goodness I had -lived then." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, it must have been such fun." - -"How do you know about the time of the Regency?" - -"I have read about it in the library, there are a lot of old books about -it, and one of them is in handwriting, not in print. You know in those -times the Lamberts lived here at 'The Laurels,' just as we do, that's -what makes the house so old; and the Prince Regent used to drive up here -in a carriage and pair of coal-black horses. He was in love with Mrs -Lambert, and she was in love with him. I don't wonder at her." - -"Well, you ought to wonder at her," said Charles in a hectoring voice, -blowing a cloud of smoke at a bumble-bee that had alighted on Fanny's -dress, and was rubbing its hands together as if in satisfaction at the -prosperous times and the plenty of flowers. - -"Don't blow smoke at the poor thing. Isn't he fat!--there, he is gone. -Why ought I to wonder at her?" - -"Because she was married." - -"Why shouldn't she be married?" - -"Ahem!" said Charles, clearing his throat. - -"Why?" - -"I meant to say that she should not have loved the Prince." - -"Why not? he was awfully good to them. Do you know George, Fanny's -husband, must have been very like father; he was like him in face, for -we have a miniature of him, but he was like him in other ways, too. He -would sit up at Crockfords--what _was_ Crockfords?" - -"A kind of club, I believe." - -"He would sit up at Crockfords playing cards all night, and he killed a -man once by hitting him over the head with a poker; the jury said the -man died of apoplexy, but he kept the man's wife and children always -afterwards, and that is just what father would have done." - -"I know," said Charles, "at least I can imagine him; but, all the same, -I don't think you know what marriage is." - -"Oh yes, I do!" - -"What is it, then?" - -"It's a blessed state," said Fanny, breaking into a joyous laugh; "at -least I read so in some old book." - -"We were talking of the Prince Regent, I think," said Charles rather -stiffly. - -"Were we? Oh yes, I remember. Well, they loved each other so much that -the old book said it was a matter of common rumour, whatever that means. -One night at Crockfords Mr Bevan--he was an ancestor of yours--flew into -a frightful temper over some nonsense--a misdeal at cards I think it -was--and called George Lambert a name, an awfully funny name; what was -this it was? let me think----" - -"Don't think, don't think, go on with the story," cried Charles in an -agony. - -"And George Lambert slapped Mr Bevan's face, and serve him right, too." - -"What is that you say?" cried Charles, wattling like a turkey-cock. - -"I said serve him right!" cried Fanny, clenching her little fists. - -"Look here----" said Charles, then suddenly he became dumb, whilst the -breeze wandered with a rustling sound through the desolate garden, -bearing with it from some distant street the voice of a man crying -"Herrings," as if to remind them that Highgate was no longer the -Highgate of the Regency. - -"Well?" said Fanny, still with a trace of defiance in her tone. - -"Nothing," answered Charles meekly. "Go on with your story." - -Fanny nestled closer to him as if to make up, and went on: - -"The Prince was in the room, and every one said he turned pale; some -people said he cried out, 'My God, what an occurrence!' and some people -said he cried out, 'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' And the old Marquis of Bath -dropped his snuff-box, though what that has to do with the story I don't -know. - -"At all events, the Prince left immediately, for he had an appointment -to meet Fanny, and have supper with her. He must have said something -nasty to her, for instead of having supper with him, she took a carriage -and drove home here. She seemed greatly distressed; the servants said -she spent the night walking up and down the blue corridor crying out, 'O -that I ever loved such a man!' and 'Who would have thought men were so -cruel!' Then, when her husband came back from fighting a duel with Mr -Bevan, she was gone. All her jewels were gone too; she must have hidden -them somewhere, for they were never found again. - -"They found her hanging in a clothes closet quite dead; she had hung -herself with her garters--she must have had a very small neck, I'm sure -I couldn't hang myself with mine--and now she haunts the corridor -beckoning to people to follow her." - -"Have you ever seen her?" - -"No, but I am sure I have heard her at nights sometimes, when the wind -is high. Father O'Mahony wanted to lay her, but I told father not to let -him, she's said to be so lucky." - -"Lucky, indeed, to lose you a good tenant!" - -"It was the luckiest thing she ever did, for the hotel was awfully -expensive." - -"Why did you not take apartments, then?" - -"Oh, they are so lonely and so poky, and landladies rob one so." - -"Is your father a Roman Catholic?" - -"He is." - -"What are you?" - -"I am nothing," said Fanny, proclaiming her simple creed with all the -simplicity of childhood, and a smile that surely was reflected on the -Recording Angel's face as he jotted down her reply. - -"Does your _father_ know of this state of your mind?" asked Charles in a -horrified voice. - -"Yes, and he is always trying to convert me to 'the faith,' as he calls -it. We have long arguments, and I always beat him. When he can find -nothing more to say, he always scratches his dear old head and says, -'Anyhow you're baptised, and that's one comfort,' then we talk of other -things, but he did convert me once." - -"How was that?" - -"I was in a hurry to try on a frock," said this valuable convert to the -Church; "at least the dressmaker was waiting, so I gave in, but only for -once." - -"What do you believe in, then?" asked Charles, glancing fearfully at -the female atheist by his side, who had taken her garden hat from her -head and was swinging it by the ribbon. - -"I believe in being good, and I believe in father, and I believe one -ought always to make every one as happy as possible and be kind to -animals. I believe people who ill-treat animals go to hell--at least, I -hope they do." - -"Do you believe in heaven?" asked Mr Bevan in a pained voice. - -"Of course I do." - -"Then you are _not_ an atheist," in a voice of relief. - -"Of course I'm not. Who said I was?" - -"You did." - -"I didn't. I'd sooner die than be an atheist. One came here to dinner -once; he had a red beard, and smoked shag in the drawing-room. Ugh! such -a man!" - -"Do you believe in God?" - -"I used to, when I was a child. I was always told He would strike me -dead if I told a lie, and then I found that He didn't. It was like the -man who lived in the oven. I was always told that the Black Man who -lived in the oven would run away with me if I stole the jam; and one -day I stole the jam, and opened the oven door and looked in. I was in a -terrible fright, but there wasn't any man there." - -"It's very strange," said Charles. - -"That there wasn't a man there?" - -"I was referring," said Charles stiffly, "to such thoughts in the mind -of one so young as you are." - -"Oh, I'm as old as the hills," cried Fanny in the voice of a _blase_ -woman of the world, making a grab at a passing moth and then flinging -her hat after it, "as old as the--mercy! what's that?" - -"Miss Fanny!" cried the voice of Susannah, who was lowing like a cow -through garden and shrubbery in search of her missing mistress, "Miss -Fah-ny, Miss----" - -"That's tea," said Fanny, rising, and leading the way to the house. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -ASPARAGUS AND CATS - - -Charles Bevan followed his cousin to the house. His orderly mind could -never have imagined of its own volition a _menage_ like that of the -Lamberts. He revolted at it, yet felt strangely fascinated. It was like -watching people dancing on a tight rope half cut in two, sailors -feasting and merry-making on a sinking wreck, children plucking flowers -on the crumbling edge of a cliff. - -Tea was laid in state in the drawing-room, a lovely old room with -tapestried walls, and windows that opened upon the garden; or at least -that part of it which had been robbed of its roses and converted into a -kitchen-garden during one of George Lambert's economical fits. - -"That is the asparagus bed," said Fanny proudly. - -It was like a badly-ploughed field, and Charles' eye travelled slowly -over its ridges and hollows. - -"Have you a potato bed?" he asked, his mind subconsciously estimating -the size of the Lamberts' Highgate estate on the basis that their potato -crop was in proportion to their asparagus. - -"Oh, we buy our potatoes and cabbages and things," said Fanny; "they are -cheap." - -"But asparagus takes such a time to grow--four years, I think it is." - -"Oh, surely not so long as that?" said the girl, taking her seat at the -tea-table. "Why, oak trees would grow quicker than that; besides, James -said we would have splendid asparagus next spring, and he was a -professed gardener before his misfortunes overtook him. Do you take -sugar?" - -"Yes, please," said Charles, wearily dropping into a low chair and -wondering vaguely at the angelic beauty of the girl's face. - -"And what, may I ask, were the 'misfortunes' that overtook James?" - -"His wife, poor thing, took to drink," said she, with so much -commiseration in her tone that she might have been a disciple of the new -criminology, "and that broke his heart and took all his energy away." - -"Do you believe him?" - -"Why not? He is a most devoted creature; and he is going to give up the -business he is in and stay on when father pays Mr Isaacs. I hope we will -never part with James." - -Susannah, in honour of the guest, had produced the best tea service, a -priceless set of old Sevres. The tray was painted with Cupidons blowing -trumpets as if in honour of the victory of Susannah over mischance, in -that she had conveyed them upstairs by some miracle unsmashed. - -There was half a cake by Buszard; the tea, had it been paid for, would -have cost five shillings a pound, but the milk was sky blue. - -As Fanny was cutting up the cake in liberal slices as if for a -children's party, two frightful-looking cats walked into the room with -all the air of bandits. One was jet black and one was brindled; both -looked starved, and each wore its tail with a pump-handle curve after -the fashion of a lion's when marauding. - -Fanny regarded them lovingly, and poured out a saucerful of the blue -milk which she placed on the floor. - -"Aren't they angels?" - -"Well, if you ask me," said Charles Bevan, as if he were giving his -opinion on some object of _vertu_, "I'd say they were more like--the -other things." - -"I know they are not _pretty_," said Fanny regretfully, "but they are -faithful. They always come to tea just as if they were invited." - -"I wonder your poodle--I mean the dog, lets them in." - -"Boy-Boy?--Oh, he only barks at things at night when they can't see him; -he would run from a mouse, he's such a dear old coward. Aren't they -thirsty?" - -"Where did you get them? I should think they would be hard to match." - -"I didn't get them: they are not ours, they just come in." - -"Do you mean to say you let stray cats in like that?" - -"_I_ don't let them in, they come in through a hole in the scullery -window." - -"Goodness gracious!" - -"Sometimes the kitchen is full of cats; they seem to know." - -"That fools live here," thought Charles. - -"And Susannah spends all her time turning them out--all, of course, -except the black ones." - -"Why not the black ones?" - -"Because they are lucky; did you not know that? It's frightfully -unlucky to turn a black cat out." - -"Why not fill up the hole and stop them from getting in?" - -"Susannah has stuffed it up with old stockings and things till she's -weary; they butt it in with their heads." - -"Why not have a new pane put in?" - -"Father has talked of that, but I have always changed the conversation, -and then he forgets." - -"You like cats?" - -"I love them." - -Charles looked gloomily at the grimalkins. - -"Seems to me you must have your food stolen." - -"We used to, but Susannah locks everything up now before she goes to -bed." - -She inverted the milk jug to show the cats that there was no milk left, -and the intelligent creatures comprehending left the room, the black -leading the way. - -"Faithful creatures!" sneered Charles. - -"Aren't they! Oh, but, Cousin Charles--I mean Mr----" - -"No; call me Cousin Charles." - -"--I've given the cats all the milk!" - -"No matter," said Charles magnanimously. "The poor beggars wanted it -more than I. I never drink more than one cup of tea; it makes me -nervous." - -"How good you are!" she murmured. "You remind me of father." - -Charles moved uneasily in his chair. - -From somewhere in the distance came the sound of Susannah singing and -cleaning a window, a song like a fetish song interrupted by the sound of -the window being closed to see if it was clean enough, and flung up -again with a jerk, that spoke of dissatisfaction. These sounds of a -sudden ceased. - -They were succeeded by the murmur of voices, a footstep, then a tap at -the door, followed by the voice of Susannah requesting her mistress to -step outside for a moment. - -"I know what _that_ always means," murmured the girl in a resigned -voice, as she rose from the table and left the room. - -Charles Bevan rose from his chair and went to the window. - -"These people want protecting," he said to himself frowning at the -asparagus bed. "Irresponsibility when it passes a certain point becomes -absolute lunacy. Fanny and her father ought to be in a lunatic asylum -with their ghosts, and cats, and rubbish, only I don't believe any -lunatic asylum would take them in; they would infect the other patients -and make them worse. Good Heavens! it makes me shudder. They must be on -the verge of the workhouse, making asparagus beds, and drinking -champagne, and flying off to Paris, and feeding every filthy stray cat -with food they must want for themselves. Poor devils--I mean damned -fools. Anyhow, I must be going." The recollection of a certain lady -named Pamela Pursehouse arose coldly in his mind now that Miss Lambert -was absent from the room, and the little "still voice," whatever a still -voice may be, said something about duty. - -He determined to flee from temptation directly his hostess returned, but -he reckoned without Fate. - -The door opened and Fanny entered with a face full of tragedy. - -She closed the door. - -"What do you think Susannah has told me?" She spoke in a low voice as -if death were in the house. - -"What?" - -"James has come in and he has--had too much!" - -"You don't mean to say that he is intoxicated?" - -"I do," said Fanny with her voice filled with tears. - -"How _disgraceful_! I will go down and turn him out." Then he remembered -that he could not very well turn him out considering that he was in -possession. - -"For goodness sake don't even hint that to him, or he may go," cried -Fanny in alarm, "for, when he gets like this, he always talks of leaving -at once, because his calling is a disgrace to him, and if he went, -Susannah would follow him." - -"But, my dear girl," cried Charles, "how dare that wretched -Susannah--ahem--why, he's a married man, you told me so; surely she -knows _that_." - -"Yes, she knows that, but she says she can't help herself." - -"_I_ never met such people before!" said Charles, addressing a jade -dragon on the mantelpiece--"I mean," he said, putting his hands in his -trousers' pockets and addressing his boots, "such a person as Susannah." - -"Her mother ran away with her father," murmured Fanny in extenuation, -"so I suppose it is in the blood. But I wish we could do something with -James. If he would even go to bed, but he sits by the kitchen fire -crying, and that sets Susannah off. She will be ill for days after this. -He said it was a cigar some one gave him that reminded him of his better -days----" - -"Bother his better days!" - -"----and he went to try and drown the recollection of them. It is so -stupid of him, he _knows_ how drink flies to his head; you would never -imagine if you could see him now that he has only had two glasses of -beer." - -"I will go down to the kitchen and speak to him," said Charles. - -"But, Cousin Charles," said Fanny, plucking at his coat, "be sure and -speak gently." - -"I will," said Mr Bevan. - -"Then I'll go with you," said she. - -James, a long ill-weedy looking man, was seated before the kitchen fire -on a chair without a back; Susannah, on hearing their footsteps, darted -into the scullery. - -"Now, James, now, James," said Charles Bevan, speaking in a paternal -voice, "what is the meaning of all this? How did you get yourself into -this condition?" - -James turned his head and regarded Charles. He made a vain endeavour to -speak and rise from his chair at one and the same time, then he -collapsed and his tears returned anew. - -At the sound, Susannah in the scullery threw her apron over her head and -joined in, whilst Fanny looked out of the window and sniffled. - -"_I_ never saw such a lot of people!" cried Charles in desperation. -"James, James, be a man." - -"How can he," said Fanny, controlling her voice, "when he is in this -terrible state? Cousin Charles, don't you think you could induce him to -go to bed?" - -"I think I could," said Charles grimly, "if you show me the way to his -room." - - - - -_PART II_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A REVELATION - - -"When will your father come back?" asked Charles as he returned to the -kitchen, having deposited the man of law on his bed and shaken his fist -in his face as a token of what he would get if he rose from it. - -"Not till this evening, late," said Fanny. - -"Then I must wait till he returns, or till this person recovers himself. -I cannot possibly leave you alone in the house with a tipsy man." - -"Oh yes, do stay till father returns. I want you to meet him so much," -said Fanny, all her grief vanishing in smiles. - -"Susannah, we'll have supper at eight." - -"Yes, miss." - -"I am almost glad," said Fanny, as she tripped up the kitchen stairs -before her cousin, "I am almost glad James took it into his head to get -tipsy, you'd have gone away if he hadn't, without seeing father; it -seems almost like Providence. Mercy! it's six o'clock." - -She glanced at the great old hall clock ticking away the moments, even -as it had done when George the Third was king, and Charles took his -watch out to verify the time, but he did not catch the old clock -tripping. - -"Now we must think about supper," said Fanny, in a busy voice. "You must -be dying of hunger. What do you like best?" - -"But you have not dined, Fanny." - -"Oh, we always call dinner 'luncheon,' and have it in the middle of the -day; it saves trouble, and it is less worry." Then, after a moment's -pause: "I wish we had a lobster, but I don't think there is one. I -_know_ there is a beefsteak." - -She went to the kitchen stairs. - -"Susannah!" - -"Yes, miss," answered a dolorous voice from below. - -"Have you a lobster in the house?" - -"No, miss." - -"You have a beefsteak?" - -A sound came as of search amongst the plates on the dresser. - -"The beefsteak is gone, Miss Fanny." - -"Now, _where_ can that beefsteak have gone to?" murmured the girl, -whilst Charles called to mind the criminal countenances of the two -faithful cats, and the business-like manner in which they had left the -room. - -"Search again, Susannah." - -A frightful crash of crockery came as a reply. - -"Susannah!" - -"Yes, miss." - -"Don't look any more, I will go out and buy something." - -"Don't mind me," said Charles. "Anything will do for me; I am used--I -mean----" - -"I am not going to have father come back and find you starved to death; -he'd kill me. I'm going out marketing; will you come?" - -"With pleasure." - -"Then wait till I fetch my hat and a basket." - -"May I light a cigar?" - -"Yes, smoke everywhere, every one does," and she rushed upstairs for her -hat. A moment later she returned, hat on head, and bearing in her hand -a little basket adorned with blue ribbons: a pound of tea would have -freighted it. - -"How on earth is she going to get the dinner into that?" thought her -companion, as he unbarred the hall door and followed her down the steps. - -Then they found themselves walking down the weed-grown avenue, the birds -twittering overhead in the light of the warm June evening. - -That he should be going "a-marketing" in Highgate accompanied by a -pretty girl with a basket did not, strangely enough, impress Charles -Bevan as being an out-of-the-way occurrence. - -He felt as if he had known the Lamberts for years--a good many years. He -no longer contemplated the joyous tragedy of their life wholly as a -spectator; he had become suddenly and without volition one of the -actors, a subordinate actor--a thinking part, one might call it. - -The fearful fascination exercised by these people seemed, strange to -say, never so potent as when exercised upon hard-headed people, as -Major Sawyer and many another could have told. - -"I love marketing," said Fanny, as they trudged along, "at least buying -things." - -"Have you any money?" - -"Lots," said Miss Lambert, producing a starved-looking purse. - -She opened it and peeped in at the three and sixpence it contained, and -then shut it with a snap as if fearful of their escaping. - -"What do you like next best to marketing?" asked Charles in the sedate -voice of a heavy father speaking to his favourite child. - -"Opening parcels." - -"I don't quite----" - -"Oh, you know--strange parcels when they come, or when father brings -them, one never knows what may be in them--chocolate creams or what. I -wonder what father will bring me back this time?" - -"Where has he gone to?" - -"He has gone to get some money." - -"He will be back this evening?" - -"Yes, unless he finds it difficult getting the money. If he does, he -won't be home till morning." She spoke as an Indian squaw might speak, -whose father or husband has gone a-hunting, whilst Charles marvelled -vaguely. - -"But suppose--he doesn't get any money?" - -"Oh, he will get it all right, people are so good to him. Poor, dear Mr -Hancock----" - -She stopped suddenly. - -"Yes, yes." - -"He said we weren't to tell." - -She spoke in a secretive voice which greatly inflamed her companion's -curiosity. - -"You might tell me, but don't if you don't want to." - -"Yes," said Fanny. "I don't think it matters now that you are friends -with us, and we're all the same family. Father's dividends had not come -in, and he lent us the money to pay the bills." - -"_What_ bills?" - -"The butcher's bill, and Stokes the baker's bill, and the milk bill, and -some others." - -"_Hancock_ lent you the money to pay your bills?" cried Charles, feeling -like a person in a dream. - -"Yes, old Mr Hancock, your Mr Hancock." - -"But he never told me he was a friend of your father's; besides, he is -_my_ solicitor." - -"He never saw us before this week." - -"Tell me all about it, and how you came to know him so intimately, and -how he paid your bills," commanded Mr Bevan. - -There was, just here on the road, a seat dropped incontinently by the -County Council; they sat upon it whilst she told her tale. - -"It was the other day. Father had not slept all night thinking of the -action. He came into my bedroom at two in the morning to tell me that if -he lost it before the House of Lords, he would take it before the Queen -in Council. He had been sitting up reading 'Every Man his Own Lawyer.' -Well, next morning a lot of people came asking for their money, the -butcher and all those, and we hadn't any. - -"Father said it was all _your_ fault, and he wished he had never seen -the fish stream. I was so frightened by the way he was bothering himself -about everything--for, as a rule, you know he is the most easy-tempered -man in the world as long as he has got his pipe. Well, a friend advised -me to go privately to your lawyer and try to stop the action. So I went -to Mr Hancock. - -"At first he seemed very stiff, and glared at me through his spectacles; -but, after a while, as I told him all about ourselves, he stopped -shuffling his feet, and listened with his hand to his ear as if he were -deaf, and he took a smelling bottle out of a drawer of his desk and -snuffed at it, and said, 'Dear me, how very extraordinary!' Then he -called me his 'Poor child!' and asked me had I had any luncheon. I said -'Yes,' though I hadn't--I wasn't hungry. Well, we talked and talked, and -at last he said he would come back with me home, for that our affairs -were in a dreadful condition and we didn't seem to know it. He said he -would come as a friend and try to forget that he was a lawyer. - -"Well, he came here with me. Father was upstairs in his bedroom, and I -poked my head in and told him your lawyer wanted to see him in the -drawing-room. - -"I didn't tell him it was I who had fetched him, for I knew he would -simply go mad if he thought I had been meddling with the action; -besides, Mr Hancock said I had better not, as he simply called as a -friend. - -"Down came father and went into the drawing-room. I was in an awful -fright, too frightened even to listen at the door. I made Susannah -listen after a while, and she said they were talking about roses--I -felt so relieved. - -"I sent Susannah in with wine, and Mr Hancock stayed to supper. After -supper they had cigars and punch, and I played to them on the piano, and -father sang Irish songs, and Mr Hancock told us awfully funny stories -all about the law, and said he was a bachelor and envied father because -he had a daughter like me. - -"Then he talked about our affairs, and said he would require more punch -before he could understand them; so he had more punch, and father showed -him the housekeeping books, and he looked over them reading them upside -down and every way. Then he wrote out a cheque to pay the books, with -one eye shut, whilst father wrote out bills, you know, to pay the -cheque, and then he kissed me and said good-bye to father and went away -crying." - -"But," cried Charles, utterly astounded at this artless revelation of -another man's folly, "old Hancock never made a joke in his life--at -least to _me_--and he's an awful old skinflint and never lent any man a -penny, so they say." - -"He made lots of jokes that night, anyhow," said Fanny, "and lent -father over twenty pounds, too; and only yesterday a great bunch of -hothouse flowers came from Covent Garden with his card for me." - -"Old fool!" said Charles. - -"He is not an old fool, he's a dear old man, and I love him. Come on, or -the shops will be closed." - -"You seem to love everything," said Mr Bevan in a rather stiff tone, as -they meandered along near now to the street where shops were. - -"I do--at least everything I don't hate." - -"Whom do you hate?" - -"No one just now. I never hate people for long, it is too much trouble. -I used to hate you before I knew you. I thought you were a man with a -black beard; you see I hadn't seen you." - -"But, why on earth did you think I had a black beard?" - -"_I_ don't know. I suppose it was because I hate black beards." - -"So you don't hate me?" - -"No, _indeed_." - -"And as every one you don't hate, you---- I say, what a splendid evening -this is! it is just like Italy. I mean, it reminds me of Italy." - -"And here are the shops at last," said Fanny, as if the shops had been -travelling to them and had only just arrived. - -She stopped at a stationer's window. - -"I want to get some envelopes. Come in, won't you?" - -She bought a packet of envelopes for fourpence. Charles turned away to -look at some of the gaudily-bound Kebles, Byrons, and Scotts so dear to -the middle-class heart, and before he could turn again she had bought a -little prayer-book with a cross on it for a shilling. The shopman was -besetting her with a new invention in birthday cards when Charles broke -the spell by touching her elbow with the head of his walking stick. - -"Don't you think," said he when they were safely in the street, "it is a -mistake buying prayer-books, these shop-keepers are such awful -swindlers?" - -"I bought it for Susannah," explained Fanny. "It's a little present for -her after the way James has gone on. Look at this dear monkey." - -A barrel organ of the old type was playing by the pavement, making a -sound as if an old man gone idiotic were humming a tune to himself. A -villainous-looking monkey on the organ-top, held out his hand when it -saw Fanny approaching. It knew the world evidently, or at least -physiognomy, which is almost the same thing. - -"He takes it just like a man," she cried, as the creature grabbed one of -her pennies and then nearly broke its chain trying to get at her to tear -the rose from her hat. "Look, it knows the people who are fond of it; it -is just like a child." - -Charles tore her from the monkey, only for a milliner's shop to suck her -in. - -"I must run in here for a moment, it's only about a corset I ordered; I -won't be three minutes." - -He waited ten, thinking how strange it was that this girl saw something -attractive in nearly everything--strange cats, monkeys, and even old -Hancock. - -At the end of twenty minutes' walking up and down, he approached the -milliner's window and peeped into the shop. - -Fanny was conversing with a tall woman, whose frizzled black hair lent -her somehow the appearance of a Frenchwoman. - -The Highgate Frenchwoman was dangling something gaudy and flimsy before -Fanny's eyes, and the girl had her purse in her hand. - -Charles gave a sigh, and resumed his beat like a policeman. - -At last she came out, carrying a tissue-paper parcel. - -"Well, have you got your--what you called for?" - -"No, it's not ready yet; but I've got the most beautiful--Oh my goodness -me!--how stupid I am!" - -"What?" - -"I have only three halfpence left, and I have forgotten the eggs and -things for supper." - -"Give me your purse, and let me look into it," he said, taking the -little purse and turning away a moment. Then he handed it back to her; -she opened it and peeped in, and there lay a sovereign. - -"It's just what father does," she said, looking up in the lamp-light -with a smile that somehow made Mr Bevan's eyes feel misty. "What makes -you so like him in everything you do?" And somehow these words seemed to -the correct Mr Bevan the sweetest he had ever heard. - -Then they marketed after the fashion of youth when it finds itself the -possessor of a whole sovereign. Fanny laying out the money as the fancy -took her, and with the lavishness so conspicuously absent in the -dealings of your mere millionaire. - -They then returned to "The Laurels," Charles Bevan carrying the parcels. - -The dining-room of "The Laurels" was a huge apartment furnished in the -age of heavy dinners, when a knowledge of comparative anatomy and the -wrist of a butcher were necessary ingredients in the composition of a -successful host. - -Here Susannah, to drown her sorrows in labour and give honour to the -guest, had laid the supper things on a lavish scale. The Venetian vase, -before-mentioned, stood filled with roses in the centre of the table, -and places were laid for six--all sorts of places. Some of the -unexpected guests were presumably to sup entirely off fish, to judge by -the knives and forks set out for them, and some were evidently to be -denied the luxury of soup. That there was neither soup nor fish mattered -little to Susannah. - -The cellar, to judge by the sideboard, had been seized with a spirit of -emulation begotten of the display made by the plate pantry, and had sent -three representatives from each bin. The sideboard also contained the -jam-pot, the bread tray, and butter on a plate: commestables that had -the abject air of poor relations admitted on sufferance, and come to -look on. - -Here entered Fanny, followed by Mr Bevan, laden with parcels. - -The girl's hat was tilted slightly sideways, her raven hair was in -revolt, and her cheeks flushed with happiness and the excitement of -marketing. - -Susannah followed them. She wore a wonderful white apron adorned with -frills and blue ribbons, a birthday present from her mistress, only -brought out on state occasions. - -"Three candles only!" said the mistress of the house, glancing at the -table and the three candles burning on it. "That's not enough; fetch a -couple more, and, Susannah, bring the sardine opener." - -"Why don't you light the gas?" asked her cousin, putting his parcels -down and glancing at the great chandelier swinging overhead. - -"I would, only father has had a fight with the gas company and they've -cut it off. Now let's open the parcels; put the candles nearer." - -Mr Bevan's parcels contained a box of sardines, a paysandu ox tongue, -and a basket of peaches; Fanny's, the before-mentioned prayer-book, -envelopes, and in the tissue-paper parcel a light shawl or fichu of -fleecy silk dyed blue. - -She cast her hat off, and throwing the fichu round her neck, hopped upon -a chair, candle in hand, and glanced at herself in a great mirror on the -opposite wall. - -"It makes me look beautiful!" she cried. "And I have half a mind to keep -it for myself." - -"Why--for whom did you buy it, then?" - -"For James' wife, Mrs Regan." - -"Oh!" - -"She is ill, you know, and I am going to see her again to-morrow. I hate -going to see sick people, but father says whenever we see a lame dog we -should put our shoulders to the wheel and help him over the stile, and -she's a lame dog, if ever there was one. That's right, Susannah, put the -candles here, and give me the can opener; I love opening tins, and -there is a little prayer-book I got for you when I was out." - -"Thank you, miss," said Susannah in a muffled voice, putting the little -prayer-book under her apron with one hand, and snuffing a candle with -the finger and thumb of the other. "Can I get you anything more, miss?" - -"Nothing. Is James all right?" - -"He's asleep now, miss," answered the maid, closing her mouth for once -in her life by some miracle of Love, and catching in her breath through -her nose. - -"That will do, Susannah," hastily said her mistress, who knew this -symptom of old, and what it foreboded; "I'll ring if I want you. Bring -up the punch things at ten, just as you always bring them." - -Susannah left the room making stifled sounds, and Fanny, with Mrs -Regan's fichu about her neck, attacked the sardine tin with the opener. - -"Let me," said Charles. - -"No, no; you open the champagne, and put the peaches on a plate, and -I'll open the tins. Bring over the bread and butter and jam. I wish we -had some ice for the champagne, but the fishmonger--forgot to send it. -Bother this knife!" - -She laboured away, with her cheeks flushed; a lock of black hair -hanging loose lent her a distracted air, and made her so lovely in the -eyes of Charles that he put the bread platter down on top of the butter -plate, so that the butter pat clung to the bottom of the bread platter, -and they had to scrape it off, one holding the platter, one scraping -with the knife, and both hands touching. - -"We have had that bread plate ever since I can remember," she said, as -they seated themselves to the feast, "and I wouldn't have anything -happen to it for earths, not that the butter will do it any harm. Isn't -the text on it nice?" - -Charles examined the bread platter gravely. - -"'Want not,'" he read. He looked in vain for the "Waste not," but that -part of the maxim was hidden by the carved representation of a full ear -of corn. - -"It's a very nice--motto. Have some champagne?" - -"No thanks, I only drink water, wine flies to my head; I am like James. -I am going to have a peach--have one." - -"Thank you, I am eating sardines. You remind me of the old gentleman--he -was short-sighted--who offered me a pinch of snuff once when I was -eating a sole." - -Fanny, with her teeth set in the peach, gave a little shriek of -laughter, but Mr Bevan was perfectly grave. Still, for perhaps the first -time in his life, he felt his possibilities as a humorist, and -determined to exploit them. - -"Talking about ghosts"--ghosts and mothers-in-law, to the medium -intellect, are always fair game,--"talking about ghosts," said he, "you -said, I think, Cousin Fanny----" - -"Call me Fanny," said that lady, who, having eaten her peach, was now -helping herself to sardines. "I hate that word 'cousin,' it sounds so -stiff. What about ghosts?" - -"About ghosts," he answered slowly, his new-found sense of humour -suddenly becoming lost. "Oh yes, you said, Fanny, that a ghost was -haunting this house." - -"Yes, Fanny Lambert. I told you she hid her jewels before she hung -herself. When people see her she is always beckoning them to follow her. -We found James insensible one night on the landing upstairs; he told us -next morning he had seen her, and she had beckoned him to follow her, -and after that he remembered nothing more." - -"A sure sign there were spirits in the house." - -"Wasn't it? But why, do you think, does she beckon people?" - -"Perhaps she beckons people to show them where the jewels are hidden." - -"Oh!" cried Fanny; "_why_ did we never think of that before? Of _course_ -that is the reason--and they are worth two hundred thousand pounds. We -must have the panels in the corridor taken down. I'll make father do it -to-morrow. Two hundred thousand pounds: what is that a year?" - -"Ten thousand." - -"Fancy father with ten thousand a year!" Mr Bevan shuddered. "We can -have a steam yacht, and everything we want. I feel as if I were going -mad," said Miss Lambert, with the air of a person who had often been mad -before and knew the symptoms. - -The door opened and Susannah appeared with the punch things. "Susannah, -guess what's happened--never mind, you'll know soon. Have you got the -lemon and the sugar? That is right." - -And Miss Lambert, forgetting for a moment fortune, turned her attention -to the manufacturing of punch. - -Susannah withdrew, casting her eyes over Fanny and Charles as she went, -and seeming to draw her under-lip after her. - -When the door was shut, Miss Lambert looked into the punch bowl to see -if it was clean, and, having turned a huge spider out of it, went to the -sideboard. - -"You are not going to make punch in this great thing?" - -"I am," said Fanny, returning with a bottle in each hand and one under -her arm. - -"Go on," said Charles resignedly. "May I smoke?" - -"Of course, smoke. Open me this champagne." - -"You are not going to put champagne in punch?" - -"Everything is good in punch. Father learned how to make it in Moscow, -when he was dining with the Hussars there. After dinner a huge bowl was -brought in, and everything went in--champagne, whisky, brandy, all the -fruit from the dessert; then they set it on fire, and drank it, -burning." - -"Has your father ever made punch like that?" - -"No, but now I've got him away, I am going to try." - -Pop went the champagne cork, and the golden wine ran creaming into the -bowl. - -"Now the brandy." - -"But this will be cold punch." - -"Yes, it's just as good; milk punch is always cold." - -"I'm blest if this is milk punch," said Mr Bevan, as he looked fearfully -into the bowl; "but go on." - -"I am going as quick as I can," she replied. Then the whisky went in, -and half a tumblerfull of curacoa also, the lemon cut in slices and the -peaches that remained. - -"I haven't anything more to throw in," said Fanny, casting her eye over -the sardines and the ox tongue. "We ought to have grapes and things; no -matter, stir it up and set it on fire, and see what it tastes like." - -"But, my dear child," said the horrified Charles, as he stirred the -seething mixture with the old silver ladle into whose belly a guinea had -been beaten. "You surely don't expect me to drink this fearful stuff? I -thought you were making it for fun." - -"You taste it and see, but set it on fire first." - -He struck a match. - -"It won't catch fire!" he cried. "Knew it wouldn't." - -"Well, taste it cold; it smells delicious." - -She plucked a rose from the vase and strewed the petals on the surface -of the liquid to help the taste, whilst Mr Bevan ladled some into a -glass. - -"It's not bad, 'pon my word it's not bad; the curacoa seems to blend all -the other flavours together, but it's fearfully strong." - -"Wait"--she ran to the sideboard for a bottle of soda water. - -"Mix it half and half, and see how it tastes." - -"That's better." - -"Then we'll take it into the library, it's more comfortable there. You -carry the bowl, and I will bring the candles." - -"What are these?" asked Mr Bevan, as he removed some papers from the -library table to make room for the punch bowl. - -"Oh, some papers of father's." - -"The Rorkes Drift Gold Mines." - -"Yes," she said, glancing over his shoulder. "I remember now; those are -the things I am to get a silk dress out of when they go to twenty. -Father is mad over them; he says nothing will stop them when they begin -to move, whatever that means." - -"Well, they have moved with a vengeance, for only yesterday I heard they -had gone into liquidation." - -"All the good luck seems coming together," said Fanny with a happy sigh, -as Charles went to the window and looked out at the moon, rising in a -cloudless sky over the forsaken garden and ruined tennis ground. "Not -that it matters much if we get those jewels whether the old mines go up -or down; still, no matter how rich one becomes, more money is always -useful." - -"Yes, I suppose it is," said he, looking with a troubled but sentimental -face at the moon. "Tell me, Fanny, do you know much about the Stock -Exchange?" - -"Oh, heaps." - -"What do you know?" - -"I know that Brighton A's are called Doras--no, Berthas--no, I think -it's Doras--and Mexican Railways are going to Par, and the Kneedeep -Mines are going to a hundred and fifty, and father has a thousand of -them he got for sixpence a share, and he gave me fifty for myself, but -I'm not to sell them till they go to a hundred. Aren't stockbrokers -nice-looking, and always so well dressed? I saw hundreds of them one day -father left me for a moment in Angel Court whilst he ran in to see his -broker--Oh yes! and the bears are going to catch it at the next -settlement." - -"Do you know what 'bears' are?" - -"No," said Fanny, "but they're going to catch it whatever they are, for -I heard father say so--Oh, what a moon! I am sure the fairies must be -out to-night." - -"You don't mean to say you believe in such rubbish as fairies?" - -"Of course I believe in them; not here in Highgate, perhaps, for there -are too many people, but in woods and places." - -"But there are no such things, it has been proved over and over again; -_no_ one believes in them nowadays." - -"Did you never see the mushrooms growing in rings? Well, how could they -grow like that if they were not planted, and who'd be bothered planting -umbrella mushrooms in rings but the fairies?" - -"Does your father believe in them?" - -"Never asked him, but of course he does; every one does--even -Susannah." - -She went to the table and blew out the candles. - -"What are you doing now?" - -"Blowing out the lights; it's so much nicer sitting in the moonlight. -Fill your glass and sit down beside me." - -"Extraordinary child," thought Mr Bevan, doing as he was bid, whilst she -opened the window wide to "let the moon in." - -Other things came too, a night moth and a perfume of decaying leaves, -the souls of last year's sun-flowers and hollyhocks were abroad -to-night; the distant paddock seemed full of cats, to judge by the -sounds that came from it, and bats were flickering in the air. The voice -of Boy-Boy, metallic and rhythmical as the sound of a trip hammer, came -from a distant corner of the garden where he had treed a cat. - -"Quick," said Fanny, drawing in her head and pulling her companion by -the arm, "and you'll be in time to see our tortoise." - -Charles regarded the quadruped without emotion. - -"I don't see the necessity for such frightful haste." - -"Still, if you'd been a moment sooner the moonlight would have been on -him; he was shining a moment ago like silver. Do you know what a -tortoise is? it's a sign of age. You and I will be some day like that -tortoise, without any teeth, wheezing and coughing and grubbing along; -and may-be we will look back and think of this night when we were -young--Oh, dear me, I wish I were dead!" - -"Why, why, what's the matter now--Fanny?" - -"I don't want to grow old," pouted Miss Lambert. - -"When two people grow old together," began Mr Bevan in whose brain the -punch was at work, "they do not notice the--that is to say, age really -does not matter. Besides, a woman is only as old as she feels--I mean as -she looks." - -The fumes of the punch of a sudden took on themselves a form as of the -pale phantom of Pamela Pursehouse, and the phantom cried, "Begone, flee -from temptation whilst you may." - -Before him the concrete form of Miss Lambert sitting in the corner of -the window-seat and bathed in moonlight, said to him, "Hug me." - -Her eyes were resting upon him, then she gazed out at the garden and -sighed. - -Charles took her hand: it was not withdrawn. "I must be going now," he -said. - -She turned from the garden and gazed at him in silence. - -A few minutes later, feeling clouds beneath his feet and all sorts of -new sensations around his heart, he was walking down the weed-grown -avenue, Boy-Boy at his heels barking and snarling, satisfied no doubt by -some preternatural instinct that do what he might he would not be -kicked. - -Ere he had reached the middle of the avenue he heard a voice calling, -"Cousin Charley!" - -"Yes, Fanny." - -"Come back soon!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE - - - "THE LAURELS, 11 P.M. - - "I have been going to write for the last few days, but have been so - busy. I could go on the picnic to-day if it would suit you I'll - call at the studio at one o'clock. If you can't come, send me a - wire. Oh, I forgot to say Mr Hancock came home the other day with - me and had a long talk with father, and Mr Bevan called to-day and - was awfully jolly, and I'll tell you all about it when we meet. - Give my love to Mr Verneede. - - "In haste to catch the post. - - "_P.S._--I'm in such good spirits. F. L." - - -It was the morning after the day on which Mr Bevan had called at "The -Laurels." Leavesley was in bed, and reading the above, which had come by -the early post, and which Belinda had thrust under his door, together -with a circular and a bill for colours. - -"Hurrah!" cried Mr Leavesley, and then "Great Heavens!" He jumped out of -bed, and rummaged wildly in his pockets. He found seven and sixpence in -silver, and a penny and a halfpenny in coppers, a stump of pencil, a -tramway ticket with a hole punched in it, and a Woodbine cigarette -packet containing one cigarette. He placed the money on the -wash-hand-stand, then he sat for a moment on the side of his bed -disconsolate. - -The most beautiful day that ever dawned, the most beautiful girl in the -world, a chance of taking her up the river, and seven and six to do it -on! - -He curled his toes about. Yesterday, in a fit of righteousness, he had -paid a tailor two pounds ten on account. He contemplated this great -mistake gloomily. Wild ideas of calling on Mark Moses & Sonenshine and -asking for the two pounds ten back crossed his mind, to be instantly -dispelled. - -The only two men in London who could possibly help him with a loan were, -to use a Boyle-Rochism, in Paris. Mrs Tugwell, his landlady, was at -Margate, and he was in the middle of his tri-monthly squabble with his -uncle. He called up the ghost of his aunt Patience Hancock, and communed -with her just for the sake of self-torture, and the contemplation of the -hopeless. - -Then he rang his bell, which Belinda answered. - -"Breakfast at once, Belinda." - -"Yessir, and here's another letter as hes just come," she poked a square -envelope under the door. Leavesley seized it with a palpitating heart; -it was unstamped, and had evidently been left in by hand. - -"This is the God from the Machine," he thought. "There's money in it, I -know. It always happens like this when things are at their worst." - -We all have these instincts at times: the contents of an unopened letter -or parcel seem endowed with a voice; who has not guessed the fateful -news in a telegram before he has broken open the envelope, even as -Leavesley guessed the contents of the letter in his hand? - -He tore it open and took out a sheet of paper and a pawnbroker's -duplicate. The letter ran:-- - - - "NO. 150A KING'S ROAD, - - "OVER THE BACON SHOP. - - "DEAR LEAVESLEY,--I am in bed, not suffering from smallpox, croup, - spinal meningitis, or any wasting or infectious disease. I am in - bed, my dear Leavesley, simply for want of my trousers. Robed in - Jones' long ulster, which reacheth to my heels, I took the - aforesaid garments yester-even after dusk to my uncle. If help does - not come they will have to take me to the workhouse in a blanket. I - enclose duplicate. Three and sevenpence would release me and them. - - - "'The die is cast - And this is the last.' - - - "From THE CAPTAIN. - - '_P.S_.--If you have no money send me the 'Count of Monte - Cristo'--you have a copy; or the 'Multi-Millionaire.' I have - nothing to read but a _Financial News_ of the day before - yesterday." - - -Leavesley groaned and laughed, and groaned again. Then he got into his -bath and splashed; as he splashed his spirits rose amazingly. - -The Captain's letter had electrified the Bohemian part of his nature; -instead of depressing him it had done the reverse. Here was another poor -devil worse off than himself. Leavesley had six pair of trousers. - -The Captain, in parenthesis let me say, has no part in this story. He -wasn't a captain, he was a relic of the South African War, a gentleman -with a taste for drink, amusing, harmless, and amiable. I only introduce -him on account of the telepathic interest of his letter, or rather of -the way in which Leavesley divined its contents. - -"Seven and sixpence--I mean seven and sevenpence halfpenny, is not a bit -of use," said the painter to himself when he had finished breakfast, "so -here goes." - -He put three and sevenpence in an envelope with the pathetic duplicate, -addressed it to Captain Waring, rang for Belinda; and when that -much-harried maid-of-all-work appeared, told her to take it as soon as -she could to Captain Waring, down the road over the bacon shop, also to -call at Mr Verneede's and ask him to come round at twelve. - -Then he reached down a finished picture, wrapped it in brown paper, put -the parcel under his arm and started off. - -He took a complication of omnibuses, and arrived in Wardour Street about -half-past nine. - -"Mr Fernandez is gone to the country on pizzines," said the Jew-boy -slave of the picture dealer, who came from the interior of the gloomy -shop like a dirty gnome, called forth by the ring of the door bell. - -"Oh, d----n!" said Leavesley. - -"He's gone on pizzines," replied the other. - -"Where's he gone to?" - -"Down in the country." - -"Look here, I want to sell a picture." - -"Mr Fernandez is gone on pizzines." - -"Oh, dash Mr Fernandez! Is there no one here I can show the thing to? He -knows me." - -"There's only me," said the grimy sphinx. - -"Can you buy it?" - -"No, I ain't no use for buying. Mr Fernandez is gone on----" - -"Oh, go to the devil!" - -"This is a nice sort of thing," said Leavesley to himself as he stood in -Wardour Street perspiring. "There's nothing for it now but a frontal -attack on uncle." - -He made for Southampton Row, reaching the office at ten o'clock, about -five minutes after James Hancock. - -Hancock was dealing with his morning correspondence. A most unbendable -old gentleman he looked as he sat at his table before a pile of letters, -backed by the numerous tin boxes Leavesley knew so well. Boxes marked -"The Gleeson Estate," "Sir H. Tempest, Bart," etc. Boxes that spoke of -wealth and business in mocking tones to the unfortunate artist, who felt -very much as the grasshopper must have felt in the presence of the -industrious ant. Despite this he noticed that his uncle was more -sprucely dressed than usual, and that he had on a lilac satin tie. - -Hancock looked at his nephew over his spectacles, then through his -spectacles, then he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead. - -"Good morning, uncle." - -"Good morning." - -"I just looked in," said Leavesley, in a light-hearted way, "as I was -going by, to see how you were." - -This was a very bad opening. - -"Sit down," said Hancock. "Um--I wasn't aware that there was anything -the matter with me." - -"You were complaining of the gout last time." - -"Oh, bother the gout!" said the old gentleman, who hated to be reminded -of his infirmity. "It isn't gout--Garrod says it's Rheumatoid -Arthritis." - -Leavesley repented of having played the gout gambit. - -"--Rheumatoid Arthritis. Well, what are you doing?" - -"Oh, I'm painting." - -"Are you _selling_?" said Hancock, "that's more to the point." - -"Oh yes, I'm selling--mildly." - -"Um!" - -"I sold two pictures quite recently." - -"I always told you," said the lawyer, ignoring the last statement in a -most irritating way, and speaking as if Leavesley were made of glass and -all his affairs were arranged inside him for view like damaged goods in -a shop window--"I always told you painting doesn't pay. If you had come -into the office you might have got on well; but there you are, you've -made your bed, and on it you must lie," then in a voice three shades -gloomier, "on it you must lie." - -Leavesley glanced at the office clock, it pointed to quarter past ten, -and Fanny was due at one. - -"I had a little business to talk to you about," he said. "Look here, -will you give me a commission?" - -"A what?" - -"A commission for a picture." - -"And five pounds on account," was in his brain, but it did not pass his -tongue. - -"A picture?" said Hancock. "What on earth do I want with pictures?" - -"Let me paint your portrait." - -Hancock made a movement with his hand as if to say "Pish!" - -"Well, look here," said Leavesley, with the cynicism of despair, "let me -paint Bridgewater, let me paint the office, whitewash the ceilings, only -give me a show." - -"I would not mind the money I have spent on you," said Hancock, ignoring -all this, "the bills I have paid, if, to use your own expression, there -was any show for it; but, as far as I can see, you are like a man in a -quagmire, the only advance you are making, the only advance visible to -mortal eye, is that you are getting deeper into debt;" then two tones -lower, "deeper into debt." - -"Well, see here, lend me a fiver," cried Leavesley, now grown desperate -and impudent. - -James Hancock put his fingers into the upper pocket of his waistcoat, -and Leavesley's heart made a spring for his throat. - -But Mr Hancock did not produce a five-pound note. He produced a small -piece of chamois leather with which he polished his glasses, which he -had taken off, in a reflective manner. - -"I'm awfully hard up for the moment, and I have pressing need of it. I -don't want you to give me the money, I'll pay it back." - -Mr Hancock put on his glasses again. - -"You come to me as one would come to a milch cow, as one would come to a -bank in which he had a large deposit." - -He put his hand in his breast-pocket and took out a note-case that -seemed simply bursting with bank-notes. - -"Now if I accommodate you with a five-pound note I must know, at least, -what the pressing need is you speak of." - -"I want to take a girl up the river, for one thing," answered his -nephew, who could no more tell him a lie about the matter, than he could -steal a note from that plethoric note-case. - -James Hancock replaced the case in his pocket and made a motion with his -hands as if to say "that ends everything." - -Leavesley rose to go. - -"I'd have paid you it back. No matter. I'm going to write a book, and -make money out of it. I'll call it the 'Art of Being an Uncle.'" - -Hancock made a motion with his hands that said, "Go away, I want to read -my letters." - -"Now, look here," said Leavesley, with his hand on the door handle, and -inspired with another accession of impudence, "if you'd take _ten_ -pounds and put it in your pocket, and come with me and her, and have a -jolly good day on the river, wouldn't it be better than sitting in this -stuffy old office making money that is no use to any one--you can only -live once." - -"Go away!" said his uncle. - -"I'm going. Tell me, if I went round to aunt would she accommodate me, -do you think?" - -"Accommodate you to make a fool of yourself with a girl? I hope not, I -sincerely hope not." - -"Well, I'll try. Good day." - -"Good day." - -Leavesley went out, and shut the door. Then he suddenly turned, opened -the door and looked in. - -"I say, uncle!" - -"Well?" replied the unfortunate Mr Hancock, in a testy voice. - -"Did _you_ never make a fool of yourself with a girl?" - -The old gentleman grew suddenly so crimson that his nephew shut the door -and bolted. He little guessed how _apropos_ that question was. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT - - -He had scarcely gone a hundred yards down Southampton Row, when he heard -his name called. - -"Mr Frank!" - -He turned. Bridgewater was pursuing him with something in his hand. - -"Mr James told me to give you this." - -Leavesley took the envelope presented to him, and Bridgewater bolted -back to the office like a fat old rabbit, returning to its burrow. - -In the envelope was a sovereign wrapped up in a half sheet of notepaper. - -"Well, of all the meannesses!" said the dutiful nephew, pocketing the -coin. "Still, it's decent of the old boy after my cheeking him like -that. I have now one pound four. I'll go now and cheek aunt." - -Miss Hancock was in; she had a handkerchief tied round her head, a -duster in her hand; she had just given the cook warning and was in a -debatable temper. She was also in a dusting mood. She had plenty of -servants, yet the inspiration came on her at times to tie a handkerchief -round her head and dust. - -"Well?" she said, as she led the way into the dining-room, and continued -an attack she was making on the sideboard with her duster. - -Leavesley had scarcely the slightest hope of financial assistance from -this quarter. Patience had given him half-a-crown for a birthday present -once when he was a little boy, and then worried it back from him and -popped it into a missionary box for the Wallibooboo Islanders. - -He never forgot that half-crown. - -"I've come round to borrow some money from you," he said. - -Patience sniffed, and went on with her dusting. Then suddenly she -stopped, and, duster in hand, addressed him. - -"Are you never going to do anything for a living? Have you no idea of -the responsibilities of life? What are you going to _do_?" - -"I'm going for a holiday in the country if I can scrape up money -enough." - -"You won't scrape it up here," said his aunt, continuing her dusting; -then, for she was as inquisitive as a mongoose: "And what part of the -country do you propose to take a holiday in?" - -"Sonning-on-Thames." - -"And where, may I ask, is Sonning-on-Thames?" - -"It's on the Thames. See here, will you lend me five pounds?" - -"Five _what_?" - -"Pounds." - -"What for?" - -"To take a girl for a trip to Sonning-on-Thames." - -Miss Hancock was sweeping with her duster round a glass arrangement made -to hold flowers, in the convulsion incident on this statement she upset -the thing and smashed it, much to Leavesley's delight. - -He made for the door, and stood for a moment with the handle in his -hand. - -"I'm awfully sorry. Can I help you to pick it up?" - -"Go away," said Miss Hancock, who was on her knees collecting the -fragments of glass; "I want to see nothing more of you. If you are lost -to respectability you might retain at least common decency." - -"Decency!" - -"Yes, decency." - -"I don't know that I've said anything indecent, or that there is -anything indecent in going for a day on the river with a girl. Well, I'm -going----" A luminous idea suddenly struck him. He knew the old maid's -mind, and the terror she had of the bare idea of her brother marrying; -he remembered the spruce appearance of his uncle that morning and the -lavender satin necktie. "I say----" - -"Well?" - -"Talking of girls, how about uncle and _his_ girl?" - -"_What's that you say!_" - -"Nothing, nothing; I oughtn't to have said anything about it. Well, I'm -off." - -He left the room hurriedly and shut the door, before she could call him -back he was out of the house. - -His random remark had hit the target plumb in the centre of the -bull's-eye, and could he have known the agitation and irritation in the -mind of his aunt he would have written off as paid his debt against the -Wallibooboo Islanders. - -The river was impossible now, and the whole thing had shrunk to -luncheon at the studio and a visit to Madame Tussaud's or the Tower. - -He reached the studio before twelve, and there he found waiting for him -Mr Verneede and the Captain. - -The Captain was in his trousers; he had come to show them as a proof of -good faith and incidentally to get a glass of whisky. Leavesley gave him -the whisky and sent him off, then he turned to Verneede. - -"The whole thing has bust up. Miss Lambert is coming at one to go up the -river and I have no money. Stoney broke; isn't it the deuce?" - -"How very unfortunate!" said Mr Verneede. "How very unfortunate!" - -"Unfortunate isn't the name for it." - -"Did Miss Lambert write?" - -"Yes--Oh, she told me to remember her to you, sent her love to you." - -"Ah!" - -"I've only got one pound four." - -"But surely, my dear Leavesley--one pound four--why, it is quite a -little sum of money." - -"It's not enough to go up the river on--three of us." - -"Why go up the river?" - -"Where else can we go?" - -"I have an idea," said Mr Verneede. "May I propound it?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you ever heard of Epping Forest?" - -"Yes." - -"Why not go there and spend a day amidst the trees, the greenery, the -blue sky, the----" - -"What would it cost?" - -"A fractional sum; one takes the train to Woodford." - -Leavesley reached for an A.B.C. guide and plunged into details. - -"There are hamlets in the forest, where tea may be obtained in cottages -at a reasonable cost----" - -"We can just do it, I think," said Leavesley, who had been making -distracted calculations on paper. He darted to the bell and rang it. - -"Belinda," he said, when the slave of the bell made answer, "there's a -lady coming here to luncheon, have you anything in the house?" - -Belinda, with a far-away look in her eyes, made a mental survey of the -larder, twiddling the door-handle to assist thought. - -"There's a pie, sir, and sassiges, and a cold mutton chop. There's half -a chicken----" - -"That'll do, and get a salad. I'll run out and get some flowers and a -bottle of claret." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE DAISY CHAIN - - -They were seated in a dusty glade near a road, near Woodford, and they -had lost Verneede. - -The loss did not seem to affect them. Fanny had picked some daisies and -was making a chain of them. Leavesley was making and smoking cigarettes. - -"But what I can't make out," said Leavesley--"This fellow Bevan, you -said he was a beast, and now you seem quite gone on him." - -"I'm not," said Fanny indignantly. - -"Well, I can only judge from your words." - -"I'm _not_!"--pouting. - -"Well, there, I won't say any more. He stayed to luncheon, you said?" - -"Yes," defiantly, "and tea and supper; why shouldn't he?" - -"Oh, I don't see why he shouldn't, only it must have been a visitation. -I should think your father was rather bored." - -Fanny said nothing, but went on with her chain. - -"What sort of looking fellow is he?" - -"He's very nice-looking; at least he's rather fat--you know the sort of -man I mean." - -"And awfully rich?" - -"Awfully." - -Leavesley tore up grass leisurely and viciously. - -"Your uncle is awfully rich too, isn't he?" asked Miss Lambert after a -moment's silence. - -"Yes; why?" - -"I was only thinking." - -"What were you only thinking?" - -"I was thinking if I had to marry one or the other, which I'd chose." - -Leavesley squirmed with pleasure: that was one for Bevan. He -instinctively hated Bevan. He, little knowing the mind of Miss Lambert, -thought this indecision of choice between his uncle and another man an -exquisitely veiled method of describing the other man's undesirability. - -"Marry uncle," he said with a laugh. "And then we can all live together -in Gordon Square, uncle, and you, and I, and aunt, and old Verneede. The -house would hold the lot of us." - -"And father." - -"Of course," said Leavesley, thinking she spoke in fun, "and a few -more--the Captain: you don't know the Captain; he's a treasure, and -would make the menagerie quite complete." - -"And we could go for picnics," said Fanny. - -"Rather!" - -She had finished her daisy-chain, and with a charming and child-like -movement she suddenly leaned forward and threw it round his neck. - -"Oh, Fanny," he cried, taking both her little hands in his, "what's the -good of talking nonsense? I _love_ you, and you'll never marry any one -but me." - -Fanny began to cry just like a little child, and he crept up to her and -put his arm round her waist. - -"I love you, Fanny. Listen, darling, I love you----" - -"Don't--don't--don't!" sobbed the girl, nestling closer to him at each -"don't." - -"Why?" - -"I was thinking just the same." - -"What?" - -"That I----" - -"That you----?" - -"_Don't!_" - -"That you love me?" - -Silence interspersed with sobs, then-- - -"I don't love you, but I--could----" - -"What?" - -"Love you--but I mustn't." - -Leavesley heaved a deep sigh of content, squeezed her closer and rocked -her slightly. She allowed herself to be nursed like this for a few -heavenly moments; then she broke away from him, pushed him away. - -"I mustn't, I mustn't--don't!--do leave me alone--go away." She -increased the distance between them. Tears were on her long black -lashes--lashes tipped with brown--and her eyes were like passion flowers -after rain--to use a simile that has never been used before. - -Leavesley had got on his hands and knees to crawl closer towards her, -and the intense seriousness of his face, coupled with the attitude of -his body, quite dispelled Miss Lambert's inclination to weep. - -"Don't!" she cried, laughing in a helpless sort of way. "Do sit down, -you look so funny like that." - -He collapsed, and they sat opposite to each other like two tailors, -whilst Fanny dried her eyes and finished up her few remaining sobs. - -A brake full of trippers passed on the road near by, yelling that -romantic and delightful song - - - "Bedelia! - I wants to steal yer." - - -"_They're_ happy," said Fanny, listening with a rapt expression as -though she were listening to the music of the heavenly choir. "I wish I -was them." - -"Fanny," said her lover, ignoring this comprehensive wish, "why can't -you care for me?" - -"I do care for you." - -"Yes, but why can't you marry me?" - -"We're too poor." - -"I'll be making lots of money soon." - -"How much?" - -"Oh, four or five hundred a year." - -"That's not enough," said Fanny with a sigh, "not _nearly_ enough." - -Leavesley gazed at the mercenary beauty before him. Had he -miscalculated her? was she after all like other girls, a daughter of the -horse leech? - -"I'd marry you to-morrow," resumed she, "if you hadn't a penny--only for -father." - -"What about him?" - -"I must help him. I must marry a rich man or not marry at all. -There----" - -"Do you care for him more than me?" - -"Yes." - -Leavesley sighed, then he broke out: "But it's dreadful, he never would -ask you to make such a sacrifice----" - -"Father?" - -"Yes." - -"_He!_ why, he doesn't care a button. He believes in people marrying -whoever they like. He'd _like_ me to marry you. He said only the other -day you'd make a good husband because you didn't gamble or drink, and -you had no taste for going to law." - -Leavesley's face brightened, he got on his hands and knees again -preparatory to drawing nearer. - -"Sit down," said Fanny, drawing away. - -"But if you love me," said the lover, collapsing again into the sitting -posture. - -"I don't." - -"What!" - -"Not enough to marry you. I could if I let myself go, but I've just -stopped myself in time. I can't ever marry you." - -"But, look here----" - -"Yes?" - -"Suppose you do marry a rich man, I don't see how it will benefit your -father." - -"Won't it! I'll never marry a man who won't help father, and he wants -help. Oh! if you only knew our affairs," said Miss Lambert, picking a -daisy and looking at it, and apparently addressing it, "the hair would -stand up on the top of your head." - -"Are they so bad as all that, Fanny?" - -"Bad isn't the word," replied Miss Lambert, plucking the petals from the -daisy one by one. "He loves me--he loves me not--he loves me--he loves -me not--he loves me." - -"Who?" - -"You." - -He got on his hands and knees again. - -"Sit _down_." - -"But, see here, listen to me: are you really serious in what you have -just said?" - -"I am." - -"Well, promise me one thing: you won't marry any one just yet." - -"What do you mean by just yet?" - -"Oh, till I have a chance, till I strike oil, till I begin to make a -fortune!" - -"How long will that be?" asked Miss Lambert cautiously. - -"I don't know," replied the unhappy painter. - -"If the Roorkes Drift Mines would only go up to two hundred," said the -girl, plucking another daisy, "I'd marry you; father has a whole -trunkful of them. He got them at sixpence each, and if they went to two -hundred they'd be worth half a million of money." - -"Is there any chance, do you think?" asked Leavesley brightening. He -knew something of stock exchange jargon. The Captain was great on stock -exchange matters, when he was not occupied in pawning his clothes and -sending wild messages to his friends for assistance. - -"I think so," said Fanny. "Mr Bevan said they were going into -Liqui----something." - -"Liquidation." - -"Yes--that's it." - -Leavesley sighed. An old grey horse cropping the grass near by came and -looked gloomily at the humans, snorted, and resumed his meal. - -"What's the time?" asked Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. Leavesley -looked at his watch. - -"Half-past six." - -"Gracious! let's go; it will take us hours to get home." She rose to her -feet and shook her dress. - -"I wonder where old Mr Verneede can be?" said the girl, looking round as -though to find him lurking amidst the foliage. "It's awful if we've lost -him." - -"We have his ticket, too," said Leavesley. "He's very likely gone back -to the station; if we don't find him there I'll leave his ticket with -the station-master." - -He rose up, and the daisy-chain round his neck fell all to pieces in -ruin to the ground. - -They found Mr Verneede waiting for them at the station, smelling of -beer, and conversing with the station-master on the weather and the -crops. - -At Liverpool Street, having seen Miss Lambert into an omnibus (she -refused to be seen home, knowing full well the distance from Highgate to -Chelsea), Leavesley, filled with a great depression of spirits, went -with Verneede and sat in pubs, and smoked clay pipes, and drank beer. - -This sorry pastime occupied them till 12.30, when they took leave of -each other in the King's Road, Leavesley miserable, and Verneede -maudlin. - -"She sent me her love," said Mr Verneede, clinging to his companion's -hand, and working it like a pump handle. "Bless you--bless you, my -boy--don't take any more--Go--bless you." - -When Leavesley looked back he saw Mr Verneede apparently trying to go -home arm-in-arm with a lamp-post. - - - - -_PART III_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -AN ASSIGNATION - - -So, it would seem from the artless confession of Miss Lambert, that -Patience Hancock had only too much reason for her fears: the lilac silk -necktie had not been bought for the edification of Bridgewater and the -junior clerks. - -That the correct James Hancock had fuddled himself with punch, told -droll stories, and lent Mr Lambert twenty pounds, were facts so utterly -at variance with the known character of that gentleman as to be -unbelievable by the people who knew him well. - -Not by people well acquainted with human nature, or the fact that a -grain of good-fellowship in the human heart exhibits extraordinary and -radium-like activity under certain conditions: the conditions induced -by punch and beauty and good-fellowship in others, for instance. - -One morning, after the day upon which he had refused to assist Frank -Leavesley to "make a fool of himself with a girl," James Hancock arrived -at his office at the usual time, in the usual manner, and, nodding to -Bridgewater as he had nodded to him every morning for the last thirty -years, passed into the inner office and closed the door. - -The closing of the door was a new departure; it had generally been left -ajar as an indication that Bridgewater might come in whenever he chose, -to receive instructions and to consult upon the morning letters. - -The expression on Bridgewater's face when he heard the closing of the -door was so extraordinarily funny, that one of the younger clerks, who -caught a glimpse of it, hastily stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth -and choked silently behind the lid of his desk. - -Quarter of an hour passed, and then the door opened. - -"Bridgewater!" - -The old gentleman stuck his pen behind his ear and answered the summons. - -James Hancock was seated at his desk. On it lay an envelope addressed -in a lady's handwriting; he covered the envelope with a piece of -blotting paper as Bridgewater entered. - -"I'm going out this morning, Bridgewater, on some private business." - -"Out this morning?" echoed Bridgewater in a tentative tone. - -"Yes; I leave you in charge." - -"But Purvis, Mr James, Purvis has an appointment with you at twelve." - -"Oh, bother Purvis! Tell him to call to-morrow, his affair will wait; -tell him the deed is not drawn and to come again to-morrow." - -"How about Isaacs?" - -"Solomon Isaacs?" - -"Yes, Mr James." - -"What time is he coming?" - -"Half-past eleven." - -"Tell him to come to-morrow." - -"I'm afraid he won't. I'm----" - -"If he won't," said Mr Hancock with some acerbity, "tell him to go to -the devil. I don't want his business especially--let him find some one -else. Now see here, about these letters." - -He went into the morning letters, dictating replies to the more -important ones and leaving the rest to the discretion of his clerk. - -"And, Bridgewater," said Mr Hancock, as the senior clerk turned to -depart, "I am expecting a lady to call here at half-past ten or quarter -to eleven: show her in, it's Miss Lambert." - -"You have had no word from Mr Charles Bevan, sir, since he called the -other day?" - -"Not a word. He is a very hot-headed young man; he inherits the Bevan -temper, the Bevan temper," reiterated James Hancock in a reflective -tone, tapping his snuff-box and taking a leisurely pinch. "I remember -his father John Bevan at Ipswich, during the election, threatening to -horsewhip my father; then when he found he was in the wrong, or rather -that his own rascally solicitor was in the wrong, he apologised very -handsomely and came to us. The family affairs have been in our hands -ever since, as you know, and, though I say it myself, they could not -have been in better." - -"May I ask, Mr James, how affairs are with the Lamberts?--a sweetly -pretty young lady is Miss Lambert, and so nice spoken." - -"The Lamberts' affairs seem very much involved; but you know, -Bridgewater, I have nothing to do with their affairs. I called to see -Mr Lambert purely as a friend. It would be very unprofessional to call -otherwise. D----n it!" suddenly broke out old Hancock, as if some one -had pricked him with a pin, "a man is not always a business man. I'm -getting on in life. I have money enough and to spare. I've done pretty -much as I liked all my life, and I'll do so to the end; yes, and I'd -break all the laws of professional etiquette one after the other -to-morrow if I chose." - -Bridgewater's amazed face was the only amazed part of his anatomy; he -was used to these occasional petulant outbursts, and he looked on them -with equanimity. - -Hancock had been threatening to retire from business for the last ten -years, to retire from business and buy a country place and breed horses. -No one knew so well as Bridgewater the impossibility of this and the -extent to which his master was bound up in his business--the business -was his life. - -He retired, mumbling something that sounded like an assent, and going to -his desk put the letters in order. - -Mr Hancock, left to himself, took a letter from his breast-pocket. It -was addressed in a large careless hand to - - - "JAMES HANCOCK, ESQ. - - GORDON SQUARE. - - -It ran:-- - - - "DEAR MR HANCOCK,--I'll be delighted to come to-morrow; I haven't - seen the Zoo for years, not since I was quite small. No, don't - trouble to come and fetch me, I will call at the office at - half-past ten or quarter to eleven, that will be simpler.--Yours - very sincerely, - - "FANNY LAMBERT." - - -"I'll be hanged if it's simpler," grumbled James Hancock, as he returned -the letter to his pocket. "Why in the name of all that's sacred couldn't -she have let me call?--the clerks will talk so. No matter, let them--I -don't care." - -"Miss Lambert," said Bridgewater, opening the door. - -Mr Hancock might have thought that Spring herself stood before him in -the open doorway, such a pleasing and perfect vision did Miss Lambert -make. She was attired in a chip hat, and a dress of something light in -texture and lilac in colour, and, from the vivacity of her manner and -the general sprightliness of her appearance, seemed bent upon a day of -pleasure. - -"I'm so awfully sorry to be so soon," said Miss Lambert. "It's only -twenty minutes past ten; the clocks have all gone wrong at home. James -broke out again yesterday; he went out and took far, far too much; isn't -it dreadful? I don't know what we are to do with him, and he wound up -the clocks last night, and I believe he has broken them all, at least -they won't go. Father has gone away again; he is down in Sussex paying a -visit to a Miss Pursehouse, we met her in Paris. She asked me to come -too, but I had to refuse because my dressmaker--I mean, Susannah -couldn't be left by herself, she smashes things so. She fell on the -kitchen stairs this morning, bringing the breakfast things up--are you -busy? and are you sure I'm not bothering you or interfering with clients -and things? I arrived here really at ten minutes past ten, and walked up -and down outside till people began to stare at me, so I came in." - -"Not a bit busy," said Mr Hancock; "delighted you've come so early. Is -that chair comfortable?" - -"Quite, thanks." - -"Sure you won't take this easy-chair?" - -"No, no; this is a delightful chair. Who is that nice old man who showed -me in?" - -"Bridgewater, my chief clerk. Yes, he is a very good sort of man -Bridgewater; he's been with us now a number of years." - -"I like him, because he always smiles at me and looks so friendly and so -funny. He's the kind of man one feels one would like to knit something -for; a--muffler or mittens. I will, next Christmas, if he wouldn't be -offended." - -"Offended! Good heavens, no, he'd be delighted--perfectly delighted, I'm -sure, perfectly. Come in!" - -"A telegram, sir," spoke Bridgewater's voice. He always "sir'd" his -master in the presence of strangers. - -"Excuse me," said Mr Hancock, putting on his glasses and opening the -telegram. He read it carefully, frowned, then smiled, and handed it to -Fanny. - -"Am I to read it?" said the girl. - -"Please." - -Fanny read:-- - -"I relinquish fishing-rights. Make the best terms with Lambert you -can.--BEVAN." - -"Isn't it nice of him?" she said without evincing any surprise; "he -told me he would when he called." - -"Told you he would?" - -"Yes." - -"When did you see Mr Bevan?" - -"Why, he called--didn't I tell you?--oh no, I forgot--he called, and he -was _awfully_ nice. Quite the nicest man I've met for a long time. He -stayed to luncheon and tea and supper." - -"Was your father at home?" - -"No." - -"I would rather this had not happened," said Mr Hancock in a slightly -pained voice. "Mr Bevan is a gentleman for whom I have great respect, -but considering the absence of your father, the absence of a -host--er--er--conventionalities, um----" - -"Oh, he didn't seem to mind," said Fanny; "he knew father was away, and -took us just as we were. He's awfully rich, I suppose, but he was just -as pleasant as if he were poor--came marketing and carried the basket; -and, I declare to goodness, if I had known we had such a jolly cousin -before, I'd have gone and hunted him up myself in the--'Albany,' isn't -it?" - -"Mr Bevan lives in the 'Albany,'" said the lawyer. "It is a bachelors' -residence, and scarcely a place--scarcely a place for a--er--lady to -call--no, scarcely a place for a lady to call. However, what's done is -done, and we must make the best of it." - -"If I had only thought," said Fanny, who had not been listening to the -humming and hawing of Mr Hancock, "I'd have asked him to come with us -to-day. Gracious! it's just eleven. Shall we go?" - -Mr Hancock took his hat and umbrella, opened the door, and they passed -out. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER - - -Mr Bridgewater's emotions, when he saw his principal following the -pretty Miss Lambert, were mixed. - -He saw through the whole thing at once: she had come by appointment, and -they were going somewhere together. - -Now, on the day when he had called to lunch with Patience Hancock, and -look over the lease of the Peckham House, the Peckham House had not been -once mentioned; the whole conversation, conducted chiefly by Miss -Hancock, concerned the welfare of her brother. She hinted at certain -news, supposed to have been received by her, that a designing woman had -her eye on her treasure; she implored her listener to let her know if he -saw any indication of the truth of these reports. "For you know, -Bridgewater," said she, indicating that the decanter was at his side, -and that he might help himself to his third glass of port, "there is no -fool like an old fool," to which axiom Bridgewater giggled assent. - -He promised to keep a "sharp look-out," and inform her of what he saw -from time to time. And it did not require a very sharp look-out to see -what he saw this morning. - -As we have indicated, his emotions were mixed. Fanny's face, her -"sweetly pretty face," appealed to him; that she had fascinated Mr -James, he felt sure; that he ought instantly to inform Miss Hancock he -felt certain; that he had a lot of important letters to write and -business to transact with Mr Purvis and Mr Isaacs were facts. Between -these facts and these fancies the old man sat scratching his head with -the stump of his pen, staring at the letters before him, and pretending -to be busy. Born in the age of valentines and sentiment, he had carried -along with him through life a "feeling" for the other sex; to be frank, -the feeling was compounded mainly of shyness, but not altogether. I -doubt if there lives a man in whose life's history there exists not a -woman in some form or other, either living and active in the present, or -dead and a memory--a leaf in amber. - -In old Bridgewater's brain there lived, keeping company with other -futilities of youth, a girl. The winters and the springs of forty-five -years had left her just the same, red-cheeked and buxom, commonplace, -pretty, with an undecided mouth, and a crinoline. As he sat cogitating, -this old mental daguerreotype took on fresh colours. He saw the sunlight -on a certain street in Hoxton, and heard the tinkle of a piano, long -gone to limbo, playing a tune that memory had in some mysterious way -bound up with the perfume of wall-flowers. - -He remembered a Christmas card that pulled out like a concertina: a -shocking production of art which gave a vista of a garden in filigree -paper leading to a house. - -A feeling of tenderness possessed him. Why should he move in a matter -that did not concern him? He determined to remain neutral, and, with the -object of dismissing the matter from his mind, turned to his letters. - -But this kindly, though inferior being was dominated by a strong and -active intelligence, and that intelligence existed in the brain of a -woman. - -Whilst he made notes and dictated to a clerk, this alien intelligence -was voicing its commands in the sub-conscious portions of his brain. He -began to hesitate in his dictation and to shuffle his feet, to pause and -to dictate nonsense. Then rising and taking his hat, he asked Mr Wolf, -his second in command, to take charge, as he had business which would -keep him away for half an hour--and made for the door. In Southampton -Row he walked twenty yards, retraced his steps, paused, blew his nose in -a huge bandana handkerchief, and then, travelling as if driven by -clockwork well wound up, he made for Gordon Square. - -The servant said that Miss Hancock was dressing to go out, and invited -him into the cave-like dining-room. She then closed the door and left -him to the tender mercies of the place. - -Decision was not the most noteworthy characteristic of Mr Bridgewater, -nor tact. He stood, consulting the clock on the mantelpiece, yet, had -you asked him, he could not have told you the time. Having come into the -place of his own volition he was now endeavouring to get up volition -enough to enable him to leave. - -"Well, Bridgewater?" said a voice. The old man turned. Miss Hancock, -dressed for going out, stood before him. - -"Why, I declare, Miss Patience!" said Bridgewater, as if the woman -before him was the very last person on earth he expected to see. - -"You have found me just in time, for I was going out. I am in a hurry, -so I won't ask you to sit down. Can I do anything for you?" - -Bridgewater rubbed his nose. - -"It's about a little matter, Miss Patience." - -"Yes?" - -"A little matter concerning Mr James." - -"Yes?" - -"I am afraid--I am afraid, Miss Patience, there is--well--not to put -too fine a point upon it--a lady." - -"What is this you say, Bridgewater? But sit down." - -"A lady, Miss Patience." - -"You've said that before--_what_ lady, and what about her?" The -recollection of Leavesley's words shot up in her brain. - -"Dear me, dear me! I wish I hadn't spoken now. I'm sure it's nothing -wrong. I think, very possibly, I have been mistaken." - -"John Bridgewater," said Miss Hancock, "you have known me from my -childhood, you know I hate shuffling, come to the point--there is a -lady--well, I have known it all along, so you need not be afraid to -speak. Just tell me all you know. You are very well aware that no one -cares for Mr James as much as I do. You are very well aware that some -men _need_ protecting. You know very well there is no better-hearted man -in the world than my brother." - -"None indeed." - -"And you know very well that he is just the man to fall a victim to a -designing woman. Think for a moment. What would a woman see in a man of -his age, except his money." - -"Very true; though I'm sure, Miss Patience, no man would make a better -husband for a woman than Mr James." - -"Oh, don't talk nonsense! When a man arrives at his age, he is too old -to be made into a husband, but he is not too old to be made into a fool. -Now tell me all you know about this affair. First of all, what is -the--person's name?" - -"The person I suspect, Miss Patience, though indeed my suspicions may be -wrong, is a Miss Lambert." - -"Surely not any relation of the Highgate Lamberts?" - -"The daughter, Miss Patience." - -"_That_ broken-down lot! Good heavens! Are you _sure_?" - -"Perfectly sure." - -"The daughter of the man who is fighting with Mr Bevan about the fish -pond?" - -"Stream." - -"It's the same. Well, go on." - -"Miss Fanny Lambert called some time ago on Mr James. She called in -distress about the action. Mr James interviewed her, and discovered -that her father was in a very bad way, financially speaking. He took -pity on them----" - -"Idiot!" - -"----and called at Highgate to see Mr Lambert. He became very friendly -with Mr Lambert. Then Miss Fanny Lambert called again." - -"What about?" - -"I don't know. And to-day, this morning, she called again." - -"Called at the office this morning?" - -"Yes." - -"What did she call for?" - -Bridgewater was silent. - -"I repeat," said Miss Hancock, speaking as an examiner might speak to a -candidate, "I repeat, what did she call for? You surely must have some -inkling." - -"I am afraid she called about nothing. I'm afraid so, very much afraid -so." - -"What _do_ you mean?" - -"I'm afraid, Miss Patience, it was an assignation." - -"How long did she stay?" - -"About twenty minutes; but that is not the worst." - -"Go on." - -"They went out together." - -"How long was my brother out with her?" - -"He hasn't come back; he has gone for the day--told me to take charge of -the office." - -"You mean they went out together like that and you did not follow them -to see where they went?" - -"Yes." - -"Oh, you _idiot_!" - -"How could I, Miss Patience?" - -"How could you--yes, that's just it. How could you, when you had such a -chance, let it slip through your fingers?" - -"But the office?" - -"The office--why, you have left the office to come round here. If you -could leave it to come here, surely you could have left it for a more -important purpose. Well, you may take this from me: soon there will be -no office to leave. It's quite possible that if Mr James makes a fool of -himself, he'll leave business and do what he's always threatening to -do--go in for farming. When a man once begins making a fool of himself, -he goes on doing so, the appetite comes with eating. Well, you had -better go back to the office and remember this for your own sake, for -my sake, for Mr James' sake, keep your eyes open. If you get another -chance, follow them." - -Bridgewater left the house walking in a very depressed manner. In Oxford -Street he entered a bar and had a glass of sherry and a biscuit. As he -left the bar, who should he see but James Hancock--James Hancock, and -Fanny side by side. They were looking in at a shop window. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AN OLD MAN'S OUTING - - -On leaving the office, the happy thought had occurred to Fanny of -telegraphing at once to her father apprising him of Charles Bevan's -decision. Accordingly they sought the nearest telegraph office, where -Miss Lambert indited the following despatch:-- - - - "TO LAMBERT, - C/O MISS PURSEHOUSE, - THE ROOST, ROOKHURST. - - "Mr Bevan has stopped the action. Isn't it sweet of him?" - - -"Any name?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh yes," replied Fanny, suddenly remembering that her connection with -the matter ought to be kept dark. "Put Hancock." - -Then they sought Oxford Street, where Fanny remembered that she had some -shopping to do. - -"I won't be a minute," she said, pausing before a draper's. "Will you -come in, or wait outside?" - -Mr Hancock elected to wait outside, and he waited. - -It was an unfortunate shop for a man to wait before: there was nothing -in the windows but _lingerie_; the shop on the left of it was a bonnet -shop, and the establishment on the right was a bar. - -So he had to wait, standing on the kerbstone, in full view of mankind. -In two minutes three men passed who knew him, and in the middle of the -fourth minute old Sir Henry Tempest, one of his best clients, who was -driving by in a hansom, stopped, got out and button-holed him. - -"Just the man I want to see, what a piece of luck! I was going to your -office. See here, that d----d scamp of a Sawyer has sent me in a bill -for sixteen pounds--sixteen pounds for those repairs I spoke to you -about. Why! I'd have got 'em done for six if he had left them to me. But -jump into the cab, and come and have luncheon, and we can talk things -over." - -"I can't," said Mr Hancock, "I am waiting for a lady--my sister, she has -just gone into that shop. I'll tell you, I will see you, any time you -like, to-morrow." - -"Well, I suppose that must do. But sixteen pounds!--people seem to think -I am made of money. I tell you what, Hancock, the great art in getting -through life is to make yourself out a poor man--go about in an old coat -and hat; you are just as comfortable, and you are not pestered by every -beggar and beast that wants money." - -"Decidedly, decidedly--I think you are right," said his listener, -standing now on one foot, now on the other. - -"Once you get the reputation of being rich you are ruined--what's the -matter with you?" - -"Twinges of gout, twinges of gout. I can't get rid of it." - -"Gout? Have you been to a doctor for it?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, don't mind what he says; try my remedy. Gout, my dear sir, is -incurable with drugs, I've tried 'em. You try hot air baths and -vegetarianism; it cured me. I don't say a _strictly_ vegetarian diet, -but just as little meat as you can take. I get it myself. Hancock, we're -not so young as we were, and the wine and women of our youth revisit us; -yes, the wine and women----" - -He stopped. Fanny had just emerged from the shop. - -The cabman who drove Sir Henry Tempest that day from Oxford Street to -the Raleigh Club has not yet solved the problem as to "what the old -gent, was laughing about." - -"I'm awfully sorry to have kept you such a time," said Fanny, as they -wandered away, "but those shopmen are so stupid. Who was that -nice-looking old gentleman you were talking to?" - -"That was Sir Henry Tempest; but he never struck me as being especially -nice-looking. He is not a bad man in his way--but a bore; yes, very -decidedly a bore." - -"Come here," said Fanny, from whose facile mind the charms of Sir Henry -Tempest had vanished--"Come here, and I will buy you something." She -turned to a jeweller's shop. - -"But, my dear child," said James, "I never wear jewellery--never." - -"Oh, I don't mean _really_ to buy you something, I only mean make -belief--window-shopping, you know. I often go out by myself and buy -heaps of things like that, watches and carriages, and all sorts of -things. I enjoy it just as much as if I were buying them really; more, I -think, for I don't get tired of them. Do you know that when I want a -thing and get it I don't want it any more? I often get married like -that." - -"Like what?" asked the astonished Mr Hancock. - -"Window-shopping. I see sometimes _such_ a nice-looking man in the -street or the park, then I marry him and he's ever so nice; but if I -married him really I'm sure I'd hate him, or at least be tired of him in -a day or two. Now, see here! I will buy you--let me see--let me -see--_that_!" She pointed suddenly to an atrocious carbuncle scarf-pin. -"That, and that watch with the long hand that goes hopping round. You -can have the whole window," said Fanny, suddenly becoming lavishly -generous. "But the scarf-pin would suit you, and the watch would be -useful for--for--well, it looks like a business man's watch." - -Mr Hancock sighed. "Say an old man's watch, Fanny--may I call you -Fanny?" - -"Of course, if you like. But you're not old, you're quite young; at -least you're just as jolly as if you were. But come, or we will be late -for the Zoo." - -"Wait," said Mr Hancock; "there is lots of time for the Zoo. Now look at -the window and buy yourself a present." - -"I'll buy that," said Miss Lambert promptly, pointing to a little watch -crusted with brilliants. - -Mr Hancock noted the watch and the name and number of the shop, and they -passed on. - -Mr Hancock found that progress with such a companion in Oxford Street -was a slow affair. The extraordinary fascination exercised by the shops -upon his charge astonished him; everything seemed to interest her, even -churns. The normal state of her brain seemed only comparable to that of -a person's who is recovering from an illness. - -It was after twelve when they reached Mudie's library. - -"Now," said Mr Hancock, pausing and resting on his umbrella, "I am -rather perplexed." - -"What about?" - -"Luncheon. If we take a cab to the Zoo now, we will have to lunch there -or in the neighbourhood. I do not know whether they provide luncheons at -the Zoo or whether there is even a refreshment room there." - -"You can buy buns," said Fanny; "at least, I have a dim recollection of -buns when I was there last. We bought them for the bears; but whether -they were meant for people to eat, or only made on purpose for the -animals, I don't know." - -"Just so. I think we had better defer our visit till after luncheon; -but, meanwhile, what shall we do? It is now ten minutes past twelve; we -cannot possibly lunch till one. Shall we explore the Museum?" - -"Oh! not the Museum," said Fanny; "it always takes my appetite away. I -suppose it's the mummies. I'll tell you what, we will go and have ices -in that cafe over there." - -They crossed to the Vienna Cafe, and seated themselves at a little -marble table. - -"Father and I come here often," said Fanny, "when we are in this part of -the town; we know every one here." She bowed and smiled to the lady who -sits in the little glass counting house, who smiled and bowed in return. -"That was Hermann--the man who went for our ices; and that's Fritz, the -waiter, over there, with the bald head." She caught Fritz's eye, who -smiled and bowed. "I don't see Henri--I suppose he's married; he told us -he was going to get married the last time we were here, to a girl who -keeps the accounts in a cafe in Soho, somewhere, and I promised him to -send them a wedding present. He was such a nice man, like a Count in -disguise; you know the sort of looking man I mean. What shall I send -him?" - -James Hancock ran over all the wedding presents he could remember in his -mind; he thought of clocks, candlesticks, silver-plated mustard pots. - -"Send him a--clock." - -"Yes, I'll send him a clock. Wait till I ask where they live." - -She rose and approached the lady at the counting-house; a brisk -conversation ensued, the lady speaking much with her hands and eyes, -which she raised alternately to heaven. - -Fanny came back looking sorrowful. "He's gone," she said; "I never -could have thought it!" - -"Why should he not go?" - -"Yes, but he went with the spoons and forks and things, and there was no -girl at Soho." - -"Never trust those plausible gentlemen who look like Italian Counts," -said James Hancock, not entirely displeased with the melodramatic news. - -"Whom _is_ one to trust?" asked Fanny, with the air of a woman whose -life's illusion is shattered. - -James Hancock couldn't quite say. "Trust _me_," rose to his lips, but -the sentiment was not uttered, partly because it would have been too -previous, and partly because Hermann had just placed before him an -enormous ice-cream. - -"You are not eating your ice!" - -"It's too hot--ah, um--I mean it's too cold," said Mr Hancock, waking -from a moment's reverie. "That is to say, I scarcely ever eat ices." The -fact that a sweet vanilla ice was simply food and drink to the gout was -a dietetic truism he did not care to utter. - -"If," said Fanny, with the air of a mother speaking to her child, "if -you don't eat your ice I will never take you shopping with me again. -_Please_ eat it, I feel so greedy eating alone." - -Mr Hancock seized a spoon and attacked the formidable structure before -him. - -"I hope I'll never grow old," sighed Miss Lambert, as Hermann approached -them with a huge dish of fantastic-looking cakes--cakes crusted with -sugar and chocolate, Moscow Gateaux simply sodden with rum, and -Merangues filled with cream rich as Devonshire could make it. - -"We must all grow old," said Hancock, staring with ghastly eyes at these -atrocities. "But why do you specially fear age? Age has its beauties, it -must come to us all." - -"I don't want to grow old," said his companion, "because then I would -not care for sweets any more. Father says the older he grows the less he -cares for sweets, and that every one loses their sweet tooth at fifty. I -hope I'll never lose mine; if I do I'll--get a false one." - -Mr Hancock leisurely helped himself to one of the largest and -sweetest-looking of the specimens of "Italian confectionery" before -him; Fanny helped herself to its twin, and there was silence for a -moment. - -It is strange that whilst a man may admit his age to a woman he cares -for, by word of mouth, he will do much before he admits it by his -actions. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A MEETING - - -Of all places in the world the Zoo is, perhaps, the most uninspiring to -your diffident lover, but Mr Hancock was fond of zoology. It was a mild -sort of hobby which he cultivated in his few leisure moments, and he was -not displeased to air his knowledge before his pretty friend, and to -show her that he had a taste for things other than forensic. Accordingly -in the Bird House he began to show off. This was a mistake. If you have -a hobby, conceal it till after marriage. The man with a hobby, once he -lets himself loose upon his pet subject or occupation, always bores. He -is like a man in drink, he does not know the extent of his own -stupidity; lost in his own paradise he is unconscious of the trouble -and weariness he is inflicting on the unfortunates who happen to be his -companions--unlike a man in drink, he is rarely amusing. - -There were birds with legs without end, and birds apparently with no -legs at all, nutcracker-billed birds, birds without tails, and things -that seemed simply tails without birds. - -Before a long-tailed bird that bore a dim resemblance to himself, Mr -Hancock paused and began to instruct his companion. When he had bored -her sufficiently they passed to the great Ape House, and from there to -the Monkey House. - -They had paused to consider the Dog-faced Ape, when Fanny, whose eyes -were wandering about the place, gave a little start and plucked her -companion by the sleeve. "Look," she said, "there's old Mr Bridgewater!" - -"Why! God bless my soul, so it is!" cried Hancock. "What the--what -the--what the----" - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER - - -The appearance of shame and conscious guilt that suffused the face and -person of Bridgewater caused the wild idea to rush through his -employer's mind that the old man had, vulgarly speaking, "scooped the -till" and was attempting evasion. - -Defaulters bound for America or France do not, however, as a rule, take -the Monkey House at the Zoo _en route_, and the practical mind of James -Hancock rejected the idea at once, and gripped the truth of the matter. -Bridgewater had been following him for the purpose of spying upon him. - -The unhappy Bridgewater had indeed been following him. - -When, emerging from the bar, he had perceived his quarry he had followed -them at a safe distance. When they went into the Vienna Cafe he waited; -it seemed to him that he waited three hours: it was, in fact, an hour -and a quarter. For, having finished her ice and its accompaniments, -Fanny had declared that she was quite ready for luncheon, and had -proposed that they should proceed to the meal at once without seeking a -new cafe. - -When they came out, Bridgewater took up the pursuit. They got into a -hansom: he got into another, and ordered the driver to pursue the first -vehicle at a safe distance. He did this from instinct, not as a result -of having read Gaboriau, or the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." - -The long wait, the upset of all his usual ways, and the fact that he had -not lunched, coupled with his dread of a hansom--hitherto when he had -moved on wheels it had always been on those of a four-wheeler or -omnibus--conspired to reduce him mentally to the condition of an -over-driven sheep. - -They left the part of the town he knew, and passed through streets he -knew not of, streets upon streets, and still the first vehicle pursued -its way with undiminished speed. He felt now a dim certainty that his -employer was going to be married, and now he tried to occupy his -scattered wits in attempting to compute what this frightful cab journey -would cost. - -At the Zoo gates the first hansom stopped. - -"Pull up," cried Bridgewater, poking his umbrella through the trap. - -He alighted a hundred yards from the gates. At the turnstile he paid his -shilling and went in, but Fanny and her companion had vanished as -completely as if the polar bear had swallowed them up. - -He wandered away through the gardens aimlessly, but keeping a sharp -look-out. He had never been to the Zoo before, but guessed it was the -Zoo because of the animals. The whole adventure had the complexion of a -nightmare, a complexion not brightened by the melancholy appearance of -the eagles and vultures and the distant roaring and lowing of unknown -beasts. - -He saw an elephant advancing towards him swinging its trunk like a -pendulum; to avoid it he took a path that led to the Fish House. His one -desire now was to get out of the gardens and get home. He recognised now -that he had made a serious mistake in entering the gardens at all. To -have returned at once to Miss Hancock with the information that her -brother had simply taken Miss Lambert to the Zoo would have been the -proper and sensible course to have pursued. - -Now at any moment he might find himself confronted with the two people -he dreaded to meet. What should he say suppose he met them? What _could_ -he say? The anguish of this thought drove him from the Fish House, where -he had taken temporary refuge. He took a path which ended in an -elephant; it was the same elephant he had seen before, but he did not -know it. A side path, which he pursued hastily, brought him to the polar -bear. Here he asked his way to the nearest gate of a young man and -maiden who were gazing at the bear. The young man promptly pointed out a -path; he took it, and found himself at the Monkey House. - -He took off his hat and mopped his head with his bandana handkerchief. -Looking round in bewilderment after this refreshing operation he saw -something approaching far worse than an elephant; it was Mr Hancock, and -with Mr Hancock, Fanny, making directly for him. - -He did not hesitate a moment in doing the worst thing possible; as an -animal enters a trap, he entered the Monkey House. He would have shut -and bolted the door behind him had such a proceeding been feasible. - -Bridgewater had a horror of monkeys; he had always considered the common -organ-grinder's monkey to be the representative of all its kind, and the -last production of nature in frightfulness; but here were monkeys of -every shape, size, and colour, a symphony of monkeys, each "note" more -horrible than the last. - -If you have ever studied monkeys and their ways you will know that they -have their likes and dislikes just like men. That some people "appeal" -to them at first sight, and some people do not. Bridgewater did not. -When he saw Fanny entering at the door he retreated to the furthest -limits of the place and pretended to be engaged in contemplation of a -peculiarly sinister-looking ape, upon which, to judge from its -appearance, a schoolboy had been at work with a brushful of blue paint. - -The azure and sinister one endured the human's gaze for a few mutterful -moments, and then bursting into loud yells flew at the bars and -attempted to tear them from their sockets; the mandrills shrieked and -chattered, the lemur added his note, and Bridgewater beat a retreat. - -It was at this moment that Fanny's wandering gaze caught him. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A CONFESSION - - -Mr Hancock, asking Fanny to wait for him for a short time, took -Bridgewater by the arm and led him outside. - -"Now, Bridgewater, what is the meaning of this? Why have you left the -office? Why have you followed me? What earthly reason had you for doing -such a thing? Speak out, man--are you dumb?" - -"I declare to God, Mr James," said the unhappy Bridgewater, "I had no -reason----" - -"No reason!--are you mad? Bridgewater, you haven't been--drinking?" - -"Drinking!" cried Bridgewater, with what your melodramatist would call a -hollow laugh. "Drinking!--oh yes--drinking? No! No!--don't mind me, Mr -James. Drinking! One blessed glass of sherry, and not a bite have I -had--waiting two hours and more--following you in a cab--three shillings -the fare was--nearly torn in pieces by an ape--following you and hiding -in all sorts of places, and then told I've been drinking. Do I look as -if I had been drinking, Mr James? Am I given to drinking, Mr James? Have -you known me for forty years, Mr James, and have you ever seen me do -such a thing? Answer me that, Mr James----" - -"Hush, hush!--don't talk so loud," said Hancock, rather alarmed at the -old man's hysterical manner. "No, you are the last person to do such a -thing, but tell me, all the same, why you followed me." - -Bridgewater was dumb. Hungry, thirsty, frightened at being caught -spying, startled by elephants and addled by apes as he was, still his -manhood revolted at the idea of betraying Patience and sheltering -himself at her expense. All the same, he attempted very feminine tactics -in endeavouring to evade a direct reply. - -"Drinking! I have been in the office, man and boy, this fifty years and -more come next Michaelmas; it's fifty-one years, fifty-one years next -Michaelmas Day, every day at my place but Sundays and holidays, year -in, year out----" - -"Bridgewater," repeated Mr Hancock, "will you answer me the question I -just asked you? Why did you follow me to-day?" - -"Oh Lord," said Bridgewater, "I wish I had never seen this day! Follow -you, Mr James? do you think I followed you for pleasure? Why, the -office--God bless my soul! it makes my hair stand on end--no one there -but Wolf to take charge, and I have been away hours and hours. It's -three o'clock now, and here am I miles and miles away; and I ought to -have called at the law courts at 3.20, and there's those bills to file. -It seems all like a horrible nightmare, that it does; it seems----" - -"I don't want to know what it seems. You have left your duty and come -away--for what purpose?" - -Silence. - -"Ah well!" said Hancock, speaking not in the least angrily, "I see there -is a secret of some sort. I regret that a man in whom I have always -placed implicit trust should keep from me a secret that concerns me; -evidently--no matter, I am not curious. Yes, it is three o'clock; it -might be as well for you to return and look after things, though it is -too late for the law courts now." - -This tone and manner completely floored Bridgewater. The fountains of -his great deep were broken up, and if Patience Hancock could have seen -the damage done to his confidential reservoir, she would have shuddered. - -"I'll tell you the truth, Mr James. It's not my fault--she put me to the -work. I'll tell you the truth. I've been following you and spying upon -you, but it was for your own good, she said----" - -"Who said?" - -"Miss Patience." - -"Miss Patience told you to follow me to-day?" - -"Yes." - -"But what on earth--how on earth did she know I was--er--coming here?" - -"She didn't know." - -"Well, how the _devil_ did she tell you to follow me, then?" - -"She wanted to know where you were going to." - -"But," roared Hancock, whose face had been slowly crimsoning, or -purpling rather, since the mention of his sister's name, "how the -_blazes_ did she know I was going _anywhere_?" - -"When I saw you going out of the office with Miss Lambert I ran round -and told her." - -"When you saw me going out of the office with Miss Lambert you ran round -and told her!" said Hancock, spacing each word and speaking with such a -change from fire to ice that his listener shivered. "Oh, this is too -good! I pay you a large salary to spy upon me and to run round and tell -my sister my doings. Am I mad, or am I dreaming? And what--what--WHAT -led you, sir, to leave the office and run round and tell my sister?" - -"For God's sake, Mr James, don't talk so loud!" said Bridgewater; "the -people are turning round to look at us. I didn't leave the office of my -own accord; it was Miss Patience, who said to me, she said, -'Bridgewater, I trust you for your master's sake to let me know if you -see him with a lady, for,' she said, 'there is a woman who has designs -on him.'" - -"Ah!" - -"Those were her words. So when I saw you going out with Miss Lambert I -ran round and told her." - -"Ah!" - -Mr Hancock had fallen from fury into a thoughtful mood: one of the -sharpest brains in London was engaged in unravelling the meaning to get -at the inner-meaning of all this. - -"My sister came round to the office some time ago asking me to spare you -for an hour as she wished for your advice about a lease. That, of -course, was all humbug: she wanted you for the purpose of talking about -me?" - -"That is true." - -"The lease was never mentioned?" - -"Not once, Mr James." - -"All the conversation was about me and my welfare?" - -"That it was." - -"Now see here, Bridgewater, cast your memory back. Is this the first -time in your life that my sister has invited you to my house in Gordon -Square to discuss my welfare?" - -"No indeed, sir. I've been there before." - -"How many times?" - -Bridgewater assumed the cast of countenance he always assumed when -engaged in reckoning. - -"That's enough," said Hancock, "don't count. Now tell me, when did she -first begin to take you into her confidence--twenty years ago?" - -"Yes, Mr James, fully that." - -Hancock made a sound like a groan. - -"And twenty years ago it was the same tale: 'Protect my brother from a -designing woman.'" - -"Why, it was, and that's the truth," said Bridgewater, as if the fact -had just been discovered by him. - -"And you did your best, told her all about me and my movements, as far -as you knew them, and mixed and muddled, and made an ass of yourself and -a fool of me----" - -"Oh, Mr James!" - -"Hold your tongue!--a fool of me. Do you know, John Bridgewater, that -you have been aiding and abetting in a conspiracy--a conspiracy -unpunishable by law, but still a conspiracy--hold your tongue!--you are -innocent of everything but of being a fool; indeed, I ought not to call -any man a fool, for I have been a fool myself, and I ought to have seen -that the one end and aim of my sister's life was to secure her position -as my keeper, and her tenure of my house. You have shown me at one -flash a worm that has crawled through my past, cankering and corroding -all it touched. Money, money, money--that is my sister's creed. I am not -young, Bridgewater, and it seems to me that if instead of living all -these years side by side with this money-grub, I had lived side by side -with a wife, my lot would have been a better one. I might have had -children, grown-up sons now, daughters--things that make an interest for -us in our old age. Between me and all that has come my sister. That -woman has a very strong will. I see many things in the past now, ay, -twenty years ago, that I can explain. Bridgewater, you have done me a -great injury, but you did it for the best, and I forgive you. Half the -people in this world are pawns and chess-pieces, moved about by the men -and women of intellect who form the other half. If you had possessed -eyes to see, you might have seen that the really designing woman against -whom I should have been protected, was the woman with whom you leagued -yourself--my sister." - -The expression on Bridgewater's face was so wonderfully funny that -Hancock would have laughed had he not been in such a serious mood. - -"However, what's done is done, and there is no use in crying over spilt -milk. You have at least done me a service by your stupidity in following -me to-day, for you have shown me the light. Miss Lambert pleases me, and -if I choose to make her mistress of my house, instead of my sister, -mistress of my house she will be. We will return now to--where I left -Miss Lambert, and we will all go home to Gordon Square and have dinner -with my sister." - -"Not me, Mr James," gasped Bridgewater, "I don't feel well." - -"Nonsense! you need not fear my sister. She is no longer mistress of my -house; next week she shall pack bag and baggage. Come." - -He turned towards the Monkey House, and Bridgewater followed him, so -mazed in his intellect that it would be hard to tell whether monkeys, -men, Fanny Lambert, Patience Hancock, or elephants, were uppermost in -his brain. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN GORDON SQUARE - - -It was James Hancock's rule that a dinner should be served every night -at Gordon Square, to which he could invite any one, even a city -alderman. - -On this especial day a dinner, even better than usual, was in prospect. -Miss Hancock had a large circle of acquaintances of her own; she -belonged to several anti-societies. As before hinted, she was not -destitute of a certain kindness of heart, and the counterfoils of her -cheque book disclosed not inconsiderable sums subscribed to the Society -for the Total Abolition of Vivisection and Kindred Bodies. - -To-day she expected to dinner a person, a gentleman of the female -persuasion--that is to say, a sort of man. Mr Bulders, the person in -question, a member of the Anti-Tobacco League, was a crank of the -crankiest description. He wrote letters to the paper on every -conceivable subject, and in this way had obtained a dim and unholy sort -of notoriety. Fox hunting was his especial detestation, and his grand -hobby was cremation. "Why Fear the Flames?" by Emanuel Bulders, a -pamphlet of fifteen pages, privately printed, reposed in Miss Hancock's -private bookcase. But Mr Bulders has no place in this story; he is dead -and--cremated, let us hope. I shadow him forth as the reason why Miss -Hancock was sitting this evening by the drawing-room fireplace, dressed -in the dress she assumed when she expected visitors, and engaged in -crochet-work. - -The clock pointed to half-past six, Bulders was due--over-due, like the -Spanish galleon that was destined never to come into port. She had said -in her note, "Come early, I wish to talk over the last report of the ----- Society, and my brother has little sympathy with such subjects." - -Suddenly her trained ear distinguished the sound of her brother's -latchkey in the door below. Some women are strangely like dogs in so far -as regards the senses of hearing and smell. - -Patience Hancock, as she sat by the drawing-room fireplace, could tell -that her brother had not entered the house alone. She made out his -voice, and then the voice of Bridgewater. She supposed that James had -brought his clerk home to dinner to talk business matters over, as he -sometimes did; and she was relapsing from the attitude of strained -attention when a sound struck her, hit her, and caused her to drop her -crochet-work and rise to her feet. - -She heard the laughter of a girl. - -Almost instantly upon the laughter the door opened, and it seemed to -Miss Hancock that a dozen people entered the room. - -"This is my sister Patience--Patience, Miss Lambert. We've all come back -to dinner. Sit down, Bridgewater. By the way, Patience, there's a letter -for you; I took it from the postman at the hall door." He handed the -letter; it was from Mr Bulders, excusing himself for not coming to dine, -and alleging for reason a sore throat. - -Patience extended a frigid hand to Miss Lambert, who just touched it; -all the girl's light-heartedness and vivacity had vanished for the -moment, Patience Hancock acted upon her like a draught of cold air. - -"I think you have heard me mention Miss Lambert's name, Patience. We -have been to the Zoo, the whole three of us. Immensely amusing place -the Zoo--makes one feel quite a boy again. Hey, Bridgewater!" - -"I hope you enjoyed it," said Miss Hancock in a perfunctory tone, -glancing at Fanny, who was seated in a huge rocking-chair, the only -really comfortable chair in the room, and then at Bridgewater, who had -taken his seat on the ottoman. - -"Pretty well, thanks," said Fanny, speaking in a languid tone. She had -assumed very much the air of a fine lady all of a sudden: she was not -going to be patronised by a solicitor's daughter, and she had divined in -Patience Hancock an enemy. "The Zoo is very much like the world: there -is much to laugh at and much to endure. Taken as a whole, it is not an -unmixed blessing." - -James Hancock opened his mouth at these sage utterances, and then shut -it again and turned away to smile. Bridgewater had the bad manners to -scratch his head. Miss Hancock said, "Indeed?" - -"Don't you think so?" - -"I think the world is exactly what we choose to make it," said Patience -Hancock, quoting Bulders. - -"You think _that_?" said Fanny, suddenly forgetting her fine lady -languors. "Well, I wish some one would show me how to make the world -just as I'd choose to make it. Oh, it would be such a world--no poor -people, and no rain, and no misery, and no debts." - -"You mean no debtors," said Patience, seizing her opportunity. "It is -the debtors that make debts, just as it is the drunken people who make -drunkenness." - -"Yes, I suppose it is," said Fanny, suddenly abandoning her -argumentative tone for one of reverie. "It's the people in the world -that make it so horrid and so nice." - -"That's exactly it," said Hancock, who was standing on the hearthrug -listening to these banalities of thought, and contemplating Bridgewater. -"Miss Lambert is a true philosopher. It is the people who make the world -what it is; could we banish the meddlers and spies and traitors"--he -looked fixedly at his sister--"the world would not be an unpleasant -place to live in." - -"I hate spies," said Fanny, totally unconscious of the delicate ground -she was stepping upon--"people who poke about into other people's -business, and open letters, and that sort of thing." Miss Hancock -flushed scarlet, and her brother noted the fact. "James opens letters, I -caught him." - -"Who is James?" asked Miss Hancock. - -"He's our butler," said Fanny, looking imploringly at Mr Hancock as if -to say "Don't tell." - -Miss Hancock rose. "May I show you to my room? you would like to remove -your hat." - -The dinner was not a success, intellectually speaking. James Hancock's -temper half broke down over the soles, the sauce was not to his liking; -the sweet cakes, ices, and other horrors he had consumed during the day -had induced a mild attack of dyspepsia. His nose was red, and he knew -it; and, worst of all, faint twinges of gout made themselves felt. His -right great toe was saying to him, "Wait till you see what you'll have -to-morrow." Then Boffins, the old butler, tripped on the cat, broke a -dish, and James Hancock's temper flew out. - -I have described James Hancock badly, if you have not perceived that he -was a man with a temper. The evil demons in the Merangues and ices, the -irritation caused by Bridgewater's confession, the provoking calmness -of his sister, the uric acid in his blood, and the smash of the broken -dish, all combined of a sudden and were too much for him. - -"Damn that cat!" he cried. "Cats, cats, cats! How often have I told -you"--to his sister--"that I will not have my house filled with those -sneaking, prowling beasts? Chase her out; where is she?" - -Boffins looked under the table and said "Scat," but nothing "scatted." - -"She's gone, Mr James." - -"I won't have cats in my house," said Mr James, proceeding with his -dinner and feeling rather ashamed of his outburst. "Dear Lord, Patience, -what do you call this thing?" - -"The cook," said Patience, "calls it, I believe, a _vol-au-vent_. What -is wrong with it?" - -"What is right with it, you mean. Don't touch it, Miss Lambert, unless -you wish to have a nightmare." - -"I think it's delicious," said Fanny, "and I don't mind nightmares. -They're rather fun--when they are over, and you wake up and find -yourself safe in bed." - -"Well, you'll have some fun to-night," grunted James. "The person who -cooked this atrocity ought to be made sleep with the person who eats -it." - -"James, you need not be _vulgar_," said his sister. - -"What's vulgar?" - -"Your remark." - -"Boffins, fill Miss Lambert's glass--let's change the subject. This -champagne is abominably iced--give me some Burgundy." - -"James!" - -"Well?" - -"Burgundy!" - -"Well, what about Burgundy?" - -"Surely you remember the gout--the frightful attack you had last time -after Burgundy." - -"Gout? I suppose you mean Arthritic Rheumatism? But perhaps you are -right, and Dr Garrod was wrong--let us call it gout. Fill up the glass, -Boffins. Bridgewater, try some Burgundy, and see if it affects your -gout. Boffins, that cat's in the room, I hear it purring. I hear it, I -tell you, sir! where is the beast?" - -The beast, as if in answer, poked its head from under the -table-cloth--it was in Miss Lambert's lap. - -Altogether the dinner was not a success. - -"Your father has known my brother some time?" said Miss Hancock, when -the ladies found themselves alone in the drawing-room after dinner. - -"Oh yes, some time now," said Fanny. "They met over some law business. -Father had a dispute with Mr Bevan of Highshot Towers, the place -adjoining ours, you know, down in Buckinghamshire, and Mr Hancock was -very kind--he arbitrated." - -"Indeed? that is funny, for he is Mr Bevan's solicitor." - -"Is that so? I'm sure I don't know, I never trouble myself about law -business or money matters. I leave all that to father." - -They talked on various matters, and before Miss Lambert had been packed -into a specially chartered four-wheeler and driven home with Bridgewater -on the box beside the driver as chaperone, Miss Hancock had come to form -ideas about Miss Lambert such as she had never formed about any other -young lady. Ideas the tenor of which you will perceive later on. - - - - -_PART IV_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -"THE ROOST" - - -Mr Bevan, since his visit to Highgate, dreamed often at nights of -monstrous asparagus beds, and his friends and acquaintances noticed that -he seemed distrait. - -The fact was the mind of this orderly and precise individual had -received a shock; his world of thought had tilted somewhat, owing to a -slight shifting of the poles, and regions hitherto in darkness were -touched with sun. - -Go where he would a voice pursued him, turn where he would, a face. Wild -impulses to jump into a cab and drive to "The Laurels," Highgate, as -swiftly as cab could take him were subdued and conquered. Perhaps it -would be happier for some of us if we used less reason in steering our -way through life. Impulsive people are often sneered at, yet, I dare -say that an impulse acted upon will as often make a man's life as mar -it. - -Mr Bevan was not an impulsive man. It was not for some days after his -visit to "The Laurels" that he carried out his determination to stop the -action once for all. He did not return to "The Laurels." He was engaged -and a man of honour, and as such he determined to fly from temptation. -Accordingly one bright morning he despatched a wire intimating his -arrival by the 3.50 at Ditchingham, having sent which he flung himself -into a hansom and drove to Charing Cross, followed by another hansom -containing Strutt, two portmanteaux, a hunting kit-bag and a bundle of -fishing-rods. An extraordinary accident happened to the train he -travelled by; it arrived at Paddock Wood only three minutes late, making -up for this deficiency, however, by crawling into Ditchingham at 4.10. - -On the Ditchingham platform stood two girls. One tall, pale, and -decidedly good-looking despite the _pince-nez_ she wore; the other short -and rather stout, and rather pretty. - -The tall girl was Miss Pursehouse; the short was Lulu Morgan, Miss -Pursehouse's companion, an American. - -Pamela Pursehouse at this stage of her career was verging on thirty, -the only daughter of the late John Pursehouse of Birmingham, and an -orphan. She was exceedingly rich. - -Some months ago she had met Bevan on board Sir Charles Napier's yacht; -they had spent a fortnight cruising about the Balearic Islands and the -Riff coast of Morocco, had been sea-sick together, and bored together, -and finally had, one moonlight night, become engaged. It was a -cold-blooded affair despite the moonlight, and they harboured no -illusions one of the other, and no doubts. - -Pamela had a mind of her own. She had attended classes at Mason's -College and had quite a knowledge of Natural History; she also had an -interest in the ways of the working classes, and had written a paper to -prove that, with economy, a man, his wife and five children, could live -on an income of eleven shillings a week, and put by sixpence for a rainy -day; to disprove which she was eternally helping the cottagers round -about with doles of tea on a liberal scale, coal in the winter, and wine -in sickness. When the rainy day came she supplied the sixpence, which -ought to have been in the savings bank, for she was a girl who found -her heart when she forgot her head. - -At Marseilles Lady Napier, Pamela, Lulu, and Charles Bevan had left the -yacht and travelled together to Paris; there, after a couple of days, he -had departed for London to look after his affairs. Pamela had remained -in Paris, where, through Lady Napier, she had the _entree_ of the best -society, and had met many people, including the Lamberts. She had indeed -only returned to England a short time ago. - -Outside the station stood a governess cart and the omnibus of the hotel. -Into the governess cart bundled the lovers and Lulu, into the omnibus -Strutt and the luggage. Pamela took the reins and the hog-maned pony -started. - -"Hot, isn't it?" said Charles, tilting his hat over his eyes, and -envying Strutt in the cool shelter of the omnibus. - -"Think so?" said Pamela. "It's July, you know. Why do men dress always -in summer in such heavy clothes? Seems to me women are much more -sensible in the matter of dress. Now if you were dressed as I am, -instead of in that Harris tweed, you wouldn't feel the heat at all." - -Charles tried to imagine himself in a chip hat and lilac cotton gown, -and failed. - -"You must have been fried in that train," said Lulu, staring at him with -a pair of large blue eyes, eyes that never seemed to shut. - -"Pretty nearly," answered Charles, and the conversation languished. - -Rookhurst stands on a hill; it is a village composed of gentlemen's -houses. Country "seats" radiate from it to a distance of some three -miles. Three acres and a house constitute a "seat." - -The conservatism of the old Japanese aristocracy pales when considered -beside the conservatism of Rookhurst. In this microcosm there are as -many circles as in the Inferno of Dante, and the circles are nearly as -painful to contemplate. - -When Pamela Pursehouse rented "The Roost" and took up residence there -she came unknown and untrumpeted. The parson and several curious old -ladies called upon her, but the seat-holders held aloof, she was not -received. Mrs D'Arcy-Jones--Rookhurst is full of people with -double-barrelled names, those double-barrelled names in which the -second barrel is of inferior metal--Mrs D'Arcy-Jones discovered that -Pamela's father was of Birmingham. Mrs D'Arcy-Johnson found out that he -was in trade, and Mrs D'Arcy Somebody-else that her mother's maiden name -was Jenkins. There was much turning up of noses when poor Pamela's name -was mentioned, till one fine day when all the turned-up noses were -suddenly turned down by the arrival at "The Roost" of the Duchess of -Aviedale, her footman, her maid, her dog, and her companion. Then there -was a rush. People flung decency to the winds in their haste to know the -tradesman's daughter and incidentally get a lick at the Duchess's boots. -But to all callers Pamela was not at home; she had even the rudeness not -to return their visits. - -The snobs, beaten back, retired, feeling very much like damaged goods, -and Pamela was left in peace. Her aunt, Miss Jenkins, a sweet-faced and -perfectly inane old lady, lived with her and kept house, and Pamela, -protected by her wing, had all sorts of extraordinary people to visit -her. Sandyman, M.P., the Labour representative, came down for a week-end -once, and smoked shag tobacco in the dining-room and wandered about the -village on Sunday in a Keir-Hardy cap; he also attended the tin chapel, -had a quart of beer at the village pub, and did other disgraceful things -which were all duly reported and set down to Pamela's account in the -D'Arcy-Jones-Johnson notebook. - -Pamela liked men, that is to say, men who were original and interesting; -yet she had engaged herself to the most unoriginal man in England: a -fact for which there is no accounting, save on the hypothesis that she -was a woman. - -The governess cart having climbed a long, long hill, the hog-maned pony -took to himself wings, and presently, in a cloud of dust, halted. - -"The Roost," though a fairly large house, did not boast a -carriage-drive. A gate in a high hedge led to a path through a -rose-garden which was worth all the carriage-drives in existence. - -"We have several people staying with us, did I tell you?" said Pamela as -she led the way. "Hamilton-Cox, the man who wrote the 'Pillar of Salt,' -and Wilson--Professor Wilson of Oxford, and--but come on, and I'll -introduce you." - -They entered a pleasant hall. The perfume of cigars and the sound of a -man's laughter came from a half-open door on the right. Pamela made for -it, and as Charles Bevan followed he heard a rich Irish voice. "My -friend Stacey, of Castle Stacey, raised one four foot broad across the -face; such a sunflower was never seen by mortal man, I measured it with -my own hands--four foot----" - -Bevan suddenly found himself before a man, an immense, good-looking, -priestly-faced man, in his shirt-sleeves, a cigar in his mouth, and a -billiard cue in his hand. - -"Mr Charles Bevan, Mr Lambert; Mr Bevan, Professor Wilson; Mr----" - -"Why, sure to goodness it's not my cousin, Charles Bevan of the -'Albany'!" cried the big man, effusively clasping the hand of Charles -and gazing at him with the astonished and joyous expression of a man who -meets a dear and long-lost brother. - -Mr Bevan intimated that he was that person. - -"But, sure to goodness," said the big man, dropping Charles' hand and -scratching his head with a puzzled air, then he turned on his heel: -"Where's my coat?" He found his coat and took from it a pocket-book, -from the pocket-book a telegram and a sheet of paper, whilst Pamela -turned to Professor Wilson and the novelist. - -"I got that from your lawyer, Mr Bevan," said he, "some days ago." -Charles read: - -"Bevan has stopped action. Isn't it sweet of him?--HANCOCK." - -"Yes," said Charles rather stiffly, "I stopped the action, but Hancock -seems to have--been drinking." - -"And there's the reply I was going to send, only I forgot it," said -George Lambert, handing the copy of a telegram to Charles. - -"Tell Bevan I relinquish all fishing rights. Wish to be friends.--GEORGE -LAMBERT." - -"It is very generous of you," said Charles, really touched. "But I can't -have it, we'll divide the rights." - -"Come into the garden, my boy," said George, who had now resumed his -coat, linking his arm in that of Charles and leading him out through the -open French window, into the rose-scented garden, "and let's talk things -over. It's the pity of the world we weren't always friends. Damn the -fish stream and all the fish in it! I wish they'd been boiled before -they were spawned. What's the _good_ of fighting? Isn't life too short -for fighting and divisions? Sure, there's a rose as big as a red -cabbage, but you should see the roses at my house in Highgate--and where -did you meet Miss Pursehouse?" - -"Oh," said Charles. "I've known her for some time." - -"We met her in Paris, Fanny--that's my daughter--and me met her in -Paris. Fanny doesn't care for her much, and wouldn't come with me; but -there's never a woman in the world that really cares for another woman, -unless the other woman is as ugly as sin and a hundred. There's a melon -house for you, but you should see my melon houses in Highgate, the one's -I am going to have built by Arthur Lawrence of Cockspur Street; he's -made a speciality of glass, but he charges cruel. It's the passion of my -life, a garden." - -He leaned over the gate leading to the kitchen-garden, and whistled an -old Irish hunting song softly to himself as he contemplated the cabbages -and peas. Charles lit a cigar. He was a fine figure of a man, this -Lambert; one of those large natures in a large frame that dwarf other -individualities when brought in contact with them. Hamilton Cox would -pass in a crowd, and Professor Wilson was not unimpressive, but beside -George Lambert, Hamilton-Cox looked a shrimp, and the Oxford professor -somewhat shrivelled. - -"It's the passion of my life," reiterated Fanny Lambert's father, -addressing the cabbages, the marrow fat peas, Charles Bevan, and the -distant woods of Sussex. "And if I'd stuck to it and left horses alone, -a richer man I'd have been this day." - -"I say," said Charles, who had been plunged in meditation, "why did -Hancock telegraph to you, I wonder? It wasn't exactly solicitors' -etiquette; the proper course, I think, would have been to communicate -with your lawyers, Messrs Sykes and Fagan." - -George Lambert broke into a low, mellow laugh. - -"Faith," he said, "I suppose he did communicate with them, and they -answered that they weren't my lawyers any more. I've fought with them, -and that's a fact; and now that we're friends, you and me, I've an idea -of transferring my business to Hancock. I've one or two little suits -pending; and I'm not sure but one of them won't be with Fagan for the -names I called him in his own office before his own clerks. 'I'll have -you indicted for slander,' he says. 'Slander!' said I, 'slander, you old -clothes-bag, have me up for slander, and I'll beat the dust out of your -miserable reputation in any court in the kingdom, ye old -wandering-Jew-come-to-roost,' and with that I left the office, and never -will I set my foot in it again." - -"I should think not." - -"Never again. He's a red Jew--always beware of red Jews; black Jews are -bad, but red Jews are the devil--bad luck to them! If I'd left Jews -alone, a richer man I'd have been this day. Who's that ringing a bell? -Oh, it's the afternoon tea-bell: let's go in and talk to the old -professor and Miss Pursehouse." - -They did not go in, for the Professor and Miss Pursehouse, Lulu Morgan, -and the author of the "Pillar of Salt" were having tea on the lawn. -There were few places pleasanter than the lawn of "The Roost," -especially on this golden and peaceful summer's evening, through which -the warm south wind brought the cawing of rooks from distant elm trees. - -"Have you two finished your business?" asked Pamela, addressing Charles; -"if so, sit down and tell me all the news. I got your note. So sorry you -were bored by old Mr--Blundell--was it?--at the club. Mr Blundell is a -rose-bore, it seems," turning to Hamilton Cox; "he is mad on roses." - -"Blundell! what an excellent name for a bore!" said the "Pillar of Salt" -man dreamily, closing his eyes. "I can see him, stout and red-faced -and----" - -"Matter of fact, old Blundell isn't stout," cut in Charles, to whom -Hamilton-Cox did not appeal. "He's thin and white." - -"_All_ white?" - -"No, his face, you know." - -"Ah! I had connected him with the idea of red roses. Why is it that in -thinking of roses one always figures them red?" - -"Sure, I don't know--I never do." - -"I do." - -"Well," put in Pamela, "when you escaped from Mr Blundell what did you -do with yourself that day--smoked, I suppose, and went to Tattersal's?" - -"No, I was busy." - -"What was the business--luncheon?" - -"Yes," said Charles Bevan, feeling that he was humorous in his reply, -and feeling rather a sneak, too. "Luncheon was part of the business." - -The remembrance of the fried whiting rose before him, backed by a vision -of Susannah holding in one hand a bottle of Boellinger, and in the other -a bottle of Gold-water. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MISS MORGAN - - -It is so easy not to do some things. Bevan, had he acted correctly, -ought to have informed Mr Lambert of his visit to Highgate and all that -therein lay, yet he did not. There was nothing to hide, yet, as Sir -Boyle-Roche might have said, he hid it. - -During tea several things occupied his mind very much. The vision of -Fanny Lambert was constantly before him, so was the person of her -father. He could not but acknowledge that Lambert was a most attractive -personage--attractive to men, to women, to children, to dogs, -cats--anything that could see and feel, in fact. Everything seemed to -brighten in his presence. Hamilton-Cox's dictum that if Lambert could be -bottled he would make the most excellent Burgundy, was not far wrong. - -Bevan, as he sipped his tea, watched the genial Lambert, and could not -but notice that he paid very marked attention to Pamela, and even more -marked attention to old Miss Jenkins, her aunt. - -This did not altogether please him, neither did the fact that Pamela -seemed to enjoy the attentions of this man, who was her diametrical -opposite. - -To the profound philosopher who indites these lines it seems that -between men and women in the mass there is very little difference. They -act pretty much the same, except, perhaps, in the presence of mice. -Bevan did very much what a woman would have done in his position: seeing -his true love flirting with some one else, he flirted with some one -else. Lulu Morgan was nearest to him, so he used her. - -"I've been in England a twelvemonth," answered Miss Morgan, in reply to -a query, "and I feel beginning to get crusted. They say the old carp in -the pond in Versailles get moss-grown after they've been there a hundred -and fifty years or so, and I feel like that. When I say I've been in -England a twelvemonth, I mean Europe. I've been in England three months, -and the rest abroad. Pamela picked me up in Paris, you'd just gone back -home; Lady Scott introduced me to her. I was looking out for a job. I -came over originally with the Vandervades, then Sadie Vandervade got -married; I was her companion, and I lost the job. Of course I could have -stayed on with old man Vandervade and his wife, but I wanted a job. I'm -like a squirrel, put me in a cage with nothing to do, and I'd die. I -must have a mill to turn, so I froze on to Pamela's offer. I write her -letters, and do her accounts, and interview her tradespeople. I guess -she's getting fat for want of work since I've been her companion. Yes, I -like England, and I like this place; if the people could be scraped out -of it clean, it would be considerably nicer. I went to church last -Sunday to have a good long considerate look at them; they all arrived in -carriages--every one here who has a shay of any description turns it out -to go to church in on Sunday. Well, I went to have a good long look at -them, and such a collection of stuffed images and plug-uglies I never -beheld. I'm vicious about them p'rhaps, for they treated Pamela so mean, -holding off from her when she first came, and then rushing down her -throat when they found she knew a duchess. They'd boil themselves for a -duchess. Say--you know the Lamberts? Isn't Fanny sweet?" - -Mr Bevan started in his chair, but Miss Morgan did not notice, engrossed -as she was with her own conversation. - -"We met them in Paris; and I don't know which is sweeter, Fanny or her -father. She was to have come down here with him, but she didn't. My, but -she is pretty. And don't the men run after her! there were three men in -Paris raving about her; she'd only known them two days, and they were -near proposing to her. Don't wonder at it, I'd propose to her myself, if -I was a man. But she's a little flirt all the same, and I told her so." - -"Excuse me," said Bevan, "but I scarcely think you are justified--that -is--from what I have heard of Miss Lambert, I would scarcely suspect her -of being a--flirt." - -"Wouldn't you? Men never suspect a woman of being a flirt till they're -flirted with and done for. Fanny's the worst description of flirt--oh, -I've told her so to her face--for she doesn't mean it; she just leads -men on with her sweetness, and doesn't see they're breaking their hearts -for her. She's a regular trap bated with sugar. How did you escape, Mr -Bevan? You're the only man, I guess, who ever did." - -"I haven't the pleasure--er--of Miss Lambert's acquaintance," said -Charles, rather stiffly. - -"Well, you're safe, for you are engaged; only for that I'd say 'Don't -have the pleasure of her acquaintance.' What I like about her is that -she makes all the other women so furious; she sucks the men away from -them like a whirlpool. It's a pity she's so rich, for it's simply gilt -thrown away----" - -"Is Miss--Miss Lambert rich?" - -"Why, certainly; at least I conclude so." - -"Did she tell you so?" - -"No--but she gives one the impression; they have country houses like -mushrooms all over the place, and she dresses simply just as she -pleases; only really rich people can afford to do that. She went to the -opera in Paris with us in an old horror of a gown that made her look -quite charming. No one notices what she has on; and if she went to -heaven in a coffee-coat they'd let her in, for she'd still be Fanny -Lambert." - -"You saw a good deal of her in Paris?" - -"Yes, we went about a good deal." - -"Tell me," said Mr Bevan very gravely, "you said she was a flirt--did -you really mean that?" - -"Why, how interested you are! She is, but not a bad sort of flirt. She's -one of those people all heart--she loves everything and everybody--up to -a certain point." - -"Do you think she is in love with any man--beyond a certain point?" - -"Can't say," said Miss Morgan, shaking her head sagely; "but when she -does, she'll go the whole hog. The man she'll love she'll love for ever -and ever, and die on his grave, and that sort of thing, you know." - -"I believe you are right." - -"Why, how do you know? You've never met her." - -"I was referring to your description of her. Girls of her impulsive -nature--er--generally do--I mean they are generally warm-hearted and -that sort of thing." - -"There's one man I think she has a fancy for," said Miss Morgan, staring -into space with her wide-open blue eyes, "but he's poor as a rat--an -awfully nice fellow, a painter; Mr Lambert fished him up somewhere in a -cafe. He and Fanny and I and a friend of his went and had dinner at a -little cafe near the Boul' Miche. Then we got lost--that is to say, I -and Heidenheimer lost sight of Fanny and her friend; and Fanny told me -afterwards she'd had no end of a good time finding her way home; so'd I. -'Twas awfully improper, of course, but no one knew, and it was in -Paris." - -"I may be old-fashioned, of course," said Mr Bevan stiffly, "but I think -people can't be too careful, you know--um--how long was Miss Lambert -lost with Mr----" - -"Leavesley--that's his name. Oh! she didn't turn up at the hotel till -after eight." - -"Did Mr Lambert know?" - -"Oh yes, but he wasn't uneasy; he said she was like a bad penny, sure to -turn up all right." - -"Good God!" - -"What on earth!--why, there was no harm. Leavesley is the best of good -fellows, he looked after her like a grandmother; he worships the very -ground she walks on, and I'd pity the man who would as much as look -twice at Fanny if he was with her." - -"Um--Mr Leavesley, as you call him----" - -"I don't call him, he calls himself." - -"Well, Mr Leavesley may be all right in his way, but I should not care -to see a sister of mine worshipped by one of these sort of people. -Organ-grinders and out-of-elbow artists may be delightful company amidst -their own set, but I confess I am not accustomed to them----" - -"That's just your insular prejudice--seems to me I've heard that -expression before, but it will do--Leavesley isn't an organ-grinder. I -can't stand loafers myself, and if a man can't keep up with the -procession, he'd better hang himself; but Leavesley isn't a loafer, and -he'll be at the top of the procession yet, leading the elephant. Oh, he -paints divinely!" - -"Miss Lambert, you say, is in love with him?" - -"I didn't--I fancy she had a weakness; but maybe it's only a fancy." - -"Does he write to her?" - -"Don't know--very likely; these artistic people can do things other -people can't. We all went to see the Lamberts off at the Nord, and had -champagne at the buffet; and poor old Fragonard--he was another -worshipper, an artist you know--turned up with a huge big bouquet of -violets for Fanny; we asked him where he'd got them, and he said he'd -stolen them. They don't care a fig for poverty, artists; make a joke of -it you know. Yes, I daresay he writes to Fanny. Heidenheimer writes to -me every week--says he's dying in love with me, and sends poems, -screechingly funny poems, all about nightingales and arrows and hearts. -He's an artist too, and I'd marry him, I believe I would, only we're -both as poor as Lazarus." - -"Mr Leavesley is an artist you say?" - -"Yes, but he's a genius, but genius doesn't pay--that's to say at -first--afterwards--afterwards it's different. Trading rats for diamonds -in famine time isn't in it with a genius when he gets on the make." - -Mr Bevan gazed reflectively at the tips of his shoes. He quite -recognised that these long-haired and out-at-elbowed anomalies y'clept -geniuses had the trick, at times, of making money. A dim sort of wrath -against the whole species possessed him. To a clean, correct, and -level-headed gentleman possessed of broad acres and a huge rent-roll, it -is unpleasant to think that a slovenly, shiftless happy-go-lucky -tatterdemallion may be a clean, correct and level-headed gentleman's, -superior both in brains, fascination, and even in wealth. We can fancy -the correct one subscribing sympathy, if not money, to a society for the -extinction of genius, were not such a body entirely superfluous in the -present condition of human affairs. - -"It may be," said Mr Bevan at last, "that those people are very pleasant -and all that, and useful in the world and so on, but I confess I like to -associate with people who cut their hair, and, not to put too fine a -point on it, wash----" - -"Oh, Leavesley washes," said Miss Morgan, "he's as clean as a new pin. -And as for cutting his hair, my!--that's what spoils him in my opinion; -why, it's cut to the bone almost, like a convict's. All artists cut -their hair now; it's only Polish piano-players and violinists wear their -hair long." - -"Whether they cut their hair 'to the bone' or wear it long is a matter -of indifference," said Mr Bevan. "They're all a lot of bounders, and I'd -be sorry to see a sister of mine married amongst them--very sorry." - -Miss Morgan said nothing, the warmth of Mr Bevan on the subject of -Leavesley struck her as being somewhat strange; though she said nothing, -like the parrot, she thought the more, and began to consider Mr Bevan -more attentively and to "turn him over in her mind." Now the fortunate -or unfortunate person whom Miss Morgan distinguished by turning them -over in her mind, generally gave up their secrets in the process -unconsciously, subconsciously, or sometimes even consciously. Those -wide-open blue eyes that seemed always gazing into futurity and distance -saw many happenings of the present invisible to most folk. - -Professor Wilson and Hamilton-Cox had wandered away through the garden -discussing Oxford and modern thought. Miss Pursehouse, Lambert, and old -Miss Jenkins were talking and laughing, and seemingly quite happy and -content. Said Miss Morgan, looking round: - -"Every one's busy, like the children in the Sunday-school story, and -we've no one to play with; shall we go for a walk in the village, and -I'll show you the church and the pump and the other antiques?" - -"Certainly, I'll be delighted," said Charles, rising. - -"Then com'long," said Miss Morgan, "Pamela, I'm taking Mr Bevan to show -him the village and the creatures that there abound. If we're not back -by six, send a search-party." - -Rookhurst is, perhaps, one of the prettiest and most quaint of English -villages, and the proudest. If communities receive attention from the -Recording Angel, amidst Rookhurst's sins written in that tremendous book -will be found this entry, "It calls itself a town." - -"Isn't the village sweet and sleepy?" said Miss Morgan, as she tripped -along beside her companion; "it always reminds me of the dormouse in -'Alice in Wonderland'--always asleep except at tea-time, when it wakes -up--and talks gossip. That's the chemist's shop with the two little red -bottles in the window, isn't it cunning? The old man chemist doesn't -keep any poisons, for he's half blind and's afraid of mixing the -strychnine with the Epsom salts. His wife does the poisoning; she libels -every one indifferently, and she gave out that Pamela was a lunatic and -I was her keeper. She was the butcher's daughter, and she married the -chemist man for his money ten years ago, hoping he'd die right off, -which he didn't. He was seventy with paralysis agitans and a squint, and -the squint's got worse every year, and the paralysis agitans has got -better--serve her right. That's the butcher's with the one leg of mutton -hanging up, and the little pot with a rose-tree in it. He drinks, and -beats his wife, and hunts snakes down the road when he has the -jumps--but he sells very good mutton, and he's civil. Here comes a -queen, look!" - -A carriage drawn by a pair of chestnut horses approached and passed -them, revealing a fat and bulbous-faced lady lolling on the cushions, -and seen through a haze of dust. - -"A queen?" said Bevan; "she doesn't look like one." - -"No? She's the Queen of Snobs; looks as if she'd come out of a -joke-book, doesn't she? and her name is--I forget. She lives in a big -house a mile away. That's a 'pub.' There are seven 'pubs' in this -village, and this is a model village--at least, they call it so; what an -immodel village in England must be, I don't know. There's a tailor lives -in that little house; he preaches in the tin chapel at the cross-roads. -I heard him last Sunday." - -"You go to Chapel?" - -"No, I'm Church. I heard him as I was passing by--couldn't help it, he -shouts so's you can hear him at 'The Roost' when the wind's blowing that -way--You religious?" - -"Not very, I'm afraid." - -"Neither'm I. That's the doctor's; he's Church and his wife's Chapel. -She has a sister in a lunatic asylum, and her aunt was sister of the -hair-cutter's first wife, so people despise her and fling it in her -teeth. We can raise some snobs in the States, but they're button -mushrooms to the toadstools you raise in England. Pamela is awfully good -to the doctor's wife just because the other people are nasty to her. -Pamela is grit all through. The parson lives there--a long, thin man, -looks as if he'd been mangled, and they'd forgot to hang him out to dry. -How are you, Mrs Jones? and how are the rheumatics?" Miss Morgan had -paused to address an old lady who stood at the door of a cottage leaning -on a stick. - -"That's Mrs Jones; she has more enquiries after her health than any -woman in England. Can you tell why?" - -"No." - -"Well, she has a sort of rheumatics that the least damp affects, and so -she's the best barometer in this part of the country. She's eighty, and -has been used to weather observation so long, she can tell what's -coming--hail, or snow, or rain to a T. That old man leaning on the gate, -he's Francis, the village lunatic, he's just ninety; fine days he crawls -down to Ditchingham cross-roads to wait for the soldiers coming back -from the Crimea. I call that pathetic, but they only laugh at it here. -He must have waited for them when he was a boy and seen them marching -along, and now he goes and waits for them--makes me feel s'if I could -cry. Here's a shilling for you, Francis; Miss Pamela is knitting you -some socks--good-day--poor old thing! Let's see now, those cottages are -all work-people's, and there's nothing beyond, only the road, and it's -dusty, and I vote to go back. Why, there's that old scamp of a Francis -making a bee-line for the 'Hand in Hand'; n'mind, I won't have to wear -his head in the morning." - -Miss Morgan chatted all the way back uninterruptedly, disclosing a more -than comprehensive knowledge of all the affairs of the village in which -she had lived some ten days or less. - -At the gate of "The Roost" she stopped suddenly. "My, what a pity!" - -"What's the matter?" - -"Nothing; only I might have called and seen Mrs Harmer. She has such a -pretty daughter, and I'd have liked you to have seen her, for she's the -image of Fanny Lambert." She stared full at Mr Bevan as she said this, -and there was a something in her tone and a something in her manner, and -a something in her glance that made Charles Bevan lose control of his -facial capillaries and blush. - -"Fanny's cooked him," thought the lady of the blue eyes as she retired -to dress for dinner. "But what in the nation did he mean by saying he -did not know her?" - -"What the deuce made her say that in such a way?" asked Mr Bevan of -himself as he assumed the clothes laid out for him by the careful -Strutt. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A CURE FOR BLINDNESS - - -"The British thoroughbred is not played out by any means. Look at the -success of imported blood all over the world. Look at Phantom, the -grandsire of Voltaire, and Bay Middleton----" Mr Bevan paused. He was -addressing George Lambert, and suddenly found that he was addressing the -entire dinner-table in one of those hiatuses of conversation in which -every tongue is suddenly held. - -"Yes," said Hamilton-Cox, continuing some desultory remarks on -literature, in general, into which this eruption of stud book had -broken; "but you see the old French ballads are for the most part by the -greatest of all poets, Time. Beside those the greatest modern poems seem -gaudy and Burlington Arcady, if I may use the expression. An old -folk-song that has been handed from generation to generation, played on, -so to speak, like an old fiddle by all sorts of hands, gains a sweetness -and richness never imagined by the simple-minded person who wrote it or -invented it. - -"You write poems?" asked Miss Morgan. - -"My dear lady," sighed Hamilton-Cox, "nobody writes poems nowadays, or -if they do they keep the fact a secret. I have a younger brother who -writes poetry----" - -"Thought you said no one wrote it." - -"Younger brothers are nobodies. I say I have a younger brother, he -writes most excellent verse--reams of it. Some years ago he would have -been pursued by publishers. Well, only the other day he copied out some -of his most cherished productions and approached a London publisher with -them. He entered the office at five o'clock, and some few minutes later -the people in Piccadilly were asking of each other, 'What's all that row -in Vigo Street?' No, a publisher of to-day would as soon see a burglar -in his office as a poet." - -"I never took much stock in poetry," said the practical Miss Morgan. -"I'm like Mr Bevan." - -"I can't stand the stuff," said Charles. "_The Boy Stood on the Burning -Deck_, and all that sort of twaddle, makes me ill." - -Pamela looked slightly pained. Charles was enjoying his dinner; Burgundy -and Moselle had induced a slight flush to suffuse his countenance. If -you are engaged and a gourmand never let your _fiancee_ see you eat. A -man mad drunk is to the sensitive mind a less revolting picture than a -man "enjoying his food." - -"I heard a man once," said Miss Morgan, "he was squiffy----" - -"Lulu!" - -"Well, he was; and he was reciting _I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight_. -He'd got everything mixed, and had got as far as - - - "'I stood on the moon by bridgelight - As the church was striking the tower--' - - -when every one laughed, and he sat down--on another man's hat. That's -the sort of poetry I like, something to make you laugh. Gracious! what's -the good of manufacturing misery and letting it loose in little poems -to buzz round and torment people? isn't there enough misery ready made? -Hood's _Song of the Shirt_ always makes me cry." - -"Hood," said Professor Wilson, "was a man of another age, a true poet. -He could not have written his _Song of the Shirt_ to-day; the -decadence----" - -"Now, excuse me," said Hamilton-Cox, "we have fought that question of -decadence out, you and I. Hood, I admit, could not have written his -_Song of the Shirt_ to-day, simply because shirts are manufactured -wholesale by machinery, and he would have to begin it. -'Whir--whir--whir,' which would not be poetry. Women slave at coats and -waistcoats and other garments nowadays, and you could scarcely write a -song of the waistcoat or a song of the pair of--you understand my point. -Poetry is very false, the matchbox-maker is as deserving of the poet's -attention as the shirt-maker, yet a poem beginning 'Paste, paste, paste' -would be received with laughter, not with tears. You say we are -decadents because we don't encourage poetry. I say we are not, we are -simply more practical--poetry is to all intents and purposes dead----" - -"Is it?" said George Lambert. "Is _King Lear_ dead? I was crying over -him last night, but it wasn't at his funeral I was crying. Is old -Suckling dead? I bought a first edition of him some time ago, and the -fact wasn't mentioned or hinted at in the verses. Is Sophocles dead? Old -Maloney at Trinity pounded him into my head, and he's there now alive as -ever; and if I was blind to-morrow, I'd still have the skies over his -plays to look at and the choruses to hear. Ah no, Mr Cox, poetry is not -dead, but they don't write it just now. They don't write it, but it's in -every one's heart waiting to be tapped, only there's no man with an -augur sharp enough and true enough to do the tapping." - -Pamela looked pleased. - -"I did not know that you were fond of poetry," she said. - -"I love it," said Lambert, in a tone that reminded Charles Bevan of -Fanny's tone when she declared her predilection for cats. - -"I declare it's delightful," said Professor Wilson, "to find a man of -the world who knows all about horses, and is a good billiard-player, -and all that, confessing a love for poetry." - -"Perhaps Mr Lambert is a poet himself," said Hamilton-Cox, with a -suspicion of a sneer, "or has written poetry." - -"Poetry! yards of it," answered the accused with a mellow laugh, "when I -was young and--wise. The first poem I ever wrote was all about the moon; -I wrote it when I was eleven, and sent it to a housemaid. Oh, murder! -but the things that we do when we are young." - -"Did she read it?" - -"She couldn't read; it was in the days before the Board schools and the -higher education of women. She couldn't read, she was forty, and ugly as -sin; and she boxed my ears and told my mother, and my mother told my -father, and he leathered me. He said, 'I'll teach you to write poetry to -housemaids.' But somehow," said Mr Lambert, admiring with one eye the -ruby-tinted light in his glass of port, "somehow, with all his teaching, -I never wrote a poem to a housemaid again." - -"That must have been a loss to literature." - -"Yes, but it was a gain to housemaids; and as housemaids seem the main -producers of novels and _poems_ nowadays, begad," said Mr Lambert, -"it's, after all, a gain to literature." - -"That's one for you, Cox," said Professor Wilson, and Hamilton-Cox -laughed, as he could well afford to do, for his lucubrations brought him -in a good fifteen hundred a year, and his reputation was growing. - -On the lawn, under the starlit night after dinner, Bevan had his -_fiancee_ for a moment alone. They sat in creaky basket-work chairs a -good yard apart from each other. The moon was rising over the hills and -deep, dark woods of Sussex, the air was warm and perfumed: it was an -ideal night for love-making. - -"When I left you I had some dinner at the Nord," said Mr Bevan, tipping -the ash off his cigar. "The worst dinner I've ever had, I think. Upon my -word, I think it was the worst dinner I ever had. When I got to Dover I -was so tired I turned into the hotel, and came on next morning. What -sort of crossing did you have?" - -"Oh, very fine," said Pamela, stifling a yawn, and glancing sideways at -a group of her guests dimly seen in a corner of the garden, but happy, -to judge from the laughter that came from them. - -"Are the Napiers back in England yet?" - -"No, they are still in Paris." - -"What on earth do they want staying there for so long? it must be empty -now." - -"Yes, it was emptying fast when we left, wasn't a soul left scarcely. Do -you know, I have a great mind to run over to Ostend for a few weeks. The -Napiers are going there; it's rather fun, I believe." - -"I wouldn't. What's the good of going to these foreign places? stay -here." - -Pamela was silent, and the inspiriting dialogue ceased. - -A great beetle moving through the night across the garden filled the air -with its boom. The group in the corner of the garden still were laughing -and talking; amidst their voices could be distinguished that of -Hamilton-Cox. Mr Cox had not a pleasant voice; it was too highly -pitched, and it jarred on the ear of Mr Bevan and on his soul. His soul -was in an irritable mood. When we speak of the soul we refer to an -unknown quantity, and when we speak of its condition we refer sometimes, -perhaps, to just a touch of liver, or sometimes to an extra glass of -champagne. - -"I can't make out what induces you to surround yourself with those sort -of people," said Mr Bevan, casting his cigar-end away and searching for -his cigarette case. - -"What sort of people?" - -"Oh, that writer man." - -"Hamilton-Cox?" - -"Yes--is that his name?" - -"I am not surrounding myself with Mr Cox; the thing is physically and -physiologically impossible. Do talk sense, Charles." - -Charles retired into silence, and Miss Pursehouse yawned again, -sub-audibly. After a few moments--"Where did you pick up the Lamberts?" - -"You mean Mr Lambert and his daughter?" - -"Has he a daughter?" - -"Has he a daughter? Why, Lulu Morgan, when I asked her what you and she -had found to talk about, said Fanny Lambert----" - -"It is perfectly immaterial what Miss Morgan said; some of her sayings -are scarcely commendable. I believe she did say something about a Miss -Lambert. When I said 'has he a daughter?' I spoke with a meaning." - -"I am glad to hear that." - -"What I meant was, that it would have been much better for him to have -brought his daughter down here with him." - -"Do you mean to insinuate that she is--unable to take care of herself in -town?" - -"I mean to insinuate nothing, but according to my old-fashioned -ideas----" - -"Go on, this is interesting," said Miss Pursehouse, who guessed what was -coming. - -"According to my old-fashioned ideas it is scarcely the thing for a man, -a married man, to pay a visit----" - -"You mean it's improper for me to have Mr Lambert staying here as a -guest?" "Improper was not the word I used." - -"Oh, nonsense! you meant it. Well, I think I am the best judge of my own -propriety, and I see nothing improper in the transaction. My aunt is -here, Lulu Morgan is here, you are here, Professor Wilson is here, -there's a poet coming to-morrow--I suppose that's improper too. I do -wish you would be sensible; besides, Mr Lambert is not a married man, -he is a widower." - -"Does he know that you are engaged?" - -"Sure, I don't know. I don't go about with a placard with 'I am engaged' -written on it on my back. Why do you ask?" - -"Well--um--if a stranger had been here at tea to-day he would scarcely -have thought that the engaged couple----" - -"Go on, this is delightful; it's absolutely bank-holidayish--the engaged -couple--go on." - -"Were you and I." - -"You mean you and _me_?" - -"Yes." - -"The behaviour of 'engaged couples' in decent society is, I believe, -pretty much the same as our behaviour has been, and I hope will be. How -would you have it? Would you like to walk about, I clinging to your arm, -and you playing a mouth-organ? Ought we to exchange hats with each -other? Shall I call you Choly and put ice down your neck at dinner? -Ought we to hire a brake and go on a bean feast? I wish you would -instruct me. I hate to appear _gauche_, and I hate not to do the correct -thing." - -"Vulgarity is always painful to me," said Mr Bevan, "but senseless -vulgarity is doubly so." - -"Thanks, your compliments are charming." - -"I was not complimenting you, I simply----" - -"I know, simply hinting that I was senseless and vulgar." - -"I never----" - -"I know. Shall we change the subject--what's all this?" - -"Please come and help us," said Miss Morgan, coming up. "We've got the -astronomical telescope, and we can't make head or tail of it." - -Miss Pursehouse rose and approached the group surrounding an -astronomical telescope that stood on the lawn. It was trained on the -moon, and Hamilton-Cox, with a hand over one eye and the other eye at -the eyepiece, was making an observation. - -"Sometimes I can see stars, and sometimes nothing. I can't see the moon -at all." - -"Shut the other eye," said Lambert. - -"Perhaps," said Miss Pursehouse, "if you remove the cap from the -telescope you will be able to see better. A very simple thing sometimes -cures blindness." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -TIC-DOULOUREUX - - -Mr Bevan found no chance for a _tete-a-tete_ with his _fiancee_ again -that night, perhaps because he did not seek one; he was not in the -humour for love-making. He felt--to use the good old nursery term that -applies so often, so very often, to grown-ups--"fractious." - -He retired to his bedroom at half-past eleven, and was sitting with an -unlit cigarette in his mouth, staring at the wood-fire brightly burning -in his grate, when a knock came to the door and Lambert appeared. - -"I just dropped in to say good-night. Am I disturbing you?" - -"Not a bit; sit down and have a cigarette." - -Mr Lambert helped himself to a Marcovitch from a box on the table, drew -up an easy-chair to the fire and sank into it with a sigh. - -"It seems funny," said he in a meditative tone, "that I should be -sitting here smoking and yarning with you to-night, and only yesterday, -so to speak, we were fighting like bull-dogs; but we're friends now, and -you must come and see me when you're back in town. You live in the -'Albany'? I had rooms there once, years ago--years ago. Lord! what a -change has come over London since the days when Evans' was stuffed of a -night with all manner of people--the rows and ructions I remember! The -things that went on. One night in Evans' I remember an old gentleman -coming in and ordering a chop, and no sooner had he put on his -spectacles and settled down to it with a smile all over his face, than -Bob O'Grady, of the 10th--Black O'Grady--who'd been watching him--he was -drunk as a lord--rose up and said, ''Scuse me,' he said, and took the -chop by the shank-bone and flung it on the stage. A man could take his -whack in those days, and be none the worse for it; but men are -different, somehow, now, and they go in for tea and muffins and nerves -just as the women used to, when I was twenty; and the women, begad, are -the best men now'days. Look at Miss Pursehouse! as charming as a woman -and as clever as a man. Look at this house of hers! One would think a -man owned it, everything is so well done: brandies and sodas at your -elbows, matches all over the place, and electric bells and a telephone. -That's the sort of woman for me--not that I'm not fond of the -old-fashioned sort of woman too. Fanny, my daughter--I must introduce -you to her--is as old-fashioned as they make 'em. Screeches if she sees -a rat, and knows nothing of woman's rights or the higher education of -females, and is always ready to turn on the water-works, bless her -heart! ready and willing to cry over anything you may put before her -that's got the ghost of a cry in it. But, bless you! what's the good of -talking about old-fashioned or modern women? From Hecuba down, they're -all the same--born to deceive us and make our lives happy." - -"Can't see how a woman that deceives a man can make him happy." - -"My dear fellow, sure, what's happiness but illusion, and what's -illusion but deception, and talking about deception, aren't men--the -blackguards!--just as bad at deceiving as women?" - -Mr Bevan made no reply to this; he shifted uneasily in his chair. - -"You live at Highgate?" he said. - -Lambert woke up from a reverie he had fallen into with a start. - -"Yes, bad luck to it! I've got a house there I can't get rid of, and, -talking of old-fashioned things, it's an old-fashioned house. There -aren't any electric bells, and if there were you'd as likely as not ring -up the ghost. For there's a ghost there, sure enough; she nearly -frightened the gizzard out of my butler James." - -He leaned back luxuriously in his chair, blowing cigarette rings at the -fire, whilst Charles Bevan mentally recalled the vision of "My butler -James." - -He could not but admit that Lambert carried his poverty exceedingly -well, and with a much better grace than that with which many men carry -their wealth. The impression that Fanny Lambert had made upon him was -not effaced in any way by the impression made upon him by her father. -Lambert was not an impossible man. Wildly extravagant he might be, and -reckless to the verge of lunacy, but he was a gentleman; and in saying -the word "gentleman," my dear sir or madam I do not refer to birth. -There lives many a hideous bounder who yet can fling his -great-great-great-grandfather at your head, and many a noble-minded -gentleman, the present or past existence of whose father is demonstrable -only by the logic of physiology. - -Lambert went off to his room at twelve, and Mr Bevan passed a broken -night. He dreamt of lawyers and sunflowers. He dreamt that he saw old -Francis, the village lunatic, waiting at the cross-roads; and when he -asked him what he was waiting for, Francis replied that he was waiting -to see his (Mr Bevan's) marriage procession go by: a dream which was -scarcely a hopeful omen, considering the object of the old man's daily -vigil as revealed by Lulu Morgan. - -He came down to breakfast late. His hostess did not appear, and Miss -Morgan announced that her friend was suffering from tic-douloureux. - -"'S far as I can make out, it's like having the grippe in one eye. I've -physicked her with Bile Beans and Perry Davis, and I've sent for some -Antikamnia. If she's not better by luncheon I'll send for the doctor." - -She was not down by luncheon. After that meal, Charles, strolling across -the hall to the billiard-room, felt something pluck at his sleeve. It -was Miss Morgan. - -"I want to speak to you alone for a minute," said she. "Come into the -garden; there's no one there." - -He followed her, much wondering, and they passed down a shady path till -they lost sight of the house. - -"Pamela's worried," said Lulu, "and I want to talk to you about her----" - -"Why, what can be----" - -"We've been sitting up all night, she and I, and we've been discussing -things, you 'specially." - -"Thank you----" - -"Now, don't you be mad, for Pamela's very fond of you, and I like you, -for you're a right good sort; but, see here, Pamela thinks she's made a -mistake." - -A queer new feeling entered Mr Bevan's mind, peeped round and passed -through it, so to speak--a feeling of relief--or more strictly speaking, -release. - -"Indeed?" - -"She thinks you have both made a mistake, and--you know----" - -"The fact is, she doesn't want to marry me; why not say it at once? or, -rather, why doesn't she say so to me frankly, instead of deputing -another person to do so?" - -"There's a letter," said Miss Morgan, producing one from her pocket. -"She wrote it and told me to give it to you; it's eight pages long, and -all sorts of things in it--she's very fond of you--keep it and read it. -But I tell you one line that's in it, she says she will always feel as a -sister to you, or be a sister to you, or words to that effect--that's -fatal--once a girl says that she's said the last word." - -"I don't think she ever cared for me, really," said Mr Bevan--"let us -sit down on this seat--no, I don't think she really ever cared for me." - -"What _made_ you two get engaged" - -"Why should we not?" - -"Because you're too much alike; you are both rich, and both steady and -well-balanced, you know, and that sort of thing. Likes ought never to -get married. Dear--dear--dear--what a pity----" - -"What?" - -"I was only thinking of all the love-making there's wasted in the world. -Now I know so many girls who would suit you to a T. I'll tell you of -one, if you like----" - -"Thank you, I--um----" - -"I was thinking of Fanny Lambert," said Miss Morgan in a dreamy voice. -"The girl I told you of yesterday----" - -Now, Mr Bevan was the last man in the world--as I daresay you -perceive--to discuss his feelings with any one. But Miss Morgan had a -patent method of her own for extracting confidences, of making people -talk out, as she would have expressed it herself. - -"I said to you yesterday that I had never met Miss Lambert: I had -reasons connected with some law business for saying so--as a matter of -fact, I have met her--once." - -"Oh, that's quite enough. If you've met Fanny Lambert once, you have met -her for ever. Does she like you?--I don't ask you do you like her, for, -of course, you do." - -"I think--she does." - -"You mustn't think--women hate men that think, they like them to be -sure. If a man was only bold enough he could marry any woman on earth." - -"Is that your opinion?" - -"'Tis, and my opinion is worth having. What a woman wants most is some -one to make up her mind for her. Go and make Fanny's mind up for her; -you and she are just suited." - -"In what way?" - -"To begin with, you're rich and she's poor." - -"You said yesterday that she was rich." - -"Yes, but Pamela told me last night the Lamberts are simply stone-broke. -Mr Lambert told her all his affairs, his estates are all encumbered. She -says he's just like a child, and wants protecting; so he is, and so's -Fanny; they're both a pair of children, and you are just the man to keep -Fanny straight, and make her life happy and buy her beautiful clothes -and diamonds. Why, she'll be the rage of London, Fanny will, if she's -only properly staged--and she's a dear and a good woman, and would make -any man happy. My!" - -Mr Bevan had taken Miss Morgan's hand in his and squeezed it. - -"Thank you for saying all that," said he. "Few women praise another -woman. I shall leave here by this evening's train, of course; I cannot -stay here any longer. I will think over what course I will pursue." - -"For heaven's sake, don't think, or you'll find her snapped up; I have a -prevision that you will. Go and say to Fanny 'marry me.' I _do_ want to -see her settled, she's not like me, that can rough it, and she's just -the girl to fling herself away on some rubbish." - -"I will see," said Mr Bevan. "I frankly confess that Miss Lambert--of -course, this is between you and me--that Miss Lambert has made me think -a good deal about her, but these things are not done in a moment." - -"Aren't they? I tell you love-making is just like making pancakes, if -you don't do them quick they're done for. You just remember this, that -many a man has proposed to a girl the first time he's met her and been -accepted. Women like it, it's so different from the other thing--and, -look here, kiss her first and ask her afterwards. Have two or three -glasses of champagne--you've just got the steady brain that can stand -it--and it will liven you up. I'm an old stager." - -"I will write to Miss Pursehouse from London to-morrow." - -"Dear me! I don't believe you've been listening to a word I've been -saying. Well, go your own gate, as the old woman said to the cow that -_would_ burst through the hedge and tumbled into the chalk-pit and broke -its leg. What you going to do with that letter?" - -"I will read it in the train." - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE AMBASSADOR - - -It never rains but it pours. It was pouring just now with Leavesley. - -The morning after the excursion to Epping Forest he had written a long -letter to Fanny: a business-like letter, explanatory of his prospects in -life. - -He had exhibited in this year's Academy; he had exhibited in the New -gallery--more, he had sold the Academy picture for forty pounds. He had -a hundred a year of his own, which, as he sagaciously pointed out, was -"something." If Fanny would only wait a year, give him something to hope -for, something to live for, something to work for. Three pages of -business-like statements ending with a fourth page of raving -declarations of love. The letter of a lunatic, as all love-letters more -or less are. - -He had posted this and waited for a reply, but none had come. He little -knew that his letter and a bill for potatoes were behind a plate on the -kitchen dresser at "The Laurels," stuffed there by Susannah in a fit of -abstraction, also the outcome of the troubles of love. - -On top of this all sorts of minor worries fell upon him. Mark Moses and -Sonenshine, stimulated by the two pounds ten paid on account, were -bombarding him with requests for more. A colour-man was also active and -troublesome, and a bootmaker lived on the stairs. - -Belinda, vice-president of the institution during Mrs Tugwell's sojourn -at Margate, was "cutting up shines," cooking disgracefully, not cleaning -boots, giving "lip" when remonstrated with, and otherwise revelling in -her little brief authority. A man who had all but commissioned a -portrait of a bull-dog sent word to say that the sittings couldn't take -place as the dog was dead. - -Then a cat had slipped into his bedroom and kittened on his best suit -of clothes; and Fernandez, the picture dealer to whom he had taken the -John the Baptist on the top of a four-wheeler, had offered him five -pounds ten for it; and, worst of all, driven by necessity, he had not -haggled, but had taken the five pounds ten, thus for ever ruining -himself with Fernandez, who had been quite prepared to pay fifteen. - -The Captain, who had suddenly come in for a windfall of eighty pounds, -was going on like a millionaire--haunting the studio half-tipsy, profuse -with offers of assistance and drinks, and, to cap all, the weather was -torrid. The only consolation was Verneede, who would listen for hours to -the praises of Miss Lambert, nodding his head like a Chinese mandarin -and smoking Leavesley's cigarettes. - -"I don't know what to do," said the unhappy young man, during one of -these conferences, "I don't know what to do. It's so unlike her." - -"Write again." - -"Not I--at least, how can I? If she won't answer _that_ letter there's -no use in writing any more." - -"Call." - -"I'm not going to creep round like a dog that has been beaten." - -"True." - -"She may be ill, for all I know. How do I know that she is not ill?" - -"Illness, my dear Leavesley, is one of those things----" - -"I know--but the question is, how am I to find out?" - -"Could you not apply to their family physician? I should go to him, -frankly----" - -"But I don't know who their doctor is--do talk sense. See here! could -_you_ call and ask--ask did she get home all right, and that sort of -thing?" - -"Most certainly, with pleasure, if it would relieve your feelings. -Anything--anything I can do, my dear Leavesley, in an emergency like -this you can count on me to do." - -"You needn't mention my name." - -"I shall carefully abstain." - -"Unless she asks, you know." - -"Certainly, unless she asks." - -"Armbruster came in this morning, he's going to America. He's got on to -a big firm for book illustrating; he wanted me to go with him and try -my luck--offered to pay the expenses. You might hint, perhaps, if the -subject turns up, that you think I am going to America." - -"Certainly." - -"When can you go?" - -"Any time." - -"You might go now, for I'm awfully anxious to hear if she is all right. -What's the time? Two--yes--if you go now you will get there about four." - -"Highgate?" - -"Yes--'The Laurels,' John's Road. Have you any money?" - -"Unfortunately I am rather unprovided with the necessary----" - -"Wait." - -Leavesley went to a little jug on the mantel and turned the contents of -it into his hand. - -"Here's five shillings; will that be enough?" - -"Ample." - -"Now go, like a good fellow, and do come back here straight." - -"As an arrow." - -"Don't say anything about my letter." - -"Not a word, not a word." - -Mr Verneede departed, and the painter went on with his painting, -feeling very much as Noah must have felt when the dove flew out of the -Ark. - -Mr Verneede first made straight for his lodgings. He inhabited a -top-floor back in Maple Street, a little street leading out of the -King's Road. - -Here he blacked his boots, put bear's grease on his hair, and assumed a -frock-coat a shade more respectable than the one he usually wore. Then, -with his coat tightly buttoned, his best hat on his head, and his -umbrella under his arm, he made off on his errand revolving in his -wonderful mind the forthcoming interview. To assist thought, he turned -into the four-ale bar of the "Spotted Dog." Here stood a woman with a -baby in her arms, a regular customer, who was explaining domestic -troubles to the sympathetic barmaid. Seeing Verneede seated with his ale -before him, she included him in her audience. Half an hour later the old -gentleman, having given much advice on the rearing of babies and -management of husbands, emerged from the "Spotted Dog" slightly flushed -and entirely happy. - -It seemed so much pleasanter and cooler to enter a public house than an -omnibus, that the "King's Arms," where the omnibuses stood, swallowed -him easily. Here an anarchistical house-painter, who was destructing the -British Empire, included him in his remarks; and it was, somehow, nearly -five o'clock before he left the "King's Arms" more flushed and most -entirely happy, and took an omnibus for Hammersmith. - -At nine o'clock he was wandering about Hammersmith asking people to -direct him to "The Hollies" in James' Road; at eleven he was criticising -the London County Council in a bar-room somewhere in Shepherd's Bush, -but it might have been in Paris or Berlin, Vienna or Madrid, for all -_he_ knew or cared. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A SURPRISE VISIT - - -Verneede having departed on his mission, Leavesley resumed his work with -a feeling of relief. - -He had done something. There is nothing that strains the mind so much -as sitting waiting with hands folded, so to speak, doing nothing. - -When Noah closed the trap-door of the Ark having let forth the dove, he -no doubt followed its flight with his mind's eye--here flitting over -wastes of water, here perched on the island he desired. - -Even so Leavesley, as he worked, followed the flight of Verneede towards -the object of his desires. - -Leavesley was one of those unhappy people who meet their pleasures and -their troubles half-way. He was an imaginative man, moving in a most -unimaginative world, and as a result he was always knocking his nose -against the concrete. Needless to say, his forecasts were nearly always -wrong. If he opened a letter thinking it contained a bill, it, ten to -one, enclosed a theatre ticket or a cheque, and if he expected a cheque, -fifty to one he received a bill. - -This temperament, however, sometimes has its advantages, for he was -sitting now quite contentedly painting and getting on with his picture, -whilst Mr Verneede was sitting quite contentedly in the bar of the -"Spotted Dog." - -He was also smoking furiously with all the windows shut. To the artistic -temperament at times comes moods, when it shuts all the windows, -excluding noise and air, lights the foulest old pipe it can find, and, -to use a good old public school term, "fugs." - -Suddenly he stopped work, half-sprang to his feet, palette in one hand, -pipe in the other. A footstep was on the landing, a girl's footstep--it -was _her_! - -The door opened, and his aunt stood before him. - -Since the other night when Fanny had dined with them, Miss Hancock had -been much exercised in her mind. - -How on earth had Leavesley known of the affair? Had he referred to Fanny -when he made that mysterious remark about his uncle and a girl, or was -there _another_ girl? She had an axiom that when a man once begins to -make a fool of himself he doesn't know where to stop; she had also a -strong dash of her nephew's imaginative temperament. Fanny had troubled -her at first; seraglios were now rising in her mental landscape. She had -an intuition that her brother had broken the ice as regards the other -sex, and a dreadful fear that now he had broken the ice he was going to -bathe. - -"Whew!" said Miss Hancock, waving her parasol before her to dispel the -clouds of smoke. - -"Aunt!" - -"For goodness sake, open the window. Open something--achu!--do you -_live_ in this atmosphere?" - -Leavesley opened wide the windows, tapped the ashes of his pipe out on a -sill, and turned to his aunt, who had taken her seat in an uncomfortable -manner on a most comfortable armchair. - -"This is an unexpected pleasure!" - -Miss Hancock made no reply. It was the first time she had been in the -studio, the first time she had been in any studio. - -She noticed the dust and the litter. The place was, in fact, -extraordinarily untidy, for Belinda, engaged just now in the fascination -of a policeman, had scarcely time even for such ordinary household -duties as making beds without turning the mattresses, and flinging eggs -into frying pans full of hot grease. - -As fate would have it, or curiosity rather, Belinda at this moment -entered the studio, attired in a sprigged cotton gown four inches -shorter in front than behind as if to display to their full a pair of -wonderful feet shod in list slippers. Her front hair was bound in -Hindes' hair-binders tight down to her head, displaying a protruberant -forehead that seemed to have been polished. It was the only thing -polished about Belinda, and she made a not altogether pleasing picture -as she slunk into the studio to "look for something," but in reality to -take stock of the visitor. - -It would have been much happier for her if she had stayed away. - -She was slinking out again when Miss Hancock, who had been following her -every movement, said: - -"Stop, please!" - -Belinda, with her hand on the door handle, faced round. - -"Are you the servant here?" - -"Yus"--sulkily. - -"And I suppose you are paid to keep this room in order. Where's your -mistress?" - -"She's in Margate," cut in Leavesley. - -"Stop twiddling that door handle," said Miss Hancock, entirely ignoring -Leavesley, "and attend to what I'm saying. If you are paid to keep this -room in order you are defrauding your mistress, and girls who defraud -their mistresses end in something worse. Go, get a duster." - -The feelings of Cruiser, when he first came under the hands of Mr Rarey, -may have been comparable to the feelings of Belinda before this -servant-tamer. - -She recognised a mistress, but she did not give in at once. She stood -looking sulkily from Leavesley to his aunt, and from his aunt to -Leavesley. - -Miss Hancock had no legal power over her, it was all moral. - -"Go, get a duster and a broom," cried Miss Hancock, stamping her foot. - -One second more the animal stood in mute rebellion, then it went off and -got the duster and the broom. - -"Take up that strip of carpet," commanded Mr Leavesley's aunt, when the -duster and the broom returned in the hands of the animal. "Whew! Throw -it outside the door and beat it in the back garden, if you have such a -thing--burn it if you haven't. Give me the duster. Now sweep the floor, -whilst I do these shelves; Frank, put those books in a heap. Whew! does -no one ever clean this place? Ha! what are you doing sweeping under the -couch? Pull out that couch. Mercy!!!" - -Under the couch there was a heap of miscellaneous things--empty -cigarette tins, an empty beer bottle, an empty whisky bottle, half a -pack of cards, a dress tie, a glove, "The Three Musketeers," and an old -waistcoat--_and_ dust, mounds of dust. - -Miss Hancock looked at this. Like the coster who looked back along the -City road to see the way strewn with cabbages, lettuces, and onions -which had leaked from his faulty barrow, language was quite inadequate -to express her feelings. - -"Go, get a dust-pan," she said at last, "and a basket. Be quick about -it. Mercy!!!" - -By the time the place was in order, Belinda, to Leavesley's -astonishment, had become transformed from a sulky-looking slattern to a -semi-respectable-looking servant girl. - -"That will do," said Miss Hancock in a magisterial voice, when the last -consignment of rubbish had been removed. "Now, you can go." - -As the boar sharpens its tusks against a tree preparatory to using them -to carve human flesh, so had Miss Hancock sharpened the tusks of her -temper upon Belinda. - -"No thanks, I don't want any tea," she said, replying to Leavesley's -invitation. "I've come to ask you for an explanation." - -"What of?" - -"What you said the other day." - -"What did I say the other day?" - -"About your uncle." - -"About my uncle?" he replied, wrinkling his forehead. He couldn't for -the life of him think what she was driving at; he had quite forgotten -his Parthian remark about the "girl," the thing had no root in his -mind--a bubble made of words that had risen to the surface of his mind, -burst, and been forgotten. - -Miss Hancock had her own way of dealing with hypocrites. "Well, we will -say no more about your uncle. How about Miss Lambert?" - -Leavesley made a little spring from his chair, as if some one had stuck -a pin into him, and changed colour violently. - -"How--what do you know about Miss Lambert?----" - -"I know all about it," said Miss Hancock grimly. She was so very clever -that she had got hold of the wrong end of the stick entirely, as very -clever people sometimes do. If she had come to him frankly she would -have found out that he was Fanny's lover, and not James Hancock's -confidant and go-between, as she now felt sure he was. - -Unhappy Leavesley! his love affair with Fanny seemed destined to be -mulled by every one who had a hand in it. - -"If you know all about it," he said sulkily, "that ends the matter." - -"Unfortunately it doesn't." - -"What do you mean?" - -"It's dreadful," said Miss Hancock, apparently addressing a tobacco jar -that stood on the table, "it's dreadful to watch a man consciously and -deliberately making a fool of himself--to sit by and watch it, and not -be able to move a hand." - -Of course he thought she referred to himself, but he was so accustomed -to hear his aunt calling people fools that her remarks did not ruffle -him. - -"But what I can't understand is this," he said. "Who _told_ you about -Fanny--I mean Miss Lambert?" - -"Fanny!" said the lady with a sniff. "You call her Fanny?" - -"Of course." - -"Of _course_!" - -"Why not?" - -"Why _not_!" - -"Yes." - -"The world has altered since I was a girl, that's all." Then with deep -sarcasm--"Does your uncle know that you call her Fanny?" - -"Of course not; I've never told him." - -Miss Hancock stared at him stonily, then she spoke. "Are _you_ in love -with her too?" she asked. - -"What do you mean by 'too'?" - -"Frank Leavesley, don't shuffle and prevaricate. Are you in love with -her?" - -"Of course I am; every one who meets her must love her. I believe old -Verneede is in love with her. Love with her! I'd lay my life down for -her, but it's hopeless--hopeless----" - -"I trust so indeed," replied Miss Hancock. - -For a minute he thought his aunt must be a little bit mad: this was more -than her ordinary contrariness; then he went back to his original -question. - -"I want to know who told you about this." - -"Bridgewater, for one," replied Miss Hancock. - -"Bridgewater!" - -"Yes, Bridgewater." - -"But he knows nothing about it," cried Leavesley. "He couldn't have told -you." - -"He told me everything--Miss Lambert's visit to the Zoological Gardens, -her----" - -"You may as well be exact whilst you are about it; it wasn't the -Zoological Gardens, it was Epping Forest." - -"Frank Leavesley, a lie is bad enough, but a silly lie is much worse. -Miss Lambert herself told me it was the Zoological Gardens; perhaps she -has been to Epping Forest as well; perhaps next it will be a visit to -Paris. _I_ wash my hands of the affair." - -"You have seen Miss Lambert?" - -"No matter what I have seen. I have seen enough to make me open my -eyes--and shut them again." - -Leavesley was now fuming about the studio. What on earth had possessed -Bridgewater? How on earth had he found out about the affair, and how had -he come to twist Epping Forest into the Zoological Gardens? - -"----_and_ shut them again," resumed Miss Hancock. "However, it is none -of my business, but if there is such a thing as honour you ought, in my -humble opinion, to go to your uncle and tell him the state of your -feelings towards Miss Lambert." - -"I'll go," said Leavesley--"go to the office to-day; and if uncle -chooses to keep that antiquated liar of a Bridgewater in his service any -longer after what I tell him, it will be his own look-out." - -Miss Hancock had not reckoned on this, she looked uncomfortable. - -"Bridgewater is an honourable man, who has acted for the best." - -"I know," said Leavesley. "Now, I must go out; I have some business. -Are you sure you won't have some tea?" - -"No tea, thank you," replied Miss Hancock, rising to depart. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE UNEXPLAINED - - -It was just as well she refused the tea, for there was no one to make -it. She had hypnotised Belinda, and Belinda coming out of the hypnotic -state was having hysterical convulsions in the kitchen, assisted by the -charwoman. - -"Belinda," cried Leavesley down the kitchen stairs, he had rung his bell -vainly, "are you there?" - -"She's hill, sir," replied a hoarse voice, "I'm a-lookin' arter her." - -"Oh, well, if a Mr Verneede calls, will you ask him to wait for me? I'll -be back soon." - -"Yessir." - -He left the house and proceeded as fast as omnibuses could take him to -Southampton Row. - -Bridgewater was out, but Mr Wolf, the second in command, ushered him -into Hancock's room. - -"Well," said Hancock, who was writing a letter--"Oh, it's you. Sit down, -sit down for a minute." - -He went on with his letter, and Leavesley took his seat and sat in a -simmering state listening to the squeaking of the quill pen, and framing -in his mind indictments against Bridgewater. - -If he had been in a state of mind to absorb details he might have -noticed that his uncle was looking younger and brighter. But the -youthfulness or brightness of Mr Hancock were indifferent to him -absorbed as he was with his own thoughts. - -"Well," said Hancock, finishing his letter with a flourish and leaning -back in his chair. - -"Aunt came to see me to-day," said Leavesley, "and I came on here at -once. It's most disgraceful." - -"What?" - -"Bridgewater. You've got a man in your office who is not to be trusted, -a mischief-making old----" - -"Dear me, what's all this? A man in the office not to be trusted? To -whom do you refer?" - -"Bridgewater." - -"Bridgewater?" - -"Yes." - -"What has he been doing?" - -"Doing! He has been sneaking round to my aunt telling tales about a -lady; that's what he has been doing." - -"What lady?" - -"A Miss Lambert. He told her she had been to the Zoological Gardens -with----" - -Hancock raised his hand. "Don't go on," he said, "I know it all." - -"You know it all?" - -"Yes, and I have given Bridgewater a right good dressing down--meddling -old stupid!" - -Leavesley was greatly taken back at this. - -"It's not his fault," continued Hancock. "It's your aunt's fault; she -put him on to spy. However, it's rather a delicate subject, and we won't -pursue it, but"--suddenly and in a friendly tone--"I take it very kindly -of you to come round and tell me this." - -"I thought I'd better come," said the young man; "besides, the thing -put me in such a wax. Of course, if he was egged on by aunt, it's not so -much his fault." - -"I take it very kindly of you, and we'll say no more about it." He -lapsed into meditation, and Leavesley sat filled with a vague feeling of -surprise. - -Every one seemed a little out of the ordinary to-day. Why on earth did -his uncle take this news so very kindly? - -"I've been thinking," said Hancock suddenly--then abruptly: "How are you -financially, now?" - -"Oh, pretty bad. I had to sell a picture of John the Baptist for five -pounds the other day; it was worth twenty." - -"When your mother married your father," said Hancock, leaning back in -his chair, "she flew in the face of her family. He was penniless and a -painter." - -"I don't want to hear anything against my father," said Leavesley -tartly. "Yes, he was penniless and a painter, and she married him, and -I'm glad she did. She loved him, that was quite enough." - -"If you will excuse me," said Hancock, "I was going to say nothing -against your father. I think a love-match--er--um--well, no matter. I am -only stating the facts. She flew in the face of her family, and as a -result the money that might have been hers, went to your aunt." - -"And a nice use she makes of it." - -"The hundred a year left you by your parents," resumed the lawyer, -ignoring this reply, "is, I admit, a pittance. I offered you, however, -as the head of the family, and feeling that your mother had not received -exactly justice, I offered you the choice of a profession. I offered to -take you into this office. You refused, preferring to be a painter. Now, -I am not stingy, but I have seen much of the world, and in my -experience, the less money a young man has in starting in life, the more -likely is he to arrive at the top of the tree. You have, however, now -started; I have been making enquiries, and you seem to be working, and I -am pleased with you for two things. Firstly, when you came to me the -other day for money for a--foolish purpose you didn't lie over the -matter and say you wanted the money for your landlady, as nine out of -ten young men would have done. Secondly, for coming to me to-day and -apprising me of the unpleasant intelligence, to which we will not again -refer. I appreciate loyalty." - -He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his note-case. - -"What's your present liabilities?" - -"Oh, I owe about ten pounds." - -"Sure that's all?" - -"Of course, I'd tell you if it was more; it's somewhere about that." - -Hancock took a five-pound note and a ten-pound note out of the -note-case, looked at them both, and then put the ten-pound note back. - -"I'm going to lend you five pounds," he said. "It will serve for present -expenses, and I expect you to pay me it back before the end of the -week." He held out the note. - -"You had better keep it," said his nephew, "for there's not the remotest -chance of my paying you before the end of the week." - -"Take the note," said Hancock testily, "and don't keep me holding it out -all day; you don't know what may happen in the course of a week. Take -the note." - -"Well, I'll take it if you _will_ have it so; and I'll pay you back some -time if I don't this week." - -"Now good day," said Hancock. "I'm busy." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR - - -He left the office feeling depressed. Spent anger generally leaves -depression behind it. - -Hancock's admission that his mother had been treated harshly by her -family, though a well-known fact to him, did not decrease his gloom. He -considered the thousands that ought to have fallen to her share, that -had fallen to the share of Patience instead. For a second a wild hatred -of the Hancocks and all their ways filled his breast, and he felt an -inclination to take the five-pound note from his pocket, roll it into a -ball, and fling it into the gutter. Not being a lunatic, he didn't. He -went and dined instead, though it was only a little after five, and -having dined he went back to the studio. - -Verneede had not yet returned. At ten o'clock Verneede had not yet -returned. Midnight struck. - -"Can he be staying there the night?" thought Leavesley, who had gone to -bed with a novel and a pipe and an ear, so to say, on every footstep -ascending the stairs. - -People often stayed the night at the Lamberts' drinking punch and -playing cards; he had done so himself once. - -He woke at seven and dressed, and at eight he was standing before the -house of Verneede in Maple Street. - -"Hin!" said the landlady, "I should think he was hin; and thankful he -ought to be he's not hin the police station." - -"Good gracious, what has happened?" - -"Woke us up at two in the mornin' hangin' like a coal sack over the -railin's; might a-tumbled into the airy and broke his neck. Disgraceful, -I call it!" - -"May I go up and see him?" - -"Yus, you can go up--he's in the top floor back--trouble enough we had -to get him there." - -Leavesley went up to the top floor back. The unfortunate Verneede was in -bed, trying to remember things. He had brought his umbrella home safely, -but in the pockets of his clothes, after diligent search in the grey -dawn, he had been able to discover only one halfpenny. To make up for -this deficiency, his head was swelled up till it felt like a pumpkin. - -"Good gracious, Verneede," cried Leavesley, staring at him, "what on -earth has happened to you? - -"A fit, I think," said Verneede. - -"Did you go to Highgate?" - -"Of course--of course; pray, my dear Leavesley, hand me the washing -jug." - -He began to drink from the jug. - -"Stop!" said Leavesley, "you'll burst!" - -"I'm better now," said Mr Verneede, placing the jug, half empty, on the -floor, and passing his hand across his brow. - -"Then go on and tell me all about it." - -Verneede had no recollection of anything at all save a few more or less -unpleasant incidents. He remembered the "Spotted Dog," the "King's -Arms"; he remembered streets; he remembered being turned out of -somewhere. - -"Tell you about what?" - -"Good gracious--about the Lamberts, of course. What time did you get -there?" - -"Half-past two, I think." - -"You couldn't; you only left the studio at two." - -"Half-past four, I mean; yes, it was half-past four." - -"When did you leave?" - -Verneede scratched his head. - -"Six." - -"You saw Miss Lambert?" - -"Yes." - -"Look here, Verneede, you were all right when you got there, I hope?" - -"Perfectly, absolutely." - -"What did you talk about?" - -"We talked of various topics." - -"Did you mention my name?" - -"Ah yes," said Verneede, "I told her what you said." - -"What?" - -"About your going to Australia." - -"America, you owl," cried Leavesley. - -"America, I mean--America, of course--America." - -"What did she say?" - -"She said--she hoped you'd have a fine voyage, that the weather would be -fine, in short, or words to that effect." - -Leavesley sighed. - -"Was that all she said?" - -"Absolutely." - -"Did you say anything about the letter I wrote her?" - -"Yes; I remembered that." - -"But I told you _not_." - -"It escaped me," said Verneede weakly. - -"What did she say?" - -"She said it didn't matter; at least that is what I gathered from her." - -"How do you mean gathered from her?" - -"From her manner." - -Leavesley sighed again, and Verneede leaned back on his pillow. He did -not know in the least whether he had been at Lamberts' or not--he hoped -he hadn't. - - - - -_PART V_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -GOUT - - -Since her visit to Leavesley Miss Hancock felt certain that her system -of petty espionage had been discovered: the question remained as to what -course her brother would take. He had as yet said nothing. - -One fact stood before her very plainly: his infatuation for Miss -Lambert. She had examined Fanny very attentively, and despite the fact -that she had plotted and planned for years to keep her brother single, -had he at that moment entered the room with the news that he was engaged -to be married to George Lambert's daughter, she would have received it -not altogether as a blow. In her lifelong opposition to his marrying, -she had always figured his possible wife as a woman who would oust her, -but Fanny was totally unlike all other girls she had ever met--very -different from Miss Wilkinson and the other middle-class young women, -with minds of their own, from whom she had fortunately or unfortunately -guarded her brother. There were new possibilities about Fanny. She was -so soft and so charmingly irresponsible that the idea of hectoring, -ordering, directing and generally sitting upon her was equivalent to the -idea of a new pleasure in life. To order, to put straight, to admonish -were functions as necessary to Miss Hancock's being as excretion or -respiration; a careless housemaid to correct, or a shiftless friend to -advise, called these functions into play; and the process, however it -affected the housemaid or the friend, left Miss Hancock a healthier and -happier woman. - -The Almighty, who, however we may look at the fact, made the fly to be -the intimate companion of the spider, seemed in the construction of Miss -Lambert to have had the vital requirements of Miss Hancock decidedly in -view. - -She had almost begun to form plans as to Fanny's dress allowance, in the -event of her marriage--how it should be spent; her hair, how it should -be dressed; and her life, how it should be generally made a -conglomeration of petty miseries. - -On the night before the day Bevan left for Sussex Mr Hancock and his -great toe had a conversation. What his right great toe said to Mr -Hancock that night I will report very shortly for the benefit of elderly -gentlemen in general; Anacreon has said the thing much better in verse, -but verse is out of date. Said the right great toe of Mr Hancock in a -monologue punctuated with the stabs of a stiletto: - -"How old are you? Sixty-three? (stab), that's what you say, but you know -very well you were born sixty-five years and six months ago. Wake up -(stab, stab), you must not go to sleep. Sixty-five--five years more and -you will be seventy; fifteen years more and you'll be _eighty_, and you -are in love (stab, stab, stab). _I'll_ teach you to eat sweet cakes and -ice creams; I'll (stab) teach you to drink Burgundy. And you dared to -call me Arthritic Rheumatism the other night, you (stab) dared! Now, go -to sleep (stab, stab) ... wake up again, I want to speak to you," etc., -etc., etc. - -Gout talks to one very like a woman: you cannot reply to it, it simply -talks on. - -At eight o'clock next morning, when Miss Hancock left her room, Boffins -informed her that her brother was ill and wished to see her. - -"I'm all right," said James, who was lying in bed with the sheets up to -his nose, "I'm all right--for heaven's sake, don't fidget with that -window blind--I want my letters brought up; shan't go to the office -to-day. You can send round and tell Bridgewater to call, and send for -Carter, I've got a touch of this Arthritic Rheumatism (ow!)--do ask that -servant to make less row on the stairs. No, don't want any breakfast." - -"Well, Hancock," said Dr Carter, when he arrived, "got it again--whew! -There's a foot! What have you been eating?" - -"Nothing," groaned the patient; "it's worry has done it, I believe." - -"Now, don't talk nonsense. What have you been eating and drinking?" - -"Well, I believe I had an ice-cream some days ago, and--a cake." - -"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of port--come, confess your -sins." - -"No, a glass of Burgundy." - -"An ice-cream, and a cake, and a glass of Burgundy--well, you can commit -suicide if you choose, but I can only warn you of this that if you wish -to commit suicide in a _most unpleasant manner_ you'll do such a thing -again." - -"Dash it, Carter--oh, Lord! go gently, don't touch it there! What's the -good of being alive? I remember the days when I could drink a whole -bottle of port without turning a hair." - -"I know--but you're not as young as you were then, Hancock." - -"Oh, do say something original--say I'm getting old, and have done with -it!" - -"It's not your age so much as your diathesis," said the pitiless Carter. -"It's unfortunate for you, but there you are. You might be worse, every -man is born with a disease. Yours is gout--you might be worse. Suppose -you had aneurism? Now, here's a prescription; get it made up at once. -Thank goodness, you can stand colchicum." - -"How long will it be before I'm all right?" - -"A week, at least." - -"Oh Lord!" - -"There, you are grumbling. Remember, my dear fellow, that living is a -business as well as lawyering. Take life easy, and forget the office for -a few days." - -"I wasn't thinking of the office--give me that writing-case over there; -I must write a letter." - -When Bridgewater arrived half an hour later, he found his master -laboriously addressing an envelope. - -"Take that and post it, Bridgewater." Bridgewater took it and placed it -in his pocket without looking at the address upon it, and having -reported on the morning letters, and received advice as to dealing with -one or two matters, ambled off on his errand. - -That evening at five o'clock, when Patience brought him up a cup of tea -and the evening newspaper, James, considerably eased by the colchicum -and pills of Dr Carter, said: "Put the tea on the table there, and sit -down, Patience. I wish to speak to you." - -Patience sat down, took her knitting from her apron pocket, and began to -knit. - -"I have written a letter to-day to Miss Lambert." - -"Oh!" - -"An important letter, a vitally important letter to me." - -"You mean, James, that you have written a letter of proposal--that you -intend, in short, to marry Miss Lambert?" - -"That is precisely my meaning." - -"Humph!" - -"Does the idea displease you?" - -"Yes, and no." - -"Please explain what you mean by 'yes' and 'no'; the expression lacks -lucidity, to say the least of it." - -"I mean that it would be much better for you to remain as you are; but -if you do intend to commit yourself in this way, well--Miss Lambert is -at least a lady." - -The keen eye of James examined his sister's face as she spoke, and he -knew that what she said she meant. Despite all his tall talk to -Bridgewater about sending his sister packing her influence upon him was -very strong; thirty years of diffidence to her opinion in the minor -details of life had not passed without leaving their effect upon his -will; besides he, as a business man, had great admiration for her -astuteness and power of dealing with things. Active opposition to his -matrimonial plans would not have altered them, but it would have made -him unhappy. - -"I am glad you think that," he said. "Give me the tea." - -"Mind," said Miss Hancock, as she handed the beverage, "I wash my hands -of the matter; I think it distinctly unwise, considering your age, -considering her age, considering everything." - -"Well, all that lies with me. You will be civil and kind to her, -Patience?" - -"It is not my habit to be unkind to any one. You have written, you say, -to her to-day; you wrote without consulting me--the step is taken, and -you must abide by it. I hope it will be for your happiness, James." - -He was watching her intently, and was satisfied. - -"I wish," he said, putting the cup down on the table beside the bed, "I -wish you knew her better." - -"I will call upon her," said Miss Hancock, counting her stitches; "she -left her parasol behind her last night, I will take it back to her----" - -"No, don't, for goodness sake!" said James, the Lambert _menage_ rising -before him, and also a vague dread that his sister, despite her -appearance and words of goodwill--or rather semi-goodwill--might be -traitorously disposed at heart. "At least--I don't know--I suppose it -would be the right thing to do." - -"I am not especially anxious to call," said Miss Hancock, who had quite -made up her mind to journey to Highgate on the morrow and spy out the -land of the Lamberts for herself. "In fact, the only possible day I -could call would be to-morrow before noon. I have a meeting in Sloane -Square to attend at five, and on Wednesday I have three engagements, two -on Thursday; Friday I have to spend the day with Aunt Catherine at -Windsor, where I will remain over Sunday." - -"Well, call to-morrow and bring her back her parasol--oh, _damn_!" - -"James!" - -"Oh Lord! I thought some one had shot a bullet into my foot. Give me the -medicine, quick, and send round for Carter. I must have some opium, or -I won't sleep a wink." - -Miss Hancock administered the dose, and retired downstairs, when she -sent a message to Dr Carter and ordered the lilac parasol of Miss -Lambert to be wrapped in paper. Then she sent a message to the livery -stables to order the hired brougham, which she employed several times a -week, to be in attendance at 9.30 the following morning, to drive her to -Highgate. - -But next morning her brother was so bad that she could not leave him. -But she called one morning later on. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE RESULT - - -The Lamberts as a rule took things easy in the morning. Breakfast was at -any time that was suitable to the convenience and appetite of each -individual; the things were generally cleared away by half-past eleven -or twelve, a matter of half an hour lost in the forenoon made little -difference in the revolution of their day. - -At half-past ten on the morning of Miss Hancock's descent upon her, -Fanny was seated at the breakfast-table. It was a glorious day, filled -with the warmth of summer, the scent of roses, and the songs of birds. A -letter from her father lay beside her on the table; it had arrived by -the morning's post, and contained great news--good news, too, yet the -goodness of it was not entirely reflected in her face. - -The worries of life were weighing on Miss Lambert; James Hancock's -unanswered letter was not the least of these. She had laughed on -receiving it, then she had cried. She had written three or four letters -in answer to it, beginning, "Dear Mr Hancock," "My dear Mr Hancock," -"_Please_ do not think me horrid," etc.; but it was no use, each was a -distinct refusal, yet each seemed either too cold or too warm. "If I -send this," said she, "it will hurt him horribly, and he has been so -kind. Oh dear! why will men be so stupid, they are so nice if they'd -only not worry one to marry them. If I send _this_ it will only make -him think that I will 'have him in the end,' as Susannah says. I wish I -were a man." - -Besides love troubles household worries had their place. James had gone -very much to pieces morally in the last few days. He had taken -diligently to drink, the writing and quoting of poetry, and the pawning -of unconsidered trifles; between the bouts, in those fits of remorse, -which may be likened to the Fata Morgana of true repentance, he had -expended his energy on all sorts of household duties not required of -him: winding up clocks to their destruction, smashing china, and -scattering coals all over the place in attempts to convey over-full -scuttles to wrong rooms and in the face of gravity. The effect upon -Susannah of these eccentricities can be best described by the fact that -she lived now most of her time with her apron over her head. Housework -under these circumstances became a matter of some difficulty. - -It wanted some twenty minutes to eleven when the "brougham with -celluloid fittings," containing Miss Hancock, drove up the drive and -stopped before "The Laurels." - -Miss Hancock stepped out and up the steps, noticing to the minutest -detail the neglect before and around her. - -She gave her own characteristic knock--sharp, decided, and -business-like; she would also have given her own characteristic ring, -but that the bell failed to respond, the pull produced half a foot of -wire but no sound, and the knob, when she dropped it, dangled wearily as -if to say, "Now see what you've done! N'matter, _I_ don't care." - -She waited a little and knocked again; this time came footsteps and the -sound of bars coming down and bolts being unshot, the door opened two -inches on the chain, and the same pale blue eye and undecided-coloured -fringe that had appeared to Mr Bevan, appeared to the now incensed Miss -Hancock. - -Just as the rabbit peeping from its burrow sees the stoat and recognises -its old ancestral enemy, so Susannah, in Miss Hancock, beheld the Foe of -herself and all her tribe. - -"Is Miss Lambert at home?" asked the visitor sharply. - -"Yus, she's in." - -"Then open the door, I wish to see her." - -Susannah banged the door to, not to exclude the newcomer, but simply to -release the chain. Then she opened it again wide, as if to let in an -elephant. - -Susannah had not presented a particularly spruce appearance on the day -when Mr Bevan called and we first met her, but this morning she was -simply--awful. - -A lock of hair like a bight of half-unravelled cable hung down behind -her ear, her old print dress was indescribable, and she had, apparently, -some one else's slippers on. She had also the weary air of a person who -had been watching in a sick room all the night. - -Miss Hancock took this figure in with one snapshot glance; also the hall -untidied, the floor undusted, the dust-pan and brush laid on the stairs, -a trap for the unwary to step on; the grandfather's clock pointing to -quarter to six, and many other things which I have not seen or noticed, -but which were clear to Miss Hancock, just as nebulae and stars which, -looking in the direction of I cannot see, are clear to the two-foot -reflecting telescope of the Yerkes observatory. - -Susannah escorted the sniffing visitor into the library, dusted with -her apron the very same chair she had dusted for Mr Bevan, said, "I'll -tell Miss Fanny," and left the room, closing the door with a snap that -spoke, not volumes, but just simply words. - -The night before, after the other members of the household had retired, -James had taken it into his head to sit up in the library over the -remains of the fire left by Fanny. The room, as a consequence, reeked of -stale tobacco, a tumbler stood on the table convenient to the armchair. -Needless to say, the tumbler was empty. - -Miss Hancock looked around her at the books, at the carpet, at the -general litter. She came to the mantelpiece and touched it, looked at -the tip of her gloved finger to assay the quantity of dust to the square -millimetre, said, "Pah!" and sat down in the armchair. A _Pink Un_ of -George Lambert's lay invitingly near her on the table; she picked it up, -glanced at the title, read a joke, turned purple, and dropped the -raciest of all racing papers just as Fanny, fresh and charming, but -somewhat bewildered-looking, entered the room. - -Fanny felt sure that this visit of Miss Hancock's had something to do -with the letter of her brother's. She was relieved when her visitor, -after extending a hand emotionless and chill as the fin of a turtle, -said: - -"I had some business in Highgate, so I thought I would take the -opportunity of returning your parasol, which you left behind you the -other night." - -"Thanks awfully," said Fanny; "it's awfully good of you to take the -trouble. Please excuse the untidiness; we are in a great upset for--the -painters are coming in. Won't you come into the breakfast-room? There's -a fire there; it's not cold, I know, but I always think a fire is so -bright." - -She led the way to the breakfast-room, her visitor following, anxious to -see as much as she could of the inner working of the Lambert household. - -She gave a little start at the sight of the breakfast things not -removed, and another start at sight of the provender laid out for one -small person. The remains of a round of beef graced one end of the -board, and a haddock that, had it been let grow, would assuredly have -ended its life in the form of a whale, the other; there was also jam and -other things, including some shortbread on a plate. - -"Have you had breakfast?" asked Fanny in a hospitable tone of voice. - -"I breakfasted at quarter to eight," said Miss Hancock with a scarcely -perceptible emphasis on the "I." - -"I know we're awfully late as a rule," said Fanny, as they sat down near -the window, in and out of which the wasps were coming, and through which -the sun shone, laying a burning square on the carpet, "but I hate early -breakfast. When I breakfast at eight I feel a hundred years old by -twelve. Did you ever notice how awfully long mornings are?" - -"My mornings," said Miss Hancock, laying a scarcely perceptible accent -on the "my," "are all too short; an hour lost in the morning is never -regained. You cannot expect servants to be active and diligent without -you set them the example. We are placed, I think, in a very responsible -position with regard to our servants: as we make them so they are." - -"Do you think so?" said Fanny, trying to consider what part she possibly -could have had in the construction of James and the helpmeet Susannah. - -"I am sure of it. If we are idle or lazy ourselves they imitate us; they -are like children, and we should treat them as such. I ring the bell at -half-past five every morning for the maids, and I expect them to be down -by six." - -"What time do you get up?" - -"Half-past seven." - -"Then," said Fanny, laughing, "you don't set them--I mean they set you -the example, for they are up before you." - -"I spoke figuratively," said Miss Hancock rather stiffly, and eyeing the -handmaiden who had just appeared at the door to remove the things. - -"Give the fish to the cats, Susannah," said her mistress, "and be sure -to take the bones out; one nearly choked," she said, resuming her -conversation with her visitor, "the other morning." - -"Hum!" said Miss Hancock, unenthusiastic on the subject of choking cats. -"Do you always feed your animals on--good food?" - -"Yes, of course." - -"You are very young, and, of course, it is no affair of mine, but I -think in housekeeping--having first of all regard to waste--one ought to -consider how many poor people are starving. I send all my scraps to the -St Mark's Refuge Home, an excellent institution." - -"I used to give a lot of food away," said Fanny, "but I found it didn't -pay, people didn't want it. We had a barrel of beer that no one drank, -so I gave a tramp a jugful once, and he made a mark somewhere on the -house, and after that twenty or thirty tramps a day called. We couldn't -find the mark, so father had to have the whole lower part of the house -lime-washed, and the gate pillars. After that he said no more food was -to be given away, or beer." - -"There are poor and poor. To give beer to a tramp is in my opinion a -distinctly wicked act; it is simply feeding the flames of drunkenness, -as Mr Bulders says. You have heard of Mr Bulders?" - -"N--no." - -"I must introduce you. I hope you will like him, he is a great friend of -ours. Your Christian name is Fanny, I believe. May I call you Fanny?" - -"Yes," said Fanny. "How queer it is, nobody knows me for--I mean, -everybody always asks me that before I have known them for more----" - -"Everybody?" - -"Yes." - -"Gentlemen, my dear child, surely not?" - -"Yes, they do." - -Miss Hancock said nothing, but sat for a moment in silence gloating over -the girl before her. Here was a gold-mine of pure correction--the -metaphor is mixed perhaps, but you will understand it. Then she said: -"And do you permit it?" - -"Oh, _I_ don't care." - -"But I fancy, your father----" Miss Hancock paused. - -"Oh, father doesn't mind; every one has called me Fanny since I was so -high." - -"Yes, but, my dear girl, you are no longer a _child_. Fathers are -indulgent, and sometimes blind to what the world thinks; consider, when -you come to marry, when you come to have a husband----" - -"Oh, I hope it'll be a long time before I come to that," said Fanny, in -a tone of voice as if general service or the workhouse were the topic of -discussion. - -Miss Hancock took a rather deep inspiration, and was dumb for a moment. - -"I understood my brother to say that he had written to you on a subject -touching your welfare and his happiness?" - -Fanny flushed all over her face and neck. Only a little child or a very -young girl can blush like that--a blush that passes almost as quickly as -it comes, and is, perhaps, of all emotional expressions the most natural -and charming. - -"I did have a letter," she faltered, "and I have tried to answer it, am -going to answer it--I am so sorry----" - -"I don't see the necessity of being sorry," said the elder lady. "One -does not answer a letter of that description flippantly and by the next -post; my brother will quite understand and appreciate the cause of -delay." - -"Oh, but it's not the _delay_ I'm sorry for, it's the--it's the having -to say that--I can't say what he wants me to say." - -Miss Hancock raised her eyebrows. Miss Lambert's English was enough to -raise a grammarian from the grave, but it was not at the English that -Miss Hancock evinced surprise. - -James Hancock was not as old to his sister as he appeared to the rest -of the world, though she knew his age to a day and had quoted it as an -argument against his marriage; she did not appreciate the fact that he -looked every day of his age, and even perhaps a few days over. - -It is a pathetic and sometimes beautiful--and sometimes ugly--fact that -we are blind to much in the people we live with and grow up with. Joan -sees Darby very much as she saw him thirty years ago, and to Miss -Hancock her younger brother was her younger brother; and her younger -brother, to a woman, is never old. Besides being in the "prime of life," -James was clever; besides being clever, he was rich, very rich. What -more could a girl want? - -"You mean," said Patience, "that you cannot accept his proposition." - -"N--no--that is, I'd _like_ to, but I can't." - -"If you 'liked' to do it, I do not see what is to prevent you." - -"Oh, it's not that sort of liking. I mean I'd like to like him, I do -like him, but not in the way he wants." - -"It is no affair of mine," said Miss Hancock, "not in the least, but I -would urge you not to be too hasty in your reply. Think over it, weigh -the matter judicially before you decide upon what, after all, is the -most important decision a young girl is ever called upon to make." - -"I hate myself," broke out Fanny, who had been listening with bent head, -and finger tracing the pattern on the cloth of the table beside her. "I -hate myself. People are always doing me kindnesses and I am always -acting like a beast, so it seems to me, but how can I help it?" lifting -her head suddenly with a bright smile. "If I were to marry them all, I'd -have about fifty husbands, now--_more!_--so what am I to do?" - -Miss Hancock sniffed; she had never been in the same position herself, -so could give no advice from experience. The question rather irritated -her, and a smart lecture rose to her lips on the impropriety and -immodesty of girls allowing people of the other sex to "care for them," -etc., etc., but the lecture did not pass her lips. - -Since entering the house of the Lamberts the demon of Order had swelled -Jinnee-like in her breast, and the seven devils of spring cleaning, -each of whose right hands is a cake of soap, and whose left hands are -scrubbing-brushes, arose and ramped. The whole place and the people -therein, from the bell-pull to the cats'-breakfast-destined haddock, -from Susannah to her mistress, exercised a fascination upon Miss Hancock -beyond the power of words to describe. She had measured Susannah from -her sand-coloured hair to her slipshod feet, gauged her capacity for -work and her moral ineptitude, and had already dismissed her, in her -mind; as for the rest of the business, the ordering of Fanny and of her -father, whom she divined, the setting of the house to rights and the -righting of all the Lamberts' affairs, mundane and extra-mundane--this, -she felt, would be a work, which accomplished, she could say, "I have -not lived in vain." All this might be lost by a lecture misplaced. - -"Of course you will please yourself," she said. "I would only say do -nothing rashly; and in whatever way you decide, I hope you will always -be our friend. You are very young to have the cares of a house and the -ordering of servants thrust upon you, and any assistance or advice I -can give you, I should be very glad to give." - -"Thanks _so_ much!" - -"I would be very glad to call some day and have a good long chat with -you; my experience in housekeeping might be of assistance." - -"I should be _delighted_," gasped Fanny, who felt like a bird in the net -of the fowler, and whose soul was filled with one wild longing--the -longing to escape. - -"What day shall we say?" - -"Monday--no, not Monday, I have an engagement. Tuesday--I am not sure -about Tuesday. Suppose--suppose I write?" - -"I am disengaged all next week; any day you please to appoint I shall be -glad to come. What a large garden you have!" - -"Would you like to come round it?" - -"Yes; I will wait till you put on your hat." - -"Oh, I scarcely ever wear a hat in the garden. If you come this way we -can go out through the side door." - -They wandered around the garden, Miss Hancock making notes in her own -mind. As they passed the kitchen window, a face gazed out, a beery, -leery face, behind which could be seen the pale phantom of Susannah. The -face was gazing at Miss Hancock with an expression of amused and -critical impudence that caused that lady to pause and snort. - -"Did you see that man looking from the window?" she asked. - -"Yes," said Fanny in an agony, "it must have been the plumber; he came -this morning to mend the stove. Oh, here is your carriage waiting; _so_ -glad you called. Yes, I'll write." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE RESULT--(_continued_) - - -Miss Lambert ran back to the house. She made a bee-line for the library, -sat down at the writing-table, seized a pen and a sheet of paper, and -began writing as if inspired. This is what she wrote, in part: - - - "MY DEAR MR HANCOCK,--I have written several letters to you in - reply to yours, but I tore them up simply because I found it so - difficult to express what I wanted to say.... I can never, never, - marry you; I don't think I shall ever marry any one, at least, not - for a long time ... deeply, deeply respect you, and father says you - are the best man he ever met. Why not let us always be friends?... - It's a horrible world, and there are so few people who are really - nice in it ... you will quite understand ... etc." - -Four pages of this signed, - - "Always your sincere friend, - - "FANNY LAMBERT." - - -Now we have seen that Miss Hancock had endeavoured as far as in her lay -to help along her brother's interests with Miss Lambert. Yet on the -receipt of the above letter the conviction entered the mind of James -Hancock, never to be evicted, that his sister had, vulgarly speaking, -"dished" the affair, and, moreover, that she had done so wittingly and -of malice prepense. - -Having gummed and stamped the envelope she went out herself and posted -it. - -When she came back she found Leavesley waiting for her. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -"JOURNEY'S END" - - -For some days past, ever since Verneede's fiasco in fact, Leavesley had -been very much down in the mouth. - -There is a tide in the affairs of man that when it reaches its lowest -ebb usually takes a turn. The tide had been out with Leavesley for some -time, and acres of desolate mud spoke nothing of the rolling breakers -that were coming in. - -The first roller had arrived by the first post on this very morning. It -was a letter from his uncle. - - - "GORDON SQUARE. - - "DEAR FRANK,--I am in bed with a bad foot, or I would ask you to - call and see me. - - "I want that five pounds back. I made a will some years ago, by - which you benefited to the extent of two thousand pounds; I am - destroying that will, and drafting another. - - "It's this way. I don't intend to die just yet, and you may as well - have the two thousand now, when it will be of use to you. Call on - Bridgewater, he will hand you shares to the amount in the Great - Western Railway. Take my advice and don't sell them, they are going - to rise, but of course, as to this you are your own master.--Your - affectionate uncle, - - "JAMES HANCOCK." - - -"Two thousand pounds!" yelled Leavesley, "Belinda!" (he had heard her -foot on the stairs). - -"Yessir." - -"I've been left two thousand pounds." Belinda passed on her avocations; -she thought it was another of Mr Leavesley's jokes. - -He ate a tremendous breakfast without knowing what he was eating, and in -the middle of it the second roller came in. - -It was a telegram. - -He felt certain it was from Hancock revoking his legacy. It was from -Miss Lambert. - - - "Only just found your letter. Please call this morning. Good news - to tell you." - - -"Fanny!" cried Leavesley, as he stood before her in the drawing-room of -"The Laurels" (she had just entered the room, having returned from -posting her letter). - -"Think--I've got two thousand pounds this morning!" - -"Mercy!" cried Miss Lambert. "Where did you get it from?" - -"Uncle." - -"Mr Hancock?" - -"Yes; he was going to have left me it in his will, but he's given me it -instead." - -"How good of him!" said Fanny. She was about to say something else, but -she stopped. - -"That's my good news," continued Leavesley. "What's yours?" - -"Mine? Oh--just think! Father's engaged to be married." - -"To be married?" - -"Yes, to a Miss Pursehouse; she's _awfully_ rich." - -He did not for a moment grasp the importance of this piece of -intelligence. Then it broke on him. Now that Fanny's father was provided -for, she would be free to marry any one she liked. - - * * * * * - -"I was nearly heart-broken," mumbled Leavesley into Fanny's hair--they -were seated on the couch--"when you didn't reply." - -"The letter was on the kitchen dresser all the time," replied Fanny in -a happy and dreamy voice, "behind a plate." - -"And then when old Verneede called, and you seemed so indifferent--at -least, he said you did." - -"Who said I did?" - -"Verneede; when he called here that day." - -"He never called here." - -"_Verneede_ never called here?" - -"Never in his life." - -"He said he did, and he saw you, and told you I was going to Australia, -and you didn't care." - -"Oh, what a horrid, wicked story! He never came here." - -"He must have been dreaming then," said Leavesley, who began to see how -matters stood as regards the veracity of Verneede. "No matter, I don't -care now. Hold me tighter, Fanny." - - * * * * * - -Till some one discovers the art of printing kisses, asterisks must -serve. - -"But," said Leavesley after an interval of sweet silence, "what I can't -make out is how Bridgewater found out about you and me." - -"Bridgewater!" - -"Yes; he told my aunt all about us, and our going to Epping Forest: only -the old fool said we went to the Zoo." - -Fanny was silent. Then she said in a perplexed voice: "I want to tell -you something. I did go to the Zoo." - -"When?" - -"The other day." - -"Who with?" - -"Guess!" - -"Not--not Bevan?" - -"No," said Fanny, "with your uncle." - -Leavesley laughed. - -"What a joke! Are you really in earnest?" - -"Yes; he wrote to ask if I'd like to go, and I went. We met Mr -Bridgewater." - -"Oh, that accounts for it; he's mixed me and uncle up together--he must -be going mad. Every one seems a little mad lately, uncle -especially--taking you to the Zoo, and giving me two thousand, -and--and--no matter, kiss me again." - - * * * * * * - -"Now," said Fanny, suddenly jumping up, "I must see after the house. -Father wired this morning that he was bringing Miss Pursehouse here -to-day to see the place, and I must get it tidy. Who's there?" - -"Miss Fanny," said Susannah, opening the door an inch. Miss Lambert left -the room hurriedly and closed the door. There was something in -Susannah's voice that told her "something had happened." - -"He's downstairs in the library." - -"Oh, my goodness!" murmured Fanny with a frown; visions of Mr Hancock in -all the positions of love-making rose before her. "_Why_ didn't you say -I was out?" - -"I did, miss, and he said he'd wait." - -Fanny went downstairs and into the library, and there before her stood -Mr Bevan on the hearthrug. - -Her face brightened wonderfully. - -"I _am_ so glad--when did you come? Guess who I thought it was? I -thought it was Mr Hancock." - -"Hancock?" said Charles, who had held her outstretched hand just a -moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "Oh, that affair is all -over. I stopped the action--by the way, I believe old Hancock's cracked; -sent your father a most extraordinary wire, saying I was--what was it he -said?--a duck, I think." - -"Where have you seen father?" - -"Why, I was staying in the same house with him down in Sussex for a -day." - -"At Miss Pursehouse's?" - -"Yes." - -"How awfully funny! Did he tell you?" - -"What?" - -"That he's engaged to be married to Miss Pursehouse. I had the letter -this morning--oh, of course he couldn't have told you, for he only -proposed yesterday afternoon. He wrote in an awful hurry, just a line to -say he's 'engaged and done for.' Isn't he funny? There was another man -after her, and father says he has 'cut him out.' Do tell me all about -them; did you see the other man? and what did you think of father--isn't -he a dear?" - -"Yes," said Mr Bevan abstractedly. He was flabbergasted with the news -and irritated, although he was not in love, and never had been in love, -with Miss Pursehouse, still, it was distinctly unpleasant to think that -he had been "cut out." - -"I thought he seemed fond of her in Paris," continued Fanny, "but one -never can tell. I'm glad he got the telegram all right. It was I that -sent it. I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock----" - -"I beg your pardon?" said Mr Bevan. - -"I was going to the Zoo with Mr Hancock. Oh, I have such a lot to tell -you, but promise me first you'll never tell." - -"Yes." - -"Well--guess what's happened?" - -"Can't think." - -"Well, Mr Hancock proposed to me--but you won't tell, will you?" - -Mr Bevan gasped. - -"_Hancock!_" - -"Yes; he wrote such a funny, queer little letter. It made me cry." - -"_Hancock!_" - -"Yes, but you've promised never to tell. Every one seems to have been -proposing to me in the last three months, and I wish they'd stop--I wish -they'd stop," said Miss Lambert, half-talking to herself and half to -Bevan, half-laughing and half-crying all at the same time; "it's got on -my nerves. James will be the next--it's like the influenza, it seems in -the air----" - -"I came to-day," said Mr Bevan with awful and preternatural gravity, "to -speak to you, Fanny--to tell you that ever since I saw you first, I -have thought of nobody else----" - -"Oh, stop," said Fanny, "stop, stop--oh, this is too bad! I never -thought _you_ would do it. I thought I had one f-f-friend." - -"_Don't_ cry; Fanny, listen to me." - -"I can't help it, it's too awful." - -"Fanny!" - -"Yes, Charles?" - -"Dry your eyes, and tell me this; am I so very dreadful? Don't you think -if you tried you could care for me? I know I'm not clever and all -that--look up." He took her hand, and she let him hold it. - -Then she spoke these hope-destroying words: - -"If I h--hadn't met _him_, I believe I--I--I'd have married you--if -you'd asked me." - -"Oh, my God!--it's all up then," said Bevan. - -"We're both so poor," said Fanny, "that you needn't envy us, dear Cousin -Charles; all we've got in the world is our love for each other." - -"He's a painter, is he not?" - -"Yes," said Fanny, peeping up; "but how did you know?" - -"Miss Morgan, that American girl, told me something about him." Mr Bevan -stood silent for a moment, and then went on: "Look here, Fanny, just -think this matter over and tell me your mind. I'll put my case before -you. You like me, I think?" - -"Yes, I _do_." - -"Well, I am not so very old, and I am rich; between one thing and -another I have about eight thousand a year. We might be very happy -together--don't interrupt me, I am just stating my case--money means a -lot in this world; it's not everything, I admit--there are some men -richer than I, that I would be sorry to see any girl married to. Well, -on the other hand, there is this other man; he may be awfully jolly, and -all that sort of thing, but he's poor--very poor, from what I can -gather. Before you kick me over, think of the future--think well." - -"Do you know," said Fanny, "that if you had come yesterday, and had -asked me to marry you, I believe I would have said 'yes,' and then we -would have been always miserable. I would have married you for your -money; not for myself, but to help father. But you see now that he is -going to be married to Miss Pursehouse _she'll_ take care of him." - -"He is not married to her yet," said Charles, thinking of Lulu Morgan's -words, and cursing himself for having let days slip by, for he could -have called yesterday, or the day before, but for indecision--that most -fatal of all elements in human affairs. - -"No, but he will marry her, for when father makes up his mind to do a -thing he always does it." - -"So then," he said, "you have made up your mind irrevocably not to have -anything to do with me?" - -"I must, I must--Oh dear, I wish I were _dead_. I will always be your -friend--I will always be a sister to you." - -"Don't--don't say anything more about it, please. You can't help -yourself--it's fate." - -"You're not angry with me?" - -"No--let us talk of other things. How are you getting on, has that man -been giving any more trouble?" - -"James--oh, he's been dreadful. His wife has run away from their -lodgings; and now he says she was not his wife at all, and Susannah is -breaking her heart, for she can't bring him to the point. When she -suggests marriage he does all his things up in a bundle and says he's -going to Australia. I'll get father to turn him out when he comes -back." - -"Let me," said Charles, who felt an imperative desire to kick some -one--himself, if possible--that being out of the question--James. - -"No," said Fanny, as he rose and took his hat preparatory to departing, -"for she'd follow him, and I'd be left alone. Who is this?" - -A hansom cab was crashing up the gravel drive. - -"It's father--and Miss Pursehouse." - -"Who do you say?" cried Bevan. - -"Miss Pursehouse." - -"Fanny!" cried Mr Bevan in desperation. - -"Yes?" - -"Don't let them in here, don't let them see me." - -"Then quick," said Fanny, not knowing the truth of the matter, but -guessing that Charles as a rejected lover had his feelings, and -preferred not to meet her father. - -She led him across the hall and down some steps, then pushed him into a -passage, which, being pursued, led to the kitchen, whence through the -scullery flight might be effected by the back entry of "The Laurels." - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny Lambert, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY LAMBERT *** - -***** This file should be named 55454.txt or 55454.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/4/5/55454/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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