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diff --git a/old/60452-0.txt b/old/60452-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ff699a..0000000 --- a/old/60452-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11201 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Off Sandy Hook and other stories, by Richard Dehan - -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: Off Sandy Hook and other stories - -Author: Richard Dehan - -Release Date: October 8, 2019 [EBook #60452] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OFF SANDY HOOK AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - OFF SANDY HOOK - - AND OTHER STORIES - - - - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - - THE MAN OF IRON - ONE BRAVER THING (THE DOP DOCTOR) - BETWEEN TWO THIEVES - THE HEADQUARTER RECRUIT - THE COST OF WINGS - - - - - OFF SANDY HOOK - AND OTHER STORIES - - - BY - RICHARD DEHAN - - _Author of “One Braver Thing” (“The Dop Doctor”), “The Man of Iron,” - “Between Two Thieves,” etc._ - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - - - _Copyright, 1915, by_ - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - - _All rights reserved, including that of translation - into foreign languages_ - - -[Illustration: _September, 1915_] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - OFF SANDY HOOK 1 - - GEMINI 15 - - A DISH OF MACARONI 31 - - “FREDDY & C^{IE}” 44 - - UNDER THE ELECTRICS 60 - - “VALCOURT’S GRIN” 68 - - THE EVOLUTION OF THE FAIREST 81 - - THE REVOLT OF RUSTLETON 95 - - A DYSPEPTIC’S TRAGEDY 107 - - RENOVATION 119 - - THE BREAKING PLACE 133 - - A LANCASHIRE DAISY 143 - - A PITCHED BATTLE 154 - - THE TUG OF WAR 164 - - GAS! 180 - - AIR 193 - - SIDE! 205 - - A SPIRIT ELOPEMENT 219 - - THE WIDOW’S MITE 230 - - SUSANNA AND HER ELDERS 241 - - LADY CLANBEVAN’S BABY 264 - - THE DUCHESS’S DILEMMA 276 - - THE CHILD 287 - - A HINDERED HONEYMOON 295 - - “CLOTHES—AND THE MAN—!” 308 - - THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA 317 - - - - - OFF SANDY HOOK - - AND OTHER STORIES - - - - - OFF SANDY HOOK - - -On board the Rampatina liner, eleven days and a half out from Liverpool, -the usual terrific sensation created by the appearance of the -pilot-yacht prevailed. Necks were craned and toes were trodden on as the -steamer slackened speed, and a line dexterously thrown by a -blue-jerseyed deck-hand was caught by somebody aboard the yacht. The -pilot, not insensible to the fact of his being a personage of note, -carefully divested his bearded countenance of all expression as he -saluted the Captain, and taking from the deck-steward’s obsequiously -proffered salver a glass containing four-fingers of neat Bourbon whisky, -concealed its contents about his person without perceptible emotion, and -went up with the First Officer upon the upper bridge as the relieved -skipper plunged below. The telegraphs clicked their message—the -leviathan hulk of the liner quivered and began to forge slowly ahead, -and an intelligent-looking, thin-lipped, badly-shaved young man in a -bowler, tweeds, and striped necktie, introduced himself to the Second -Officer as an emissary of the Press. - -“Mr. Cyrus K. Pillson, _New York Yeller_.... Pleased to know you, sir,” -said the Second Officer; “step into the smoke-room, this way. -Bar-steward, a brandy cocktail for me, and you, sir, order whatever you -are most in the habit of hoisting. Whisky straight! Now, sir, happy to -afford you what information I can!” - -“I presume,” observed the young gentleman of the Press, settling himself -on the springy morocco cushions and accepting the Second Officer’s -polite offer of a green Havana of the strongest kind, “that you have had -a smooth passage, considerin’ the time of year?” - -“Smooth....” The Second Officer carefully reversed in his reply the -Pressman’s remark: “Well, yes, the time of year considered, a smooth -passage, I take it, we _have_ had.” - -“No fogs?” interrogated the young gentleman, clicking the elastic band -of a notebook which projected from his breast-pocket. - -“Fogs?... No!” said the Second Officer. - -“You didn’t chance,” pursued the young gentleman of the Press, taking -his short drink from the steward’s salver and throwing it contemptuously -down his throat, “to fall in with a berg off the Bank, did you?” - -“Not a smell of one!” replied the Second Officer with decision. - -“Ran into a derelict hencoop, perhaps?” persisted the young gentleman, -concealing the worn sole of a wearied boot from the searching glare of -the electric light by tucking it underneath him, “or an old lady’s -bonnet-box? ... or a rubber doll some woman’s baby had lost overboard? -No?” he echoed, as the Second Officer shook his head. “Then, how in -thunder did you manage to lose twenty feet of your port-rail?” - -“Carried away,” said the Second Officer, offering the young Press -gentleman a light. - -“No, thanks. Always eat mine,” said the young Press gentleman -gracefully. - -“Matter of taste,” observed the Second Officer, blowing blue rings. - -“I guess so; and I’ve a taste for knowing how you came,” said the young -Pressman, “to part with that twenty foot of rail.” - -“Carried away,” said the Second Officer. - -“I kin see that,” retorted the visitor. - -“It was carried away,” said the Second Officer, “by an elephant.” - -“A pet you had running about aboard?” queried the Pressman, with -imperturbable coolness. - -“A passenger,” returned the Second Officer, with equal calm. - -There was a snap, and the Pressman’s notebook was open on his knee. The -pencil vibrated over the virgin page, when a curious utterance, between -a wail, a cough, and a roar, made the hand that held it start. - -“Yarr-rr! Ohowgh! Yarr!” The melancholy sound came from without, borne -on the cool breeze of a late afternoon in March, through the open -ventilators. - -“Might that,” queried the young gentleman of the Press, “be an -expression of opinion on the part of the elephant?” - -“Lord love you, no!” said the Second Officer. “It’s the leopard.” He -added after a second’s pause: “Or the puma.” - -“Do you happen to have a menagerie aboard?” inquired the Pressman, -making a note in shorthand. - -“No, sir. The beasts—elephants, leopards, and a box of cobras—are -invoiced from the London Docks to a wealthy amateur in New York State. -Not an iron king, or a corn king, or a cotton king, or a pickle king, or -a kerosene king,” said the Second Officer, with a steady upper lip, “but -a chewing-gum king.” - -“If you mean Shadland C. McOster,” said the Pressman, “my mother is his -cousin. They used to chew gum together in school recess, sir, little -guessing that Shad would one day soar, on wings made of that article, to -the realms of gilded plutocracy.” - -“I rather imagine the name you mention to be the right one,” said the -Second Officer cautiously, “but I won’t commit myself. The beasts -shipped from Liverpool are intended as a present for the purchaser’s -infant daughter on her fifth birthday.” - -“Yarr-rr! Ohowgh! Ohowgh!” Again the coughing roar vibrated through the -smoke-room. Then the chorus of “Hail Columbia!” rose from the promenade -deck, where the lady passengers were assembled ready to wave starred and -striped silk pocket-handkerchiefs and exchange patriotic sentiments at -the first glimpse of land. - -“It’s not what I should call a humly voice, that of the leopard,” -observed the Pressman, controlling a slight shiver. - -“Children have queer tastes,” said the Second Officer. “And it’s as well -Old Spots is lively, as Bingo’s dead.” - -“Bingo?” queried the Pressman. - -“Bingo was the elephant,” said the Second Officer, passing the palm of -his brown right hand over his upper lip as the Pressman made a few rapid -notes. “And if the particulars of the deathbed scene are likely to be of -any interest to you—why, you’re welcome to ’em!” - -“You’re white!” said the Pressman warmly, licking his pencil. “What did -your elephant die of?” - -“Seasickness!” said the Second Officer calmly. - -“I’ve seen a few things worth seeing—myself,” said the Pressman -enviously, “but not a seasick elephant.” - -“With a professional lady-nurse in attendance,” said the Second Officer; -“all complete from stem to stern, in her print gown, white apron, -fly-away cap-rigging, and ward shoes.” - -The Pressman grunted, but not from lack of interest. Doubled up in the -corner of the smoke-room divan, his notebook balanced on his bulging -shirt-front, he made furious notes. The Second Officer waited until the -pencil seemed hungry, and then fed it with a little more information. - -“When that girl came aboard at Liverpool with her mackintosh and holdall -and little black shiny bag,” he went on, “I just noticed her in a -passing sort of way as a fresh-colored, tidy-looking young woman, rather -plump in the bows, and with an air as though she meant to get her full -money’s worth out of her eleven-pound fare. But our cheap tariff had -filled the passenger-lists fairly full, and I’d a long score of things -to attend to. A special derrick had had to be rigged to sling the -elephant’s cage aboard, and a capital one it was, of sound Indian teak -strengthened with steel—must have cost a mint of money. We stowed it, -after a lot of sweat and swearing, on the promenade deck, abaft the -funnels, bolting it to rings specially screwed in the deck, passing a -wire hawser across the top, which was made fast to the port and -starboard davits, and rigging weather-screens of double tarpaulin to -keep Bingo warm and dry. The other beasts we shipped under the lee of -the forward cabin skylight; and I’d just got through the job when a -quiet ladylike voice at my elbow says: - -“‘If you please, officer, with regard to my patient, I wish to know——’ - -“‘Ask the purser, ma’am,’ I said, rather snappishly, for I was hot and -worried ... ‘or the head-stewardess.’ - -“‘I have asked them both,’ says the voice in a calm, determined way, -‘and have been referred to you.’ - -“‘Well, what is it?’ says I. - -“‘By mistake,’ says the young lady—for a young lady she was, and a -hospital nurse besides, neatly rigged out in the usual uniform—‘by -mistake I have had allotted to me a bedroom on the ground-floor, so far -from my patient that I cannot possibly hear him should he call me in the -night. And,’ she went on, as the breeze played with her white silk -bonnet-strings and the wavy little kinks of soft brown hair that framed -her forehead, ‘and I want you to move me to the upper floor at once.’ - -“‘You mean the promenade deck, madam,’ says I, smoothing out a grin, -though I’m well enough used to the odd bungles land-folks make over -names of things at sea.” - -The flying pencil stopped. The Pressman looked up, turning his shortened -cigar between his teeth. - -“When do we come to the elephant?” he asked. - -“We’re at him now,” said the Second Officer. “‘You mean the promenade -deck,’ says I. ‘Does your patient occupy one of the cabins on the port -or the starboard side, and may I ask his number and name?’ Then she -smiled at me brightly, her eyes and teeth making a sort of flash -together. ‘He doesn’t have a cabin,’ says she; ‘he sleeps in a cage. My -patient is Bingo, the elephant!’” - -“Great Pierpont Morgan!” ejaculated the Pressman. His previously flying -pencil became almost invisible from the extreme rapidity with which he -plied it. Drops of perspiration broke out upon his sallow forehead. -“Glory!” he cried. “And not another man thought it worth while to run -out and tackle this wallowing old tub but me!” - -“I touched my cap,” went on the Second Officer, “keeping down as -professionally as I could the surprise I felt.... ‘Do I understand, -madam,’ I asked, ‘that you are the elephant’s nurse?’ And at that she -nodded with another bright smile, and told me that she was Nurse Amy, of -St. Baalam’s Nursing Association, London, specially engaged by the -American gentleman who had bought the elephant——” - -“Shadland C. McOster,” prompted the Pressman, without looking up. - -“To attend to the animal on the voyage. It was understood that if the -principal patient’s condition permitted, Nurse Amy was to pay the -leopards such attentions as they were capable of appreciating, but there -was no pressure on this point.” - -“Ohowgh!” coughed the voice outside. “Yarr! Ohowgh!” - -“He smells the land, I guess,” said the Pressman. - -“Or the niggers,” suggested the Second Officer. “You ought to have heard -Bingo when we were three days out from the Mersey.... We’d had a fair -wind and a smooth sea at first, and nothing delighted the ladies and -children on board like feeding him with apples, and nuts, and biscuits, -and things prigged from the saloon tables. The sea-air must have -sharpened the beast’s appetite, I suppose, for that old trunk of his was -snorking round all day, and the Purser, who was naturally wild about it, -said he must have put away hogsheads of good things in addition to his -allowance of hay, and bread, and beetroot, and grain, and cabbages, and -sugar——” - -“Was he ca’am in temper?” asked the Pressman. - -“Mild as milk.... As kind a beast as ever breathed; and elephants do a -lot of breathing,” said the Second Officer. “The ladies and gentlemen in -the upper-deck cabins used to complain about his snoring in the night; -but as Nurse Amy said, there are people who’d complain about anything. -And some of ’em didn’t like the smell of elephant—which, I’ll allow, -when you happened to get to wind’ard of Bingo, was—phew!” - -“Pooty vociferous?” hinted the Pressman. - -“Until,” went on the Second Officer, “Nurse Amy took to washing him with -scented soap.” - -The pencil stopped. The Pressman looked up with circular eyes. -“Scented——” - -“Soap,” said the Second Officer. “No expense was to be spared—and we’d -several cases of a special toilet and complexion article on board. By -the living Harry! if you’d seen that elephant standing up over his -morning tub of hot water, swabbing away at himself with a deck-sponge -Nurse Amy had soaped for him, and then squirting the water over himself -to rinse off the soap, you’d have believed in the intelligence of -animals. The sight drew like a pantomime.... But by the sixth day out -Bingo had given up all interest in his own appearance. The weather was -squally, a bit of a sea got up, hardly a passenger put in an appearance -at the saloon tables, and Bingo only shook his ears when the bugle blew, -and turned away from his morning haystack and mound of cabbages with -disgust. Nurse Amy got him to eat some biscuits and drink a bucket of -Bovril, but you could see he was only doing it to oblige her. ‘Oh, come, -cheer up!’ she said in a brisk, professional way. ‘You’ll get your -sea-legs on directly and the officer says we’re having a wonderfully -smooth passage, considering the time of the year.’ But Bingo only -sighed, and two tears trickled out of his little red eyes, as he swayed -from side to side. ‘He’ll be worse before he’s better,’ says I; for -somehow I was generally about when Nurse Amy was looking after her big -charge. ‘He’ll be worse before he’s better,’ _and he was_.” - -The Pressman’s face was streaked and shiny, his hair lay glued to his -brow. The pencil went on, devouring page after page. - -“Nurse Amy, luckily for her patient, was not upset by the pitching of -the vessel, for it blew half a gale steady from the sou’-west, and the -old _Centipede_ dipped her nose pretty frequently. Nurse was as busy as -a bee endeavoring by every means she could devise or adopt from the -suggestions of the stewardesses, who showed a good deal of interest in -her and her charge, to alleviate the sufferings of Bingo. I have seen -that little woman stand for an hour on the wet planking, holding a -six-foot deck-swab soaked with eau-de-Cologne to Bingo’s forehead....” - -The Pressman jotted down, breathing heavily. “Deck-swab soaked in -eau-de-Cologne....” he muttered. “Must have cost slathers of money, I -reckon——” - -“No expense was to be spared,” the Second Officer reminded him gently. -“As for the brandy, Martell’s Three Star, he must have put away a dozen -bottles a day.” - -“No blamed wonder his head ached!” said the Pressman, moistening his own -dry lips. - -“Except an occasional bucket of arrowroot with port wine and a tin or so -of cuddy biscuits, the animal would take no other nourishment whatever,” -continued the Second Officer. “As he grew weaker and weaker, it was -touching to see the way in which he clung to Nurse Amy.” - -“Clung to her?” the Pressman wrote, marking the words for a headline. - -“Fact,” said the Second Officer. “He would put his trunk round her -waist, and lay his head on her shoulder as she stood on a ladder lashed -against the side of his cage. And he would hang out his forefoot to have -his pulse felt, quite in a Christian style. Then when Nurse Amy wanted -to take his temperature, the docile brute would curl up his fire-hose—I -mean his trunk—and open his mouth, so that the instrument might be -comfortably placed under his tongue.” - -“By gings, sir, this story is going to knock corners off creation!” -gasped the Pressman, pausing to wipe his face with a slightly smeary -cuff. “An elephant that understood the use of the therm—blame it! that -beast robbed some man of a fortune when he passed in his checks!” - -“We lost so many of the ordinary kind of instrument in this way,” went -on the Second Officer, almost pensively, “that at last Nurse Amy was -obliged to fall back upon the large thermometer and barometer combined -that usually hung in the first saloon. But it recorded, to our sorrow, -no improvement. The mercury steadily sank, and it became plain to Nurse -Amy’s professional eye that her patient was not long for this world.” - -“Say, do you believe elephants have souls?” queried the Pressman. The -Second Officer deigned no reply. - -“She could not leave him a moment; he trumpeted so awfully when he saw -her quit his side. I forgot to tell you that from the moment he first -felt himself attacked by sea-sickness his bellows of rage and agony were -frightful to hear. The other animals became excited by them; they roared -and snarled without cessation.” - -“Raised general hell,” said the Pressman, “with trimmings.” But he wrote -down with a sign that meant leaded spaces and giant capitals: - - “PANDEMONIUM IN MID-OCEAN!” - -“Nobody on board got a wink of sleep,” said the Second Officer—“that is, -unless the devoted Nurse Amy was by the sufferer’s side. Towards the -end, when, exhausted by days and nights of arduous nursing, the devoted -girl had retired to her deck-cabin to snatch a few moments of -much-needed rest, the entire crew vied with each other in efforts to -pacify Bingo, without the slightest effect. When they tried to put his -feet in hot water he mashed the ship’s buckets like so many -gooseberries, and shot the Purser down with half a trunkful of hot -cocoa, which had been offered as a last resource. But on Nurse Amy’s -appearing he grew pacified, and from that moment until the end the -heroic woman never left his side. I begged her to consider herself and -those dear to her,” said the Second Officer, with a little tremble in -his voice, “but she only smiled—a worn kind of smile—and said that duty -must be considered first. I won’t deny it,” said the Second Officer, -openly producing a very white pocket-handkerchief and unfolding it. “I -kissed that woman’s hand as though she had been the Queen.” He concealed -his face with the handkerchief and coughed rather loudly. - -“The Rude Shellback Touched to the Quick,” wrote the Pressman. “He Sheds -Tears.” “Get on with the death-scene, sir, if you don’t object!” he -said, breathing through his nose excitedly. “If that elephant asked for -a minister, I’d not be surprised!” - -“He did make his will, after a fashion,” said the narrator. “You see, -during the convulsive struggles I have described, when he broke off his -right tusk—didn’t I mention that?” - -“No!” denied the Pressman. - -“He broke it, anyhow, right off short, as a boy might snap a carrot,” -said the Second Officer. “There it lay, among the litter, in the bottom -of his cage. He had suddenly ceased trumpeting, and a deathly silence -had fallen on all creation, one would have said. The vessel still rolled -a bit, but the wind had fallen, and the sun was going down like a blot -of fire, on the——” - -“Western horizon,” wrote the Pressman. - -“Nurse Amy, from her ladder, still rendered the last offices of human -kindness to the sinking animal, sponging his forehead with ice-water and -fanning him with a bellows. As she whispered to me that the end was -near, Bingo opened his eyes. With an expiring effort he lifted the -broken tusk from the bottom of the cage, dropped it on the deck at his -faithful Nurse’s feet, uttered a heavy groan, threw up his trunk, sank -gently forward upon his massive knees, and died!” - -“The editor of the opposition paper will do another die when he runs his -eye over the _Yeller_ to-morrow morning,” said the Pressman, joyfully -smacking the rubber band round the filled notebook. “And the port-rail -got carried away when you yanked the body overboard?” - -“We couldn’t stuff him,” said the Second Officer with a sigh. “As for -preserving him in spirits, we hadn’t enough spirits left to think of it. -We rigged a special derrick, and heaved Bingo overboard, carrying away, -as you have guessed, the port-rail in the operation. As Bingo’s -tremendous carcass rose and floated buoyantly away to leeward, back and -head well above the water, and the two great ears resting flat upon the -surface like gigantic lily-pads, Nurse Amy uttered a faint cry and -swooned in my arms.” - -“Some folks get all the luck!” commented the Pressman, who, having -filled his book, was now jotting down notes upon his left cuff. - -“You’ve not much to complain of, it strikes me!” observed the Second -Officer, with a glance at the crammed notebook. - -“I guess that’s true!” said the Pressman, with a sigh of satisfaction. -“Now, all I want is a photograph or a sketch of that splendid heroine of -a girl, and the honor of shaking her hand, and telling her she deserves -to be an American—and I’d not trade places with the President.” - -The Second Officer appeared to be struggling with some emotion. The -muscles of his mouth worked violently. He reddened through the red, and -suspicious moisture shone in his eyes. One by one the members of the -silent but not unappreciative audience of male passengers that had -gradually gathered within earshot of the Second Officer and his victim, -manifested the same symptoms. And glancing for the first time at those -listening faces, and observing the identical expression stamped upon -each, the Pressman, encircled by wet, crinkled eyes, and -cheerfully-curled-back lips, fringed with teeth in all stages of -preservation, grasped the conviction that he had been had. And at this -crucial moment the hatch-door of the smoke-room rolled back in its brass -coamings, and a pointed gray beard and kindly keen eyes, sheltered by -the peak of a gold-laced cap, appeared in the aperture. - -“New York Harbor, gentlemen,” said the Captain genially. “We’re running -into the docks now, and the Custom House officers will board us -directly.... I shouldn’t wonder,” he continued, as the majority of the -occupants of the smoke-room one by one glided away, “if the newspapers -made a story out of our missing port-rail!” - -“Permit me to introduce myself as a reporter of the _N’York Yeller_,” -said the young gentleman in tweeds, as he rose and touched his hat. -“Perhaps, sir, you would favor me with the facts in connection with the -occurrence?” - -“Haven’t you had it from Murchison? Why, Murchison——” the Captain was -beginning, when with a choking snort the Second Officer rushed from the -smoke-room. “Though there’s nothing to tell, Mr. Reporter, worth -hearing. A derrick-chain broke at Southampton Docks, and a case of -agricultural machine-parts did the damage. We temporarily repaired with -some iron piping, and a length of wire hawser; but, of course, it shows -badly, and suggests——” - -“A collision!” said a smiling stranger. - -“Or an elephant,” said another. - -“Yarr!” proclaimed the horrible voice outside. “Ohowgh! Yarr!” - -“I understand,” said the Pressman with an effort, “that the elephant -emanated from the teeming brain of Mr. Murchison. But the leopard—there -is a leopard, I surmise, if hearing goes for evidence?” - -The Captain’s excellent teeth showed under his gray mustache. “That -noise, you mean?” he exclaimed.... “Oh, that’s one of our electric -air-pumps, for forcing air into the lower-deck storage chambers, you -know. She’s out of gear, and lets us know it in that way. Must have her -seen to at New York. Take a drink, won’t you? Come, gentlemen, order -what you please.” - -“Whisky, square,” murmured the Pressman, as the long, smooth glide of -the liner was checked, the engines throbbed and stopped, and the dull -roar of the docks pressed upon listening ears. He drank, and as the -fluid traversed the usual channel, his eye grew brighter.... “Say, -Captain,” he asked, “do you know where your Second Officer was raised?” - -“Murchison comes, I believe, from Yorkshire,” said the Captain. “Hey, -Murchison, isn’t that the place?” - -“I am not acquainted with the geology of Yorkshire,” observed the -Pressman, as he passed the Second Officer on his way to the smoke-room; -“but the soil grows good liars! So long!” - - - - - GEMINI - AN EMBARRASSMENT OF CHOICE - - -To Captain Galahad Ranking, grilling over his Musketry-Instructorship at -Hounslow one arid July, came a square lilac envelope, addressed in a -sprawling hand, with plenty of violet ink. The missive smelt of Rhine -violets. It bore a monogram, the initials “L. K.” fantastically -intertwined, and was, in fact, an invitation from his affectionate -cousin Laura, dated from a pleasant country mansion situate amid green -lawns and blushing rose-gardens on the Werkshire reaches of the Thames. - -Laura was not Galahad’s cousin by blood, but by marriage. Laura was the -still young and attractive widow of Thomson Kingdom, once a stout man on -the Stock Exchange, remarkable for a head of very upright gray hair and -a startling taste in printed linen. Pigs and peaches were his pet -hobbies, and the apoplectic seizure from which he never rallied was -induced by a weakness in “the City” caused by unprecedentedly heavy -selling-orders from a nervous north-eastern European capital, about the -time of the _entente cordiale_. So the bloom was barely off Laura’s -crêpe, and the new black gloves purchased by Galahad to grace his -kinsman’s obsequies had not done duty at another funeral. The scrawly -postscript to her letter said: “I want to consult you _very -particularly_, in the _most absolute confidence_, upon a matter -affecting my _whole future_.” - -Galahad Ranking, Junior Captain, Fourth Battalion Royal Deershire -Regiment, wrinkled up his freckled little countenance into queer -puckers, and rubbed his bristly cinnamon-colored hair, already getting -thin on the summit of his skull, as he puzzled the brain within that -receptacle as to the possible meaning of Laura’s impassioned appeal. He -was a small man, whose demure and spinster-like demeanor led new -acquaintances to ask him plumply how on earth he had managed to get his -D.S.O. - -“There were chances,” he would reply to these querists, “to be had out -there,” waving his hand vaguely in the direction of South Africa, “and I -saw one of them and took it—that’s all.” - -Others might pump him more successfully to the effect that he—Galahad -Ranking—was a poor devil of a militiaman attached to the Royal -Deershires; that a small detachment of that well-known territorial -regiment, garrisoned in a beastly small tin-pot fort on the Springbok -River, Eastern Transvaal, were by Boers besieged; that relief was -urgently necessary; and that “one of the fellows went and brought up -Kitchener.” Said fellow admitted upon further cross-examination to have -been himself. But for such details as that the bringing up involved a -six-mile run in scorching sun over tangled bush veldt, crossing the -enemy’s lines, being sniped at by Boer sharpshooters and chased by Boer -pickets, the curious must refer to despatches. Stampeding Army mules -would not trample the truth out of the man. - -He wrung half-hearted leave of absence from the powers that were, and -his orderly packed the battered tin suit-case and the Gladstone bag that -had spent three days at the bottom of a water-hole, and, having had its -numerous labels soaked off, bore a painfully leprous appearance. - -He found Laura’s omnibus automobile, with its luggage tender, waiting at -Cholsford Junction, and smiled his dry little smile, mentally comparing -the dimensions of the vehicle with the size of the guest. The suit-case -and the Gladstone bag made a poor show; but there were other things to -come: huge packages from the Stores, and a sea-weedy hamper from Great -Fishby, and some cases of champagne with the label of a first-class -Regent Street firm. “Poor Kingdom’s wine-merchants!” Ranking said to -himself, and he blinked in a bewildered way at a bandbox of mammoth -proportions and three dressmakers’ boxes of stout cardboard with tin -corners, their covers bearing the flourishing signature of Babin _et -Cie_. Because, you know, Laura’s bereavement was so very recent, and -bachelors of Galahad’s type have a somewhat exaggerated notion of the -extent to which conjugal mourners are expected to bewail themselves. -However, even a widow requires clothes. This handsome concession to -feminine idiosyncrasy made, Galahad ousted Laura’s chauffeur from the -driving-seat, and, assuming the steering-wheel, was reaching for the -starting-lever when the chauffeur stopped him with— - -“Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a gentleman to fetch.” - -“A visitor to The Rodelands?” Galahad asked, with furrows of surprise -forming below his hat-brim. - -The mechanic, a gloomy young man in a gold-banded cap, with a weakness -for wearing waterproofs in the driest weather, replied, without a -groom’s alertness or a groom’s civility: - -“It’s a gentleman staying at Eyot Cottage....” Adding, as Galahad -faintly recalled the creeper-covered cot in question, modestly perched -on the edge of a marshy lawn running down to the river, and usually let -by the landlord of the local hotel to honeymooning couples: “And we -usually give him a lift.” - -As the chauffeur spoke, the gentleman emerged from the dim, echoing -archway through which the down platform disgorged. The stranger was -young—Galahad, who was middle-aged, saw that at a glance—and fair, while -Galahad was sandy. He wore a suit of gray tweeds too short in the -sleeves and trouser-legs, and his cherubically pink countenance, adorned -with large, round, china-blue eyes and a little flaxen mustache, was -carried at an altitude which would have been disconcerting to a -Lifeguardsman of six feet high, and was simply maddening to Galahad, who -could only be categorized as small. We are all human, and Galahad was -secretly gratified to observe that the young giant’s shoulders boasted a -graceful droop, and that his chest was somewhat narrow. - -“Hullo, Watson!” observed the tall young gentleman, condescendingly; and -Watson smiled faintly and actually touched his cap as the new-comer -favored Galahad with a long and round-eyed stare. - -“I believe you are coming with us?” said Galahad, raising his hat with -punctilious politeness. - -“Not inside, thanks,” was the long-legged young stranger’s reply. He -stared harder than ever, and Watson murmured in Galahad’s ear that the -gentleman usually drove. - -“Does he?” ejaculated the astonished Galahad. - -A man may hold the rank of captain in one of his Majesty’s territorial -Regiments, and yet be shy; may have earned the right to adorn his thorax -with the D.S.O., and yet be bashful; may be a more than efficient -instructor in Musketry, and yet shrink from the gratuitous schooling of -underbred youth in the amenities of good breeding. In less time than it -takes to relate it, Galahad was stowed in the omnibus body of the -“Runhard” where, a very little kernel in a very roomy shell, he rattled -about as the familiar landscape reeled giddily by at the will and -pleasure of the long-legged young gentleman, who might be described as -the kind of driver that takes risks. A peculiarly steep and curving hill -announced by signboards lettered, in appropriate crimson, “Dangerous!” -afforded facilities for the exercise of his peculiar talent which -temporarily deprived the inside passenger of breath. - -The river lay at the bottom of the hill, and the dwelling of Mrs. -Kingdom, described in the local guide as “an elegant riparian villa,” -sat in its green meadows and sunny croquet lawns and rose-trellised -gardens, on the other side. - -The automobile swirled in at the lodge-gates, stopped, and Galahad got -out, welcomed by the joyful barking of Dinmonts, fox-terriers, pugs, and -poodles. - -Knee-deep in dogs, the little man responded to the respectful greeting -of Laura’s butler, a meek, gray-faced, little, elderly personage with a -frill of white whiskers akin to the hirsute adornments of the rare -variety of the howling ape. Then the drawing-room door swung open, -letting out an avalanche of Pomeranians and some Persian cats; Laura -rose from a sofa and advanced with a gushful greeting. Her outstretched -hands were grasped by Galahad; he was tinglingly conscious that her -widow’s weeds were eminently becoming. - -“Dear Captain Ranking, how sweet of you to run down!” Laura cooed. The -flash of admiration in Galahad’s weary gray eyes gave her sugared -assurance that she was looking her best; his ardent squeeze confirmed -the look. - -“You used to call me by my Christian name,” he was saying, with a little -undulating wobble of sentiment in his voice. Then his glance went past -Mrs. Kingdom, and his lean under-jaw dropped. The long-legged gentleman -in gray tweed, who had driven, or rather hustled, him from the station, -was sitting on the sofa in a suit of blue serge. No, Galahad was not -mistaken. There were the long legs, the champagne-bottle shoulders, the -china-blue eyes, and the little flaxen mustache. He did not look so -pink, that was all. And when Laura, with a nervous giggle, introduced -him as Mr. Lasher, he began getting up from the sofa as though he never -would have done. - -“How do?” he said, when his yellow head had soared to the ceiling. - -“Met you before,” said Galahad with some terseness. “And you frightened -me abominably by the way you scorched down Penniford Hill.” - -The long-legged young man stared with circular blue eyes. Laura burst -into a peal of rippling laughter, which struck Galahad as being forced -and beside the point. - -“My dear Galahad,” Mrs. Kingdom cried, “you must have met Brosy! This is -Dosy,” she added, as though all were now clear, and welcomed with a -perfect _feu de joie_ of giggles the entrance of the veritable and -original young man in gray tweeds who had driven the automobile, and now -came strolling into the drawing-room. Then she introduced the pair -formally to Captain Ranking as Mr. Theodosius and Mr. Ambrose Lasher, -and rustled away to pour out tea, leaving Galahad in a jaundiced frame -of mind. For one thing, he hated to be mystified; for another, being an -ordinary, though heroic, human being, he had taken at the first moment -of encounter a singularly ardent and sincere dislike to the -“long-legged, blue-eyed young bounder,” as he mentally termed Mr. Brosy -Lasher; and the discovery that the object of his loathing existed in -duplicate was not a welcome one. He was dry, stiff, and jerky in his -responses to the loud and patronizing advances of the two Lashers. -Fortunately the twin young gentlemen accepted as admiration, what was, -in fact, the opposite sentiment. They had been used to a good deal of -this since the first moment of their simultaneous entrance upon this -mundane stage, and they were twenty-six. - -“It is so sad,” Laura said in confidential aside to Galahad. “They have -lost both parents, and have hardly a penny in the world.” She raised and -crumpled her still pretty eyebrows with the old infantile air of appeal. -“Two such delightful boys, and so handsome! ... though to my eye Brosy’s -nose is less purely Greek in outline than Dosy’s. And they were educated -at a public school, with every advantage that a rich man’s sons might -naturally expect. But, of course, you recognized the _cachet_ of Eton at -once?” - -“I notice,” said Ranking drily, “that they both leave the lower button -of their waistcoats undone, and call men whom they don’t like ‘scugs.’” -His quiet eye dwelt with dubious tenderness upon the Messrs. Lasher, who -were romping with the dogs upon the sofas, and devouring cake and -strawberries with infantile greed. “I have heard of the Eton manner, of -course,” he added, “and I meet a good many Eton-bred men; but I can’t -say that these young fellows have any—any special characteristics in -common with—ah—those.” - -“They belong to a grand old family,” Laura continued, with an air of -proprietorship that puzzled Galahad. “The Lashers of Dropshire, you -know—quite historical. And their father ran through everything before -they came of age. So thoughtless, wasn’t it? And now they are looking -round for an opening in life, and really, they tell me, it is dreadfully -difficult to find.” - -“I rather imagined as much,” said Galahad, making a little point of -sarcasm all to himself, and secretly smiling over it. - -“I wonder if you could suggest anything; you are always so helpful,” -Laura went on. “That they must be together, of course, goes without -saying. And that, of course, increases the difficulty. But nobody could -be so inhuman as to part twins.” Her lips quivered, and her eyes grew -misty with unshed tears. - -“My dear Laura,” expostulated the puzzled Galahad, “you talk as though -these two young men were six years old instead of six-and-twenty.” - -“How changed you are!” Laura blinked away a tear. “You used to -understand me so much better in the old days. _Of course_, they are -grown up, that is plain to the meanest capacity. But they have such -boyish, charming, confiding natures.... Toto will bite, Brosy, if you -hold him in the air by the tail!... that a woman like myself.... If you -would like some more cherry cake, Dosy, do ring the bell!... a woman -like myself, married at eighteen to a man true and noble if you will, -but incapable of awakening the deeper chords of passion and.... Of -course, you are both going to dine here and help me to entertain Captain -Ranking!... denied the happiness of being a mother”—Laura drooped her -eyes and bit her lip, and blushed slightly—“must naturally find their -company a _great resource_. And the distant cousin with whom they are -staying, a Mrs. Le Bacon Chalmers, who has taken Eyot Cottage for the -summer months, _knows this_ and _lends_ them to me as _often_ as I -like.” - -“Upon my word, she is uncommonly kind!” said Galahad, with emphasis -stronger than Laura’s italics. - -“Yes, isn’t she?” responded Laura, whose sense of humor was obscured by -predilection. “They ride and drive the horses, and give Holt and the -gardeners advice, and they exercise the automobiles, and run the -electric launch about, and play tennis and croquet——” - -“And the devil generally!” were the words that Galahad bit off and -gulped down. - -He was very quiet at dinner, sitting in the deceased Kingdom’s place at -the foot of the table. And Dosy and Brosy were very loud and very large, -though looking, it must be confessed, exceedingly well in evening garb. -They made themselves very much at home upon Laura’s right and left hand, -recommending certain dishes to each other, criticizing more, ravaging -the bonbons, reveling in the dessert, calling, with artless airs of -connoisseurship, for special wines laid down by the noble man who yet -had not known how to awaken the deeper chords of passion. - -“Gad! what a pair of hawbucks!” Galahad mentally ejaculated as the -servants ran about like distracted ants, and Laura and Laura’s -inseparable though elderly companion-friend, Miss Glidding, vied with -each other in encouraging Theodosius and Ambrose to renewed attacks upon -the strawberries and peaches. - -Left alone with Dosy and Brosy, he submitted to be patronized, offered -cigars he had chosen, recommended to try liqueurs with whose liverish -and headachy qualities he had been acquainted of old. - -They walked with the ladies in the dewy rose-gardens after dinner, and -as Galahad paused to light a cigar, behold, he was left alone. Laura -with Brosy, Miss Glidding (who looked her best by bat-light) with Dosy, -had vanished in the shadowy windings of the trellis-walks and arcades. -And Captain Ranking, shrugging his shoulders, picked a half-seen -Niphetos, glimmering among the wet, shining leaves, and walked back to -the smoking-room, wondering why on earth Laura had dragged him down -where he seemed least to be wanted. What was the matter “affecting her -whole future” upon which she required advice? His heart gave a sickening -little jog as he realized that the future of Dosy, or possibly of Brosy, -might also be involved. True, Laura was thirty-nine; but what are years -when the heart is young? Galahad asked himself, as peal after peal of -the widow’s laughter broke the silence of the scented night. Other -mental interrogations fretted his aching brain. What must the servants -not have thought and said? What would the neighbors say? What would the -County think of such sportive, not to say frivolous, conduct on the part -of a widow but recently emancipated from weepers, whose handkerchiefs -were still bordered with the inch-deep inky deposit of conjugal woe? - -Kingdom was an easy-going, level-headed man, Galahad admitted, biting at -one of the deceased’s Havanas and frowning; “but he would have raised -the Devil over this. Possibly he’s doing it.” - -The portrait of Mr. Kingdom over the mantelshelf of the smoking-room -seemed to scowl confirmatively. The servants were all in bed, the -promenaders in the garden showed no signs of returning. Galahad shrugged -his little shoulders, and went away to bed in a charming, drum-windowed, -chintz-hung bower over the front porch. And just as his little cropped -head plumped down on the pillow it was electrically jolted up again. -Laura was saying good-night in the porch to one—or was it both?—of the -infernal twins. And before the hall-door clashed they had promised to -come over to lunch to-morrow. Confound them! it was to-morrow now. - -One has only to add that when, after exhausting watches, slumber visited -Galahad’s eyelids, the twins in maddening iteration played dominoes -throughout his dreams, to convince the reader that they had thoroughly -got upon his nerves. - -Laura, looking wonderfully fresh and young in a lace morning _négligé_ -of the peek-a-boo description, poured out his coffee at breakfast and -sympathized with him about the headache he denied. Then, shaded by a -fluffy black-and-white sunshade, the widow led Galahad out into the -sunny garden to a tree-shaded and sequestered nook where West Indian -hammocks hung, and, installing herself in one of these receptacles, -invited her husband’s cousin to repose himself in another. - -Lying on your back, counting ripening plums dangling from green branches -above, oscillating at the bidding of the lightest breeze, liable to -upset at the slightest movement, it is difficult to be indignant and -sarcastic; but Galahad was both. - -“Adopt these young men as sons, my dear Laura! Are there no parentless -babies in the local workhouse that would better supply the need you -express of having something to cherish and love?” exclaimed Galahad. - -He sat up with an effort and stared at Laura. Laura rocked, prone amid -cushions, knitting a silk necktie of a tender hue suited to a blonde -complexion. - -“Workhouse babies are invariably ugly, and unhealthy into the bargain,” -she pouted. - -“Some orphan child from a Home, that is pretty to look at and has had -the distemper properly,” suggested Galahad. - -“I don’t want an orphan from a Home,” objected Laura. “Besides, it -wouldn’t be a twin.” - -“There are such things as twin orphans, my dear Laura,” protested -Galahad. - -But Laura was firm. - -“Dosy and Brosy are very, very dear to me,” she protested, a little -pinkness about the eyelids and nostrils threatening an impending -tear-shower. “They came into my life,” she continued poetically, “at a -time of sorrow and bereavement, and the sunshine of their presence drove -the dark clouds away. Of course, they are too old, or, rather, not young -enough, to be really my sons,” she continued, “but they might have been -poor Tom’s.” - -“If poor Tom had fathered a brace of bounders like those,” burst out -Galahad, “poor Tom would have kicked himself—that’s all I know—kicked -himself!” he repeated, fuming and climbing out of his hammock. - -“Pray don’t be coarse,” entreated Laura—“and abusive,” she added, as an -afterthought. “Of course, as poor Tom’s trustee and executor, I am bound -to make a show of consulting you, though my mind is really made up, and -nobody can prevent my doing what I like with my own income. I shall -allow the boys five hundred a year each for pocket money,” she added -with a pretty maternal air. “And Dosy shall go into the Diplomatic -Service, and Brosy——” - -“You have broached the adoption plan to them then?” gasped Galahad. -Laura bowed her head. “And this relative with whom I gather they are now -staying,” he continued, “is she agreeable to the proposed arrangement?” - -“Mrs. Le Bacon Chalmers? She couldn’t prevent it if she wasn’t!” -retorted Laura, “as the boys are of age. But, as it happens, she thinks -the plan an ideal one.” - -“That proves the value of her judgment, certainly. And the County? Will -your friends and neighbors also think the plan an ideal one?” demanded -Galahad. - -“My friends and neighbors,” said Laura, loftily, “will think as I do, or -they will cease to be my friends.” - -Galahad, usually punctiliously well-mannered, whistled long and -dismally. “Phew! And when you have alienated every soul upon your -visiting list, what will you do for society?” - -“I shall have the boys,” said Laura, with defiant tenderness. - -“And when the ‘boys,’ as you call them, marry?” insinuated Galahad. - -Laura sat up so suddenly that all her cushions rolled out of the -hammock. “If this is how you treat me when I turn to you for advice——” -she began. - -“Laura,” said Galahad firmly, “you don’t want advice.” He held up his -lean brown hand and checked her, as she would have spoken. “Nor do you -require twin sons of six feet three. What you want is——” He was going in -his innocence to say “a sincere and candid friend,” and prove himself -the ideal by some plain speaking, but Laura fairly brimmed over with -conscious blushes. - -“How—how can you?” she said, in vibrating tones of reproach, devoid of -even a shade of anger. “So soon, too! As if I did not know what was due -to poor Tom——” - -The toot of a motor-horn, the scuffle of the engine, the dry whirr of -the brake as the locomotive stopped at the avenue gate, broke in upon -her heroics. - -“Here are the boys,” she cried rapturously, and, indeed, hopped out of -the hammock with the agility of girlhood as the long-legged, -yellow-haired twins came stalking over the grass. She held out her hands -to them with a pretty maternal gesture. - -“Dosy pet, Brosy darling,” she babbled, “come and kiss Mummy! We have -been telling all our little plans to Uncle Galahad, and Uncle quite -agrees.” - -“No! Does he, though?” was the simultaneous utterance of the long-legged -twins. They twirled their yellow mustaches, stooped awkwardly and -“kissed Mummy,” as Galahad uttered a yell of frenzied laughter, and, -throwing himself recklessly into his recently-vacated hammock, shot out -upon the other side. - -He went back to Hounslow that day. Dosy and Brosy dutifully accompanied -him to the station, and exchanged a fraternal wink when his train -steamed out. - -“What an infatuation!” he groaned. In his mind’s eye he saw the County -grinning over the childless widow and her adopted twins. As for Dosy and -Brosy, they would have what in America is termed “a soft snap.” Powerful -jaws had both the young gentlemen, wide and greedy gullets. Still, with -his mind’s eye Galahad saw their foolish, affectionate, sentimental -benefactress gnawed to the bare bone. Day by day he anticipated a letter -of shrill astonishment from his cotrustee, and when it came, hinting at -mental weakness and the necessity of restraint, he flamed up into -defense of Laura so hotly as to surprise himself. - -And then, before anything decisive had been done with regard to the -settlement—before Brosy and Dosy had taken up their quarters for good -beneath the roof of their adopted parent—a change befell, and Galahad -received an imploring note from Mrs. Kingdom soliciting his instant -presence upon “an urgent matter.” - -“She has thought better of it,” said Galahad to himself, as he obeyed -the summons. “Her native good sense”—you will realize that the man must -have been genuinely in love to believe in Laura’s native good sense—“has -come to her aid!” And in his mind’s eye he beheld the long, narrow backs -of the twins walking away into a dim perspective. - -It was September. Dosy and Brosy were shooting the widow’s partridges, -and Galahad found her alone. She was pleased and excited, with an air of -one who with difficulty keeps the cork in a bottle of mystery; and when -she clasped her hands round Galahad’s arm and told him what a true, true -friend he was! he felt absurdly tender, as he begged her to confide her -trouble to him. - -“I have made such a dreadful discovery,” Laura gasped, dabbing her eyes -with a filmy little square of cambric edged with the narrowest possible -line of black, “about the—about the boys.” - -Galahad strove to compose his features into an expression of decent -regret. - -“Mr. Ambrose and Mr. Theodosius Lasher.... I rather anticipated that -you—that possibly there were discoveries to be made.” He turned his -weary gray eyes upon Laura, and pulled at one wiry end of his little -gingery mustache. “Have they done anything very bad?” he asked, and his -tone was not uncheerful. - -“Bad!” echoed Laura, with indignant scorn. “As though two young men -gifted with natures like theirs”—she had left off calling them “boys,” -Galahad noticed—“so lofty, so noble, so unselfish—and yes, I will say -it, so pure!—could possibly be guilty of any bad or even doubtful -action. But you do not know them, and you are prejudiced; you must admit -you are prejudiced when you hear the—the truth.” The cork escaped, and -the secret came with it in a gush. “It is this: I cannot be a mother to -Dosy and Brosy; they, poor dears, cannot be my sons. I had not the least -idea of their true feeling with regard to me, nor had they, until quite -recently.” She swallowed a little sob and dabbed her eyes again. “Oh, -Galahad, they are madly in love with me, both of them. What, what am I -to do?” - -“Send them to the devil, the impudent young beggars!” snorted Galahad. -And, striding up and down between the trembling china-tables with -clenched fists and angry eyes, he said all the things he had longed to -say about folly, and madness and infatuation. - -A woman will always submit with a good grace to masculine upbraiding -when she has reason to believe the upbraider jealous. Laura bore his -reproaches with saintly sweetness. - -“They have behaved in the most honorable way, poor darlings!” she -protested, “though the realization of the true nature of their feelings -towards me, of course, came as a terrible shock. The deeds of settlement -had been drawn up. We planned, as soon as everything had been sealed and -signed, that the dear boys were to come and live here. I had furnished -their bedrooms exactly alike, and fitted up the smoking-room with twin -armchairs, twin tobacco-tables, and so on, when the blow fell.” She -deepened her voice to a thrilling whisper. “Dosy, looking quite pale and -tragic, asked for an interview in the conservatory; Brosy begged for a -private word in the pavilion at the end of the upper croquet-lawn. And -then,” said Laura, shedding abundant tears, “I knew what I had done. It -did occur to me that I might—might marry Brosy and adopt Dosy as my son, -or marry Dosy and regard Brosy as an heir. But no, it could not be. Dosy -proposed to take poison, or shoot himself, in the most unselfish way; -and Brosy suggested going in for a swim too soon after breakfast, and -never rising from a dive again. But neither could endure to live to see -me the bride of the other,” sobbed Laura. - -“And as this is England, and not Malabar,” uttered Galahad, dryly, “the -law is against your marrying both.” - -“Why, of course, my dear Galahad,” cried Laura innocently, scandalized -and round-eyed. - -The man who really loved her looked at her and forgave her foolishness. -She had set the County buzzing with the tale of her absurd infatuation; -she had compromised her dignity by the tragic follies of the past few -months; there was but one way of gagging the scandalmongers and -regaining lost ground, one way of getting out of the _impasse_. Galahad -pointed out that way, as Laura entreated him to suggest something. - -“Why not marry me?” he said bluntly. - -“Oh, Galahad!” cried Laura, bright-eyed and quite pleasantly thrilled. -“And then we can both adopt the boys.” - -“Whether they embrace that idea or not,” said Galahad, with his arm -round the long-coveted waist, “remains to be seen. But I promise you, if -occasion should arise, that I will act as a father to them.” - -He went out, in his new parental character, to look for Dosy and Brosy -and break the joyful news. His freckled little face was beaming with -smiles, his usually weary gray eyes were alight; he smiled under his -bristly little mustache as he selected a stout but stinging Malacca cane -from the late Thompson Kingdom’s collection in the hall.... - - - - - A DISH OF MACARONI - - -On the occasion of the tenth biennial visit of the Carlo Da Capo Grand -Opera Combination to the musical, if murky, city of Smutchester, the -principal members of the company pitched their tents, as was their wont, -at the Crown Diamonds Hotel, occupying an entire floor of that capacious -caravanserie, whose _chef_, to the grief of many honest British stomachs -and the unrestrained joy of these artless children of song, was of -cosmopolitan gifts, being an Italian-Spanish-Swiss-German. Here _prime -donne_, tenors, and bassos could revel in national dishes from which -their palates had long been divorced, and steaming masses of yellow -polenta, _knüdels_, and _borsch_, heaped dishes of sausages and red -cabbage, ragouts of cockscombs and chicken-livers, veal stewed with -tomatoes, frittura of artichokes, with other culinary delicacies strange -of aspect and garlicky as to smell, loaded the common board at each -meal, only to vanish like the summer snow, so seldom seen but so -constantly referred to by the poetical fictionist, amidst a Babel of -conversation which might only find its parallel in the parrot-house at -the Zoo. Ringed hands plunged into salad-bowls; the smoke of cigarettes -went up in the intervals between the courses; the meerschaum-colored -lager of Munich, the yellow beer of Bass, the purple Chianti, or the -vintage of Epernay brimmed the glasses; and the coffee that crowned the -banquet was black and thick and bitter as the soul of a singer who has -witnessed the triumph of a rival. - -For singers can be jealous: and the advice of Dr. Watts is more at -discount behind the operatic scenes, perhaps, than elsewhere. For women -may be, and are, jealous of other women; and men may be, and are, -jealous of men, off the stage; but it is reserved for the hero and -heroine of the stage to be jealous of one another. The glare of the -footlights, held by so many virtuous persons to be inimical to the -rosebud of innocence, has a curiously wilting and shriveling effect upon -the fine flower of chivalry. Signor Alberto Fumaroli, _primo uomo_, and -possessor of a glorious tenor, was possessed by the idea that the chief -soprano, De Melzi, the enchanting Teresa—still in the splendor of her -youth, with ebony tresses, eyes of jet, skin of ivory, an almost -imperceptible mustache, and a figure of the most seductive, doomed ere -long to expand into a pronounced _embonpoint_—had adorned her classic -temples with laurels which should by rights have decked his own. The -press-cuttings of the previous weeks certainly balanced in her favor. -Feeble-minded musical critics, of what the indignant tenor termed -“provincial rags,” lauded the Signora to the skies. She was termed a -“springing fountain of crystal song,” a “human bulbul in the rose-garden -of melody.” Eulogy had exhausted itself upon her; while he, Alberto -Fumaroli, the admired of empresses, master of the emotions of myriads of -American millionairesses, he was fobbed off with half a dozen -patronizing lines. Glancing over the paper in the saloon carriage, he -had seen the impertinent upper lip of the De Melzi, tipped with the -faintest line of shadow, curl with delight as she scanned each accursed -column in turn, and handed the paper to her aunt (a vast person -invariably clad in the tightest and shiniest of black satins, and -crowned with a towering hat of violet velvet adorned with once snowy -plumes and crushed crimson roses), who went everywhere with her niece, -and mounted guard over the exchequer. Outwardly calm as Vesuvius, and -cool as a Neapolitan ice on a hot day, the outraged Alberto endured the -triumph of the women, marked the subterranean chuckles of the stout -Signora, the mischievous enjoyment of Teresa; pulled his -Austrian-Tyrolese hat over his Corsican brows, and vowed a wily -_vendetta_. His opportunity for wreaking retribution would come at -Smutchester, he knew. Wagner was to be given at the Opera House, and as -great as the previous triumph of Teresa de Melzi in the rôle of -Elsa—newly added by the soprano to her _repertoire_—should be her fall. -_Evviva!_ Down with that fatally fascinating face, smiling so -provokingly under its laurels! She should taste the consequences of -having insulted a Neapolitan. And the tenor smiled so diabolically that -Zamboni, the basso, sarcastically inquired whether Fumaroli was -rehearsing _Mephistofole_? - -“Not so, dear friend,” Fumaroli responded, with a dazzling show of -ivories. “In that part I should make a _bel fiasco_; I have no desire to -emulate a basso or a bull.... But in this—the rôle in which I am -studying to perfect myself—I predict that I shall achieve a dazzling -success.” He drew out a green Russia-leather cigarette case, adorned -with a monogram in diamonds. “It is permitted that one smokes?” he -added, and immediately lighted up. - -“It is permitted, if I am to have one also.” - -The De Melzi stretched a white, bejeweled hand out, and the seething -Alberto, under pain of appearing openly impolite, was forced to comply. -“No, I will not take the cigarette you point out,” said the saucy _prima -donna_, as the tenor extended the open case. “It might disagree with me, -who knows? and I have predicted that in the part of Elsa to-morrow night -at Smutchester _I_ shall achieve a ‘dazzling success.’” And she smiled -with brilliant malice upon Alberto Fumaroli, who played Lohengrin. “They -are discriminating—the audiences of that big, black, melancholy -place—they never mistake geese for swans.” - -“_Ach_, no!” said the Impresario, looking up from his tatting—he was -engaged upon a green silk purse for Madame Da Capo, a wrinkled little -doll of an old lady with whom he was romantically in love. “They will -not take a _dournure_, some declamation, and half a dozen notes in the -upper register _bour dout botage_. Sing to them well, they will be ready -to give you their heads. But sing to them badly, and they will be ready -to pelt yours. Twenty years ago they did. I remember a graceless -impostor, a _ragazzo_ (foisted upon me for a season by a villain of an -agent), who annoyed them in _Almaviva_.... _Ebbene_! the elections were -in progress—there was a _dimonstranza_. I can smell those antique eggs, -those decomposed oranges, now.” - -“Heart’s dearest, thou must not excite thyself,” interrupted Madame; “it -is so bad for thee. Play at the poker-game, _mes enfants_,” she -continued, “and leave my good child, my beloved little one, alone!” -Saying this, Madame drew from her vast under-pocket a neat case -containing an ivory comb, and, removing the fearfully and wonderfully -braided traveling cap of the Impresario, fell to combing his few -remaining hairs until, soothed by the process, Carlo, who had been -christened Karl, fell asleep with his head on Madame’s shoulder; snoring -peacefully, despite the screams, shrieks, howls, and maledictions which -were the invariable accompaniment of the poker-game. - -The train bundled into Smutchester some hours later; a string of cabs -conveyed the Impresario, his wife, and the principal members of his -company to the Crown Diamonds Hotel. Before he sought his couch that -night the revengeful Alberto Fumaroli had interviewed the _chef_ and -bribed him with the gift of a box of regalias from the cedar -smoking-cabinet of a King, to aid in the carrying-out of the _vendetta_. -Josebattista Funkmuller was not a regal judge of cigars; but these were -black, rank, and oily enough to have made an Emperor most imperially -sick. Besides, the De Melzi had, or so he declared, once ascribed an -indigestion which had ruined, or so she swore, one of her grandest -_scenas_, to an omelette of his making, and the cook was not unwilling -that the haughty spirit of the _cantatrice_ should be crushed. His -complex nature, his cosmopolitan origin, showed in the plan Josebattista -Funkmuller now evolved and placed before the revengeful tenor, who -clasped him to his bosom in an ecstasy of delight, planting at the same -time a huge, resounding kiss upon both his cheeks. - -“It is perfection!” Fumaroli cried. “My friend, it can scarcely fail! If -it should, _per Bacco_! the Fiend himself is upon that insolent -creature’s side! But I never heard yet of his helping a woman to resist -temptation—_oh, mai!_ it is he who spreads the board and invites Eve.” - -And the tenor retired exultant. His sleeping-chamber was next door to -that of the hated _cantatrice_. He dressed upon the succeeding morning -to the accompaniment of _roulades_ trilled by the owner of the lovely -throat to which Fumaroli would so willingly have given the fatal -squeeze. And as Fumaroli, completing his frugal morning ablutions by -wiping his beautiful eyes and classic temples very gingerly with a damp -towel, paused to listen, a smile of peculiar malignancy was only partly -obscured by the folds of the towel. But when the tenor and the soprano -encountered at the twelve o’clock _déjeuner_, Fumaroli’s politeness was -excessive, and his large, dark, brilliant eyes responded to every glance -of the gleaming black orbs of De Melzi with a languorous, melting -significance which almost caused her heart to palpitate beneath her -Parisian corsets. Concealed passion lay, it might be, behind an -affectation of enmity and ill-will. - -“_Mai santo cielo!_” exclaimed the stout aunt, to whom the _cantatrice_ -subsequently revealed her suspicions, “thou guessest always as I myself -have thought. The unhappy man is devoured by a grand passion for my -Teresa. He grinds his teeth, he calls upon the saints, he grows more -bilious every day, and thou more beautiful. One day he will declare -himself——” - -“And I shall lose an entertaining enemy, to find a stupid lover,” -gurgled Teresa. She was looking divine, her dark beauty glowing like a -gem in the setting of an Eastern silk of shot turquoise and purple, -fifty yards of which an enamored noble of the Ukraine had thrown upon -the stage of the Opera House, St. Petersburg, wound round the stem of a -costly bouquet. She glanced in the mirror as she kissed the black nose -of her Japanese pug. “Every man becomes stupid after a while,” she went -on. “Even Josebattista is in love with me. He sends me a little note -written on _papier jambon_ to entreat an interview.” - -“My soul!” cried the stout aunt, “thou wilt not deny him?” - -The saucy singer shook her head as Funkmuller tapped at the door. One -need not give in detail the interview that eventuated. It is enough that -the intended treachery of Fumaroli was laid bare. His intended victim -laughed madly. - -“But it is a _cerotto_—what the English call a nincompoop,” she gasped, -pressing a laced handkerchief to her streaming eyes. “If the heavens -were to fall, then one could catch larks; but the proverb says nothing -about nightingales.” - -She tossed her brilliant head and took a turn or two upon the hotel -sitting-room carpet, considering. - -“I will keep this appointment,” said she. - -“_Dio!_ And risk thy precious reputation?” shrieked the aunt. - - “Chi sa? Chi sa? - Evviva l’opportunita!” - -hummed the provoking beauty. And she dealt the cook a sparkling glance -of such intelligence that he felt Signor Alberto would never triumph. -Relieved in mind, Josebattista Funkmuller took his leave. - -“I will return the King’s cigars,” he said, as he pressed his -garlic-scented mustache to the pearly knuckles of the lady. - -“Bah!” said she, “they were won in a raffle at Vienna.” - -The door closed upon the disgusted _chef_, and reopened ten minutes -later to admit a waiter carrying upon a salver a pretty three-cornered -pink note with a gold monogram in the corner. The writer entreated the -inestimable privilege of three minutes’ conversation with Madame de -Melzi in a private apartment in the basement of the hotel. He did not -propose to visit the _prima donna_ in her own rooms, even under the wing -of her aunt, for it was of supreme importance that tongues should not be -set wagging. Delicacy and respect prevented him from suggesting an -interview in the apartments occupied by himself. On the neutral ground -of an office in the basement the interview might take place without -comment or interruption. He was, in fact, waiting there for an answer. - -The answer came in the person of the singer herself, charmingly dressed -and radiant with loveliness. - -“Fie! What an underground hole! The window barred, the blank wall of an -area beyond it!” Her beautiful nostrils quivered. “_Caro mio_, you have -in that covered dish upon the table there something that smells good. -What is under the cover?” - -“Look and see!” said the cunning tenor, with a provoking smile. - -“I am not curious,” responded Teresa, putting both hands behind her and -leaning her back against the door. “Come, hurry up! One of your three -minutes has gone by, the other two will follow, and I shall be obliged -to take myself off without having heard this mysterious revelation. What -is it?” She showed a double row of pearl-hued teeth in a mischievous -smile. “Shall I guess? You have, by chance, fallen in love with me, and -wish to tell me so? How dull and unoriginal! A vivacious, interesting -enemy is to be preferred a million times before a stupid friend or a -commonplace adorer.” - -“_Grazie a Dio!_” said the tenor, “I am not in love with you.” But at -that moment he was actually upon the verge; and the dull, dampish little -basement room, floored with kamptulicon warmed by a grudging little -gas-stove, its walls adorned with a few obsolete and hideous prints, its -oilcloth-covered table, on which stood the mysterious dish, closely -covered, bubbling over a spirit lamp and flanked by a spoon, fork, and -plate—that little room might have been the scene of a declaration -instead of a punishment had it not been for the De Melzi’s amazing -nonchalance. It would have been pleasant to have seen the spiteful -little arrow pierce that lovely bosom. But instead of frowning or biting -her lips, Teresa laughed with the frankest grace in the world. - -“Dear Signor Alberto, Heaven has spared you much. Besides, you are of -those who esteem quantity above quality—and, for a certain thing, I -should be torn to pieces by the ladies of the Chorus.” She shrugged her -shoulders. “Well, what is this mysterious communication? The three -minutes are up, the fumes of a gas fire are bad for the throat—and I -presume you of all people would not wish me to sing ‘Elsa’ with a veiled -voice, and disappoint the dear people of Smutchester, and Messieurs the -critics, who say such kind things.” - -Alberto Fumaroli’s brain spun round. Quick as thought his supple hand -went out; the wrist of the coquettish _prima donna_ was imprisoned as in -a vise of steel. - -“_Ragazza!_” he gnashed out, “you shall pay for your cursed insolence.” -He swung the _cantatrice_ from the door, and Teresa, noting the -convulsed workings of his Corsican features, and devoured by the almost -scorching glare of his fierce eyes, felt a thrill of alarm. - -“_Oimè!_ Signor,” she faltered, “what do you mean by this violence? -Recollect that we are not now upon the stage.” - -A harsh laugh came from the bull throat of the tenor. - - “By mystic Love - Brought from the distance - In thy hour of need. - Behold me, O Elsa! - Loveliest, purest— - Thine own - Unknown!” - -he hummed. But his Elsa did not entreat to flow about his feet like the -river, or kiss them like the flowers blooming amidst the grasses he -trod. Struggling in vain for release from the rude, unchivalrous grasp, -an idea came to her; she stooped her beautiful head and bit Lohengrin -smartly on the wrist, evoking, instead of further music, a torrent of -curses; and as Alberto danced and yelled in agony, she darted from the -room. With the key she had previously extracted she locked the door; and -as her light footsteps and crisping draperies retreated along the -passage, the tenor realized that he was caught in his own trap. Winding -his handkerchief about his smarting wrist, he bestowed a few more hearty -curses upon Teresa, and sat down upon a horsehair-covered chair to wait -for deliverance. They could not possibly give “Lohengrin” without -him—there was no understudy for the part. For her own sake, therefore, -the De Melzi would see him released in time to assume the armor of the -Knight of the Swan. _Ebbene!_ There was nothing to do but wait. He -looked at his watch, a superb timepiece encrusted with brilliants. Two -o’clock! And the opera did not commence until eight. Six hours to spend -in this underground hole, if no one came to let him out. Patience! He -would smoke. He got over half an hour with the aid of the green -cigarette-case. Then he did a little pounding at the door. This bruised -his tender hands, and he soon left off and took to shouting. To the -utmost efforts of his magnificent voice no response was made; the part -of the hotel basement in which his prison happened to be situated was, -in the daytime, when all the servants were engaged in their various -departments, almost deserted. Therefore, after an hour of shouting, -Fumaroli abandoned his efforts. - -What was to be done? He could take a _siesta_, and did, extended upon -two of the grim horsehair chairs with which the apartment was furnished. -He slept excellently for an hour, and woke hungry. - -Hungry! _Diavolo!_ with what a raging hunger—an appetite of Gargantuan -proportions, sharpened to the pitch of famine by the bubbling gushes of -savory steam that jetted from underneath the cover of the mysterious -dish still simmering over its spirit-lamp upon the table! He knew what -that dish contained—his revenge, in fact. Well, it had missed fire, the -_vendetta_. He who had devised the ordeal of temptation for Teresa found -himself helpless, exposed to its fiendish seductions. Not that he would -be likely to yield, _oh mai!_ was it probable? He banished the idea with -a gesture full of superb scorn and a haughty smile. Never, a thousand -times never! The cunning Teresa should be disappointed. That evening’s -performance should be attacked by him as ever, fasting, the voice of -melody, the sonorous lungs, supported by an empty frame. _Cospetto!_ how -savory the smell that came from that covered dish! The unhappy tenor -moved to the table, snuffed it up in nosefuls, thought of flinging the -dish and its contents out of window—would have done so had not the -window been barred. - -“After all, perhaps she means to keep me here all night,” he thought, -and rashly lifted the dish-cover, revealing a vast and heaving plain of -macaroni, over which little rills of liquid butter wandered. Parmesan -cheese was not lacking to the dish, nor the bland juices of the sliced -tomato, and, like the violet by the wayside, the modest garlic added its -perfume to the distracting bouquet. Fumaroli was only human, though, as -a tenor, divine. He had been shut up for four hours, fasting, in company -with a dish of macaroni.... Ah, Heaven! he could endure no longer.... He -drew up a chair, grasped fork and spoon—fell to. In the act of finishing -the dish, he started, fancying that the silvery tinkle of a feminine -laugh sounded at the keyhole. But his faculties were dulled by vast -feeding; his anger, like his appetite, had lost its edge. With an effort -he disposed of the last shreds of macaroni, the last trickle of butter; -and at seven o’clock a waiter, who accidentally unlocked the door of the -basement room, awakened a plethoric sleeper from heavy dreams. - -“To the Opera House,” was the listless direction he gave the driver of -his hired brougham; as one in a dream he entered by the stage-door, and -strode to his room. - -The curtain had already risen upon grassy lowlands in the neighborhood -of Antwerp. Henry, King of Germany, seated under a spreading canvas oak, -held court with military pomp. Frederic of Telramond, wizard husband of -Ortrud, the witch, had stepped forward to accuse Elsa of the murder of -her brother, Gottlieb; the King had cried, “Summon the maid!” and in -answer to the command, amidst the blare of brass and the clashing of -swords, the De Melzi, draped in pure white, followed by her ladies, and -looking the picture of virginal innocence, moved dreamily into view: - - “How like an angel! - He who accuses her - Must surely prove - This maiden’s guilt.” - -Ah! had those who listened to the thrilling strains that poured from -those exquisite lips but guessed, as Elsa described the appearance of -her dream-defender, her shining Knight, and sank upon her knees in an -ecstasy of passionate prayer, that the celestial deliverer was at that -moment gasping in the agonies of indigestion! - - “Let me behold - That form of light!” - -entreated the maiden; and amidst the exclamations of the eight-part -chorus the swan-drawn bark approached the bank; the noble, if somewhat -fleshy, form of Alberto Fumaroli, clad from head to foot in silvery -mail, stepped from it.... With lofty grace he waved his adieu to the -swan, he launched upon his opening strain of unaccompanied melody.... -Alas! how muffled, how farinaceous those once clarion tones!... In -labored accents, amid the growing disappointment of the Smutchester -audience, Lohengrin announced his mission to the King. As he folded the -entranced Elsa to his oppressed bosom, crying: - - “Elsa, I love thee!” - -“She-devil, you have ruined me!” he hissed in the De Melzi’s ear. - - “My hope, my solace, - My hero, I am thine!” - -Teresa trilled in answer. And raising her love-illumined, mischievously -dancing eyes to her deliverer, breathed in his ear: “Try pepsin!” - - - - - “FREDDY & C^{IE}” - - -It is always a perplexing question how to provide for younger sons, and -the immediate relatives of the Honorable Freddy Foulkes had forfeited a -considerable amount of beauty sleep in connection with the problem. - -“My poor darling!” the Marchioness of Glanmire sighed one day, more in -sorrow than in anger, when the Honorable Freddy brought his charming -smile and his graceful but unemployed person into her morning-room. “If -you could only find some congenial and at the same time lucrative post -that would take up your time and absorb your spare energy, how grateful -I should be!” - -“I have found it,” said the Honorable Freddy, with his cherubic smile. -He possessed the blonde curling hair and artless expression that may be -symbolical of guilelessness or the admirable mask of guile. - -“Thank Heaven!” breathed his mother. Then, with a sense that the -thanksgiving might, after all, be premature, she inquired: “But of what -nature is this post? Before it can be seriously considered, one must be -certain that it entails no loss of caste, demands nothing derogatory in -the nature of service from one who—I need not remind you of your -position, or of the fact that your family must be considered.” - -She smoothed her darling’s silky hair, which exhaled the choicest -perfume of Bond Street, and kissed his brow, as pure and shadowless as a -slice of cream cheese, as the young man replied: - -“Dearest mother, you certainly need not.” - -“Then tell me of this post. Is it anything,” the Marchioness asked, “in -the Diplomatic line?” - -“Without a good deal of diplomacy a man would be no good for the shop,” -admitted Freddy; “but otherwise, your guess is out.” - -Doubt darkened his mother’s eyes. - -“Don’t say,” she exclaimed, “that you have accepted a Club -Secretaryship? To me it seems the last resource of the unsuccessful -man.” - -“It will never be mine,” said Freddy, “because I can’t keep accounts, -and they wouldn’t have me. Try again.” - -“I trust it has nothing to do with Art,” breathed the Marchioness, who -loathed the children of canvas and palette with an unreasonable -loathing. - -“In a way it has,” replied her son, “and in another way it hasn’t. Come! -I’ll give you a lead. There is a good deal of straw in the business for -one thing.” - -“You cannot contemplate casting in your lot with the agricultural -classes? No! I knew the example of your unhappy cousin Reginald would -prevent you from adopting so wild a course ... but you spoke of straw.” - -“Of straw. And flowers. And tulles.” - -“Flowers and tools! Gardening is a craze which has become fashionable of -late. But I cannot calmly see you in an apron, potting plants.” - -“It is not a question of potting plants, but of potting customers,” said -Freddy, showing his white teeth in a charming smile. - -A shudder convulsed Freddy’s mother. Freddy went on, filially patting -her handsome hand: - -“You see, I have decided, and gone into trade. If I were a wealthy cad, -I should keep a bucket-shop. Being a poor gentleman, I am going to make -a bonnet-shop keep me. And, what is more—I intend to trim all the -bonnets myself!” - -There was no heart disease upon the maternal side of the house. The -Marchioness did not become pale blue, and sink backwards, clutching at -her corsage. She rose to her feet and boxed her son’s right ear. He -calmly offered the left one for similar treatment. - -“Don’t send me out looking uneven,” he said simply. “If I pride myself -upon anything, it is a well-balanced appearance. And I have to put in an -hour or so at the shop by-and-by.” He glanced in the mantel-mirror as he -spoke, and observing with gratification that his immaculate necktie had -escaped disarrangement, he twisted his little mustache, smiled, and knew -himself irresistible. - -“The shop! Degenerate boy!” cried his mother. “Who is your partner in -this—this enterprise?” - -“You know her by sight, I think,” returned the cherub coolly. “Mrs. -Vivianson, widow of the man who led the Doncaster Fusiliers to the top -of Mealie Kop and got shot there. Awfully fetching, and as clever as -they make them!” - -“That woman one sees everywhere with a positive _procession_ of young -men at her heels!” - -“That woman, and no other.” - -“She is hardly——” - -“She is awfully _chic_, especially in mourning.” - -“I will admit she has some style.” - -“_Admit_, when you and all the other women have copied the color of her -hair and the cut of her sleeves for three seasons past! I like that!” - -Freddy was growing warm. - -“When you accuse me of imitating the appearance of a person of that -kind,” said Lady Glanmire, in a cold fury, “you insult your mother. And -when you ally yourself with her in the face of Society, as you are about -to do, you are going too far. As to this millinery establishment, it -shall not open.” - -“My dear mother,” said Freddy, “it has been open for a week.” - -He drew a card from an exquisite case mounted in gold. On the pasteboard -appeared the following inscription in neat characters of copperplate:— - - FREDDY & C^{IE} - COURT MILLINERS, - 11, CONDOVER STREET, W. - -“Freddy and Company!” murmured the stricken parent, as she perused the -announcement. - -“Mrs. V. is company,” observed the son, with a spice of vulgarity; “and -uncommonly good company, too. As for myself, my talents have at last -found scope, and millinery is my _métier_. How often haven’t you said -that no one has such exquisite taste in the arrangement of flowers——” - -“As you, Freddy! It is true! But——” - -“Haven’t you declared, over and over again, that you have never had a -maid who could put on a mantle, adjust a fold of lace, or pin on a toque -as skillfully as your own son?” - -“My boy, I own it. Still, millinery as a profession? Can you call it -_quite_ manly for a man?” - -“To spend one’s life in arranging combinations to set off other women’s -complexions. Can you call that womanly for a woman? To my mind,” pursued -Freddy, “it is the only occupation for a man of real refinement. To -crown Beauty with beauty! To dream exquisite confections, which shall -add the one touch wanting to exquisite youth or magnificent middle-age! -To build up with deft touches a creation which shall betray in every -detail, in every effect, the hand of a genius united to the soul of a -lover, and reap not only gold, but glory! Would this not be Fame?” - -“Ah! I no longer recognize you. You do not talk like your dear old -self!” cried the Marchioness. - -“I am glad of it,” replied Freddy, “for, frankly, I was beginning to -find my dear old self a bore.” He drew out a watch, and his monogram and -crest in diamonds scintillated upon the case. His eye gleamed with proud -triumph as he said: “Ten to twelve. At twelve I am due at Condover -Street. Come, not as my mother, if you are ashamed of my profession, but -as a customer ashamed of that bonnet” (Lady Glanmire was dressed for -walking), “which you ought to have given to your cook long ago. Unless -you would prefer your own brougham, mine is at the door.” - -The vehicle in question bore the smartest appearance. The Marchioness -entered it without a murmur, and was whirled to Condover Street. The -name of Freddy & Cie. appeared in a delicate flourish of golden letters -above the chastely-decorated portals of the establishment, and the -plate-glass window contained nothing but an assortment of plumes, -ribbons, chiffons, and shapes of the latest mode, but not a single -completed article of head apparel. - -The street was already blocked with carriages, the vestibule packed, the -shop thronged with a vast and ever-increasing assemblage of women, -amongst whom Lady Glanmire recognized several of her dearest friends. -She wished she had not come, and looked for Freddy. Freddy had vanished. -His partner, Mrs. Vivianson, a vividly-tinted, elegant brunette of some -thirty summers, assisted by three or four charming girls, modestly -attired and elegantly _coiffée_, was busily engaged with those would-be -customers, not a few, who sought admission to the inner room, whose pale -green _portière_ bore in gold letters of embroidery the word _atelier_. - -“You see,” she was saying, “to the outer shop admission is _quite_ free. -We are charmed to see everybody who likes to come, don’t you know? and -show them the latest shades and shapes and things. But consultation with -Monsieur Freddy—we charge five shillings for that. Unusual? Perhaps. But -Monsieur Freddy is Monsieur Freddy!” And her shrug was worthy of a -Parisienne. “Why do you ask? ‘Is it true that he is the younger son of -the Duke of Deershire?’ Dear Madame, to _us_ he is Monsieur Freddy; and -we seek no more.” - -“A born tradeswoman!” thought Lady Glanmire, as the silver coins were -exchanged for little colored silk tickets bearing mystic numbers. She -moved forward and tendered two half-crowns; and Freddy’s partner and -Freddy’s mother looked one another in the face. But Mrs. Vivianson -maintained an admirable composure. - -And then the curtains of the _atelier_ parted, and a young and pretty -woman came out quickly. She was charmingly dressed, and wore the most -exquisite of hats, and a murmur went up at sight of it. She stretched -out her hands to a friend who rushed impulsively to meet her, and her -voice broke in a sob of rapture. - -“Did you ever see anything so _sweet_? And he did it like magic—one -scarcely saw his fingers move!” she cried; and her friend burst into -exclamations of delight, and a chorus rose up about them. - -“_Wonderful!_” - -“_Extraordinary!_” - -“_He does it while you wait!_” - -“_Just for curiosity, I really must!_” - -And a wave of eager women surged towards the green _portière_. Three -went in, being previously deprived of their headgear by the respectful -attendants, who averred that it put Monsieur Freddy’s taste out of gear -for the day to be compelled to gaze upon any creation other than his -own. And then it came to the turn of Lady Glanmire. - -She, disbonneted, entered the sanctum. A pale, clear, golden light -illumined it from above; the walls were hung with draperies of delicate -pink, the carpet was moss-green. In the center of the apartment, upon a -broad, low divan, reclined the figure of a slender young man. He wore a -black satin mask, concealing the upper part of his face, a loose, -lounging suit of black velvet, and slippers of the same with the -embroidered initial “F.” Round him stood, mute and attentive as slaves, -some half-dozen pretty young women, bearing trays of trimmings of every -conceivable kind. In the background rose a grove of stands supporting -hat-shapes, bonnet-shapes, toque-foundations, the skeletons of every -conceivable kind of headgear. - -Silent, the Marchioness stood before her disguised son. - -He gently put up his eyeglass, to accommodate which aid to vision his -mask had been specially designed, and motioned her to the sitter’s -chair, so constructed that with a touch of Monsieur Freddy’s foot upon a -lever it would revolve, presenting the customer from every point of -view. He touched the lever now, and chair and Marchioness spun slowly -around. But for the presence of the young ladies with their trays of -flowers, plumes, gauzes, and ribbons, Freddy’s mother could have -screamed. All the while Freddy remained silent, absorbed in -contemplation, as though trying to fix upon his memory features seen for -the first time. At last he spoke. - -“Tall,” he said, “and inclined to a becoming _embonpoint_. The eyes -blue-gray, the hair of auburn touched with silver, the features, of the -Anglo-Roman type, somewhat severe in outline, the chin——A hat to suit -this client”—he spoke in a sad, sweet, mournful voice—“would cost five -guineas. A Marquise shape, of broadtail”—one of the young lady -attendants placed the shape required in the artist’s hands—“the brim -lined with a rich drapery of chenille and silk.... Needle and thread, -Miss Banks. Thank you....” His fingers moved like white lightning as he -deftly wielded the feminine implement and snatched his materials from -the boxes proffered in succession by the girls. “Black and white tips of -ostrich falling over one side from a ring of cut steel,” he continued in -the same dreamy tone. “A knot of point d’Irlande, with a heart of -Neapolitan violets, and”—he rose from the divan and lightly placed the -beautiful completed fabric upon the Marchioness’s head—“here is your -hat, Madame. Five guineas. Good-morning. Next, please!” - -Emotion choked his mother’s utterance. At the same moment she saw -herself in the glass silently swung towards her by one of the -attendants, and knew that she was suited to a marvel. She made her exit, -paid her five guineas, and returned home, embarrassed by the discovery -that there was an artist in the family. - -One thing was clear, no more was to be said. The _Maison Freddy_ became -the morning resort of the smart world; it was considered the thing to -have hats made while Society waited. True, they came to pieces easily, -not being copper-nailed and riveted, so to speak; but what poems they -were! The charming conversation of Monsieur Freddy, the half-mystery -that veiled his identity, as his semi-mask partially concealed his fair -and smiling countenance, added to the attractions of the Condover Street -_atelier_. - -Money rolled in; the banking account of the partners grew plethoric; and -then Mrs. Vivianson, in spite of the claims of the business upon her -time, in spite of the Platonic standpoint she had up to the present -maintained in her relations with Freddy, began to be jealous. - -“Or—no! I will not admit that such a thing is possible!” she said, as -she looked through some recent entries in the day-book of the firm. “But -that American millionairess girl comes too often. She has bought a hat -every day for three weeks past. Good for business in one way, but bad -for it in another. If he should marry, what becomes of the _Maison -Freddy_?” - -She sighed and passed between the curtains. It was the slack time after -luncheon, and Freddy was enjoying a moment’s interval. Stretched on his -divan, his embroidered slippers elevated in the air, he smoked a -perfumed cigarette surrounded by the materials of his craft. He smiled -at Mrs. Vivianson as she entered, and then raised his aristocratic -eyebrows in surprise. - -“Has anything gone wrong? You swept in as tragically as my mother when -she comes to disown me. She does it regularly every week, and as -regularly takes me on again.” He exhaled a scented cloud, and smiled -once more. - -“Freddy,” said Mrs. Vivianson, going direct to the point, “this little -speculation of ours has turned out very well, hasn’t it?” - -“Beyond dreams!” acquiesced Freddy. She went on: - -“You came to me a penniless detrimental, with a talent of which nobody -guessed that anything could be made. I gave this gift a chance to -develop. I set you on your legs, and——” - -“_Me voici!_ You don’t want me to rise up and bless you, do you?” said -Freddy, with half-closed eyes. “Thanks awfully, you know, all the same!” - -“I don’t know that I want thanks, quite,” said Mrs. Vivianson. “I’ve had -back every penny that I invested, and pulled off a bouncing profit. Your -share amounts to a handsome sum. In a little while you’ll be able to pay -your debts.” - -“I shall never do that!” said Freddy, with feeling. - -“Marry, and leave me—perhaps,” went on Mrs. Vivianson. A shade swept -over her face, her dark eyes glowed somberly, the lines of her mouth -hardened. - -“Keep as you are!” cried Freddy, rebounding to a sitting position on the -divan. - -“Where’s that new Medici shape in gold rice-straw and the amber _crêpe -chiffon_, and the orange roses with crimson hearts?” His nimble fingers -darted hither and thither, his eyes shone, and his cheeks were flushed -with the enthusiasm of the artist. “A tuft of black and yellow cock’s -feathers, _à la Mephistophele_,” he cried, “a topaz buckle, and it is -finished. You must wear with it a _jabot_ of yellow _point d’Alençon_. -It is the hat of hats for a jealous woman!” - -“How dare you!” cried Mrs. Vivianson. But Freddy did not seem to hear -her—he was rapt in the contemplation of the new masterpiece; and as he -rose and gracefully placed it on his partner’s head, Miss Cornelia -Vanderdecken was ushered in. She was superbly beautiful in the -ivory-skinned, jetty-locked, slender American style, and she wore a hat -that Freddy had made the day before, which set off her charms to -admiration. - -She occupied the sitter’s chair as Mrs. Vivianson glided from the room, -and Freddy’s blue eyes dwelt upon her worshipingly. To do him justice, -he had lost his heart before he learned that Cornelia was an heiress. -Now words escaped him that brought a faint pink stain to her ivory -cheek. - -“Ah!” he cried impulsively, “you are ruining my business.” - -“Oh, why, Monsieur Freddy? Please tell me!” asked Miss Vanderdecken, -with naïve curiosity. - -“Because,” said Freddy, while a bright blush showed beyond the limits of -his black satin mask, “you are so beautiful that it is torture to make -hats for other women—since I have seen you.” - -There was a pause. Then Miss Cornelia’s silk foundations rustled as she -turned resolutely toward the divan. - -“I can’t return the compliment,” she said, “by telling you that it is -torture to me to wear hats made by any other man since I have seen you, -for other men don’t make hats, and I can’t really see you through that -thing you wear over your face. But——” - -Her voice faltered, and Freddy, with a gesture, dismissed his lady -assistants. Then he removed his mask. Their eyes met, and Cornelia -uttered a faint exclamation. - -“Oh my! You’re just like him!” - -“Who is he?” asked Freddy. - -“I can’t quite say, because I don’t know,” returned Cornelia; “but all -girls have their ideals, from the time they wear Swiss pinafores to the -time they wear forty-eight inch corsets; and I won’t deny”—her voice -trembled—“but what you fill the bill. My! What _are_ you doing?” - -For Freddy had grasped his materials and was making a hat. It was of -palest blush tulle, with a crown of pink roses, and an aigrette of -flamingo plumes was fastened with a Cupid’s bow in pink topaz. - -“Love’s first confession,” the young man murmured as he bit off the last -thread, “should be whispered beneath a hat like this.” And he gracefully -placed it on Cornelia’s raven hair. - -Mrs. Vivianson, her ear to the keyhole of a side door, quivered from -head to foot with rage and jealousy. Time was when he, a penniless, -high-bred boy, had implored her to marry him. Now—her blood boiled at -the remembrance of the half hint, the veiled suggestion she had made, -that they should unite in a more intimate partnership than that already -consolidated. With her jealousy was mingled despair. As long as Freddy -and his hats remained the fashion, the shop would pay, and pay royally. -There had as yet occurred no abatement in the onflow of aristocratic -patronage. To avow his identity—never really doubted—to become an -engaged man, meant ruin to the business. The blood hummed in her head. -She clung to the door-handle and entered, as Freddy, with real grace and -eloquence, pleaded his suit. - -“And you are really a Marquis’s second son, though you make hats for -money?” she heard Cornelia say. “I always guessed you had real old -English blood in you, from the tone of your voice and the shape of your -finger-nails, even when you wore a mask. And it seemed as though I -couldn’t do anything but buy hats. I surmised it was vanity at the time, -but now I guess it was—love!” - -“My dearest!” said Freddy, bending his blonde head over her jeweled -hands. “My Cornelia! I will make you a hat every day when you are -married. Ah! I have it! You shall wear one of mine to go away in upon -the day we are wed, the inspiration of a bridegroom, thought out and -achieved between the church door and the chancel. What an idea for a -lover! What an advertisement for the shop!” His blue eyes beamed at the -thought. - -But Cornelia’s face fell. - -“I don’t know how to say it, dear, but we shall never be married. Poppa -is perfectly rocky on one point, and that is that the man I hitch up -with shall never have dabbled as much as his little finger in trade. -‘You have dollars enough to buy one of the real high-toned sort,’ he -keeps saying, ‘and if blood royal is to be got for money, Silas P. -Vanderdecken is the man to get it. So run along and play, little girl, -till the right man comes along.’ And I know he’ll say you’re the wrong -one!” - -Freddy’s complexion, grown transparent from excess of emotion and lack -of exercise, paled to an ivory hue. His sedentary life had softened his -condition and unstrung his nerves. He adored Cornelia, and had looked -forward to a lifetime spent in adorning her beauty with bonnets of the -most becoming shapes and designs. Now that a coarse Transatlantic -millionaire with soft shirt-fronts and broad-leaved felt hats might step -in and shatter for ever his beautiful dream of union, bitter revulsion -seized him. He feared his fate. What was he? The second son of a poor -Marquis, with a particularly healthy elder brother. He looked upon the -chiffons, the flowers and the feathers that surrounded him, and felt -that the hopes of a heart reared upon so frail a basis were insecure -indeed. Then his old blood rallied to his heart, and he rose from the -divan and clasped the now tearful Cornelia to his breast. - -“Go, my dearest,” he said, “tell all to your father—plead for me. Do not -write or wire—bring me his verdict to-morrow. Meanwhile I will compose -two hats. Each shall be a masterpiece—a swan-song of my Art. One is to -be worn if”—his voice broke—“if I am to be happy; the other if I am -fated to despair. Go now, for I must be alone to carry out my -inspiration.” - -And Cornelia went. Then Freddy, sternly refusing to receive any more -customers that day, set himself to the completion of his task. Before -very long both hats were actualities. Hat Number One was an Empire shape -of dead-leaf beaver, the crown draped with dove-colored silk, a spray of -sere oak-leaves and rue in front, a fine scarf of black lace, partly to -veil the face of the wearer, thrown back over one side of the brim and -caught with a clasp of black pearls set in oxidized silver. It breathed -of chastened woe and temperate sadness, and was to be worn if Papa -Vanderdecken persisted in refusing to accept Freddy as a suitor. - -But Hat Number Two! It was of the palest blue guipure straw, draped with -coral silk and Cluny lace. In front was a spray of moss rosebuds and -forget-me-nots, dove’s wings of burnished hues were set at either side. -It was the very hat to be worn by a bringer of joyful news, the ideal -hat under which might be appropriately exchanged the first kiss of -plighted passion. Upon it Freddy pinned a fairy-like card, white and -gold-edged. - -“If I am to be happy, wear this,” was written upon it; and upon a buff -card attached to the hat of rejection he inscribed: “Wear this, if I am -to be unhappy.” Then he closed the large double bandbox in which he had -packed the hats, breathed a kiss into the folds of the silver paper, -and, ringing the bell, bade a messenger carry the box to the hotel at -which Cornelia Vanderdecken was staying, and where, millionairess though -she was, she was still content to dress with the help of a deft maid and -the adoration of a devoted companion. Then the exhausted artist fell -back on the divan. Cornelia was to come at twelve upon the morrow. - -“Then I shall learn my fate,” said Freddy. He drove home in his -brougham, and passed a sleepless night. The fateful hour found him again -upon his divan, surrounded by the materials of his craft, waiting -feverishly for Cornelia. - -The curtains parted. He started up at the rustling of her gown and the -jingling of her bangles. Horror! she wore the somber hat of sorrow, -though under its shadow her face was curiously bright. - -She advanced toward Freddy. He reeled and staggered backward, raised his -white hand to his delicate throat, and fell fainting amongst his -cushions. Cornelia screamed. Mrs. Vivianson and her young ladies came -hurrying in. As the stylish widow noted Cornelia’s headgear, her eyes -flashed and joy was in her face. Then it clouded over, for she knew that -Papa Vanderdecken had been coaxed over, and Freddy was an accepted man. -My reader, being exceptionally acute, will realize that the jealous -woman had changed the tickets on the hats. - -“Not that it was much use,” she avowed to herself, as she entered with -smelling-salts and burnt feathers to restore Freddy’s consciousness. -“When he revives, she will tell him the truth.” But Freddy only regained -consciousness to lose it in the ravings of delirium. He had an attack of -brain fever, in which he wandered through groves of bonnet shops, -looking unavailingly for Cornelia. And then came the crisis, and he woke -up with an ice-bandage on, to find himself in his bedroom at Glanmire -House, with the Marchioness leaning over him. - -“Mother, my heart is broken,” said the boy—he was really little more. -“The world exists no more for me. Let me make my last hat—and leave it.” - -“Oh, Freddy, don’t you know me?” gasped Cornelia in the background; but -the repentant woman who had brought about all this trouble drew the girl -away. - -“Even good news broken suddenly to him in his weak state,” said Mrs. -Vivianson in a rapid whisper, “may prove fatal. I have a plan which may -gradually enlighten him.” - -“I trust you,” said Cornelia. “You have saved his life with your -nursing. Now give him back to me!” - -“Hush!” said Mrs. Vivianson. - -She had rapidly dispatched a messenger to Condover Street, and now, as -Freddy again opened his eyes and repeated his piteous request, the -messenger returned. Then all present gathered about the bed, whose -inmate had been raised upon supporting pillows. It was a queer scene as -the shaded electric light above the bed played upon Freddy’s pallid -features, showing the ravages of sickness there. “Now!” said Mrs. -Vivianson. She placed the milliner’s box upon the bed, and Freddy’s -feeble fingers, diving into it, drew forth a spray of orange blossoms -and a diaphanous cloud of filmy lace. - -“Black—not white!” Freddy gasped brokenly. “It is a mourning toque that -I must make. Let Cornelia wear it at my funeral.” - -“Cornelia will not wear it at your funeral, Freddy,” said Mrs. -Vivianson, bending over him; “for she is going to marry you, not to bury -you.” And, drawing the tearful girl to Freddy’s side, she flung over her -beautiful head the bridal veil, and crowned her with a wreath of orange -blossoms. And as, with a feeble cry, Freddy opened his wasted arms and -Cornelia fell into them, Mrs. Vivianson, her work of atonement -completed, pressed the offered hand of Freddy’s mother, and hurried out -of the room and out of the story. Which ends, as stories ought, happily -for the lovers, who are now honeymooning in the Riviera. - - - - - UNDER THE ELECTRICS - A SHOW-LADY IS ELOQUENT - - -“Really, my dear, I think the man has gone a bit too far. Writes a -play with a fast young lady in the Profession for the heroine—and -where he got his model from I can’t imagine—and then writes to the -papers to explain, accounting for her past being a bit off -color—_twiggez-vous?_—by saying she isn’t a Chorus-lady, only a -Show-lady. - -“Gracious! I’m short of a bit of wig-paste, my pet complexion-color No. -2. Any lady present got half a stick to lend? I want to look my special -best to-night: _somebody in the stalls_, don’tcherknow! Chuck it -over!—mind that bottle of Bass! I’m aware beer is bad for the liver, but -such a nourishing tonic, isn’t it? When I get back to the theater, tired -after a sixty-mile ride in somebody’s 20 h.p. Gohard—_twiggez?_—a -tumbler with a good head to it makes my dear old self again in a twink. - -“Half-hour? That new call-boy must be spoke to on the quiet, dears. Such -manners, putting his nasty little head right into the show-ladies’ -dressing-room when he calls. I suggest, girlies, that when we’re all -running down for the general entrance in the First Act—and that -staircase on the prompt side is the narrowest I ever struck—I suggest -that when we meet that little brute—he’s always coming up to give the -principals the last call—I suggest that each girl bumps his head against -the wall as she goes by! That’ll make twenty bumps, and do him lots of -good, too! - -“Miss de la Regy, dear, I lent you my blue pencil last night. Hand it -over, there’s a good old sort, when you’ve given the customary languish -to your eyes, love. What are you saying? Stage-Manager’s order that -we’re not to grease-black our eyelashes so much, as some people say it -looks fair hideous from the front? Tell him to consume his own smoke -next time he’s in a beast of a cooker. Why don’t he tell _her_ to mind -her own business?—I’m sure she’s old enough! What I say is, I’ve always -been accustomed to put lots on mine, and I don’t see myself altering my -usual make-up at this time o’ day. Do you? Not much?—I rather thought -so. What else does he say?—he’ll be obliged if we’ll wear the chin-strap -of our Hussar busbies down instead of tucked up inside ’em? What I say -is—and I’m sure you’ll agree with me, girls—that it’s bad enough to have -to wear a fur hat with a red bag hangin’ over the top, without marking a -young lady’s face in an unbecoming way with a chin-strap. Also he -insists—what price him?—he _insists_ on our leavin’ our Bridgehands down -in the dressing-room, and not coming on the stage with ’em stuck in the -fronts of our tunics, in defiance of the Army Regulations? Rot the -Regulations, and bother the Stage-Manager! How _she_ must have been -nagging at him, mustn’t she?—because he _can_ be quite too frightfully -nice and gentlemanly when he likes. I will speak up for him that much. -Not that I ever was a special favorite—I keep myself to myself too much. -Different to some people not so far off. _Twiggez?_ I’ve my pride, -that’s what I say, if I am a Show-girl! - -“Thirty-five shillings a week, with _matinées_—you can’t say it’s much -to look like a lady on, can you now? No, but what a girl with taste and -clever fingers, and a knack of getting what she wants at a remnant -sale—and the things those forward creatures in black cashmere _Princess_ -robes try to shove down a lady-customer’s throat are generally the -things she could buy elsewhere new for less money—not but that a girl -with her head screwed on the right way can turn out in first-class style -for less than some people would think, and get credit in _some quarters -we know of_—this is a beastly, spiteful world, my dear—for taking -presents right and left. - -“Now, who has been and hung my wig on the electric light? If the person -considers that a practical joke, it shows—that’s what I say!—it shows -that she’s descended from the lowest circles. I won’t pretend I don’t -suspect who has been up to her little games again, and, though I should, -_as a lady_, be sorry to behave otherwise, I must caution her, unless -she wishes to find her military boots full of prepared chalk one o’ -these nights, to quit and chuck ’em. - -“Quarter of an hour! That _was_ clever of you, Miss Enderville dear, to -shut that imp’s head in the door before he could pop it back again. -Well, there! if you haven’t got another diamond ring!... Left at the -stage-door office, addressed to you, by a perfect stranger, who hasn’t -even enclosed a line.... Perhaps you’ll meet him in a better land, dear; -he seems a lot too shy for this one. Not that I admire the -three-speeds-forward sort of fellow, but there is such a thing as being -too backward in coming up to the scratch—twig? - -“I ought to know something about that, considering which my life was -spoiled—never you mind how long ago, because dates are a rotten -nuisance—by one of those hang-backers who want the young woman—the young -lady, I should say—to make all the pace for both sides. It was during -the three-hundred night run of——There! I’ve forgotten the name of the -gay old show, but Miss de la Regy was in it with me—one of the Tall -Eleven, weren’t you, Miss de la Regy dear? And we were Anchovian -Brigands in the First Act—Sardinian Brigands, did you say? I knew it had -something to do with the beginning of a dinner at the Savoy—and Marie -Antoinette gentlemen in powdered wigs and long, gold-headed canes in the -Second, and in the Final Tableau British tars in pink silk fleshings, -pale blue socks, and black pumps, and Union Jacks. I remember how I -fancied myself in that costume, and how frightfully it fetched _him_. - -“Me keeping my eyes very much to myself in those days, new to the -Profession as I was, I didn’t tumble to the fact of having made a -regular conquest till a girl older than me twigged and gave me a -hint—then I saw him sitting in the stalls, dear, if you’ll believe -me!—dash it! I’ve dropped my powder-puff in the water-jug!—with his -mouth wide open—not a becoming thing, but a sign of true feeling. - -“He was fair and pale and slim, with large blue eyes, and lovely linen, -and a diamond stud in the shirt-front, and a gardenia in the buttonhole -was good form then, and the white waistcoats were twill. To-day his -waistcoat would be heliotrope watered silk, and his shirt-front -embroidered cambric, and if he showed more than an inch of platinum -watch-chain, he’d be outcast for ever from his kind. Bless you! men -think as much of being in the fashion as we do, take my word for it, -dear. - -“He kept his mouth open, as I’ve said, all through the evening, only -putting the knob of his stick into it sometimes—silver knobs were all -the go then—and never took his eyes off me. ‘You’ve made a victim, -Daisy,’ says one of the girls as we did a step off to the chorus, two by -two, ‘and don’t you forget to make hay while the sun shines!’ I thanked -her to keep her advice to herself, and moved proudly away, but my heart -was doing ragtime under my corsets, and no mistake about it. When we ran -downstairs after the General Entrance and the Final Tableau, I took off -as much make-up as I thought necessary, and dressed in a hurry, wishing -I’d come to business in a more stylish get-up. And as I came out between -the swing-leaves of the stage-door, I saw _him_ outside in an overcoat -with a sable collar, a crush hat, and a white muffler. Dark as the light -was, he knew me, and I recognized him, his mouth being ajar, same as -during the show, and his eyes being fixed in the same intense gaze, -which I don’t blush to own gave me a sensation like what you have when -the shampooing young woman at the Turkish Baths stands you up in the -corner of a room lined with hot tiles and fires cold water at you from -the other end of it out of a rubber hose. - -“‘Well, have you found his name out yet, Daisy, old girl?’ was the -question in the dressing-room next night. I felt red-hot with good -old-crusted shame, when I found out that it was generally known he’d -followed me down Wellington Street to my ’bus—not a Vanguard, but a -gee-gee-er in those days—and stood on the splashy curb to see me get in, -without offering an utterance—which I dare say if he had I should have -shrieked for a policeman, me being young and shy. No, I’d no idea what -his name was, nor nothing more than that he looked the complete swell, -and was evidently a regular goner—_twiggez?_—on the personal charms of -yours truly. - -“If you’ll believe me, there wasn’t a line or a rosebud waiting for me -at the stage-door next night, though he sat in the same stall and stared -in the same marked way all through the evening. Perhaps he might for -ever have remained anonymous, but that the girl who dressed on my left -hand—quite a rattlingly good sort, but with a passion for eating pickled -gherkins out of the bottle with a fork during all the stage waits and -intervals such as I’ve never seen equaled—that girl happened to know the -man—middle-aged toff, with his head through his hair and a pane in his -eye—who was in the stall next my conquest the night before. She applied -the pump—_twiggez?_—and learned the name and title of one I shall always -remember, even though things never came to nothing definite betwixt -us—twig? - -“He was a Viscount—sable and not musquash—the genuine article, not dyed -or made up of inferior skins; blow on the hairs and hold it to the -light, you will not see the fatally regular line that bears testimony to -deception. Lord Polkstone, eldest son of the Earl of ——. Well, there, if -I haven’t been and forgotten his dadda’s title! Rolling in money, and an -only boy. It was less usual then than now for a peer to pick a -life-partner among the Show-girls, but just to keep us bright and -chirpy, the thing was occasionally done—twig? And there Lord Polkstone -sat night after night, _matinée_ after _matinée_, in the same place in -the stalls, with his mouth open and his large blue eyes nailed upon the -features of yours truly. Whenever I came out after the show, there he -was waiting, but it went no farther. Pitying his bashfulness, I might—I -don’t say I would, but I _might_—have passed a ladylike remark upon the -weather, and broken the ice that way. But every girl in my room—the Tall -Eleven dressed in one together—every girl’s unanimous advice was, ‘Let -him speak first, Daisy.’ Then they’d simply split with laughing and have -to wipe their eyes. Me, being young and unsophis—I forget how to spell -the rest of that word, but it means jolly fresh and green—never -suspected them of pulling my leg. I took their crocodileish advice, and -waited for Lord Polkstone to speak. My dear, I’ve wondered since how it -was I never suspected the truth! Weeks went by, and the affair had got -no farther. Young and inexperienced as I was, I could see by his eye -that his was no Sunday-to-Monday affection, but a real, lasting devotion -of the washable kind. Knowing that, helped me to go on waiting, though I -was dying to hear his voice. But he never spoke nor wrote, though -several other people did, and, my attention being otherwise taken up, I -treated those fellows with more than indifference. - -“I remember the Commissionaire—an obliging person when not under the -influence of whisky—telling me that what he called a rum party had left -several bouquets at the stage-door—no name being on them, and without -saying who for—which seemed uncommonly queer. Afterward it flashed on -me—but there! never mind! - -“If I had ever said a word to that dear when his imploring eyes met -mine, and lingered on the curb when I heard his faithful footsteps -following me to my ’bus, the mask would have fallen, dear, and the -blooming mystery been brought to light. But it shows the kind of girl I -was in those days, that with ‘Good-evening,’ ready on the tip of my -tongue, I shut my mouth and didn’t say it. If I had, I might have been a -Countess now, sitting in a turret and sewing tapestry, or walking about -a large estate in a tailor-made gown, showing happy cottagers how to do -dairy-work. - -“That’s my romance, dear—is there a drop of Bass left in that bottle? -I’ve a thirst on me I wouldn’t sell for four ‘d.’ Spite and malice on -the part of some I shall not condescend to accuse, helplessness on his -part—poor, devoted dear!—and ignorance on mine, nipped it in the bud; -and when he vanished from the stalls—didn’t turn up at the -stage-door—appearing in the Royal Box, one night I shall never forget, -with two young girls in white and a dowager in a diamond fender, I knew -he’d given up the chase, and with it all thoughts of poor little downy -Me. - -“We were singing a deadly lively chorus about being ‘jolly, confoundedly -jolly!’ and I stood and sang and sniveled with the black running off my -eyes. For even to my limited capacity, and without the sneering whispers -of a treacherous snake-in-the-grass, whose waist I had to keep my arm -round all the time, me playing boy to her girl, first couple proscenium -right, next the Royal Box, where he sat with those three women—I could -see how I’d lost the prize. One glance at Lord Polkstone—prattling away -on his fingers to the best-looking of those two girls, neither of ’em -being over and above what I should call passable—one glance revealed the -truth. - -“He was deaf and dumb!—and I had been waiting a week of Sundays for him -to speak out first. Hugging my happy love and my innocent hope to my -heart of hearts—there’s an exercise in h’s for any person whose weakness -lies in the letter—I’d been waiting for what couldn’t never come. Why -hadn’t he have wrote? That question I’ve often asked myself, and the -answer is that none of them who could have told Lord Polkstone my name -could understand the deaf and dumb alphabet. - -“Oh! it was a piercing shock—a freezing blow I’ve never got over, dear, -nor never shall. He married that girl in white, that artful thing who -could understand his finger language and talk back. - -“Think what a blessing I lost in a husband who could never contradict or -shout at me. And I feel I could have been an honor to the Peerage, and -worn a coronet like one born to it. I’ll stand another Bass, dear, if -you’ll tell the dresser to fetch it; or will you have a -brandy-and-Polly? You’ve hit it, dear, the girls were shocking spiteful, -but I was jolly well a lot too retiring and shy. I’ve got over the -weakness since, of course, and now I positively make a point of speaking -if one of ’em seems quite unusually hangbacky. - -“‘Who knows,’ I say to myself, ‘perhaps he’s deaf and dumb!’” - - - - - “VALCOURT’S GRIN” - - -The lovely and high-born relict of a decrepit and enormously wealthy -commoner, she had sustained her husband’s loss with a becoming display -of sorrow, and passed with exquisite grace and discretion through the -successive phases of the toilet indicative of connubial woe. From a -lovely chrysalis swathed in crape she had changed to a dove-colored -moth; the moth had become a heliotrope butterfly, on the point of -changing its wings for a brighter pair, when the post brought her a -letter from one of her dearest friends. It bore the Zurich postmark, and -ran as follows: - - “HOTEL SCHWERT, - “APPENBAD, - “_June 18th._” - -“I wonder, dear, whether you would mind being troubled with Val for a -day? He is coming up from Seaton next Thursday on dentist’s leave, and -one does not care that a boy of sixteen—one can consider Val a boy -without stretching the imagination overmuch—should be drifting -anchorless in town. You will find him grown and developed.... You see, I -take it for granted, in my own rude way, that you have already said -‘Yes’ to my request.... The views here are divine—such miles of -eye-flight over the Lake of Constance and the Rhine Valley! To quote -poor Dynham, who suffered much from the whey-cure, ‘every prospect -pleases, and only man is bile.’ Kiss Val for me. My dear, the thought of -his future is a continual anxiety. The title to keep up, and an income -of barely eight thousand pounds.... ‘Marry him,’ you will say; but to -whom? American heiresses are beginning to have an exorbitant idea of -their own value, and then Val’s is an open, simple nature—_unworldly to -a degree!_ Not that I, his mother, could wish him otherwise, but—you -will understand and sympathize, I know! And boys are so easily molded by -a woman who has charm! If you could drop a word here and there, -calculated to bring him to a sense of the responsibility that rests upon -his young shoulders, the _duty_ of restoring the diminished fortunes of -his house by a _really sensible_ marriage.... I have dinned and dinned, -but I fear without much result. - - “Ever yours, - “G. D. E. V. T. - -“Please address Val, ‘Care of Rev. H. Buntham, Seaton College, near -Grindsor.’—G. - -“Buntham is the house-master. V. says he ‘_understands the fellows -thoroughly_.’ Such a tribute, I think, to a tutor _from_ a boy.—G.” - -So a dainty monogrammed and coroneted note, on heliotrope paper, with a -thin but decided bordering of black, was sent off to the Marquis of -Valcourt, and Valcourt’s hostess in prospective consulted a male -relative over the luncheon-table as to the most approved methods of -entertaining a schoolboy. - -“Heaps of indigestible things to eat—sweet for choice—and a box at the -Gaiety if there’s a _matinée_; if not, the Hippodrome. But who’s the -boy?” asked the male relative. - -“Lord Valcourt, Geraldine’s eldest.” - -The male relative pursed up his lips into the shape of a whistle, and -helped himself to a cutlet in expressive silence. - -“Geraldine is devoted to him. He seems to have a delightful nature, to -be quite an ideal son!” - -“That young—that young fellow!” - -“You have met him, haven’t you?” - -“I have had that privilege. I was one of the house-party at Traye last -September.” - -“Geraldine asked me, but of course it was out of the question....” - -“Of course, poor Mussard’s death—quite too recent,” murmured the male -relative, taking green peas. - -Poor Mussard’s charming relict drooped her long-lashed, brown eyes -pensively, and the transparent lace, that covered the hiding-place of -the heart that had been wrung with presumable anguish eighteen months -before, billowed under the impulse of a little dutiful sigh. - -“What a prize for some lucky beggar with a big title and empty pockets!” -reflected the male relative, who happened to be a brother, and could -therefore contemplate dispassionately. “Thirty—and looks -three-and-twenty _en plein jour_, without a pink-lined sunshade.” Aloud -he said: “So you are to entertain Valcourt—Tuesday, I think you said?” - -“Thursday. It would be dear of you to come and help me,” murmured Mrs. -Mussard plaintively. - -“It would afford me delight to do so,” returned the male relative -unblushingly, “had I not unfortunately an engagement to see a man about -a fishing-tour in Norway.” - -“Tiresome! I know so little about modern schoolboys!” murmured Mrs. -Mussard. - -“The less you know about ’em, my dear Vivienne, the better.” - -“Having been a boy yourself,” the speaker’s sister responded, with -gentle acerbity, “you are naturally prejudiced. But, going by -Geraldine’s account, Valcourt is not the ordinary kind of boy at all. -Indeed, I have promised her to take him in hand, and impart a few _viva -voce_ lessons in _savoir faire_ and worldly wisdom.” - -“_Have you?_ By Jove, Vivie, you’ve taken something upon yourself! -‘Angels rush in where demons fear to tread....’ I’m mulling the -quotation, but in its perfect state it isn’t complimentary. May Valcourt -profit by your instructions on Thursday!” - -Thursday came, and with it Valcourt. He was pleasing to view; a -clean-limbed, broad-shouldered, straight-featured, pink-and-white -specimen of the well-bred English youth of sixteen, with fair hair -brushed into a silky sweep above a wide, ingenuous brow; sleepy -gray-green eyes, with yellow and blue reflections in them, reminding the -beholder of tourmaline; well-kept hands, pleasing manners, and a wide, -innocent grin of the cherubic-angelic kind, never more in evidence than -when Valcourt was engaged in some pursuit neither angelic nor cherubic. -Mrs. Mussard, at first sight, was conscious of a brief maternal -inclination to kiss him. Geraldine’s boy was, she said to herself, “a -perfect duck!” She subdued the osculatory impulse, shook hands with the -boy cordially, and hoped the dentist had not hurt him. - -“No, thanks awfully,” said Valcourt, with his cherubic grin. The teeth -revealed were exceedingly white and regular. - -“But you had gas, of course?” proceeded his hostess. - -“When I have teeth out I generally do,” said Valcourt carefully. “They -always give you half a guinea extra allowance for gas, so most of the -fellows ask to have it.” He touched his waistcoat pocket meditatively as -he spoke, and smiled, or rather grinned, again so seraphically that Mrs. -Mussard longed to tip him a ten-pound note. She gave her young guest a -sumptuous luncheon, and, not without serious misgivings, commanded the -butler to produce the exhilarating beverage of champagne. - -“A little sweet, isn’t it?” said Valcourt critically. - -“I thought that you—that is——” Mrs. Mussard crumpled her delicate -eyebrows in embarrassment, and the butler permitted himself the shadow -of a smile. - -“Ladies like sweet wine,” remarked Valcourt. He refused liqueur with -coffee, but considered Mrs. Mussard’s cigarettes “rather mild.” - -“I—I don’t usually smoke that brand,” his hostess explained. “I—I -ordered them on purpose for——” She broke off, in sheer admiration of -Valcourt’s beautiful grin. - -The _matinée_ for which she had secured a stage-box did not commence -until three. “Time for a little chat in the drawing-room,” she thought, -and ran over in her mind a list of the things dear Geraldine would have -wished her to say. She bade the boy sit in the opposite angle of her pet -sofa, upholstered in shimmering lily-leaf green, billowed with huge -puffy pillows of apricot-yellow, covered with cambric and Valenciennes. -She thought the harmony well completed by Valcourt’s sleek fair head and -inscrutable tourmaline eyes, and wished for the first time that poor -dear Mussard had left an heir. Vague as the yearning was, it imparted a -misty softness to her brown eyes, and caused the corners of her delicate -lips to quiver. She drew a little nearer to Valcourt, and laid her white -jeweled hand softly upon the muscular young arm, firm and hard beneath -an uncommonly well-cut sleeve. - -“My dear Valcourt,” she began. - -“Your eyes are brown, aren’t they?” asked Valcourt. - -“I believe they are,” murmured Mrs. Mussard. “My dear boy, I trust -that——” - -Valcourt shut his own sleepy tourmaline eyes and sniffed, a long -rapturous sniff. “Mother uses attar of violets. It’s her pet scent. -Jolly, but not so nice as yours. What is it?” He sniffed again. “I can’t -guess. ’Mph! I give it up. I know!” The sleepy tourmaline eyes opened, -large and round and bright, the cherubic-angelic smile suffused his -features. “Why, it comes from your hair!” - -“People have said that before. Oh! never mind my hair!” Mrs. Mussard was -not displeased, nevertheless. “Tell me how you progress at School. You -know your mother is my dearest friend. I should so much like you to -remember that and confide in me, _almost_ as you confide in her!” - -A solemn, innocent expression came over Valcourt’s face. - -“All right,” he said, after a pause, during which he seemed to be -listening to choirs of angels chanting to the accompaniment of celestial -harps. “I’ll tell you things just exactly as I tell ’em to mother!” - -“You dear!” exclaimed the impulsive young widow, and kissed him. The -smooth elastic skin, brownish-pink as a new-laid egg, and dotted with -sunny little freckles, grew pinker under the velvet violence of the -lady’s lips. Valcourt turned the other cheek, with his cherub’s smile, -and less warmly, because more consciously, his mother’s dearest friend -saluted that also. - -“Now,” he said, in his boyish voice, “what did you want me to tell you -about School? I’m not a sap at books, and I don’t spend all my time in -getting up my muscles. I’m just an ordinary kind of fellow.... I say, -how pretty your nails are!” - -He took up one of Mrs. Mussard’s exquisitely manicured hands, and, -holding it to the tempered sunlight that stole through the lace blinds, -noted with appreciative, if infantile, interest the pearly hues and rosy -inward radiances, the nicks and dimples of the wrist and the delicate -articulations of the fingers. Then, with a droll, half-mischievous -twinkle of the tourmaline eye that was next the fair widow, he bent his -sleek, fair head and rubbed his cheek against the pretty hand -caressingly. - -“Silly boy!” breathed Mrs. Mussard. - -“I believe I am an awful ass sometimes,” agreed Valcourt composedly. - -“Who says so?” - -“My tutor and heaps of other fellows, and the Head—not that he says so, -but he looks as if he thought it!” said Valcourt. - -“Does the Head see a great deal of you?” asked Mrs. Mussard, drawing -away her hand and grasping at a chance of improving the languishing -conversation. Then as Valcourt, with a grave air of reserve, nodded in -reply, “I am _so glad_!” breathed Mrs. Mussard gushingly; “because, at -your age, impressions received must sink in deeply. And to be brought in -contact with a personality so marked must be impressive, mustn’t it?” -she concluded, rather lamely. - -“I suppose so,” agreed Valcourt, examining the pattern of the carpet. He -looked a little sulky and a little bored, and for sheer womanly desire -of seeing the illuminations rekindled Mrs. Mussard gave him her hand -again. - -“You are going into the Guards, aren’t you, by-and-by?” she queried. - -“If I can get through,” said Valcourt, playing with her rings and -smiling. “I’m in the Army Class, mathematics and swot generally. But I -think our family’s too old or something to produce brainy fellows. Cads -are cleverer, really, than we are.” - -His tone took a reflection of the purple, his finely-cut profile looked -for an instant hard as diamond and exquisite as a cameo. - -Mrs. Mussard, sympathizing, said to herself: “After all, why _should_ he -be clever?” - -“Still, when one hasn’t much money,” she began, reminiscent of the -Duchess’s entreaty. - -“We’re beastly poor, of course,” admitted Valcourt. “But as to clothes -and horses and shootin’, tradespeople will tick a fellow till the cows -come home, and the millionaire manufacturers who buy or rent fellows’ -forests and moors and rivers and things are always glad to get the -fellow himself to show with ’em; and the keepers and gillies and chaps -take care that he gets the best that’s going generally. And so he does -himself pretty well all round.” - -“That sort of thing is too—undignified!” said Mrs. Mussard, “and too -uncertain. A man of rank and title must have a solid backing, a definite -_entourage_. You must marry, and marry well.” - -“Mother always talks like that!” said Valcourt. “I think,” he added, -“she has somebody in her eye for me!” - -“Who is she?” asked Mrs. Mussard sharply. - -“I’m not quite sure,” said Valcourt, his tourmaline eyes narrowing as he -smiled his angelic smile. “Dutch Jewess, perhaps,” he added simply, -“with barrels of bullion and a family all nose.” - -“Horrible!” cried Mrs. Mussard, shuddering. - -“Her brother’s in the Fifth,” let out Valcourt. “We call him ‘Hooky -Holland.’ Their father was secretary to the Klaproths and made heaps of -cash—‘cath’ Hooky calls it. He never talks about anything but ‘cath,’ -and fellows punch him for it.” Valcourt doubled his right hand -scientifically, thumb well down, and glanced at it with modest -appreciation ere he resumed: “He has lots of it, too, Hooky, and lends -at interest—pretty thick interest—to fellows who get broke at Bridge or -baccarat!” - -“Oh-h! You don’t play baccarat at school, surely! Such an awfully -gambling game!” expostulated Valcourt’s hostess. - -“We go to school to be educated, you see,” said Valcourt, in a slightly -argumentative tone, “for what Buntham calls ‘the business of life,’ and -cards are part of a fellow’s life, aren’t they? So they ought, instead -of being forbidden, to form part of what Old Cads calls the curriculum. -We call Buntham ‘Cads’ because he calls us cads when we do anything that -upsets him. He’s a nervous beggar, and gets a good deal of upsetting. My -dame says he weighs himself at the end of every term, and makes a note -of the pounds he’s lost since the beginning. When I go to Sandhurst she -thinks he’ll pick up a bit,” explained Valcourt with his angelic grin. - -“I hope your dame is a nice, motherly old person!” breathed Mrs. -Mussard. - -“She’s nice—quite,” said Valcourt, “and awfully obliging. I don’t know -about being old—unless you’d call thirty-three old.” Mrs. Mussard -started slightly. “When I have a cold she makes me jellies and things. -Awfully good things! And I give her concert tickets, and sometimes we go -on the river and have strawberries and cream. Lots of our fellows tell -her their love affairs.” - -“Do you?” - -“And some of ’em are in love with her,” went on Valcourt. - -Mrs. Mussard breathed quickly. Never before had she realized what perils -environ the young of the opposite sex, even with the chaste environment -of school bounds. In her agitation she laid her hand on Valcourt’s -shoulder. “I hope—you do not fancy yourself in love with her,” she -uttered anxiously. - -“Not much catch!” said Valcourt, with the composure of forty. “I got -over that in my second year.” - -“Silly boy!” Mrs. Mussard very gently smoothed down a lock at the back -of his head, which erected itself in silky defiance above its fellows. -“When love comes to you, Valcourt,” she went on, with a vivid -recollection of the utterances of the inspired authoress of _The Bride’s -Babble Book_, “you will find out what it _really_ means. It is a great -mystery, my dear boy, a sacred and solemn unveiling of the heart——” - -She stopped, for Valcourt had turned his face up toward hers, gently -smiling, and revealing two neat rows of milky white teeth. His -tourmaline eyes had an odd expression. - -“Did you speak, dear?” his fair Gamaliel asked. For the impression upon -her was that he had uttered two words, and that they were, “Hooky’s -sister!” - -But Valcourt shook his head. “I was only thinking. A fellow like me ... -has got to take what comes ... the best he can get ... and the better it -is, so much the better for him, don’t you see? If he don’t like what he -gets, he doesn’t go about grousing. He generally pretends he’s suited; -and _she_ pretends; and they get into a groove—or they get into the -newspapers,” said Geraldine’s unworldly babe. “Beastly bad form to get -into the newspapers. I never mean to.” - -Mrs. Mussard listened breathlessly. - -“I shall have a rattling time,” said Valcourt, in his soft, cooing -voice, “till Hooky’s sister grows up, and mother presents her, and then -I shall marry her, I suppose.” - -“Dearest boy, I hope not!” exclaimed Mrs. Mussard. “Someone more -suitable _must_ be found,” she continued, rapidly putting all the -moneyed girls of her acquaintance through a mental review. “Why should -you not marry beauty and birth as well as a banking account? The three -things are sometimes associated.” - -“German princes pick up girls of that kind,” said Valcourt, his elbows -upon his knees, and his round young chin cupped in his hands, “and -Austrian archdukes. But why need it be a girl?” he went on, pressing up -the smooth young skin at his temples with his finger-tips, so as to -produce the effect of premature crows’-feet. “I don’t like girls—all red -wrists and flat waists. Why shouldn’t it be a woman, say a dozen years -older—an awfully pretty woman, rich, and in the best set, who’d show me -the ropes? I’m a jolly ass in some things. I shall come no end of -croppers when I go into society, unless there’s somebody to give me the -needful tip.” - -Mrs. Mussard sat very upright. She looked at Valcourt; the hand with -which she had smoothed his hair remained suspended in mid-air until she -recollected it and laid it over its companion in her lap. - -“Most young fellows beginning life go to other men’s wives for advice,” -said Valcourt. “Why shouldn’t I go to my own?” - -Mrs. Mussard’s chiseled scarlet lips moved as though she had echoed, -“Why not?” - -“They—the chaps I’m talking of—are wild about ’em—the other men’s wives. -Yet nearly all of the women are old enough to be their mothers.” - -“Their grandmothers, sometimes,” said Mrs. Mussard unkindly. - -“Then why shouldn’t I marry a woman who’s only old enough to be my -aunt—a young aunt! I’d make a Marchioness of her, don’t you know! and -she’d make—she could make anything she liked of me!” said Valcourt, -turning his cherub smile and tourmaline eyes suddenly on Mrs. Mussard. -“_You_ could!” The lovely widow started violently, and flushed from the -string of pearls encircling her pretty throat to the little gold -hair-waves that crisped at her blue-veined temples. “You _know_ you -could!” murmured Valcourt. The strong young arm in the well-cut sleeve -intercepted the retreating movement that would have placed the lovely -widow in the uttermost corner of the sofa. The remonstrance upon -Vivienne’s lips was stifled by a kiss, given with eloquence and -decision, though the lips that administered it were soft, and unshaded -by even the rudiments of a mustache. “I’m seventeen the end of this -term, and five feet nine in my socks,” said Valcourt, a little -breathlessly, for the kiss had not been one-sided; “and—and you’re -simply awfully pretty. Marry me—I shall be of age before you know -it—and——” - -“You dreadfully presuming boy!” There were tears in the lovely eyes of -the late Mr. Mussard’s lovely widow; an unwonted throbbing in the region -of her bodice imparted a tremor to her voice that added to its charm. “I -shall write to your mother!” - -“Do!” said Valcourt, with his angelic smile. “She’ll be awfully pleased! -I wonder the idea didn’t occur to her instead of to me, for she’s -awfully clever, and I’m rather an ass.... Five o’clock!” he exclaimed, -as the delicate chime of a Pompadour clock upon the mantelshelf -announced the hour. - -“And you have missed the _matinée_!” said Mrs. Mussard. - -“I preferred this!” said Valcourt, getting up. She had no idea of his -being taller than herself until she found the tourmaline eyes looking -down into hers. “Good-bye, and thank you, Mrs. Mussard,” said the -boyish, ringing voice. “I’ve had an awfully pleasant day.” - -Their hands met and lingered. - -“Don’t call me Mrs. Mussard any more; my—my name is Vivienne,” she said -in a half-whisper. - -“Jolly! Hooky’s sister’s is Bethsaba,” said Valcourt. He made a quaint -grimace, as though the word tasted nasty, and Vivienne gave a little, -musical, contented laugh. “And I may come again, mayn’t I?” - -“This week,” nodded Mrs. Mussard. - -“I’ll say it’s my tooth,” explained Geraldine’s guileless offspring. - -He reached the door, the handle turned, when Mrs. Mussard beckoned, and -Valcourt came back. - -“I should like to ask you,” she began hesitatingly—“not that it matters -to me; but _still_, in your _own interests_—— And you know your mother -is my dearest friend!” ... Valcourt stood with the beautiful grin upon -his face, and Mrs. Mussard found the thing more difficult to say than -she had imagined. “Where did you—who taught you to make love like—like -that?—at your—at your age.... I—it is——” Valcourt made no reply in -words, but the expression upon his face became more celestial than -before. “I hope kissing is not a feature of the curriculum. But, -understand clearly,” said Mrs. Mussard, with that unusual tremor in her -charming voice, “that you are not for the future to kiss anybody but -me!” And as the door closed on Valcourt’s heavenly grin and tourmaline -eyes, she sat down to write a letter to Geraldine. - - - - - THE EVOLUTION OF THE FAIREST - - -If not absolutely a nincompoop, Gerald Delaurier Gandelish, Esq., of -Swellingham Mansions, Piccadilly, Undertherose Cottage, Sunningwater, -Berks, and Horshundam Abbey, Miltshire, was undoubtedly a type of the -_genus homo_ recently classified by a distinguished K.C. as soft-minded -gentlemen. Strictly educated by a private clerical tutor under the eye -of pious parents of limited worldly experience and unlimited prejudices, -it was not to be expected that Gerry, upon their dying and leaving him -in undisputed command of a handsome slice of the golden cheese of -worldly wealth, should not immediately proceed to make ducks and drakes -of it. He essayed to win a name upon the Turf; and when I remind you -that, at a huge price, the youth became possessor of that remarkable -Derby race-horse, Duffer, by Staggers out of Hansom Cab, from whom -eighteen opponents cantered away in the Prince’s year of ’90, leaving -the animal to finish the race at three lengths from the starting-post, I -have said all. Gerry dabbled “considerable,” as our American relatives -would say, in stocks, and started a _café chantant_ on the open-air -Parisian plan, which was frequented only by stray cats and London -blacks, and has since been roofed in and turned into tea-rooms. Sundry -other investments of Gerry’s resulted in the enrichment of several very -shady persons, and a consequent, and very considerable, diminution in -the large stock of ready money with which Gerry had started his career. -But though the edges of the slice of golden cheese had been a good deal -nibbled, the bulk of it remained, and Gerry’s Miltshire acres, strictly -entailed and worth eighty thousand pounds, with another twenty thousand -in Consols, and about half as much again snugly invested in Home Rails, -made him a catch worth angling for in the eyes of many mothers. - -We have termed Gerry “soft-minded.” He was also soft-hearted, soft-eyed, -soft-voiced, soft-haired, soft-skinned, and soft-mannered—the kind of -youth women who own to years of discretion like to pet and bully, the -kind of man schoolgirls call a “duck.” True, his neckties aroused -indignation in the breasts of intolerant elderly gentlemen, the patterns -of his tweeds afforded exquisite amusement to members of the Household -Brigade, and his jewelry could not be gazed at without winking by the -unseasoned eye; but, despite these drawbacks, Gerry was a gentleman. -Without the stamp of a public school or a select club, without the tone -of the best society—for, with the exception of a turfy baronet or so and -a couple of sporting peers, Gerry knew nobody who was anybody—Gerry was -decidedly a gentleman, whose progress to the dogs was arrested, luckily -for the young prodigal, when he fell in love with the famous burlesque -actress, Miss Lottie Speranza, of the Levity Theater. - -Of theaters and theatrical people Gerry may be said to have known little -or nothing until the enchanting Lottie blazed upon his field of vision. -Gerry’s worthy parents, strict moralists both, had considered the -theater as the temple of Satan, and had exacted from their only child a -solemn promise that he would never enter one. This promise Gerry had -actually kept, contenting himself with the entertainments offered by the -music halls, which his father had omitted to stigmatize and his mother -knew not of. But at the close of a festive dinner, given by Gerry to a -select party of “pals,” in a private room at the Levity Restaurant, when -a brief, lethargic slumber obscured the senses of the youthful host, the -brilliant idea of conveying him to a box in the theater upstairs -occurred to one of his guests, and was forthwith carried out. Emerging -from a condition of coma, Gerry found himself staring into a web of -crossing and intersecting limelights of varying hues, in which a -dazzling human butterfly, entangled, was beating quivering wings. The -butterfly had lustrous eyes, encircled with blue rims, a complexion of -theatrical red and white, and masses of golden hair. Her twinkling feet -beat out a measure to which Gerry’s pulses began to dance madly. He sent -the goddess an invitation to supper, which was promptly declined. He -forwarded a stack of roses, which were not acknowledged, and a -muff-chain, turquoise and peridot, which were returned to the address -upon his card. He felt hurt but happy at these rebuffs, which proved to -him that Miss Speranza was above reproach; and when a bosom friend of -his own age hinted that the prudish fair one was playing the big game, -and advised him to try her with a motor-car, Gerry promptly converted -the bosom friend into a stranger by the simple process of asking him to -redeem a few of his I O U’s. This got about, and caused Gerry’s other -friends to turn sharp round corners, or jump into hansoms when they saw -Gerry coming. Gerry hardly missed them, though the man who could have -afforded an introduction to his charmer would have been welcomed with -open arms. He occupied the same box at the Levity nightly now, and made -up, in its murkiest corner, a good deal of the nightly rest of which his -clamant passion deprived him. But he awakened, as by instinct, whenever -Miss Speranza tripped upon the stage; and the large-eyed, vacuous, -gorgeously-attired beauties who “went on” with the Chorus—the Lotties, -Maries, Daisies, Topsies of the noble houses of Montague, Talbot, De -Crespigny, and Delamere,—would languidly nudge each other at the -passionately prolonged plaudits of a particular pair of immaculate white -gloves, and wonder semi-audibly what the man saw in Speranza, dear, to -make such a bloomin’ silly fuss about? - -Gerry had occupied his watch-tower at the Levity for six weeks or so, -and was beginning to deteriorate in appetite and complexion (so powerful -are the effects of passion unreturned), when Undertherose Cottage at -Sunningwater, a charming Thames-side residence of the bijou kind, with -small grounds and a capacious cellar, a boat-house, and a house-boat, a -pigeon-cote and a private post-box, became suddenly vacant. The tenant, -a lady of many charms and much experience, who had passed over to Gerry -with the property, returned to her native Paris to open a bonnet-shop; -and Gerry, as he wandered over the dwelling with the sanitary engineer -and decorator, who had _carte blanche_ to do-up the place, found himself -strolling on the tiny lawn (in imagination) by the visioned side of the -enchantress who had enthralled him, supping (also in imagination) with -the same divine creature in the duodecimo oak dining-room, and smoking a -cigarette in her delightful company upon the balcony of the boudoir. -Waking from these dreams was a piquant anguish. Gerry indeed possessed -the cage, one of the most ideal nests for a honeymooning pair -imaginable; but in vain for the airy feminine songster might the -infatuated fowler spread nets and set springs. - -“If we didn’t live in this confoundedly proper twentieth century,” -thought disconsolate Gerry, “a chappie might hire a coach and eight, -bribe a few bruisers to repress attempts at rescue, snap her up -respectfully as she came out at the stage door, and absquatulate—no! -abduct’s the word. Not that I’d behave like a brute; I’d marry her -to-morrow if she’d only give me a chance to ask her. Marquises do that -sort of thing, and their families come round a bit and bless the young -people. She must have shown the door to dozens of ’em.” He sighed, for -where the possessor of a ripe old peerage had failed, how could Gerald -Gandelish, Esq., hope to triumph? “And she’s so awfully proper and -standoffish, too,” he reflected. He wondered how many years it had taken -those privileged persons whom the lady permitted to rank as her friends -to attain that enviable distinction. “I’ve never met a man who could, or -would, introduce me,” he added, pulling his mustache, which from happily -turning up at the corners had recently acquired a decided tendency to -droop. “Seemed to shy at it, somehow; and so I shall take the -initi—what-you-call—myself. She shall know from the start that my -intentions are honorable, and, hang it! the name’s a good one.... -There’s been a Gandelish of Horshundam ever since Henry the Eighth -hanged the abbot and turned out the monks, and put my ancestor Gorbred -in to keep the place warm. Gorbred was His Majesty’s principal purveyor -of sack and sugar, ‘and divers dainty cates beside,’ as the Chronicle -has it, and must have given the Tudor unlimited tick, I gather. Anyhow, -if four centuries of landlording don’t make a tradesman a gentleman, -they ought to; and I can’t see——” - -Gerry climbed into his “Runhard” thirty horse-power roadster, pulled -down the talc mask of his driving cap to preserve his eyes and -complexion, and ran back to town. That night, as he quitted his box at -the conclusion of the Levity performance (you will remember the -phenomenal run of _The Idiot Girl_ in 19—!), he turned up his coat -collar with the air of a man resolved to do or die, and boldly plunged -into the little entry leading to the stage door. The bemedaled military -guardian of those rigid portals, who had absorbed several of Gerry’s -sovereigns without winking, regarded him with a glazed eye and a stiff -upper lip. - -“Would you kindly——” began Gerry. - -But the stage-doorkeeper paid no heed, busily engaged as he was in -delivering letters from a rack on the wall, lettered S, into the hands -of a slight little woman in a rather shabby tweed ulster and plain felt -hat. Gerry’s heart jumped as he recognized his own handwriting upon one -of the envelopes.... Surely the tiny tin gods had favored him! The -little woman in the ulster and the plain felt hat must be lady’s maid to -the brilliant Speranza. As she thrust the letters into her pockets, -nodded familiarly to the commissionaire, and came out of the stage-door -office, Gerry, his heart in his mouth and his hat in his hand, stood in -her way. - -“Miss—Madam——” he began. “If I might ask you——” - -“What’s that?” shouted the commissionaire. As the little woman stepped -quickly backwards, Cerberus emerged, purple and growling, from his den -and reared his huge body as a barrier before her. “Annoying the lady, -are ye?” he roared, with a fine forgetfulness of Gerry’s sovereigns. -“Wait till I knock your mouth round to the back of your head, you -kid-gloved young blaggyard, you! Wait till——” - -“Be quiet, O’Murphy!” said the little woman in a tone and with an accent -which raised her to the level of lady’s companion in Gerry’s estimation. -And as the crestfallen O’Murphy retreated into his den, she said, -turning a plain little clever face, irradiated by a pair of brilliant -eyes, upon the crimson Gerry, “Did you wish to speak to me?” - -“I certainly do, if you are any relative—or a member of the household—of -Miss Speranza,” Gerry stuttered. - -There was a flash of eyes and teeth in the plain, insignificant face. - -“Oh, yes,” said the little woman, “I live with Miss Speranza.” - -Gerry’s tongue grew large, impeding utterance, and his palate dried up. -Of all creatures upon earth this little tweed-ulstered woman, in the -well-worn felt hat with the fatigued feather, seemed to him the most to -be envied. - -“You—you’re lucky,” he said lamely, and blushed up to the roots of his -hair, and down to the tips of his toes. - -“I’ve known her ever since she knew herself,” said the little companion. -“We were girls together.” Gerry could have laughed in her middle-aged -face, but he only handed her his card. “Oh yes,” she said after she had -glanced at it. “I seem to know the name. You have written to her, -haven’t you?” - -“Sev-several times,” acquiesced Gerry hoarsely. “I have ta-taken the -privilege.” - -“A great many other young gentlemen have taken it too,” observed Miss -Speranza’s companion. - -Then, as the swing doors behind her opened to let out a blast of hot air -and several grimy stage carpenters, and the swing doors before her -parted to let in a blast of cold air as the men shouldered out, “Excuse -me,” she said, and shivered, and moved as though to pass. “It is very -cold here, and the brougham is waiting.” - -“Beggin’ pardon!” said O’Murphy, looking out of his hole, “the groom -sent his jooty, an’ the pole av a ’bus had gone clane through the back -panel av the broom in a block off the Sthrand.... The horse kicked wan -av his four shoes off, an’ they’ve gone back wid themselves to the -stables to get the landau an’ pair——” - -“Call a hansom,” said the plain little woman. “I—we can’t wait here all -night!” - -As O’Murphy saluted and went outside, she stepped into his vacant hutch, -and Gerry daringly followed. - -“If I might venture to offer,” he began. “My cab—place disposal—Miss -Speranza—too much honored——” He trailed off into a morass of polite -intentions, rudimentarily expressed. The little companion maintained a -preoccupied air; she was probably expecting her mistress, Gerry thought, -but the conviction was no sooner formed than banished. - -“You are very kind,” she said, “but Miss Speranza cannot avail herself -of your offer. She sometimes leaves quite early, and by the private -door, and, as it happens, I am going home alone.” - -“Oh!” cried Gerry earnestly, “if you knew how awfully I want to speak to -you, you would let me drive you there—wherever it is!” - -Tears stood in the soft eyes of the somewhat soft-headed young man, and -the heart of the little lady in the ulster was softened, for she looked -upon him with a smile, saying: - -“Here comes O’Murphy to say my hansom is waiting.... You may drive with -me part of the way, and say what you have to say, if it is so very -important,” she said, with a brilliant gleam of mockery in her -remarkable eyes. - -Need one say that the enamored Gerry jumped at the proposal, and they -went out into the plashy night together. - -“Give the driver the address, O’Murphy,” ordered the little ulstered -woman. “Jump in!” she said to Gerry, and, presto! they were rattling -together up a stony thoroughfare leading from the roaring midnight -Strand, which in the present year of grace presents a smooth face of -macadam. - -“Will you have the glass down?” said Gerry. - -“Too warm!” cried the little ulstered woman. “Now, what have you to -say?” - -“How this trap rattles!” shouted Gerry. “One can hardly hear oneself -speak. But with regard to Miss Speranza——” - -“I suppose the pith of the matter is—you are in love with her?” shrieked -the little woman. - -“Madly!” bellowed Gerry. “Been so for weeks. Hold up, you brute!” This -to the cab-horse, a dilapidated equine wreck, which had stumbled. - -“Oh, you boys! You’re all alike!” cried his companion. - -“Mine is a man’s love,” roared Gerry. “I would lay the world at her -feet, if I had it; and I want you to tell her so.” The rattling of the -crazy cab nearly drowned his accents. “Oh! what do you think she will -say?” he bellowed, his lips close to the little woman’s ear. - -“She would say—Oh! _do_ you think this man is sober?” screamed the -little woman. “I mean the driver,” she added, meeting Gerry’s indignant -glare. - -“I don’t think he is too drunk to drive,” yelled Gerry. “Tell me, if you -have a heart,” he howled, “have I any chance _with her_?” - -“Ah! we’re off the cobblestones now!” said his companion, leaning back -with an air of relief. - -“And you can answer my question,” pressed Gerry. “I—I needn’t explain my -views are honorable—straight as a fellow’s can be. Love like mine is——” - -“So dreadfully greasy!” commented his companion anxiously, as the -debilitated steed recovered himself with difficulty at the end of a long -slide. - -“When I have been sitting, night after night, in that box looking at -her, thinking of her, worshiping her, by George!” went on Gerry, “she -must have sometimes noticed me, and said to herself——” - -“I _knew_ he would go down!” cried the little woman, clutching Gerry’s -arm, as the steed disappeared and the shaft-ends bumped on the asphalt. -“Let’s get out!” - -“Don’t be alarmed, lydy,” said a hoarse voice, through the trap -overhead, as the panting steed heaved and struggled to regain his hoofs. -“’E won’t do it agen this journey. One fall is ’is allowance, an’ ’e -never goes beyond.” - -“And we’re quite close to Pelgrave Square,” said Gerry. - -“How do you know Miss Speranza lives in Pelgrave Square?” said his -companion with a keen look. - -“Because I’ve seen photogravings of her house in an illustrated -interview,” replied Gerry. - -“Ah, of course,” said the little lady, with a thoughtful smile. The -steed, bearing out his driver’s recommendation, was now jogging along -reassuringly enough. “And did the portraits remind you of no one?” she -added, with another of those flashing smiles that invested her little -fatigued features with transient youth. - -“They weren’t half beautiful enough for her,” said Gerry fervently. Then -a ray of light broke upon him, and he jumped. “You—you’re a little bit -like her!” he exclaimed. “What a blind duffer I am! I’ve been taking you -for her companion, and all the while you’re a relative.” - -“Yes, I am a relative,” nodded the little lady. - -“Her aunt!” hazarded Gerry. - -“Her mother!” said the little lady, with a dazzling flash of eyes and -teeth. “How stupid you were not to guess it before!” - -“I’ve said nothing, madam, that I should not, I trust,” remarked Gerry, -with quite a seventeenth-century manner. “And, therefore, when I entreat -you to allow me an interview with your daughter, I trust you will not -refuse to grant my—my prayer.” - -“Hear the boy!” cried the little woman, with a trill of laughter, as the -cab pulled up before a large lighted house in a large darkish square. -“Well,” she added, “I think I can promise you that Lottie will see you -at least for a minute or two to-morrow. Not here—at the theater, seven -o’clock sharp. Lend me a pencil and one of your cards.” She scribbled a -word or two on the bit of pasteboard, paid the cab in spite of Gerry’s -protestations, and ran lightly up the solemn doorsteps, turned to the -enraptured young man standing, hat in hand, below, waved her hand, -plunged a Yale key into the keyhole—and instantly vanished from view. - -Behind Gerry’s shirt-front throbbed tumultuous delight. To have driven -in a cab with _her_ mother—talked of _her_, told his tale of love—albeit -with interruptions—and won the promise of an interview at seven sharp -upon the morrow.... Unprecedented fortune! incomparable luck! Did Time -itself cease he would not fail to keep the tryst with punctuality. He -caught a passing cab, drove home to his Piccadilly chambers, and went to -bed so blissfully happy that he spent a wretchedly bad night. The card -he kept beneath his pillow; and true to the promise made by the mother -of the enchantress of his soul—when, punctually to the stroke of seven, -Gerry, dressed with the most excruciating care, and clammy with -repressed emotion, presented himself at the stage door of the Levity—the -scrawled hieroglyphics on the blessed piece of pasteboard admitted him -behind the scenes. Led by a smartly-aproned maid, he climbed stairs, he -crossed the stage, was jostled by baize-aproned men in paper caps, and -begged their pardon. He followed his guide down a short passage, fell up -three steps—and knocked with his burning brow against the door—her door! -A voice he knew said, “Come in!” and in he went, to find, not the -adored, the worshiped Lottie, but the little plainish lady of the -previous night, sitting at a lace-veiled dressing-table, attired in a -Japanese gown. - -“Oh, I say!” murmured Gerry. - -“Ah! there you are!” The little lady looked at him over her shoulder, -and nodded kindly. “Don’t be too disappointed at not finding Lottie -here,” she said cheerfully; “she won’t be long.” - -“I’m so awfully obliged for all your kindness,” said Gerry, sheepishly -smiling over a giant bouquet. - -“You shall be really grateful to me one of these days, I promise you,” -said the little lady. “Let my maid take that haysta—that bouquet, and -sit down, do!” - -Gerry took the indicated chair beside the dressing-table, and noted, as -he sucked the top of his stick, how pitilessly the relentless radiance -of the electric light accentuated the worn lines of the little lady’s -face and the gray streaks in her still soft and pretty brown hair. - -“Cheer up!” she said, turning one of her flashing smiles upon him as he -sadly sucked his stick. “You won’t have long to wait for Lottie!” - -“No!” said Gerry rather vacuously. - -“No!” said Lottie’s mother, pulling off some very handsome rings and -hanging them upon the horns of a coral lobster that adorned the -dressing-table. “She takes about twenty minutes to make up.” Her pretty, -white, carefully-manicured fingers busied themselves, as she talked, -with various little pots and bottles and rolls of a mysterious substance -of a pinky hue, not unlike the peppermint suck-stick of Gerry’s youth. -“And are you as much in love with her to-day,” she continued, “as you -were last night?” - -“So much in love,” said Gerry, uncorking himself, “that to call her my -wife I would sacrifice everything.” - -“To _call_ her your wife?” The little lady pushed her hair back from her -face, twisted it tightly up behind, and pinned it flat with a relentless -hairpin. - -“To make her my wife,” Gerry amended, with a healthy blush. - -“Ah!” said the little lady, who had covered her entire countenance, -ears, and neck with a shiny mask of pinkish paste. “A word makes such a -difference.” She dipped a hare’s-foot into a saucer of rouge, and with -this compound impartially, as it seemed to Gerry, incarnadined her -cheeks and chin. “Of course,” she went on, dipping a disemboweled -powder-puff into a pot of French chalk and deftly applying it, “you are -aware that she possesses in years the advantage of yourself.” - -“I am twenty-three,” said Gerry proudly. - -“She owns to more than that!” said the lovely Lottie’s mother. She had -reddened her mouth, hitherto obliterated by the paste, into an alluring -Cupid’s bow, and darkened in, above her wonderfully brilliant eyes, a -pair of arch-provoking eyebrows. Now, as some inkling of the fateful -revelation in store clamped Gerry’s jaws upon his stick and twined his -legs in a death-grip about the supports of his chair, she rapidly, with -a blue pencil, imparted to those brilliant eyes the Oriental languor, -the divinely alluring, almond-lidded droop that distinguished Lottie’s, -seized a tooth-brush, dipped it into a bottle, apparently of liquid -soot, rapidly blackened her eyelashes, indicated with rose-pink a dimple -on her chin, groped for a moment in a cardboard box that stood upon the -ledge of her toilet table, produced a golden wig of streaming tresses, -dexterously assumed it, pulled here, patted there, twisted a -brow-tendril into shape—and turning, shed upon the paralyzed Gerry the -smile that had enchained his heart. - -“I told you Lottie would not be long,” said Lottie, “and I’ve made up -under twenty minutes. You dear, silly, honorable, romantic boy, don’t -stare in that awful way. Twenty-three indeed! And I told you I owned to -more! I ought to, for I have a son at Harrow, and a daughter of -seventeen besides.... Do try and shut your mouth. Why, you poor dear -goose, I was making my bow to the boys in the gallery when you were -playing with a Noah’s Ark. Shake hands, and go round in front and see me -do my piece, as usual. I’ve got used to that nice fresh face of yours up -in Box B, and applause is the breath of my nostrils, if I am old enough -to be your mother. Leave your flowers; my girl at home has got quite to -look out for them—and be off with you, because this”—she indicated the -French chalk—“has got to go farther!” She gave Gerry her pretty hand and -one of the brilliant smiles, as he blundered up from his chair, gasping -apologies. - -“Come and lunch with us to-morrow. You know my address, and I’ve told -the Professor all about you. You’ll like the Professor—my husband. One -of the best, though his wife says it. And the children——” - -“Can I come in, mother?” said a clear voice outside. - -“All right, pet!” called back Gerry’s late goddess, and a girl of -seventeen came into the room. She was all that Gerry had dreamed.... His -frozen blood began to thaw, and his tongue found words. Here was the -ideal. - -“But her name isn’t Lottie!” said his dethroned goddess, with a twinkle -of the wondrous eyes. “However, you’re coming to lunch to-morrow, aren’t -you?” - -“With the greatest pleasure,” said Gerry. And as he went round to his -box he carefully obliterated the name from the portrait cherished in his -bosom for so many weeks, with the intention of filling it in with -another to-morrow. - - - - - THE REVOLT OF RUSTLETON - - -A new-comer joined the circle of attentive listeners gathered round the -easiest of all the easy-chairs in the smoking-room of the Younger Sons’ -Club. The surrounded chair contained Hambridge Ost, a small, drab, -livery man, with long hair and drooping eyelids, who, as cousin to Lord -Pomphrey, enjoyed the immense but fleeting popularity of the moment. -Everyone panted to hear the details of the latest Society elopement -before the newspapers should disseminate them abroad. And Hambridge was -not unwilling to oblige. - -“The first inkling of the general trend of affairs, dear fellow,” said -Hambridge, joining his long, pale finger-tips before him, and smiling at -the new-comer across the barrier thus formed, “was conveyed to me by an -agitated ring at the telephone in my rooms. Bucknell, my man, hello’ed. -To Bucknell’s astonishment the ring-up came from 000, Werkeley Square, -the town mansion of my cousin, Lord Pomphrey, which he knew to be in -holland covers and the care of an ex-housekeeper. And Lady Pomphrey was -the ringer. When I hello’ed her, saying, ‘Are you there, Annabella? So -glad, but how unexpected; thought you were all enjoying your _otium cum_ -down at Cluckham-Pomphrey’—my cousin’s country-seat in Slowshire, dear -fellow—such a verbal flood of disjointed sentences came hustling over -the wire, so to speak, that I felt convinced, even in the act of rubbing -my ear, which tickled confoundedly, that something was quite absolutely -wrong somewhere. Pomphrey—dear fellow!—was my first thought; then the -Dowager—the ideal of a fine old Tory noblewoman of ninety-eight, who may -drop, so to put it, any moment, dear creature, relieving her family of -the charge of paying her income and leaving the Dower House vacant for -Lord Rustleton, my cousin’s heir and his—ahem!—bride. Knowing that -Rustleton was to lead the Hon. Celine Twissing to the altar of St. -George’s, Hanover Square, early in the Winter season, it occurred to me, -so to put it, that the demise of the Dowager could not have occurred at -a more auspicious moment. Thank you, dear fellow, I _will_ smoke one of -your particular Partagas, since you’re so good.” - -Four men struck vestas simultaneously as Hambridge relieved the nicotian -delicacy of its gold-and-scarlet cummerbund. Another man supplied him -with an ash-tray. Yet another pushed a footstool under his pampered -patent-leathers. Exhaling a thin blue cloud, the Oracle continued: - -“Amidst my distracted relative’s fragmentary utterances I gleaned the -name of Rustleton. Hereditary weak heart—circulation as limited as that -of a newspaper which on strictly moral grounds declines to report -Divorce Cases—and a disproportionate secretion of bile, so to put it, -distinguishes him, dear fellow, from, shall I say, mortals less favored -by birth and of lower rank. A vision of a hatchment over the door of -000, Werkeley Square—of the entire population of the county assisting at -his obsequies, dear fellow—volted through my brain. I seized my hat, and -rushed from my chambers in Ryder Street. An electric hansom had -fortunately pulled up in front of ’em. I jumped in. ‘Where to?’ asked -the chauffeur. ‘To a broken-hearted mother,’ said I, ‘000, Werkeley -Square, and drive like the dooce!’” - -Hambridge cleared his throat with some pomp, and crossed his little legs -comfortably. Then he went on: - -“Like the Belgian sportsman, who, in missin’ a sittin’ hare, shot his -father-in-law in the stomach, mine was an effort not altogether wasted. -All the blinds of the house were down, and the hysterical shrieks of -Lady Pomphrey echoin’ through practically a desert of rolled-up carpets -and swathed furniture, had collected a small but representative crowd -about the area-railings. I leaped out of the motor-cab, threw the -chauffeur the legal fare, and bein’ admitted to the house by an -hysterical caretaker, ascended to my cousin’s boudoir, the sobs and -shrieks of the distracted mother growing louder as I went. Dear fellows, -when Lady Pomphrey saw me, heard me saying, ‘Annabella, I must entreat -you as a near relative to calm yourself sufficiently to tell me the -worst without delay, or to direct me to the nearest person who can -supply authentic information,’ the floodgates of her sorrow were opened -to such an extent that—possessing a constitution naturally susceptible -to damp—I have had a deuce of a cold ever since. - -“Lord Rustleton—always a nervous faddist, though the dearest of -fellows—Rustleton had suddenly broken off his engagement to the Hon. -Celine Twissing, only child and heiress of Lord Twissing of Hopsacks, -the colossal financier figurehead, as I call him, of the Brewing Trade. -Naturally, the young man’s mother was crushed by the blow. The marriage -was to have been solemnized at the opening of the Winter Season—the -trousseau was nearly ready, and the cake—a mammoth pile of elaborate -indigestion—was bein’ built up in tiers at Guzzards’. The presents -(includin’ a diamond and sapphire bangle from a Royal source) had come -in in shoals. Nothing could be more confoundedly inopportune than -Rustleton’s decision. For all her muscularity—and she is an unpleasantly -muscular young woman—you’d marry her yourself to-morrow did you get the -chance, dear fellow. _Vous n’êtes pas dégoûté._ - -“But Rustleton’s a difficult man—always was. His personal appearance -ain’t prepossessin’, but he is Somebody, and looks it; d’ye foller me? -You feel at once that a long line of ancestors, more or less -distinguished, must have handed down the bilious tendency from father to -son. Originally—which goes to prove that first impressions are the -stronger—Lady Pomphrey tells me he could not stand Celine Twissing, -wouldn’t have her for nuts, or at any price; but after the disaster to -the steam yacht _Fifi_—run down by a collier at her moorings in -Southampton Water, you recollect, when by pure force of muscle Miss -Twissing snatched Lord Rustleton from a watery grave, so to put it—he -seemed to cave in, as it were, and the engagement was formally -announced. I thought his eye unsteady and his laugh hollow, when, with -the rest of the family, I proffered my insignificant congratulations. On -that occasion, dear fellow, he gave me two fingers instead of one, which -amounts to a grip with him, and whispered to the effect that there was -no use in cryin’ over spilled milk—a familiar saw which has sprung to my -own lips at the most inopportune moments. - -“Celine was undoubtedly in love. Her being in love, so to put it, added -immensely to Rustleton’s discomfort. For the New Girl is, as well as a -muscular being, a strenuous creature, omnivorous in her appetite for -mental exercise, and from the latest theories in physics to the morality -of the newest Slavonic novelist Rustleton was expected to range with her -hour by hour. Her mass of knowledge oppressed him, her inexhaustible -fund of argument exhausted him, her fiery enthusiasm reduced him to a -condition of clammy limpness which was—I may say it openly—painful to -witness. A backward Lower boy and an impatient Head Master might have -presented such a spectacle. Thank you, I will take a Vermouth, since you -are so kind. But the boy, in getting away for the holidays, had the -advantage of Rustleton, poor fellow!” - -Hambridge waited till the Vermouth came, and, sipping the tonic fluid, -continued: - -“These details, I need not say, were not culled from Lady Pomphrey, but -extracted from Rustleton, who had rushed up to town and gone to earth at -his Club, to the consternation of the few waiters who were not taking -holidays at the seaside. Little by little I became master of the facts -of the case, which was one of disparity from the outset. From the -muscular as from the intellectual point Celine Twissing had always -overshadowed her _fiancé_. But Celine’s intimate knowledge of the mode -of conduct necessary—I quote herself—to sane living and clear thinking -positively appalled him. Rustleton began the day with hot Vichy water, -dry toast, weak tea, and a tepid immersion. _She_, Miss Twissing, -commenced with Indian clubs, a three-quarter-mile sprint in sweaters, -coffee, eggs, cold game-pie, ham, jam, muffins, and marmalade. Did she -challenge the man, to whom she was soon to pledge lifelong obedience at -the altar, to a single at lawn-tennis, she quite innocently served him -twisters that he could only follow with his eye, and volleyed balls that -infallibly hit it. At croquet she was a scientist, winning the game by -the time Lord Rustleton had got through three hoops, and coming back to -stand by his side and goad him to silent frenzy by criticism of his -method. She is a red-hot motorist, and insisted upon taking Rustleton, -wrapped in fur coats, and protected by goggles, as passenger in the back -seat of her sixty-horse-power ‘Gohard’ when she competed in the -Crooklands Circular Track One Thousand Mile Platinum Cup Race, for -private owners only, professional drivers barred; and upon my honor, I -believe she would have pulled up the winner and heroine of the hour had -not the racing diet of bananas, meat jujubes, and egg-nog created such a -revolt in Rustleton’s system, poor fellow, that at the sixth hour of the -ordeal he was borne, almost insensible, and bathed in cold perspiration, -from the _tonneau_ to a neighboring hotel. - -“To anxiety, in combination with exploding tires, I attribute the fact -of Miss Twissing’s finishing as Number Four. Dear fellow, since you are -so good as to insist, I _will_ put that cushion behind the small of my -back. Lumbago, in damp weather, is my particular bane. Thankee!” - -Hambridge drew forth a spotlessly white handkerchief, flourished it, and -trumpeted. - -“Now we come to the crux, dear fellows. The Admirable Twissing, as many -call her, not content with bein’ an acknowledged expert in salmon -fishin’ and a darin’ rider to hounds, set her heart on Rustleton’s being -practically the same. With a light trout-rod and a tin of worms he _has_ -occasionally amoosed himself on locally-preserved waters; mounted on an -easy-goin’ cob, he is, so to put it, fairly at home. Scotch and -Norwegian rivers now, shall I say, claimed him as their sacrifice; -highly-mettled hunters—the Hopsacks stables are famous—took five-barred -gates and quickset hedges with him; occasionally even bolted with him, -regardless of his personal predilections. In the same spirit his -betrothed bride compelled him to fence with her; instructed him, at -severe physical expense to himself, in the rules of jiu-jitsu. The final -straw was laid upon the camel’s back when she insisted on his putting on -the gloves with her, and standing up for half an hour every morning to -be scientifically pummeled.” - -The listeners’ mouths screwed themselves into the shape of -long-expressive whistles. Glances of profound meaning were exchanged. -One man said, with a gulp of sympathy, “_Poor_ beggar!” - -“And so the worm turned,” said Hambridge Ost, running his forefinger -round inside the edge of his collar. “Smarting from upper-cuts -administered by the woman who was destined ere long to become the wife -of his bosom, flushed from having his head in Chancery, gravely -embarrassed by body-blows, dazzled by stars and stripes seen as the -result of merciless punches received upon the nose, Rustleton summoned -all his courage to the effort, and declined to take any more lessons. -Miss Twissing, to do her justice, was thunderstruck. - -“‘Oh!’ she said, her lips quivering—like a hurt child’s, according to -Rustleton—‘and you were coming on so _capitally_—we were getting on so -well. You are really gaining a knowledge of good boxing principles, you -were actually benefiting by our light little friendly spars.’ Rustleton -felt his nose, which was painfully swollen. ‘Of course, you could never, -never become a first-rater. Your poor little muscles are too rigid. You -haven’t the strength to hit a print of your knuckles into a pound of -butter, but you might come to show form enough to funk a big duffer, -supposing he went for you under the impression that you were as soft as -you look. But, of course, if you mean what you say’—she pulled her -gloves off and threw them into a corner of the gymnasium at Hopsacks -specially fitted up for her by a noted firm—‘there they go. I’ll read -the Greek Anthologists with you instead, or’—her eyes brightened—‘have -you ever tried polo?’ she asked. ‘We have some trained ponies in the -stable, and the largest croquet-lawn could be utilized for a ground, and -I’ll wire to the County Players for clubs and a couple of members to -teach us the rules of the game. You’ll like that?’ - -“‘I’m dashed if I shall!’ were the actual words that burst, so to put -it, from Rustleton. Celine drew herself up and looked him over, from the -feet upwards, as though she had never, so he says, seen him before. Five -feet five—his actual height—gave her an advantage of five inches and a -bit over. He begged her to be seated, and, standing before her in as -dignified an attitude as it is possible to assume in a light suit of -gymnasium flannels, with sawdust in your hair and a painfully swollen -nose, he broke the ice and demanded his release from their engagement, -saying that he felt it incumbent on him to live his own life in his own -way, that Celine crushed, humiliated, and oppressed him by the mere -vigor of her intellect and the exuberance of her physical -personality—with considerably more to the same effect. - -“She looked up when Rustleton, almost breathless, reached a full stop. -‘You give me your word of honor that there is no other woman in the -case,’ she murmured; ‘I _can_ stand your not loving me, I _can’t_ your -loving somebody else better.’ As Rustleton gave the required -denial—scouted the bare idea—a tear ran down her cheek and dropped on -her large powerful arms, which were folded upon her bust—really amazing, -dear fellow, and one of her strong points. ‘That settles it,’ she -uttered. ‘It’s understood, all’s off between us; you are free. And there -is a through express to London at 3:25. But I’m afraid I must detain you -a moment longer.’ She rang the bell, and told a servant to tell -Professor Pudsey she was wanted in the gym. ‘Tell her to come in -sparring kit, and be quick about it,’ were her actual words. - -“Until the Professor appeared, Miss Twissing chatted quite pleasantly -with Rustleton. The Professor was a large, flat-faced woman, of -remarkable muscular development, with her hair coiled in a tight knob at -the back of her head, her massive form attired in a thin jersey, short -serge skirt, long stockings, and light gymnasium shoes. ‘Let me -introduce my friend and resident instructress in boxing, fencing, and -athletics,’ says Celine, ‘and one of the best, so to put it, that ever -put a novice through his paces. Celebrated as the wife and trainer of -the late Ponto Pudsey, Heavy-weight Champion of England, and holder of -the Hyam’s Competition Belt three seasons running until beat by Bat -Collins at the International Club Grounds in ’92. Pudsey dear’—she -turned to the Professor—‘you know my little way when I’ve had a -set-back. Instead of playing _le diable à quatre_ and being disagreeable -and cantankerous all round, I simply send for you and say, as I say now, -“Put up your hands, and do your best; I warn you I’m going in for a -regular slugging match under the rules of the Amateur Boxing -Association. Three rounds—the first and second of three minutes’ length, -the third of four minutes’. This gentleman will act as time-keeper, and -pick up whichever of us gets knocked out. He has plenty of time before -he catches the express to town—and the lesson will be good for him.”’ -She and the Professor shook hands, and, with heads erect, mouths firmly -closed, eyes fixed, left toes straight, bodies evenly balanced, left -arms workin’ loosely, rights well across mark, and so forth, started -business in the most thorough-goin’ way. Such a bout of -fisticuffs—accordin’ to Rustleton—you couldn’t behold outside the -American prize-ring.” - -“By—Jingo!” ejaculated one of the listeners. - -“They led off in a perfectly scientific manner at the head, guarded and -returned, retreated and advanced, ducked, feinted, countered, and -cross-countered,” said Hambridge Ost, “until Rustleton grew giddy. -Terrific hits were given and taken before he could command himself -sufficiently to call ‘Time,’ the Professor with a black eye, Celine with -a cut lip, both of ’em smilin’ and self-possessed to an astonishin’ -degree; went in again at the end of the brief breathin’ space, and -fairly outdid the previous round. When a smashin’ knock-out on the point -of the jaw finally floored the Professor and she failed to come up to -time, leavin’ Miss Twissing mistress of the gory field, Celine nodded -significantly to Rustleton, and said, as she rolled down her sleeves, -‘That would have been for _you_, Russie, old boy, if there had been -another woman in the case. As there isn’t—goodbye, and good luck go with -you! I’m going to put dear old Pudsey to bed, and plaster this cut lip -of mine.’” - -“I like that girl!” declared the man who had said “By Jingo!” “A -rattling good sort, I call her. But a punch-bag would have done as well -as the Professor, I should have thought.” He tugged at his mustache and -wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. “A damaged lip is so fearfully -disfiguring. Has it quite healed?” - -“I know nothing of Miss Twissing,” said Hambridge, settling his necktie, -“and desire to know nothing of that very unfeminine young person, who, I -feel sure, would have been as good as her word and pounded Rustleton -into a human jelly, had she been aware that there actually existed, if I -may so put it, an adequate feminine reason for the dear fellow’s—shall I -say, change of mind?” - -“Of course,” said the man who had been anxious about Miss Twissing’s -lip, “the little bounder—beg pardon! Of course, Rustleton was telling a -colossal howler. As all the world knows, or will know when the -newspapers come out to-morrow, there was another woman in the case.” - -“Petsie Le Poyntz,” put in another voice, “of the West End Theater. -Petsie of the lissom—ahem!—limbs, of the patent mechanical -smile—mistress of the wink that convulses the gallery, and inventor of -the kick that enraptures the stalls. Petsie, who has won her way into -what Slump, of the _Morning Gush_, calls the ‘peculiar favor of the -British playgoer,’ by her exquisite and spontaneous rendering of the -ballad, ‘Buzzy, Buzzy, Busy Bee,’ sung nightly and at two _matinées_ per -week in _The Charity Girl_. Petsie, once the promised bride of a -thriving young greengrocer, now——” - -“Now, Viscountess Rustleton,” said Hambridge Ost. “Don’t forget that, -dear fellow, pray. I can conceive, even while I condemn my cousin’s -ill-considered action in taking to his—shall I say bosom? yesterday -morning at the Registrar’s—a young lady of obvious gifts and obscure -parentage without letting his family into the secret—that he found her a -soothing change from Miss Twissing. No Greek, no athletics, no -strenuousness of any kind. An appearance distinctly pleasing, even off -the boards, a certain command of repartee of the ‘You’re another’ sort, -an agreeable friskiness varied by an inclination to lounge languidly—and -there you have Petsie, dear fellow. The weddin’ breakfast took place at -the Grill Room of the Savoy Hotel, the extra-sized table, number three, -at the east upper end against the glass partition havin’ been specially -engaged by the management of the West End Theater. That, not bein’ an -invited guest, I ascertained from the waiter who usually looks after me -when I lunch there. The _menu_ was distinctly a good ’un. _Hors -d’œuvres_ ... a bisque, follered by _turban de turbot_.... Birds with -bread-cream sauce, chipped potatoes, tomatoes stuffed, and a corn salad. -Chocolate _omelette soufflée_—ices in the shape of those corrugated musk -melons with pink insides, figs, and nectarines. Of course, a claret -figured—Château-Nitouche; but, bein’ a theatrical entertainment, the Boy -washed the whole thing down. The name of the liqueur I did not get hold -of.” - -“_Parfait Amour_, perhaps?” said a feeble voice, with a faint chuckle. - -“As I have said, I failed to ascertain,” returned Hambridge Ost, with a -dry little cough. “But as Lord Pomphrey, justly indignant with his heir -for throwing over Miss Twissing, with whose hand goes a colossal -fortune, has practically reduced his income to a mere”—he elevated his -eyebrows and blew a speck of cigar-ash from his coat-sleeve—“_that_—the -stirrup-cup that sped my cousin and his bride upon their wedding journey -was certainly not, shall I say, _Aqua d’Oro?_” - -There was a faint chorus of applause. Hambridge, repressing all sign of -triumph, smoothed his preternaturally sleek head and uncrossed his -little legs preparatory to getting out of his chair. The circle of -listeners melted away; the man who had said “By Jingo!” straightened his -hat carefully, staring at the reflection of a distinctly good-looking -face in the mantel-glass. - -“If she had known—if that girl Celine Twissing had known—the game that -bilious little rotter meant to play, he’d have had his liqueur before -his soup, and it would have been punch—not Milk Punch or Turtle Punch, -but the real thing, with trimmings.” He arranged a very neat mustache -with care. “Sorry she got her lip split,” he murmured; “hope it’s healed -all right.... Waiter, get me a dozen Sobranie cigarettes. It’s a pity, a -confounded pity, that the only man who is really able to appreciate that -grand girl Celine Twissing happens to be a younger son. But, anyhow, I -can have a shot at her, and I will.” - - - - - A DYSPEPTIC’S TRAGEDY - - -“He is a constant visitor,” observed Lady Millebrook. - -“And a constant friend,” said Mrs. Tollebranch. A delicate flush mantled -on her otherwise ivory cheek, her great gray eyes, famed for their -far-away, saintly expression, shone through a gleaming veil of tears. -With the lithe, undulating movement so characteristic of her, she -crossed the velvety carpets to the window, and, lifting a corner of her -silken blind, peeped out over her window-boxes of jonquils as the -hall-door closed, and a well-dressed man with a slight stoop and a worn, -dyspeptic countenance went slowly down the doorsteps and got into his -cab. As though some subtle magnetic thrill had conveyed to him the -knowledge that fair eyes looked on his departure, he glanced up and -bowed, for one moment becoming a younger man, as a temporary glow -suffused his pallid features. Then the cab drove off, and Mrs. -Tollebranch, slipping her hand within the arm of Lady Millebrook, drew -her back to her cosy seat within the radius of the fire-glow, and rang -for tea. - -“I did not have it up while poor Cadminster was here,” she explained. -“The sight of Sally Lunn is horrible to him, and he is positively -forbidden tea.” - -“They say,” said Lady Millebrook, nibbling the Sally Lunn, “that he -lives upon gluten biscuits, lean boiled mutton, and white fish, washed -down by weak Medoc, mixed with hot water.” - -“It is true,” returned her friend. - -“And yet he dines out. I meet him comparatively often at other people’s -tables,” said Lady Millebrook. “And here—invariably.” Her eyebrows wore -the crumple of interrogation. - -“The servants have orders to pass him over,” explained Mrs. Tollebranch, -sipping her tea. “If Jerks or Wilbraham were to offer him a made dish, -one, if not both of them, would be instantly dismissed.” - -“My dear Clarice! Friendship is friendship.... But Jerks and -Wilbraham.... Such invaluable servants! You cannot mean what you say!” - -“I do mean it,” nodded Mrs. Tollebranch. “Oh, Bettine!” she murmured, -clasping Lady Millebrook’s hand, “don’t look so surprised. If you only -knew how much that man has sacrificed for me!” - -“If there is anything upon which I pride myself,” observed Lady -Millebrook, “it is my absolute lack of curiosity. And yet people are -always telling me their secrets—the most intimate, the most important! -‘Bettine,’ they say, ‘you are a Grave!’ ... So I am; it is quite true. A -thing once repeated in my hearing is buried for ever! We have not known -each other very long, it is true, but you must have discovered that I am -absolutely reliable! Talking of sacrifices, there are so many sorts. Now -perhaps in your gratitude for this service rendered you by Lord -Cadminster, you overrate. Perhaps it is really not so great as you -imagine! Perhaps...! But I am not curious in the least!” - -“Would it surprise you to hear,” queried Mrs. Tollebranch, “that -Cadminster, two years ago, was _perfectly healthy!_ Not the cadaverous -dyspeptic he is now; not the semi-invalid, but a robust, healthy, -fresh-colored man of the out-of-doors, hardy English type?” - -Lady Millebrook elevated her eyebrows. “Dear me,” she observed. “How -very odd! And now—you know his horrid _soubriquet_—‘The Boiled Owl.’ He -has earned it _since_, of course.” - -“He had a splendid appetite once,” continued Mrs. Tollebranch, “an iron -constitution—a perfect digestion. He gave them all three to save a -woman’s honor. Oh! Bettine, can you guess who the woman was?” - -“I never hazard guesses about my friends,” said the inexorable Lady -Millebrook. “But I feel, somehow, that she may have been you?” - -“I was weak,” admitted Mrs. Tollebranch, clasping her friend’s hand with -agitated jeweled fingers. “But not wicked, Bettine. Promise me to -believe that!” - -“I never promise,” said Bettine, “but no one could look at you and doubt -that ... whatever you might do, would be the outcome of irresistible -impulse, _not_ the result of deliberate—ahem! My dearest, you interest -me indescribably,” she cried, “and if I were the _least bit_ inclined to -curiosity, I am sure I should implore you to go on.” - -“You shall hear the story of Cadminster’s Great Sacrifice, Bettine,” -said Mrs. Tollebranch, “and when you have heard, you will regard him——” - -“As Bayard and all the other heroes of chivalry rolled into one, and -dressed by a Bond Street tailor,” interrupted Lady Millebrook, with a -glow of impatience in her fine dark eyes. “I think you mentioned two -years ago?” she added, settling a little stray lock of her friend’s -silken blonde hair, and sinking back among her cushions. - -“Two years ago,” murmured Mrs. Tollebranch, “Willibrand became bitten -with the Golf Spider. He is as wild about the game to-day,” she added, -“as ever.” - -“There is a proverb, ‘Once a golfer, always a golfer,’” put in Lady -Millebrook. “I believe that to play the game successfully requires a -vast amount of thought and judgment, which insensibly diverts a man’s -mind from less harmless topics, and that it entails an invigorating and -healthy action of the arms and legs, soothing to the nervous system, and -improving in its effect upon the temper. Were I asked by any married -woman of my acquaintance whether she should encourage her husband in his -devotion to golf, or dissuade him from it, I should advise her to -encourage the fad. The game, unlike others, can be played all the year -round, in sunshine, rain, or snow.” - -“Willibrand used to play it in the snow,” put in Mrs. Tollebranch, “with -red balls. It was when we were spending March at Tobermuirie two years -ago, that——” - -“That Lord Cadminster performed the chivalrous action which resulted for -him in the permanent loss of his digestion? Well?” - -“Tobermuirie is the bleakest spot in North Britain,” began Mrs. -Tollebranch, returning the teacups to the tray, and touching the -electric bell in a manner which conveyed the intimation that she would -not be at home to any caller for the next quarter of an hour. “The -castle is one of the oldest inhabited residences in Europe, and, I -verily believe, the coldest. If you would like to find out for yourself -how easily a northern gale can penetrate walls ten feet thick in the -thinnest places, come to us in July.” - -“I shall make a point of it!” said Lady Millebrook, cuddling down into -her warm, scented lair of cushions. - -“Of course, the male division of the house-party was made up of golfing -enthusiasts,” went on Mrs. Tollebranch. “Major Wharfling, Sir Roger -Balcombe, Cadminster, who was as keen as Willibrand in those days, three -Guardsmen, and D’Arsy Pontoise.” - -“By the way, what has become of Pontoise?” queried Lady Millebrook. “One -never meets him now as one used.” - -“He scarcely ever leaves Paris, I believe,” returned Mrs. Tollebranch, -rather constrainedly. “Since his reconciliation with the Duc, his -great-uncle, and his marriage with Mademoiselle De Carapoix, who I have -heard is a very strict Catholic and humpbacked——” - -“Besides being a great heiress.... Of course, he is kept well within -bounds. But what a fascinating creature Pontoise used to be. Bubbling -with life, effervescing with spirits. Sadly naughty, too, I fear, for -the names of at least half a dozen pretty married women used to be mixed -up with his in all sorts of scan.... My dearest, I beg your pardon!” - -“I, at least, was not wicked—only weak!” said Clarice, with icy dignity. -“And as to there being five others——” - -“My sweet, it was the vaguest hearsay. Nothing certain, except that -Pontoise spoke perfect English and was a veritable Apollo! I can imagine -the rigors of imprisonment in a Border castle in March to have been -ameliorated by the fact of his being a guest under its aged roof. Did he -play golf?” - -Mrs. Tollebranch rose and took a dainty screen of crimson feathers from -the high mantelshelf. - -“He tried to learn,” she explained, holding the screen so as to shield -her delicate complexion from the glowing heat of the log fire. “But the -game baffled him. To play it properly, I believe, the mind must be dead -to all other interests——” - -“And Pontoise’s mind was unusually alive at that particular moment to -things outside the sphere of golf,” mused Lady Millebrook. “Golf is a -game for husbands, not for——” Her red lips closed on the unuttered word. - -“Don’t say, ‘lovers’!” implored Clarice. “From beginning to end, -Bettine, it was nothing but a flirtation. I will own that I -was—attracted, almost fascinated. I had never met a human being whose -nature was of so many colors ... whose soul....” She broke off. - -“I have been informed on good authority,” observed Lady Millebrook, -“that whenever Pontoise meant mischief he invariably talked about his -soul. But do go on! - -“Of course, you played golf also; and as one of the great advantages -connected with the game is that you can choose your own partner, I may -presume that Pontoise made acquaintance with it under your auspices, and -that when he landed himself in the jaws of some terrific sand-bunker, -you were at hand to help him out.” - -“As his hostess, it was rather incumbent upon me,” explained Mrs. -Tollebranch, “to make myself of use. Willibrand and Sir Roger Balcombe -termed him a duffer; Major Wharfling is nothing but a professional, -Cadminster and the Guardsmen were hard drivers all. And as Bluefern had -made me a golfing costume which was a perfect dream——” - -“You completed the conquest of Pontoise. I quite understand!” said -Bettine. “In that frock, armed with a long spoon. I quite grasp it.” - -“The golf course is very open at Tobermuirie,” went on Clarice, playing -with the feather fan. - -“But there are hillocks, and bumps and boulders, and things behind which -Pontoise managed to get in a good many references to his soul. I grasp -_that_ also,” observed Lady Millebrook. - -“He did mention his soul,” admitted Mrs. Tollebranch. “He said that it -had always been lonely, thirsting for the sympathy of a sister-spirit -until——” - -“Until he met you!” - -“He did say as much. And he explained how, in sheer desperation of ever -meeting the affinity, the flame for whom the spark of his being had been -originally kindled, a man may drift into all kinds of follies, even gain -the name of a libertine and a _roué_.” - -“Quite true.” - -“He has such wonderful eyes, like moss agates, and his profile is like -the Hermes of Praxiteles, or would be but for the waxed mustache and -crisp, golden beard. And there is a vibrating _timbre_ in his voice that -goes to the very heart. One could not but be sorry for him.” - -“I am sure you were very sorry indeed. But Pontoise, as one knows of -him, would not long be content with that. Your heartfelt pity, and the -tip of your little finger to kiss....” Lady Millebrook’s sleepily dark -eyes smiled cynical amusement. “Those things are the _hors d’œuvres_ of -flirtation. Soup, fish, made-dishes, roast, and sweets invariably -succeed, with black coffee and a subsequent indigestion.” - -Clarice avoided the glance of this feminine philosopher. - -“Pontoise was always respectful,” she said, with a little note of -defiance in her voice. “He never forgot what was due to me save once, -when——” - -“When it was borne in upon him too strongly what he owed to himself. And -then he kissed you, and you were furiously angry.” - -“Furious!” nodded Clarice, brushing her round chin with the edge of the -crimson screen. “I vowed I would never speak to him again.” - -“And how long did you keep that oath?” asked Bettine. - -“We met at dinner in the evening, and of course one has to be civil. And -when I went to bed, and he handed me my candlestick,” said Mrs. -Tollebranch—“for gas is only laid as high as the first floor of the -castle, and the electric light has never been heard of—he slipped a note -into my hand. It implored my pardon, and declared that unless I would -meet him in the golf-house on the links next day before lunch, and -receive his profound apologies, he would terminate an existence which my -well-deserved scorn had rendered insupportable. He spoke of the—the——” -Clarice hesitated. - -“The kiss,” put in Lady Millebrook, “and——” - -“Said he had dared, in a moment of insanity, to desecrate the cheek of -the purest woman breathing with lips that ought to be branded for their -criminal presumption. He could never atone, he ended, but he could never -forget.” - -“And asked you in the postscript to meet him in the golf-house. I quite -understand,” observed Lady Millebrook. “Of course, you didn’t go?” - -Clarice’s lovely gray-blue eyes opened. Her sensitive lips quivered. - -“Oh! but I am afraid....” She heaved a little regretful sigh over her -past folly. “That is where I was weak, Bettine. I went. Oh, don’t -laugh!” - -“My child, this is hysteria,” explained Lady Millebrook, removing the -filmy handkerchief from her lovely eyes. “Well—you went. You popped your -head into the lion’s mouth—and somehow or other Cadminster played the -_deus ex machina_, and got it out for you again.” - -“The golf-house was a queer shanty, with a tarred roof,” said Mrs. -Tollebranch retrospectively. “It held a bunker of coals, and stands for -clubs, and a fireplace, and a folding luncheon-table, and camp-stools, -and hampers. We used to lunch outside when it didn’t rain or snow, and -inside when it did. Well, when Willibrand and Sir Roger Balcombe, Major -Wharfling, the Guardsmen, and Cadminster were quite out of sight, -Pontoise and I somehow found ourselves back at the golf-house. I was -cold, and there was a fire there, and he looked so handsome and so -miserable as he stood bare-headed by the door, waiting for me to enter, -that——” - -“The fly walked in. And then the spider——” - -“He disappointed me, I will own,” said Clarice, with a little gulp. -“After all his penitent protestations! I have never trusted men with -agate-colored eyes since, and I never will. They have only one idea of -women, and that is—the worst. But when I ordered him to let go my hands -and get up from his knees, something in my face or voice seemed to tell -him that I was really, really, in earnest, and he obeyed me, and moved -suddenly away as I went to the door. The latch rattled as I lifted my -hand, the door opened; Cadminster stood there, white from head to foot, -for a sudden blizzard had swept down from the hills, and the links were -four inches deep in snow. Oh! I shall never forget how tactful he was! -‘You have got here before the rest of us!’ he said, quite in a cheery, -ordinary way. ‘Lucky for you! Tollebranch and the others are coming -after me as hard as they can pelt, and we shall have to put out the -“House Full” boards in a minute.’ And he began to rattle out the flaps -of the luncheon-table, and get out things from the hamper, and then he -looked at me, and said, as he lifted the lid from a great kettle of -Irish stew that had been simmering over the fire, ‘Suppose you were to -take the ladle and give this mess a bit of a stir, Mrs. Tollebranch! The -fire will burn your face, I’m afraid, but what woman wouldn’t sacrifice -her complexion in the cause of duty?’ Oh, Bettine, I could have blessed -Cadminster as I seized that iron ladle, for seeming so natural and at -ease. And then—almost before I had begun to stir the stew—while I was -bending over the pot, Willibrand and the other men came in. What -followed I can never forget!” - -“Now we come to Cadminster’s great act of heroism?” interrogated Lady -Millebrook. - -“Willibrand came in stamping the snow off,” went on Mrs. Tollebranch. -“So did all the other men. Willibrand sniffed the odor of the oniony -stew with rapture. All the other men sniffed too.” - -“The tastes of the male animal are extraordinarily simple,” observed -Lady Millebrook, “in spite of the elaborate pretense carried on and kept -up by him, of being a gourmand and a _connoisseur_. The coarsest dishes -are those which appeal most irresistibly to his palate, and when I find -it necessary for any length of time to chain Millebrook to his home, I -order a succession of barbaric _plats_. By the time we have reached -tripe and onions, served as an _entrée_, there is not a more -domesticated husband breathing. But pray continue.” - -“They all assembled round the stewpot,” went on Clarice, “and watched -with absorbed interest the operation of turning its steaming contents -into the dish that awaited them. Cadminster and Willibrand undertook -this duty. Well——” - -“Well?” - -“Just as they heaved up the steaming cauldron, Willibrand called out, -‘Hulloa, what the deuce is that?’ His hands were occupied—he could not -get at his eyeglass,” said Mrs. Tollebranch, “and so he peered and -exclaimed, while I leaned over his shoulder and glanced into the -stewpot. There, floating upon the surface of the muttony, oniony, -carroty, potatoey mass, was”—she shuddered—“the letter Pontoise had -given me with my candlestick on the preceding night!” - -“My _dear_, how awful!” gasped Lady Millebrook. - -“I had had it in my pocket,” explained Mrs. Tollebranch, “when I arrived -at the golf-house. When I began to stir the stew I found the handle of -the ladle too hot to be pleasant, and I pulled out my handkerchief to -wrap round it.” - -“Whisking Pontoise’s effusion out with it! How reckless not to have -burned it!” cried Lady Millebrook. - -“Imagine my feelings!” said Clarice. “There was the letter in the -stewpot. As the contents were turned by Cadminster into the dish, I lost -sight of the envelope beneath a greasy avalanche of fat mutton and -vegetables. I remembered that Pontoise had referred to that unlucky -kiss; I recalled Willibrand’s unfortunate tendency to outbursts of -jealous rage without reason; I shuddered at the thought of the amount of -reason that envelope contained. Self-control abandoned me—my brain spun -round, I thought all lost ... and then—I caught Cadminster’s eye. There -was encouragement in it—and hope. ‘Trust to me,’ it said, ‘I will save -you!’” - -“And——?” - -“We sat down to table, and that stew was distributed, in large portions, -to all those men. Cadminster assumed control of the ladle. He gravely -asked me whether I cared about stew, and I gasped out something—what I -don’t know, but I believe I said I didn’t. When the words were out, I -knew that I had lost my only chance—that Cadminster had intended to help -me to that fatal envelope. My fate hung in the balance as he filled -plate after plate.... Who would get my letter in his gravy, amongst his -vegetables? What would happen then? Would it be rendered illegible by -grease, or would it not? I scarcely breathed, the suspense was so -awful!” said Mrs. Tollebranch, clutching Lady Millebrook’s sleeve. “And -then—Relief came. I grasped that man’s heroic motive—I understood the -full nobility of his nature when——” - -“When Cadminster helped himself to the letter! But, good heavens! you -don’t mean to tell me,” cried Lady Millebrook, “that he _ate_ it?” - -“He did, he did!” cried Mrs. Tollebranch, throwing herself into her -friend’s sympathetic embrace. “Now you know why I call him a Bayard, and -look upon him as my truest, noblest friend. Now you know....” - -“Why he is a cadaverous dyspeptic! Of course. That document must have -completely wrecked his constitution.” - -“It has,” interrupted Clarice, with a little shower of tears. - -“I shall never say again,” remarked Lady Millebrook, as she took an -affectionate leave of her dearest friend but four, “that Romance and -Chivalry have no existence in these modern times. To jump into a den -full of lions and things to get a lady’s bracelet or save a lady’s glove -may sound finer, though I am not sure. But to eat another man’s -love-letter, envelope and all, to save a woman’s reputation ... there is -the true ring of heroism about it, the glow that ennobles an ordinary, -commonplace action into something superb. And, unless I mistake, -Pontoise invariably penned his amatory effusions upon the very stiffest -of parchment wove.... Darling, Lord Cadminster must dine with us.... -Next Thursday; I will not take No!” ended Lady Millebrook; “and he may -rely upon it that if either Jedbrook or Mills presume to offer him -anything rich or oleaginous, either or both of them will be dismissed -next day!” - - - - - RENOVATION - - -The hands of the Dresden clock upon the white travertine mantelshelf of -Lady Sidonia’s boudoir pointed to the small hours. There was a discreet -knock at the door. The maid, a pale, pretty young woman, who was -wielding the hair-brush, laid the weapon down, and answered the knock. - -“Who is it, Pauline?” asked Pauline’s mistress, with her eyes upon the -mirror, which certainly framed a picture well worth looking at. - -“Her Grace’s maid, my lady, asking whether you are too tired for a -chat?” - -“Say that I shall be delighted, and give me the blue Japanese kimono -instead of this pink thing. Will my hair do? Because, if it needs no -more brushing, you can go to bed.” - -“Thank you, my lady.” - -The door opened; trailing silks swept over the carpet.... - -“I can’t kiss you through all this brown-gold silk,” said the Duchess’s -voice. “Stop, though! You shall have it on the top of your head.” And -the kiss descended, light as a puff of thistle-down. “I kiss Cull there -sometimes, when I want him to be in a good temper. He says it thrills -right down to the tips of his toes.... You’re smiling! I guess you think -the stock of thrills ought to be exhausted by this time—three years -since we stood up together on the deck of Cluny F. Farradaile’s anchored -airship, a posse of detectives from Blueberry Street guarding the ends -of the fore and aft cables, where they were anchored three hundred feet -below in the grounds of the N’York Æther Club, just to prevent any one -of the dozens of Society girls who’d tried their level best to catch -Cull and failed, from coming along with a bowie and cutting ’em.... You -remember the pars. in all the papers, headed, ‘A Marriage Made in -Heaven,’ I guess?” - -“Of course, of course,” said the Duchess’s hostess and dearest friend. - -“My invention,” said her Grace, “and mighty smart, I reckon. I’d always -said I’d be married in a real original way—and I was. The only drawback -to the affair was that she pitched—I mean the airship—and the Minister, -and Cull, and Poppa, and the inventor—that’s Cluny F. Farradaile—were -taken poorly before the close of the cer’mony. As for my sex, I’m proud -to say that Amurrican women can rise superior even to air-sickness when -Paris frocks are in question. But when they wound us down we were glad -enough to get back to dry land. We found a representative of the Customs -waiting for us, by the way; and if Poppa hadn’t gone to law about it, -and proved that we were really fixed on to the States by our cables, -we’d have had to plank down the duty on every jewel we’d got on. Say, -pet, I’m perishing for a smoke!” - -The Duchess was supplied with cigarettes. Pauline placed upon a little -table the materials that “factorize,” as the Duchess would have said, -towards the composition of cognac and soda, and glided out. - -“Now I call that a real pretty, meek-looking creature,” said her Grace, -blowing a little flight of smoke rings in the direction of the door. “If -she’s as clever as she’s nice, Siddie, you’ve got a treasure!” - -“She _is_ a good maid,” responded Lady Sidonia. “For one thing, she -knows a great deal about the toilette, and on the subject of the -complexion she’s really quite an authority. She knows something of -massage, too—on the American system—for, though an English girl, she has -lived in your country——” - -“Oh!” said the Duchess, with an accent of interest. “Has she, indeed?” - -“She’s reasonable, too,” went on the maid’s mistress; “and not a limpet -in the way of sticking to one mode of doing the hair and refusing to -learn any other. Then she can _wave_——” - -“It is an accomplishment,” said the Duchess thoughtfully. “Now, my woman -either frizzes you like a Fiji, or leaves you dank and straight like a -mermaid. Why does hair never wave naturally—out of a novel? It’s a -question for a Convention. And men—dear idiots!—are such believers in -the reality of ripples. There! I’ve been implored over and over again -for ‘just that little bit with the wave in it’ to keep in a -locket—hundreds and hundreds of times. I guess Cull’s wiser now; but -once you’ve seen your husband’s teeth in a tumbler, you’ve entered into -a Conjugal Reciprocity Convention: ‘Believe in me—not as much of me as -really belongs to me, but as much as you see—and I’ll return the -compliment!’ Yes, I guess I’ll take some S. and B. It’s an English -accomplishment, and I’ve mastered it thoroughly. We Amurricans rinse out -with Apollinaris or ice-water, which isn’t half so comforting, -especially in trouble.” - -And the Duchess heaved a butterfly’s sigh, which scarcely stirred her -filmy laces, and smoothed her prettiest eyebrow with one exquisite -finger-tip. - -“Trouble!” exclaimed her friend. “My dear, you’re the happiest of women. -Don’t try to persuade me that you’ve got a silent sorrow!” - -“Not exactly a silent one, because I’m going to confide in you; but -still it is a sorrow.” The Duchess confided one hand to her dearest -friend’s consoling clasp, and wiped away a tear with a minute -handkerchief that would not have dried half a dozen. “Perhaps Amurrican -blood is warmer than English; but, anyhow, our family affections are -vurry much more strongly developed over in the States than yours are -here. And I had a letter from Momma by yesterday’s mail that would have -melted a heart of rock.” She dried a second tear. “If Momma lives till -the end of Creation,” she said, “she will never, never get over it. And -I don’t wonder!” - -“Darling, if it would really do you any good to tell me——” breathed Lady -Sidonia. - -“I tell all my friends,” said the Duchess with a sigh; “and they’re -invariably of one opinion—that Momma was cruelly victimized.” - -“She is——” - -“Call her forty, dear. It would be just cruel to say anything more. -People call me lovely and all those things,” said the Duchess candidly, -“and I allow they’re correct. Well, compared with what Momma was at my -age, I’m real ordinary.” - -“Oh!” - -“Frozen fact! And you can grasp the idea that when—in spite of every -effort—Momma began to lose her figure and her looks, she felt it!” - -“Every woman must!” - -“But the more she felt it, the more she seemed to expand.... Grief runs -to fat, I do believe,” said the Duchess. “Of course, Poppa’s allowance -to Momma being liber’l—even for a Corn King—she had unlimited funds at -her disposal. To begin with, she rented a medical specialist.” - -“Who dieted her?” - -“My dear, for a woman accustomed to French cookery, and with the -national predilection for cookies and candy, it must have been——” - -“Torture!” - -“One gluten biscuit and the eye of a mutton cutlet for dinner. Think of -it! Beef-juice and dry toast for breakfast, ditto for supper. And she -used to skip—a woman of that size, too—for hours! And her trainers came -every morning at five o’clock, and they’d make her just put on a sweater -and take her between them for a sharp trot round Central Park, just as -if she’d been a gentleman jockey sworn to ride at so many stone for a -Plate. And the number of stone Momma got off——” - -“She _got_ them off?” - -“I guess she got them off,” said the Duchess. “Poppa talked of having an -elegant tombstone set up in Central Park to commemorate the greater -portion of a wife buried there! then he gave up the notion. And then -Momma made handsome presents to her specialist and her trainers, and -contracted with the cleverest operator in N’York to make a face.” - -“To make a face?” repeated Lady Sidonia. - -“To make a face for Momma that matched her youthful figure,” said the -Duchess composedly. “My! the time that man took in creating a surface to -work on! She slept for a fortnight with her countenance covered with -slices of raw veal.” - -“Horrible!” shuddered the listener. - -“And the massaging and steaming that went on!” - -“I can imagine!” - -“The foundations being properly laid——” continued the Duchess, lighting -another cigarette. - -Lady Sidonia went into a little uncontrollable shriek of laughter. “As -though ... she had been a house!... Ha, ha, ha!” - -“My dear,” returned the Duchess, shaking her beautiful head, “the terms -employed in the contract were precisely those I have quoted.... The -specialist laid the foundations, and carried the contract out. Momma’s -appearance delighted everyone, except Poppa, who has old-fashioned -notions, and complained of feeling shy in the presence of a stranger. -Fortunately their Silver Wedding eventuated just then, and his -conscience—Poppa’s conscience is, for a corn speculator’s, wonderfully -sensitive—ceased to annoy him.” - -“And your mother?” - -“Momma wore her new face for six months with the greatest satisfaction,” -said the Duchess. “Of course, she had to lay up for repairs pretty -often, but the specialist was there to carry them out. Unluckily, he -contracted a severe chill in the N’York winter season and died. His wife -put his tools and enamels and things in his coffin. She said she knew -business would be brisk when he got up again, and she didn’t wish any -other speculator to chip in before him.” The Duchess sighed. “Then came -Momma’s great trouble.” - -“There was no other operator to—take up the—the contract?” hinted Lady -Sidonia. - -“There were dozens,” said the Duchess, “and Momma tried them all. My -dear, you may surmise what she looked like.” - -“A heterogeneous mingling of styles.” - -“It was impossible to conjecture,” said the Duchess confidentially, “to -what period the original structure belonged. By day Momma resorted to a -hat and voile.” - -“Even in the house?” - -“Even in the house. By night—well, I guess you’ve noticed that a human -work of art, illuminated by electric light, isn’t seen under the most -favorable conditions.” - -“There is a pitiless accuracy!” - -“An unmerciful candor about its revelations. After one unusually -brilliant reception, Momma retired from society and took to -spiritualism. She persevered until she had materialized that demised -face-specialist, and extracted some definite raps in the way of advice.” - -“And what did he advise?” - -“He suggested, through the medium, that Momma should apply to the -Milwaukee Mentalists.” - -“A Society of Faith Healers?” - -“‘Occult Operatists,’ they call themselves on the prospectuses. As for -the cult of the Society,” said the Duchess pensively, “one might call it -a mayonnaise of Freemasonry, Theosophy, Hypnotism, Humbug, and Hoodoo. -But the humbug, like salad oil in the mayonnaise, was the chief -ingredient.” The Duchess stopped to draw breath. - -“And into this vortex Mrs. Van Wacken was drawn?” sighed Lady Sidonia. - -“Sucked down and swallowed,” said the Duchess, who had been Miss Van -Wacken. “They undertook to make Momma right over again, brand new, by -prayer and faith and—a mentally electrified bath. For which treatment -Momma was to pay ten thousand down.” - -“Pounds!” shrieked the horrified Lady Sidonia. - -“Dollars,” corrected the Duchess. - -“In advance?” cried the listener. - -“In advance, after a demonstration had been given which was practically -to satisfy Momma that the Milwaukee Mentalists were square,” said the -Duchess. “My word! when I remember how they bluffed that poor darling—I -should want to laugh, if I didn’t cry.” She dried another tear. - -“Do go on!” entreated her friend. - -“The High Priestess of the Community was a woman,” went on the Duchess, -“just as cool and ca’am and cunning as they make ’em.” - -“I guessed as much,” said Lady Sidonia. - -“It takes a woman to know and work on another woman’s weak points,” -rejoined the Duchess. “The High Priestess pretended to be in -communication with a spirit. ‘The Mystikos,’ they called him, and he -resided, when he was at home, in a crystal ball; but bullion was the -real totem of the tribe. Well—but it’s getting late——” - -“I shall not sleep a _wink_ until I have heard the _whole story_,” said -Lady Sidonia. - -“And Cull and your husband are comparing notes about their wives in the -smoking-room,” said the Duchess. - -“Well, the Theologa——” - -“The—the—what?” - -“The Theologa—that was the professional title of the High -Priestess—whose or’nary name was Mrs. Gideon J. Swale,” her Grace went -on, “talked a great deal to Momma, and made some passes over her, and -got the poor dear completely under her thumb. Momma wasn’t the only -victim, you must know. There were four other ladies, all wealthy, and -each one, like Momma, the leader of a fashionable society set——” - -“And—no longer young?” - -“And past their first bloom,” amended the Duchess. “And each of ’em had -agreed to plank down the same sum in cold dollars.” - -“Fifty thousand in all,” said Lady Sidonia with a sigh. She could have -done so much with fifty thousand dollars, even though American money was -such beastly stuff. “Worth——” - -“Worth riskin’ a term in a N’York State prison for—I guess so!” said the -Duchess. “Well, Momma and the other ladies signed on to the terms, and -went through a cer’mony of purification—which included learnin’ a kind -of catechism used in admittin’ a new member into the Occult Operatists’ -Community—an’ several hymns. That was to make them worthy to receive the -Revelation from the Mystikos, I guess. At least, the Theologa——” - -“Mrs. Gideon J. Swale?” - -“The same. The Theologa said so. In a week or so—durin’ which period -they lived at the house of the Community—chiefly on nuts an’ -spring-water——” - -“For which entertainment they paid——” Lady Sidonia hinted. - -“Delmonico rates!” said the Duchess. “Well, it was settled that the -Demonstration was to come off, with the Mystikos’ consent.” - -“What sort of——” - -“Demonstration? Cur’us,” said the Duchess, “and inter_est_ing. There was -a woman—a Mrs. Gower, English by birth, Amurrican naturalized—who was to -be the Subject. She was a widow—her husband having met his death in an -explosion at an oil-gas producin’ factory. Stoker to the gas-generator -he was, and his wife had brought him his dinner—fried steak in a tin -pail—when the hull kitboodle blew up. Husband was killed—wife was saved, -though so scarred and disfigured about the face as to be changed from a -pretty woman into a plain one.” - -“And she—this scarred, disfigured woman—was to be made pretty again by -the Occult Operatists?” hazarded Lady Sidonia. - -“Guessed it first time,” nodded the Duchess. “The cer’mony took place in -a temple belonging to the Community, all painted over red and yellow -triangles and things like T-squares. At the upper end was an altar, -raised on three steps, and on this was the ground glass ball in which -the Mystikos lived when he wasn’t somewhere else, and an electric light -was fixed over it, so that it just dazzled your eyes to look at. Below -the altar was a seat for the Theologa, and, you bet, Mrs. Gideon J. -Swale came out strong in the costume line. Momma was reminded of Titiens -in _Norma_, she said.” - -“I want to hear about the Demonstration,” pleaded Lady Sidonia -plaintively. - -“My! you’re in a hurry,” said the Duchess. “But it was to be brought off -in a bath—if you must know!” - -“A _bath_?” - -“A bath that was full of water and boiled herbs, and had been properly -incanted over by the Theologa,” explained the Duchess. “There were -incense-burners all round, and not far off a kind of tent of white -linen, all over red triangles and T’s. And the five candidates for -renovation—I mean Momma and the other ladies—sat on a form, in bloomers, -each with a little purse-bag containing bills for ten thousand dollars, -and her heart full of hope and joy.” - -“_Oh!_ go on,” cried Lady Sidonia. - -“The temple was circular, something like the Mormon Tabernacle at Salt -Lake City,” said the Duchess, “and the Occult Operatives—a round hundred -of ’em—occupied the forms, to assist with the prayers and hymn-singin’. -Of course, the proceedings began with a hymn sung in several different -keys. I surmise the effect was impressive.” - -Lady Sidonia elevated her eyebrows. - -“Momma said it was wailful, and made her feel as though live clams were -crawling up and down her back. But then the bloomers may account for -that,” said the Duchess, “and I guess the temple registers were out of -order. Then—the lights were suddenly turned out!” - -“O-oh!” shivered Lady Sidonia. - -“Except the electric stars over the Mystikos’ crystal ball,” went on the -Duchess, “so that all the light in the temple seemed to come from the -altar. Momma said that made her feel those crawling clams worse than -ever.” - -“Could one see plainly what was going on?” asked Lady Sidonia. - -“It was a religious kind of dimness,” said the Duchess, “but most -everything showed plainly. For instance, when the hideous woman who was -to be the Subject of the Demonstration came out of the linen tent in a -suit of bloomers like Momma’s and the others, she appeared to be plain -enough. Do you keep a cat, dear?” whispered the Duchess. - -“Why? No!” said Lady Sidonia. - -“I thought I heard a scratching at the door,” explained the Duchess, -with her mouth close to Lady Sidonia’s ear. “Don’t open it.... I’d -rather—— Where was I?” - -“The Subject was in bloomers,” said Lady Sidonia. - -“Oh, well! Momma and the other ladies were asked to look at her -earnestly, to fix her features in their minds, so that they couldn’t but -recognize her again if they saw her. She was a slight woman, Momma said, -about thirty-five, and but for her scarred face would have been pretty, -with her pale complexion, brown wavy hair, and large gray eyes with -black lashes.... She had one peculiarity about the left hand, which no -one who ever saw it could forget. What are you listening for?” - -“_I_ hear something at the door,” faltered Lady Sidonia in a nervous -undertone. - -“Fancy. You don’t keep a cat. Well, the Subject went up to the altar and -knelt, and the Theologa—Mrs. Gideon J. Swale—invoked the Mystikos in a -solemn kind of conjuration, and the crystal ball on the altar began to -hop up and down.” - -“No!” - -“Fact! Then it rose right off the altar and hung suspended in the air, -and the hymn broke out worse than ever, and the Theologa led the Subject -down the altar steps and put her into the bath.” - -“Well?” gasped Lady Sidonia. - -“The Theologa threw incense on the burners round the bath, and perfect -clouds rose up all round it, completely hiding the Subject,” explained -the Duchess. - -“Then she——” - -“She began to scream.” - -“To scream?” - -“As if she was in absolute agony; and Momma and the four other ladies -nearly fainted off their form, they were so perfectly terrified.” - -“And—what happened?” - -“There was a scream more piercing than any of the others.” - -“Oh!” - -“The clouds of incense became so thick that you couldn’t see your hand.” - -“And——” - -“The Occult Operatives sang more loudly and less in tune than ever, and -the crystal ball kept on jumping up and down. Then the clouds of smoke -cleared away, and the lights went up, and——” The Duchess paused -provokingly. - -“Go on, go on!” - -“And the Subject got out of the bath.... And she had been ugly and -scarred when she went in, but now she was young and pretty!” - -“Impossible!” - -“It was the same woman to all appearances, but changed—wonderfully -changed. The same pretty brown hair, the same eyes, gray, with long -curly black lashes, and the same strange malformation of one finger of -the left hand. But no cicatrices, none of the seams and marks that made -the other frightful.” - -“The other!” - -“Did I say the other?” - -“Certainly!” - -“Then I guess I let the cat out of the bag.” - -“Ah, I begin to understand!” - -“I thought you’d tumble.” - -“There were two women—exactly alike!” - -“No, goosey! One woman younger than the other, and looking exactly like -her, as _she_ looked before the injury to her face.” - -“Sisters?” - -“No. Mother and daughter.” - -“And the change in the bath?” - -“Managed with a false bottom and trap exit. The sort of trick one sees -exposed at the Egyptian Hall.” - -“And the daughter took the mother’s place?” - -“Under cover of the incense—and the singing. The tent held _two_, you -understand.” - -“But Mrs. Van Wacken?” - -“Momma and the other ladies—once the thing had been proved genuine—were -only too anxious to plank down their money and hop into the wonderful -bath. So they went up to the Theologa, and she blessed them and laid the -five money-bags on the altar, and then——” - -“Then——” - -“Then all the lights went out,” said the Duchess, “and there was a kind -of stampede, and Momma and the four other ladies found themselves alone -in the temple. The Theologa and the Subject and the hundred members of -the Community who’d sat round on the seats and helped with the hymns -were gone—and the dollar bags had vanished. The doors of the temple were -locked, and Momma and the four other victims had to stop there until the -morning. An express man heard their cries for help, broke in the door, -and took them to an hotel in his wagon. Dear, I’m going to toddle to -by-by!” - -“It was an awful—awful swindle,” said Lady Sidonia, as she and the -Duchess kissed good-night. - -“And the exposure!” The Duchess shrugged her shoulders. “Momma and the -other ladies wanted it hushed, but the police went into the matter.” - -“Were the swindlers arrested?” - -“The Theologa was caught at Amsterdam, and extradited. The Community got -off. Nobody could prove any of them had had any of the money. I guess,” -said the Duchess, yawning, “Mrs. Gideon J. Swale knows where it is. But -she’s in prison, now, dear. And I hope she likes it. As for the woman -and her daughter, whose likenesses to each other had been made use of by -Mrs. Gideon—they’re still at large. Good-night.” - -“Do tell me,” pressed Lady Sidonia. “That peculiarity of one finger of -the left hand possessed by both mother and daughter—what was it?” - -“It was,” said the Duchess, “a double nail.” - -“_How_ odd!” said Lady Sidonia. “My maid has the same queer deformity, -and it is the only thing I don’t like about her.... She hates to have it -noticed.” - -“I guess she does,” said the Duchess. - -“Look at her hand to-morrow,” said Lady Sidonia. “It’s awfully queer. -Don’t forget.” - -“I won’t,” said the Duchess. “But she won’t be here to-morrow!” - -Lady Sidonia’s eyes opened to their widest extent. “Won’t—_be here_?” - -“No. She is the girl who got out of the bath!” - -“Good heavens!” cried Lady Sidonia. “How do you——Are you——” - -“I had been shown her photograph by the police—recognized her the moment -I saw her,” said the Duchess. “I’m not mistaken any, you may be sure. -But you needn’t trouble about her. She’s gone!” - -“Gone!” - -“She was listening at the door, and heard the whole story. When _you_ -spoke about the cat, she made tracks. She’s clear of this house by now, -you may bet your back teeth. Don’t worry about her,” said the Duchess. -“I’ll send my own maid to you in the morning. Good-night!” - - - - - THE BREAKING PLACE - - - _Being a letter from Miss Tossie Trilbina, of No. 000, Giddingham - Mansions, W., to the Editor of “The Keyhole,” an illustrated Weekly - Journal of Caterings for the Curious._ - -DEAR SIR, - -Since reserve and reticence can be carried too far by a lady, I drop the -present line of explanation, the newspapers having took so kind a -interest in the differences between me and Lord Wretchingham. And if -poets ask what’s in a name, the experience of me and many another young -lady whose talent for the Stage, developed by application and -go-aheadness, not to say good luck—for that there is such a thing must -be plain to the stubbornest person—has made her friends from the -Orchestra—(you’d never guess how the Second Violin can queer you in an -accomp. if you hadn’t experienced it!)—to the highest row in the -Threepenny Gallery at The Druids, or the shilling one at The Troc.—would -answer, _more than people think for_! - -My poor dear mother, who has been pretty nearly crazy about the affair, -in that shrinking from publicity which is natural to a lady, told the -young gentleman from _The Keyhole_, who dropped in on her at her little -place at Brixton, to fish and find out for himself why the -marriage-engagement between her daughter and his lordship should have -been broken off on the very verge of the altar. - -Of course, I don’t assume his lordship’s proposal wasn’t a compliment to -a young lady in the Profession; but lordly roofs and music halls may -cover vice or shelter virtue, as one of the serio characters so -beautifully said in the autumn show at dear old Drury Lane, the name of -which has slipped me. And I don’t pretend that my deepest and holiest -feelings were not wrenched a bit by me having to say in two words, after -mutual vows and presents of the solemnest kind had been exchanged -between me and Lord Wretchingham: “All is over between you and me for -ever, Hildebrand; and if you possess the mind as well as the manners and -appearance of a gentleman, you will not force me to give you the -definite chuck.” - -He went on awfully, grinding the heels of his boots into a brand-new -Wilton carpet, and telling me over and over that I had no heart and -never loved him, concerning which I prefer to keep myself to myself. -There are those that make as much noise when things go wrong with ’em as -a one-and-fourpenny sparking-plug, and there are others that keep -theirselves to theirselves and suffer in silence, of which I hope I am -one. Even supposing my ancestry did not toddle over with Edward the -Conkeror, which they may, for all I know. - -It was on the very first night of the production of _The Pop-in-Taw -Girl_, by the Trust or Bust Theatrical Syndicate, at the Hiram P. Goff -Theatre, W., that Lord Wretchingham caught my eye. Musical Comedy is my -strongest weakness, for though a principal boy’s part, with heaps of -changes, and electro-calcium with chromatic glasses for every song and -dance touches the spot, pantomime is not so refined. Perhaps you may -recall the record hits I made in “Freddy’s Flannel Waistcoat Wilted in -the Wash,” and “Lay Your Head on My Shoulder, Dear.” Not that it’s my -habit to refer to my successes, but the street organs alone will rub it -in when you happen to be the idol of the hour. - -He sat with his mouth wide open—of course, I refer to Lord -Wretchingham—all the time yours truly was on the stage, and I will say -no gentleman could have a more delicate regard for a young lady’s -feelings than his lordship did in sending a perfect haystack of the most -expensive hothouse flowers addressed to Miss Tossie Trilbina, with a -diamond and turquoise muff-chain twined round the moss handle of the -basket, and not a speck of address on the card for my poor dear mother -to return the jewelry to, her being over and above particular, I have -often thought, in discouraging attentions that only sprang from -gentlemen’s appreciation of the performance, and masked nothing the -smallest objections could be taken to. - -She quite warmed to Lord Wretchingham, I will say, when him being -respectfully presented by the Syndicate, and me being recommended fresh -country air by the doctors when suffering from tonsils in the throat, -his lordship placed his motor-car at my disposal. With poor dear mother -invariably in the glass compartment behind, the tongue of scandal could -not possibly find a handle, and her astonishment when she discovered -that Hildebrand regarded me with a warmer feeling than that of mere -admiration gave her quite a turn. - -We were formally engaged—me and Lord Wretchingham. We kept the thing so -dark I cannot think how the newspapers managed to get hold of it. But a -public favorite must pay the price of popularity in having her private -affairs discussed by the crowd. My poor dear mother felt it, but there! -what can you do? With interviewers calling same time as the milk, and -Press snap-shotters lurking behind the laurel bushes in the front -garden, is it to be wondered at that Hildebrand’s family were apprised -of our betrothal not only by pars., but by the publication of our -photographs, taken hand-in-hand on my poor dear mother’s doorstep, with -a vine climbing up behind us, Hildebrand’s motor car, an 18.26 h. p. -“Gadabout,” at the bottom of the doorsteps, with the French _chofore -parley-vousing_ away a good one to the three Japanese pugs, and poor -dear mother, looking a perfect lady, at her fancy-work, in the front -parlor window. How the negative was obtained, and how it found its way -into all the Illustrated Papers, and particularly how it got upon the -postcards, I don’t pretend to guess. It’s one of those regular mysteries -you come across in real life. - -Hildebrand, or, possibly, as all is over, I should say Lord -Wretchingham’s family, went into perfect fits when the news of our -betrothal leaked out. The Earl of Blandish, his father, raged like a mad -bull; and the Countess, his mother, implored him on her knees to break -the engagement. - -“Oh,” she said, with the tears in her eyes, “my own boy,” she said, “do -not, I beg of you,” she said—for, of course, I got it all out of -Hildebrand afterwards—“show yourself to be of so weak and unoriginal a -cast of mind as to follow the example of the countless other young men -of rank and property,” she said, “who have contracted unequal and -unhappy unions with young women on the boards,” she said—and like her -classy cheek! Upon which Lord Wretchingham calmly up and told her that -his word was his bond, and that I had got both; my poor dear mother -having insisted from the beginning that things should be set down in -black and white, which the spelling of irrevokable almost proved a -barrier the poor dear could not tackle, his education having been -neglected at Eton to that extent. - -Me and my poor dear mother being—I don’t mind telling you on the -strict—prepared for a struggle with Wretchingham’s family, was more than -surprised when, after a Saturday to Monday of anxious expectancy, a note -on plain paper with a coronet stamped in white from Lady Blandish -informed us that her ladyship had made up her mind to call. And she kept -the appointment as punctual as clockwork, driving up in a taxi, and -perfectly plainly dressed; and when I made my entrance in the dearest -morning arrangement of Valenciennes lace and baby ribbon you ever saw, I -will say she met me like a lady should her son’s intended, and said that -Lord Blandish and her had come to the determination to make the best of -their son’s choice, and invited me down to stay at Blandish Towers, in -Huntshire, when the run of _The Pop-in-Taw Girl_ broke off for the -autumn holidays. - -“Oh,” I said, “Lady Blandish,” I said, “of course, I shall be perfectly -delighted,” and let her know how unwilling I felt as a lady to make bad -blood between Lord Wretchingham and his family. “But, of course,” I -said, “my duty to the man who I have vowed to love and honor leaves me -no choice.” - -“My dear Miss Tossie Trilbina,” she said, “your sentiments towards -Wretchingham do you the utmost credit,” she said, and I explained to her -that though the surname sounds foreign, there is nothing of the -Italiano-ice-creamo about yours truly. - -“Oh!” she said, in that sweetly nasty way that the Upper Ten do seem to -have the knack of, “do not trouble to explain, my dear Miss Trilbina. -Lord Blandish and myself are quite prepared,” she said, “to accept the -inevitable,” she said, and kissed me, and smiled a great deal at my poor -dear mother, who was explaining to her ladyship that her family did not -regard an alliance with the aristocracy as anything but a match between -equals, and that my education had been of the most expensive and classy -kind you can imagine. And smiled herself into her taxi, and motored -away. - -That was in the middle of the summer season, and I bespoke my costumes -for my visit to my new relations next day. Of course, I expected a -house-party of really hall-marky, classy swells, and meant to do the -honors and help Lady Blandish to entertain as was my duty bound. And my -shooting and golfing and angling costumes, and motoring get-up and -riding-habit, and tea-gowns and dinner-dresses and ball-confections, -were a fair old treat to see, and did Madame Battens credit. - -Wretchingham drove me down in his 18.26 h.p. “Gadabout,” with my -dresser-maid in the glass case behind, and an omnibus motor from the -garage behind us with my dressing-baskets, and I thought of poor dear -mother at home, I don’t mind telling you, when the Towers rose up at the -end of an oak avenue longer than Regent Street, and Wretchingham’s two -sisters came running down the steps to hug their brother and be -presented to their new sister, and the white-headed family butler threw -a glass door open and Wretchingham led me in between six footmen, -bowing, three on each side. - -What price poor little me when I heard there wasn’t any House-Party? -Cheap wasn’t the word, with all those costumes in my dress-baskets. -However, I faked myself up in a frock that I really felt was a credit to -a person of my rank and station, and swam down to what her ladyship -called a “quiet family dinner.” - -The Earl of Blandish came in, leaning on his secretary’s arm, with a -gouty foot, and did the heavy father, calling me “my dear.” I sat on his -lordship’s right hand, and certainly he was most agreeable, telling me -the black oak carvings in the great hall were by Jacob Bean, and that -the walled garden with a separate division for every month in the year -and a bowling alley in the middle had been made by a lady ancestor of -his who lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and was a friend of the -person who wrote Shakespeare. - -“Oh!” I said, “I suppose,” I said, “in those days bowls were not -considered a low form of amusement. Though if ever my poor dear mother -and father did have to call words, it would be over his weakness for -bowls and skittles as a waste of time and leading to betting and drink. -And as for Shakespeare, I call it all very well for literary swells with -nothing else to do,” I said, “but what the Halls cater for is the -business gentleman who drops in with a pal to hear the popular favorite -in a ten-o’clock turn over a cigar and a small Scotch. And gardening -never was much in my line,” I said, “though when a child it was my -favorite amusement to grow mustard and cress on damp flannel. Hunting is -my passion,” I said, “and as Wretchingham has told me you keep a -first-class stable of hunters and hacks, besides carriage beasts, I hope -to show your lordship that I shan’t disgrace you,” I said, and asked him -when the next meet would be? - -The Earl’s old eyebrows went up to the top of his aristocratic bald -forehead as he said not until October, and then only for cubbing, and -the two girls flushed up red, trying not to laugh, and wriggled in their -chairs, and Lady Blandish said in her nice nasty way that every day -brought innovations, and one might as well ride to hounds in August as -skate on artificial ice in May. - -“And if you are fond of sport,” Lord Blandish said, “we could possibly -find you some fishing. Don’t you think so, my dear?” and he looked at -his wife. - -“I have my salmoning costume with me,” I said, just to let them know, -“and a rod, and everything. And I suppose Wretchie won’t object,” I -said, giving the poor thing a smile, “to prompt me if I am fluffy in the -business.” - -“Dear me!” said Lady Blandish, “how stupid of me not to have explained -before,” she said, “that this is a trouting County and not a salmon -County, and that such trout as there are run very small.” And the two -girls choked again in the most underbred way I ever. - -I said I’d fall back on golf, having a killing get-up in my basket, but -there wasn’t a links within miles, Lady Blandish said, and how sorry she -was. All the hot-weather entertainment she had it in her power to offer -me in their quiet country home, she said, was an occasional flower-show, -or County cricket-match, or a garden-party, or a friendly dinner with -people who were not _too_ exacting. In September there would be the -birds, but then I would not be there. It was too unfortunate, she said. -Not that her saying so took me in much. - -I thought the top of my head would have come off with yawning that -evening, I really did; and when I remembered that there were three weeks -more of it before me I could have screamed out loud. Me and Wretchingham -went for a spin in his T-cart next morning before lunch, and that drive -settled me in deciding to off it on the next chance. - -“Tossie darling,” said the poor dear thing, “it has gratified my father -exceedingly to ascertain,” he said, “that you are fond of the country; -because a condition of the provision he is willing to make for us when -we are married,” he said—and he would have put his arm round my waist -only the trotter shied—“is that we reside at the Dower House,” he said, -“twenty miles from here, and lead a healthy life in accordance with his -views as regards what is appropriate for future land-owners who will one -day hold a solid stake in the County. Of course, you will leave the -Stage forever, my darling,” he said, “as a future Countess of Blandish -cannot figure upon the Lyric Boards,” he said, “without in some degree -compromising her reputation and bringing discredit upon the family of -which,” he said, “she has become a member. My father will allow us two -thousand a year at first,” he said, “which will enable us to keep a -couple of motor-cars and a hack or two, and with an occasional week-end -in Town, I have no doubt,” he said, “that our married life will be,” he -said, “one of ideal happiness for both of us. You observe,” he said, -pointing with his whip straight over the trotter’s ears, “that rather -low-pitched stone building of the Grange description down in that wooded -hollow there? The house is quite commodious,” he said. “You will -appreciate the exceptional garden; and as there is a good deal of arable -land comprised,” he said, “in the estate, I shall take up farming,” he -said, “with enthusiasm.” - -“You may take up farming,” I said haughtily, “with enthusiasm, dear old -boy; but what I say is, you will not take it up with yours truly! Do you -suppose in cold blood that Tossie Trilbina is the sort of girl to sit -down in the middle of a ploughed field and lead a life of ideal -happiness with a farming husband in gaiters,” I said, tossing my head, -“telling me how the turnips are looking every evening at dinner, and -taking me up to Town for a week-end,” I said, “every now and then as a -treat? No, Hildebrand,” I said, “clearly understand, much as I regret to -say it, that I am not taking any; and unless the old gentleman can be -brought to see the reason,” I said, “of a flat in Mayfair, all is over -betwixt me and you, and I shall go back to my poor dear mother by -to-night’s express,” I said, “if the lacerated state of your feelings -does not permit,” I said, “of your taking the steering-wheel.” - -Of course, the poor dear thing was dreadfully upset, and did his little -best to bring Lord Blandish to weaken on his spiteful old determination; -and Lady Blandish said heaps of nice-sounding nasty things, and the two -girls tried to be sympathetic and not to look as if they were really -ready to jump for joy. But the Earl remained relentless, and Lord -Wretchingham is free. I must now close. Hoping you will accept this -explanation in the spirit in which it is made, - - I remain, dear Sir, yours respectfully, - TOSSIE TRILBINA. - - - - - A LANCASHIRE DAISY - - -One of the giant police-constables on duty outside the Cotton Hall, -Smutchester, upon the occasion of the Conference of the National Union -for the Emancipation of Women Workers, was seized with the spirit of -prophecy when he saw Sal o’ Peg’s borne in, gesticulating, declaiming, -carried head and shoulders above an insurging wave of beshawled and -rampant factory-girls. - -“Theeaw goes th’ Stormy Pettrill, Tum!” he roared to a fellow guardian -of the public peace. “Neeaw us be sewer to ha’ trooble wi’ theeay——” He -did not add “tykes.” - -“Thee mun be misteeawken, mon,” urged Tum, who had newly joined the -Smutchester City Division. “’Tis boh a lil’ feer-feaced gell aw cud -braak between ma finger an’ thoomb lig a staalk o’ celery.” The great -blue eyes of the “lil’ feer-feaced gell” had done execution, it was -plain, and the first speaker, who was a married man, snorted -contemptuously. Sal o’ Peg’s had completely earned the disturbing -nickname bestowed on her. The courts and alleys of the roaring black -city would vomit angry, white-gilled, heavy-shod men and women at one -shrill, summoning screech of hers. The police-constable upon whose -features she had more recently executed a clog war-dance was not yet -discharged from the Infirmary, though the seventeen years and fragile -proportions of his assailant had, for the twentieth time, softened “th’ -Beawk” into letting Sal o’ Peg’s off with the option of a fortnight or a -fine, and the threat of being bound over to keep the peace next time, if -she insisted in being “so naughty.” - -With these blushing honors thick upon her, Sal o’ Peg’s attended the -Conference, and became, before the close of the presidential address, an -ardent convert to the cause of Female Suffrage. During the debate she -climbed a pillar and addressed the meeting, and when, with immense -difficulty, dislodged from her post of vantage, she took the platform by -storm. - -“Why, it’s a child!” chorused the delegates from the different branches -of the Union, whose ramifications extend over the civilized globe, as -the small, slim, light-haired young person in the inevitable shawl, -print gown, and clogs climbed over the brass platform-rail, and, folding -cotton-blouse-clad arms upon a flat, girlish bosom, stood motionless, -composed, even cheerful, in the full glare of the electric chandelier, -and under the full play of a battery of some two thousand feminine eyes. - -“Do let the little darling speak,” begged the Honorary Secretary of the -Chairwoman, who, as a native of Smutchester, had her doubts. But Sal o’ -Peg’s had not the faintest intention of waiting for permission. - -“Ah’m not bit o’ good at long words, gells,” said Sal o’ Peg’s. “Mappen -ah’ll be better ondersteawd wi’oot ’em.” - -The thunder of clogs in the body of the hall said “Yes!” She went on: -“Wimmin sheawd ha’ th’ Vote. ’Tis theear roight.” (Tremendous clogging, -mingled with shrieks of “Weel seayd, lass! Gie us th’ Vote!”) She -hitched her shawl about her with the factory-girl’s movement of the -shoulders, and went on. “Yo’ll noan fleg me wi’ yo’re din. Ah’m boh a -lil’ un, boh af ha’ got spunk. If you doubt thot——” A hundred strident -voices from the body of the hall sent back the refrain, “Ask a -pleeceman!” A roar of laughter shook the roof. - -“Ought we to interfere?” whispered the Honorary Secretary. - -“My dear, why should we?” said a London delegate, leaning forward to -answer. “The girl has got them in the hollow of her hand. A born leader -of women—a born leader. She voices in her untaught speech the heart-cry -of thousands of her dumb and helpless sisters. She——” - -The born leader of women continued: - -“Ah dunno whoy ah niver thout o’ it before, but ’tis a beawrfeaced -robbery neawt to gie us th’ Vote. Oor feythers has it, an’ sells it fur -braass.” (Screams, shrieks, and clogging.) “Oor heawsbands has it, an’ -sells it fur braass.” (Tempestuous applause.) “Oor lads, theay has it, -an’ sells it fur braass. Whoy shouldna’ we ha’ it, an’ sell it for -braass tew?” - -The enthusiasm with which this brilliant peroration was received nearly -wrecked the Cotton Hall. No more speeches were heard that night, though -several were delivered in dumb show, and Sal o’ Peg’s awakened upon the -morrow to find her utterances reported in the newspapers. To the sarcasm -of the leader-writer Sal o’ Peg’s was impervious. She “mun goo t’ Lunnon -neixt,” she said, “an’ leawt them tykes at the Hoose o’ Commeawns knaw a -bit” of her mind. She wasn’t afraid of Prime Ministers—not she. She -called at the branch office of the Union twice a day, imperatively -requesting to be forwarded as a delegate to the Metropolis. When her -services were declined with thanks, she harangued the populace from the -doorstep. When politely requested to move on, she broke a window with -one clog, and patted the office-boy violently upon the head with the -other. Then she burst into tears and retired, supported by a dozen or so -of sympathizing comrades of the factory. - -“’Tis a beeawrnin’ sheame!” they said, as they fastened up their chosen -representative’s loosened flaxen coils with hairpins of the patent -explosive kind, contributed from their own solid braids. “But donnot -thee fret, Sal o’ Peg’s, us’ll ha’ nah dollygeat but thee, sitha lass!” -And they sent the hat round among themselves with right goodwill. They -were not quite sure what a “dollygeat” was, but thought it was something -that could walk into the House of Commons, defy a Minister to his nose, -dance a clog-dance in the gangway of the Upper House, and receive in -chests and bagsful all the good money that women had been defrauded of -since the masculine voter first plumped for a consideration; of that -they were “as sure as deeawth.” - -So Sal o’ Peg’s gave notice at the factory that, being thenceforth -called to figure upon the arena of political life, she could not tend -frames any longer. She bought a black sailor straw hat with a portion of -the subscribed fund, and tied up the most cherished articles of her -wardrobe in a blue-spotted handkerchief bundle. She traveled express to -London, choosing a “smoking third,” as affording atmospherical and -social conditions less remote from her lifelong experience.... The -journey was purely uneventful: a young man of unrestrained amorous -proclivities receiving a black eye, and a young woman who sneered too -openly at the blue-spotted handkerchief bundle suffering the wreck of a -bandbox and sustaining a few scratches. The guard—alas! for the frailty -of man—being all upon the side of the blue eyes and flaxen coils of -hair.... - -I suppose the reader knows Pelham’s Inn, W. C., where are the -headquarters of the National Union for the Emancipation of Working -Women? There is no padding to the armchairs, cocoanut matting of a -severe and rasping character covers the Committee-room boards; the -Committee inkstand is of the zinc office description (the Committee are -not there to be comfortable—just the reverse). They are busy women of -small spare time and narrow spare means; but when they found Sal o’ -Peg’s sitting on the doorstep, they found leisure to be kind. They -looked at the clogs with pity, unaware of the _pas seul_ they had -performed upon the countenance of a policeman still in bandages, and the -great blue eyes yearning out of the small pale face, and the ropes of -fair hair tumbling over the shabby shawl that enfolded the childish -figure of the little factory-girl who had traveled up to London for the -sake of the Cause, won them to practical expression of the sympathy they -felt. - -“So different a type to the brawling, violent creature,” they said, “who -nearly caused a riot at the Smutchester Conference. Her one dream is to -see the House of Commons and speak a word in public for her toiling -sisters of the factories.” And those of them who wore glasses found them -dimmed with the dews of sympathetic emotion. It was such a touching -story, they said, of faith and enthusiasm and courage. - -It is upon the Records of the Nation that the events I have to relate -took place in the Central Hall of the sacred fane of Westminster between -four and five o’clock in the afternoon, when twenty or thirty ladies, -well-known adherents of the Cause, appeared upon the scene and asked for -Suffrage. It was an act of presumption, almost of treason, bordering on -blasphemy. Still, the arguments that were not drowned were sound. They -were all householders, taxpayers, earners, and owners of independent -incomes one daring female said, and as the drunken husband of her -charwoman possessed a vote, she thought she had a right to have one -also. The Sergeant-at-Arms instantly directed a constable to quell her. -Another audacious creature asked for the Vote Qualified. She demanded -that the Suffrage should indeed be given to women, but only to those -women who should, by passing a viva voce examination on the duties of -citizenship, prove themselves fit to discharge them.... She was listened -to with some attention until she suggested that male voters should be -subjected to a similar weeding-out process; upon which a portly -inspector bore down upon her, clasped her in a blue embrace, and carried -her, protesting loudly, down the hall, amidst demonstrations of intense -excitement. Members cried, “Shame!” Members cried, “Serve her right!” -Passing peers put up eyeglasses and stayed to see the fun. Hustled women -shrieked, “Cowards!” Pushed women cried, “Let us alone!” Punched women -only said, “Owch!” ... It was freely translated “Wretch!” for the -occasion. The middle-aged and advanced in years met the same treatment -as the younger and more excitable.... All were unceremoniously expelled -by the stalwart beings in blue from the sacred precincts where such -inviolable order is habitually maintained, and where all the Proprieties -find their permanent home. Crushed headgear, scattered handbags, and -strange derelict fragments of feminine attire bestrewed the scene of the -one-sided fray; the crowds of sympathizers outside cried, “Boo!” and -waved white flags in defiance as a dozen arrests were made in a dozen -seconds.... And a young woman in a brown plaid shawl and brass-bound -clogs danced with shoutings upon the pavements of St. Stephen’s Porch, -and while her long, light coils of hair came down and her hairpins were -scattered to the winds of Westminster, she asked, in the Lancashire -dialect, for admittance to the Bar of the House; for justice for the -oppression and downtrodden; for the blood of Ministers, Peers, and -Members; and for the viscera of the officials who were their tools. She -told the Chancellor of the Exchequer to come out and bring the Treasury -with him; and when he did not come, she knocked off one policeman’s -helmet and smote another with one of her clogs—_toujours_ those -clogs!—upon the nose. Also she relieved a third of half a whisker, bit -another in the hand, kicked them all in the shins, and generally made -history as six police-constables bore her, shrieking at the full pitch -of excellent lungs, to Blunderbuss Row Police Station. - -There were newspaper headlines next day—“Bedlam Let Loose!” “The -Shrieking Sisterhood!” “The Termagant Spirit!” “No Choice but to Use -Force!” The arrested demonstrators were paraded at the police-court; the -damaged policemen made an imposing show. Tears choked the utterance of -Mr. Vincent Squeers, presiding magistrate, as he asked: “Were thee, -indeed, women who had abraded the features, discolored the eyes, bruised -the shins, and plucked the whiskers from the gallant constables who -stood before him? Nay, but Mænads, Bacchantes, priestesses of savage -rites, unsexed Amazons—in two words, emancipated females!” He found a -melancholy relief in imposing a fine that had no precedent in cases of -brawling, or fourteen days’ imprisonment. He should not be surprised to -hear that these hunters after vulgar notoriety preferred to go to -Holloway, to luxuriate on prison fare, enjoy calm, undeserved repose on -straw beds, and clothe their unregenerate limbs with the drab garments -generously provided by the nation. - -“But there is one among you,” cried Mr. Vincent Squeers, “who has been -innocently led away by your pernicious example, but whom the spirit of -Justice, that dwells in the bosom of every Englishman, that hovers, -genius-like, above this Bench to-day”—the chief clerk hastily produced a -white handkerchief, and the reporters shook freedom into the flow of -their Geyser pens—“will stretch forth a hand to protect and to aid. I -speak of this simple, artless child....” A police-constable felt his -nose, and another groped for his missing whisker as Sal o’ Peg’s stood -up in the dock. “Lured from her humble home, from her laborious -employment, from her upright-minded, honest associates, by these -immodest and unwomanly women, cast a stranger upon the streets of -London, this simple country blossom, wilting in the atmosphere tainted -by habitual vice and common crime, appeals to the chivalry of every -honest man who ever had a mother”—the chief clerk was carried from the -court in hysterics—“ay, to the pity of every woman who is not bereft of -that heavenly attribute.” - -“Sheawt opp, thee donowt owd hosebird!” said Sal o’ Peg’s. “Dosta think -ah niver weur in a teawzle in th’ streeawts or a skirmidge wi’ th’ -police afeore? Dustha see th’ pickle theam girt big cheawps is in? If -theay saay theay got theawee scratts an’ sogers fra’ eany wench but Sal -o’ Peg’s, they be leears aw! Sitha? An’ as to yon weumen an’ lasses, yo -ca’ baad neams, I ha’ nowt o’ truck wi’ they. I coom to Lunnon as a -dollygeat fra myseln. Sitha?” - -“The child speaks only the roughest dialect of her native Lancashire,” -continued Mr. Vincent Squeers, “which, I own, I am unable to comprehend. -How could the hapless young creature understand the poisonous shibboleth -poured into her ears by the abandoned sisterhood whose leading evil -spirits are now before me? They have denied all knowledge of or -connection with her”—(as indeed they had)—“her who stands here—oh, shame -and utter disgrace!—in the dock of a police court as a result of their -vile and treacherous usage in dragging her from her home. She is -sufficiently punished by this outrage upon that innate modesty which is -as the bloom upon the peach, the—er, ah!—dew upon the daisy. Fined -three-and-sixpence, and I will order that the same be discharged out of -the Court poor-box. The Missionary will now take charge of the poor -young creature, who will, I trust—ah!—be returned to her sorrowing -family in the course of the next twenty-four hours. Good-day, my dear -child—good-day!” - -A clog whizzed from the dock and hit the paneling behind the Bench. The -Magistrate looked another way, the constables coughed behind their large -white gloves as Sal o’ Peg’s, weeping bitterly, was led away by the -Court Missionary, a bearded person in rusty black, with a felt -pudding-basin hat and a soiled white necktie. Robbed of the glory of -battle, denied her meed of acknowledgment for doughty deeds achieved, -bereft of her Amazonian reputation, Sal o’ Peg’s felt that life was -“scarcelin’s weath livin’.” And the afternoon newspapers administered -the final blow. Every leader-writer shed tears of pure ink over the -child lured from home, the “daisy with the dew upon it” sprouted in a -dozen paragraphs. Only in Smutchester there was Homeric jest and -uproarious laughter. The girls of the cotton-mills, the policemen of the -Lower Town—these knew their Sal o’ Peg’s, and were loud in their -appreciation of the satiric humor of the London newspapers. The -Missionary did not see his precious charge into the train for -Smutchester; a clergyman’s daughter, who had come into accidentally -compromising relations with an American gentleman’s diamond evening -solitaire and “wad” of bank-notes, urgently required his ministrations. -So a burly police-constable, with one whisker and a sore place on the -denuded cheek, performed the charitable office. In the four-wheeler, -turning into the Euston Road, Sal o’ Peg’s said suddenly: - -“Thoo wastna’ sheaved this mearnin’, lad?” - -“I ’adn’t no time, for one thing,” said the police-constable sulkily; -“an’ for another, I ’ad to keep this whisker on as evidence that you’d -pulled out the other. And a lot o’ good evidence does when Old -Foxey”—this was the nickname bestowed upon Mr. Vincent Squeers by the -staff of the Court—“’as made up ‘is mind not to listen to it.” He rubbed -the remaining whisker thoughtfully. - -“Eh, laad, laad!” cried Sal o’ Peg’s, bursting into tears and falling -upon the neck of the astonished police-constable, “but theaw knows ah -did it. Theaw said sa just neaw. Eh, laad, laad!” - -“Are you a-crying?” asked the police-constable, over whose blue tunic -meandered the heavy twists of fair hair which invariably tumbled down -under stress of Sal o’ Peg’s emotion. “Are you a-crying because you’re -sorry you pulled out my whisker, or glad as that you did it? Which?” - -Sal o’ Peg’s lifted radiant, tearful blue eyes to the burly -police-constable’s, which were little and piggish, but twinkling with -something more than mere reproof. - -“Ah be gleawd,” said Sal o’ Peg’s simply. - -“Very well,” said the police-constable, who was not only a man after -all, but a bachelor. He put a large blue arm round the slim little -figure of the war-goddess. “You’ve ’ad my whisker; _I’ll_ ’ave a kiss.” - -“Teawk it, laad,” said Sal o’ Peg’s. - -Hitherto, in her short but vivid experience of life, policemen had -occupied a different plane, moved in another sphere. They were beings to -dodge, defy, jeer at, and punch when you could get them down. Flowerpots -were kept on window-sills of upper floors expressly for dropping on -their helmets. She had danced upon the upturned face of one, given -another a swollen nose, distributed bites and shin-kicks impartially -among others. This Lunnon one had kissed her for pulling out his -whisker. She looked at him with melting eyes. The hitherto impregnable -bastion of her heart was taken—and by a member of the Force. - -“When tha dost sheave, laad, send tha whisker to Ah by peawst. Th’ -address be Sal o’ Peg’s, Briven’s Buildin’s, Clog Ceawrt, East Side, -Smutchester!” - -“I won’t _send_ it, you pretty little bit o’ frock,” said the enamored -police-constable. “I’ll wait till my next leave an’——” - -“Breng it _then_, laad,” sighed Sal o’ Peg’s. - - - - - A PITCHED BATTLE - - -The great Maestro sat at the piano, a small, square instrument. Upon it -were piles of music, a bottle of Rhine wine, half emptied, a cup of -black coffee, a plate of sliced garlic sausage, and a roll of black -bread, peppered outside with aniseed. A bottle of ink was balanced on -the music-desk, a blotted scroll of paper obscured the yellowed -keyboard. As the great composer worked at the score of his new opera, he -breakfasted, taking draughts from the bottle, bites of sausage and -bread, and sips of coffee at discretion. He was a quaint, ungainly -figure, with vivacious eyes, and his ill-fitting auburn wig had served -him, like the right lapel of his plaid dressing-gown, for a pen-wiper -for uncounted years. - -The Maestro was not alone in the dusty studio to which so many people, -both of the great and little worlds, sought entrance in vain. An -olive-skinned youth, shabbily dressed in a gray paletot over a worn suit -of black—a young fellow of sixteen, with a square, shaggy black head and -a determined chin, the cleft in which was rapidly being hidden by an -arriving beard—leaned against a music-stand crammed with portly volumes, -his dark eyes anxiously fixed upon the old gentleman at the piano, who -dipped in the ink and wrote, and wrote, and dipped in the ink, -occasionally laying down the pen to strike a chord or two, in seeming -forgetfulness of his visitor. - -Suddenly the Maestro’s face beamed with a cheerful smile. - -“There, mon cher Gladiali!” He handed the newly-written sheet of music -to the boy, and spread his wrinkled fingers above the keys. “This is the -great aria-solo I spoke of. Sing that at sight—your training should make -such a task an easy one—and let us see what stuff you are made of. -_Allons!_” And he struck the opening chord. - -Carlo Gladiali turned pale and then red. He crossed himself hastily, -grasped the sheet of paper, cast his eyes over it anxiously, and, -meeting with a smiling glance the glittering old eyes of the Maestro, he -inflated his deep chest and sang. A wonderful tenor voice poured from -his boyish throat; heart and soul shone in his eyes and thrilled in his -accents. Tears of delight dropped upon the piano-keys and upon the hands -of the composer, and when the last pure note soared on high and swelled -and sank, and the song ceased, the old musician cried: “Thou art a -treasure! Come, let me embrace thee!” and clasped the young singer to -his breast. “Once more, _mon fils_—once more!” - -And as he seated himself at the piano, sweeping the plate of sausage -into the wastepaper-basket with a flourish of the large, snuff-stained -yellow silk handkerchief with which he wiped his eyes, the door, which -had been left ajar, was flung open, and a little dark-eyed, fair-haired -girl, who carried a Pierrot-doll, ran quickly into the room. - -“Marraine brought me; she is panting up the stairs because she is so fat -and they are so steep. Oldest Papa——” she began; but the Maestro held up -his hand for silence as the song recommenced. More assurance was in -Carlo’s phrasing; the flexibility and brilliancy of his voice were no -longer marred by nervousness. As the solo reached its triumphant close, -the Maestro said, slapping the boy on the back and taking a gigantic -pinch of snuff: - -“The Archangel Gabriel might have done better. Aha!” He turned, -chuckling, to the little girl, who stood on one leg in the middle of the -narrow room, pouting and dangling her Pierrot. “_La petite_ there is -jealous. Is it not so?” - -“Oldest Papa, you make a very big mistake!” returned the little maiden, -pouting still more. “I am not jealous of anybody in the world—least of -all, a boy like that!” Her dark eyes rested contemptuously on the big, -shy, square-headed fellow in the gray paletot. - -“A boy, she calls him!” chuckled the Maestro. “_Ma mignonne_, he is -sixteen—six years older than thyself! Hasten to grow up, become a great -_prima donna_, and he shall sing Romeo to thy Juliette—I predict it!” - -“I had rather sing with my cat!” observed the little lady rudely. - -Carlo flushed crimson; the Maestro chuckled; and a stout lady who had -followed her, panting, into the room, murmured, “_Oh! la méchante!_” -adding, as the Maestro rose to greet her: “But she grows more -incorrigible every day. This morning she pulled the feathers out of -Coco’s tail because he whistled out of tune.” - -The elfin face of the small sinner dimpled into mischievous smiles. - -“But that was not being as wicked as the Maestro, who got angry at -rehearsal, and hit the flute-player on the head with his _bâton_, so -that it raised a hump. You told me that yourself, and how the Maestro——” - -“Quite true, _petite_; I did fetch him a rap, I promise you, and -afterwards I put bank-notes for a hundred francs on the lump for a -plaster. But come, now, sing to me, and we will give Signor Carlo here -something worth hearing. _Écoutez, mon cher!_” - -“Very well, I will sing; but, first, Pierrot must be comfortably seated. -That little armchair is just what he likes!” And, as quick as thought, -the willful little lady tilted a pile of music out of the little -armchair upon the floor. Then she placed Pierrot very carefully in his -throne, and, bidding him be very good and listen, because his _bonne -petite Maman_ was going to sing him something pretty, she tripped to the -piano, and demurely requested the aged musician to accompany her in the -Rondo of “Sonnambula.” - -Ah! what a miraculous voice proceeded from that small, willful throat! -Stirred to the depths by the extraordinary power and beauty of the -child’s delivery, Carlo Gladiali listened enthralled; and when the last -notes rippled from the pretty red lips of the now demure little -creature, the big boy, forgetting her rudeness and his own shyness, -started forward, and, sinking on one knee and seizing the small hand of -the child-singer, he kissed it impulsively, crying: “Ah, Signorina, you -were right, a thousand times! Compared with you, I sing like a cat!” - -“Oh, no! I did not mean to say that!” the tiny lady was beginning -graciously, when the Maestro broke in: - -“You both sing like cherubs and say civil things to one another. One day -you will sing like angels—and quarrel like devils! Please Heaven, you -will both make your _début_ under my _bâton_, and then, if I crack a -flute-player’s head, it will be for joy.” - - * * * * * - -Ten years had elapsed. Carlo Gladiali had risen to pre-eminence as a -public singer, had attained the prime of his powers and the apogee of -his fame. Courted, fêted, and adored, the celebrated tenor, sated with -success, laden with gifts, _blasé_ with admiration, retained a few -characteristics that might remind those who had known and loved him in -boyhood of the ingenuous, honest, simple Carlo of ten years ago. - -Certainly Carlo’s jealousy of the _prima donna_ who should dare to usurp -a greater share of the public plaudits than he himself received was -childish in its unreasonableness, and Othello-like in its tragic -intensity. - -At first, he would join in the compliments, and smile patronizingly as -he helped the successful _débutante_ to gather up the bouquets. Then his -admiration would cool; he would tolerate, endure, then sneer, and -finally grind his teeth. He would convey to the audience over one -shoulder that they were idiots to applaud, and wither the triumphant -_cantatrice_ with a look of infinite contempt over the other. He had -been known to feign sleep in the middle of a great soprano aria which, -against his wish, had been encored. He had—or it was malevolently -reputed so—bribed the hotel waiter to place a huge dish of macaroni, -dressed exquisitely and smoking hot, in the way of a voracious contralto -who within two hours was to essay for the first time the arduous rôle of -Brynhild. The macaroni had vanished, the contralto had failed to appear. -Numerous were the instances similar to these recorded of the tenor -Gladiali, and repeated in every corner of the opera-loving world. - -But it was in London, where the great singer was “starring” during the -Covent Garden Season of 19—, that the haughty and intolerant Carlo was -to meet his match. - -At rehearsal one morning, Rebelli, the famous basso, said to Gladiali, -with a twinkle: “A new ‘star’ has dawned on the operatic horizon. La -Betisi, the pretty little soprano with the fiend’s temper and the -seraph’s voice, has created a furore at Rome and Milan. She will ‘star’ -over here in her successful rôles. I have it from the impresario -himself.” - -“_Ebbene!_” Carlo shrugged his shoulders and smiled with superb -patronage. “We shall be very glad to welcome the little one.... Artists -should know how to value genius in others.” - -“How well you always express things!” said Rebelli, grinning. “She is to -sing Isolina in ‘Belverde’ on the 10th. The Spanish _prima donna_ has -broken her contract. As Galantuomo, you will have an excellent -opportunity of judging of her talents,” he added, as he turned away, -“and scowling at the lady.” - -But Carlo did not scowl at first. He was all engaging courtesy and -cordial welcome at the first rehearsal, when he was presented -ceremoniously to a tiny little lady with willful dark eyes, pouting -scarlet lips, and hair as golden as her own Neapolitan sunshine. She -vaguely reminded the tenor of somebody he had seen before. - -“The Maestro is coming from Naples to conduct,” he heard Rebelli say. -“He vowed that La Betisi should make her _début_ under no _bâton_ save -his own. Her rôle will be Isolina in his ‘Belverde,’ in which, you know, -she created such a sensation at La Scala.” - -“And you, Signor, are to sing the great part of Galantuomo in the -‘Belverde’?” said the Betisi demurely to Gladiali. “This time I will not -say, ‘_I had rather sing with my cat!_’” - -Carlo started. Yes; there was no mistaking the willful mouth and the -flashing defiant eyes. The little girl who had sung so divinely in the -Maestro’s dusty room ten years ago was the new operatic “star.” But he -was not jealous of the Betisi as yet. He said the most exquisite -things—as only an Italian can say them—and bowed over her hand. - -“The Signorina has fulfilled the glorious promise of her childhood and -the prophecy of the Maestro,” he said. “She who once sang like a cherub -now sings like an angel. I am dying to hear you!” he added. - -“Ah!” cried the Betisi with a little trill of laughter, “if you are -dying now, what will you do afterwards?” The speech might have meant -much or nothing, and, though Carlo Gladiali winced a little, he made no -comment. - -A few rehearsals later a cloud of snuff enveloped him, and he was -clasped in the arms of a brown great-coat of antique design. Add, above, -a gray woolen comforter and a traveling cap with ear-pieces, and, below, -a pair of green trousers, ending in cloth boots with patent-leather -toecaps, and you have the portrait of the Maestro in traveling costume. - -“Heaven be praised, my dear Carlino, that I have lived to see this -day!... Have you renewed acquaintance with my little witch, my enchanted -bird, my drop of singing-water? Embrace, my children; your Maestro -wishes it!” - -And Gladiali touched the cheek of Emilia Betisi with his lips. Her -sparkling eyes looked mockingly into his. Then the Maestro, who spoke -not a word of English, scrambled to the conductor’s chair, and commenced -to harangue the musicians who constituted the orchestra in a fluent -conglomeration of several other languages, and the rehearsals of -“Belverde” began. - -The new soprano and the new opera made an instantaneous and unparalleled -“hit.” Carlo helped to pick up La Betisi’s bouquets, and made a pretty -speech to her at the final descent of the curtain. But his heart was not -in his eyes or on his lips. - -Upon the second representation, he yawned in the middle of Isolina’s -great aria, and he openly sneered at the audience for encoring the song -three times. In the last Act, in the Garden Scene, which offered the -principal opportunity for the display of the new _prima donna’s_ art, -Carlo sucked jujubes, and openly wore one in his cheek while receiving, -as Galantuomo, from the maddened Isolina the most feverish protestations -of love. He noted something more than feigned frenzy in the flaming -black eyes of the Betisi at this juncture, and, somewhat unwisely, -permitted himself to smile. Next moment he received a deep scratch upon -the cheek, which tingled for a moment, then bled copiously, obliging the -tenor to sing the final Romanza with a handkerchief to his face. - -“Convey to Signor Gladiali my profoundest apologies,” said the Betisi to -her dresser. “He will really think that he was singing a duet with a -cat! But the next performance goes better.” Her dark eyes gleamed, her -red lips smiled. She thirsted for the second representation. - -So did Carlo. He had thought out a few little things calculated to drive -a _cantatrice_ to the pitch of desperation. For instance, at the second -encore of her great song, separated only by a duet from _his_ great song -in the First Act, he would fetch a chair and sit down. Aha! - -But—whether his intention had leaked out through Rebelli, to whom in a -moment of champagne he had confided it, or whether the Betisi was in -league with demons, let it be decided—it was she who fetched, not a -chair, but a three-legged stool, and sat down on it in the middle of his -first encore. And so charming an air of patience did she assume, and so -genuine seemed her pity for the deluded public who had redemanded the -song, that Signor Carlo, who wore a strip of black Court plaster on one -cheek, nearly had an apoplexy. He meant to eat jujubes through _her_ -great song, but the Betisi was prepared. She produced a box and offered -them to him, singing all the while more brilliantly than she had ever -sung before; and when the house rose at her in rapture and demanded an -encore, she tripped and fetched the three-legged stool and gave it, with -a triumphant curtsey, to the foaming Galantuomo. And the crowded house -roared with delight. - -But the punishment of Carlo came in the Second Act. In the celebrated -Garden Scene, where slighted love drives Isolina into temporary madness, -she not only scratched her Galantuomo on the other cheek, but pulled his -wig off. And in the crowning scene, where Isolina reveals herself as the -daughter of the King, and summons the Court to witness the humiliation -of Galantuomo by beating on a gong which is suspended from a tree, came -the Betisi’s great opportunity. Running through the most difficult -passages of the arduous _scena_ with the greatest nonchalance, disposing -of octaves, double octaves, and ranging from _sol_ to _si_-flat in the -violin-clef with the utmost ease, she electrified and enthralled her -hearers; and, in the _gusto_ of singing, when the moment arrived for -striking on the gong previously referred to, she missed the instrument, -and struck the tenor violently upon the nose. The unfortunate organ -attained pantomimic dimensions within the few minutes that ensued -subsequently to the delivery of the blow and previous to the falling of -the curtain, and I have heard was favored by the gallery with a special -call. - -“Alas, Signor Carlo, I know not how to express my regret!... I was -carried away...” faltered the Betisi, as with secret triumph and feigned -remorse she looked upon the tenor’s swollen nose. - -Carlo gave her a passionate glance over it. As it had enlarged, so had -his heart and his understanding; he saw his enemy beautiful, -triumphant—a Queen of Song. He was conquered and her slave. - -“Never mind my nose,” he said generously. “I am beaten, fairly beaten, -and with my own weapons. You are a clever woman, Signora, and a great -singer. Permit me to take your hand.” - -“There,” she said, and gave it. “And you, Signor, are a magnificent -artist, though I have sometimes thought you a stupid man. What is it but -stupidity—_Dio!_” she cried, “to be jealous of a woman of whom one is -not even the lover or the husband?” - -“Give me the right to be jealous,” said Carlo the tenor. “Make me one -and the other! Marry me, Emilia. I adore you!” - -An atmosphere of snuff and mildew enveloped them, as the Maestro, the -date and design of whose evening dress-suit baffled the antiquarian and -enraptured the caricaturist, embraced both the tenor and the soprano in -rapid succession. - -“Aha! _Mes enfants_, am I not a true prophet?” he cried. “_Hasten to -grow up_, I said to the little one ten years ago, _and Carlo there shall -one day sing Romeo to thy Juliet_.” He embraced them again. “You sing -like angels—you quarrel like devils! Heaven intended you for one -another. Be happy!” And the Maestro blessed the betrothed lovers with a -sprinkling of snuff. - - - - - THE TUG OF WAR - - -Men invariably termed her “a sweet woman.” Women called her other -things. - -What was she like? Of middle height and “caressable,” with a rounded, -supple figure, exquisitely groomed and got up! Her golden hair would -have been merely brown, if left to Nature. It came nearly to her -eyebrows in the dearest little rings, and was coaxed into the loveliest -of coils and waves and undulations. Her eyes were lustrous hazel, her -eyelashes and eyebrows as nearly black as perfect taste allowed. Her -cheeks were of an ivory pallor, sometimes relieved with a faint -sea-shell bloom. Her features were beautifully cut, inclining to the -aquiline in outline. Her voice was low and tender, especially when she -was saying the sort of thing that puts a young fellow out of conceit -with the girl he is engaged to, and makes the married man wonder why he -threw himself away. Why he was such an infuriated ass, by George! as to -beg and pray Clara to marry him ten years ago, and buy a new revolver -when she said it was esteem she felt for him, not love. Why Fate should -ordain just at this particular juncture that he should encounter the one -woman, by jingo! the only woman in the world who had ever really -understood and sympathized with him! It was Mrs. Osborne’s vocation to -make men of all grades, ranks, and ages ask this question. She had -followed her chosen path in life with enthusiasm, let us say, collecting -scalps, with here and there a little shudder of pity, and here and there -a little smart of pain. Fascination, exercised almost involuntarily, was -to her, as to the cobra, the means of life. Not in a vulgar sense, -because the late Colonel Osborne had left his widow handsomely provided -for. But the excitement of the sport, the keen delight of capturing new -victims—bringing the quarry boldly down in the open, or setting -insidious snares, pitfalls, and traps for the silly prey to blunder -into—these joys the huntress knows who sharpens her arrows and weaves -her webs for Man. - -I have said—or hinted—that other women did not love Mrs. Osborne. -Knowing, as they did, that the lovely widow frankly despised them, her -own sex responded by openly declaring war. They knew her strength, and -never attacked her save in bands. Yet, strange to say, the invincible -Mrs. Osborne was never so nearly worsted as in a single-handed combat to -which she was challenged by a mere neophyte—“a chit”—as, had she lived -in the eighteenth instead of the twentieth century, the fair widow would -have termed Polly Overshott. - -Polly’s real name was Mariana, but, as everyone in the county said, -Polly seemed more appropriate. Sir Giles Overshott had no other child, -and sometimes seemed not to regret this limitation of his family circle. -Lady Overshott had been dead some five years when the story opens, and -Sir Giles was beginning to speak of himself as a widower, which to -experienced ears means much. - -The estate of Overshott Foxbrush was a fine one, unencumbered, and -yielding a handsome rent-roll. It was understood that Polly would have -nearly everything. She had consented in the most daughterly manner to -become engaged to the eldest son of a county neighbor, a young gentleman -with whom she was very much in love, Costebald Ianson Smithgill, -commonly known as “Cis” Smithgill, his united initials forming the -caressing little name. He was six feet high, and had a bass voice with -treble inflections, which he was training for a parliamentary career. He -had, until the demise of an elder brother removed him from the service -of his country, held a lieutenancy in the Guards. As to his family, who -does not know that the Smithgills are a family of extreme antiquity, -descended from that British Princess and daughter of Vortigern who drank -the health of Hengist, proffering the Saxon General the mead-horn of -welcome when he first set his conquering foot on British soil? Who does -not know this, knows nothing. The mead-horn is said to be enclosed in -the masonry of the eldest portion of Hengs Hall, the family seat in the -country of Mixshire, where, of course, the scene of our story is laid. -And Polly and Cis had been engaged about two months when Mrs. Osborne -took The Sabines, and was called on by the county, because Osborne had -been the cousin of an Earl, and she herself came of a very good family. -You don’t want any name much better than that of Weng. And Mrs. Osborne -came of the Wengs of Hollowshire. - -She took The Sabines for the sake of her health, which required country -air. It was an old-fashioned, square Jacobean house of red brick faced -with stone, and it boasted a yew walk, the yews whereof had been wrought -by some long-moldered-away tree-clipper into arboreal representatives of -the Rape of the Sabines. That avenue was one of the lions of the county, -and every fresh tenant of the place had to bind him or herself, under -fearful penalties, to keep the Sabine ladies and their abductors -properly clipped. - -Mrs. Osborne was destitute of the faculty of reverence, Lady Smithgill -of Hengs said afterwards. Because early in June, when she drove over to -call—it would not become even a Smithgill to ignore a Weng of -Hollowshire—upon turning a curve in the avenue so as to command the -house, the lawn, and the celebrated Yew Tree Walk, the new tenant of The -Sabines, exquisitely attired in a Paris gown and carrying a marvelous -guipure sunshade, appeared to view; Sir Giles Overshott was with her, -and the lady and the baronet were laughing heartily. - -“Mrs. Osborne _simply shrieked_,” Lady Smithgill said afterwards, in -confidence to a few dozen dear friends; “and Sir Giles was quite -purple—that unpleasant shade, don’t you know? - -“It turned out that they were amusing themselves at the expense of The -Sabines. I looked at her, and I fancy I showed my surprise at her want -of taste. - -“‘We think a great deal of them in the county,’ I said, ‘and Sir Giles -can tell you how severe a censure would be pronounced by persons of -taste upon the tenant who was so audacious as to deface or so careless -as to neglect them, or even, ignorantly, to make sport of them.’ - -“At that Sir Charles became a deeper shade, almost violet, and she -uncovered her eyes and smiled. I think somebody has told her she -resembled Bernhardt in her youth. - -“‘Dear Lady Smithgill,’ she said, or rather cooed (and those cooing -voices are so irritating!), ‘depend on it, I shall make a point of -keeping them in the most _perfect_ condition. To be obliged to pay a -forfeit to my landlord would be a nuisance, but to be censured by -persons of taste residing in the county, that would be quite -insupportable.’ Then she rang for tea, and there were eight varieties of -little cakes, which must have been sent down from Buszard’s, and a -cut-glass liqueur bottle of rum upon the tray. ‘Do you take rum?’ she -had the audacity to ask me. I did not stoop to decline verbally, but -shook my head slightly, and she gave me another of _those smiles_ and -passed on the rum. Sir Charles brought it me, and I waved it away, -_speechless_, absolutely speechless, at the monstrosity of the idea. - -“She overwhelmed me with apologies, of course. - -“And both Sir Giles—who, I regret to see, is constantly there—and Sir -Costebald, who has _once_ called—consider her a sweet woman. But—think -me foreboding if you will—I _cannot_ feel that county Society has an -acquisition in Mrs. Osborne.” - -“Papa goes to The Sabines rather often,” said Polly Overshott, when it -came to her turn to be the recipient of Lady Smithgill’s confidence. “He -does say that Mrs. Osborne is a sweet woman, and he is helping her to -choose some brougham horses. He says the pair she brought down are -totally unfit for country roads. And as for the rum, she offered it to -me. Colonel Osborne held a post in the Diplomatic Service at Berlin, and -Germans drink it in tea, and I rather like it, though a second cup gives -you a headache afterwards.” - -“Mary!” screamed Miss Overshott’s mamma-in-law elect, who had effected -this compromise between Polly and Mariana. - -“As regards The Sabines,” Polly went on, “we have bowed down before them -for years and years, and we shall go on doing it, but they are absurd -all the same. So are our lead groups and garden temples at -Overshott—awfully absurd——” - -“I suppose you include our Saxon buttress and Roman pavement at Hengs in -the catalogue of absurdities,” said Lady Smithgill icily. “Fortunately, -Sir Costebald is not a widower, or they might stand in some danger of -being swept away. At the present moment, let me tell you, Mary, your -lead figures and garden temples are far from secure. That woman leads -your father by the nose—twines him round her little finger. Cis tells -me——” - -“What does Cis know about it?” said Polly, flushing to the temples. - -“Cis is a man of the world,” said Lady Smithgill. “But at the same time -he is a dutiful son. He tells everything to his mother. It seems—Cis -personally vouches for the truth of this—that Sir Giles is constantly at -The Sabines—in fact, every day.... He is dressed for conquest, it would -appear.” - -“Cis or Papa?” asked Polly, with feigned innocence. - -“Sir Giles wears coats and neckties that would be condemned as showy if -worn by a bridegroom,” said Lady Smithgill rapidly. “He is perfumed with -expensive extracts, and his boots must be torture, Cis says, knowing all -one does know of the Overshott tendency to gout. He never removes his -eyes from Mrs. Osborne, laughs to idiocy at everything she says, and -simply _lives_ in the corner of the sofa next her. He monopolizes the -conversation. Nobody else can get in a word, Cis tells me.” - -“Since when did Cis begin to be jealous?” said Polly under her breath. - -“I did not quite catch your remark,” returned Lady Smithgill. “By the -way, Mary, I hope you will wear those pearls as often as you can. They -require air, sunshine, and exercise.... I contracted my chronic -rheumatic tendency thirty years ago through sitting in the garden with -them on. For days together Sir Costebald’s mother used to _skip_ in them -upon the terrace, but I never went as far as that.” - -“The pearls—what pearls?” asked Polly vaguely. - -“Dear Mary, when a _fiancé_ makes a gift of such beauty—to say nothing -of its value—and the strings were originally purchased for two thousand -pounds—it is customary for the recipient to exhibit a _little_ -appreciation,” Lady Smithgill returned. - -“Appreciation!” - -“Of course you thanked Cis, my dear. I never doubted that. But there, we -will say no more....” - -Polly’s blue eyes flashed. She rose up; she had ridden over to the Hall -alone, and her slight upright figure looked its best in a habit. - -“I should like to say a little more.” She put up her hand and unpinned -her hat from her close braids of yellow-gold, and tossed the headgear -into a neighboring chair. “Dear Lady Smithgill, Cis has not given me any -pearls. Perhaps he has sent them to Bond Street to be cleaned——” - -“Cleaned! They are in perfect condition.” - -“Or—or perhaps he has given them to some one else. I have seen very -little of Cis lately,” Polly ended. “But Papa tells me that he is a good -deal at The Sabines. Papa seemed to find him as much in the way as ... -as Cis found Papa. And—her new kitchenmaid is the sister of our -laundrywoman, and a report reached me that she had lately been wearing -some magnificent pearls.... I thought nothing of it at the time, but -now....” - -There was a snorting gasp from Lady Smithgill. All had been made clear. -Her double chin trembled, and her eyes went wild. - -“Mary!” she cried.... “I have been blind! My boy—my infatuated boy! That -woman has a positively fiendish power over men.... She will -enslave—ensnare Cis as she has done your father and dozens of others. -Oh! my dear, there are stories.... She is relentless. The Sowersea’s -second son, De la Zouch Sowersea, is now driving a cab in Melbourne, and -the Countess attributes everything to her. At Berlin—where her husband -had a diplomatic appointment, and she learned to offer refined -English-women rum in their tea—there were worse scandals—agitations, -duels! Now my son is in peril. Save him, Mary! Do something before it is -too late!” - -“I can hardly drop in at The Sabines—say I have called for my property, -and take Cis and Papa away,” said Polly, her short upper lip quivering -with pain and anger. “But I will think over what is best to be done. In -the meantime do not worry Cis. Leave him to go his way. We need not be -too nervous. He and Papa will keep an eye upon each other,” she ended. - -“You know more of this than you have told me,” poor Lady Smithgill -gasped. “There are scandals in the air—people are talking—about my boy -and that woman! Why did she ever come here?” the unhappy lady murmured. -“I said from the first that she would be no acquisition to the county!” - -Polly’s cob, Kiss-me-Quick, came round, and Polly took leave. She had -warm young blood in her veins, and an imperious temper of her own, and -to be asked to “do something” to add a fresh access of caloric to the -obviously cooling temperature of one’s betrothed is not flattering. Yes, -she had suspected before; yes, she had known more than she had told the -proprietress of the agitated double chin and the agitated maternal -feelings. Sir Giles had betrayed Cis as unconsciously as he had betrayed -himself. “Really, Poll, I think you ought to keep the young man better -to heel,” he had said. “He means no harm, but Mrs. Osborne is a -dangerously fascinating woman, and a woman of that type possesses -advantages over a girl. And, of course, I don’t suggest anything in the -nature of disloyalty to yourself—Cis is the soul of honor and all that. -But to see an engaged young fellow sitting on footstools, and lying on -the grass at the feet of a pretty woman—who doesn’t happen to be the -_right one_—turning up his eyes at her like a dying duck in a -thunderstorm—by George!—irritates me. He is always in Mrs. Osborne’s -pocket, and one never can get a word with her alone—I mean, nobody is -allowed to usurp her attention for an instant. And here is the key to -the Crackle-Room, since you are asking for it.” - -And Sir Giles handed his daughter the key in question, a slim, rusty -implement belonging to the showroom of Overshott, an octagonal boudoir, -periodically dusted and swept by the housekeeper’s reverent hands, but -otherwise untouched, since Lady Barbara Overshott, the friend and -correspondent of Pope and Addison, was found by her distracted husband -sitting stone dead at her spinet before the newly-copied score of the -“Ode on Saint Cecilia’s Day,” which had been sent her with the united -compliments of the author and the composer. The furniture of the boudoir -was of the reign of William and Mary, the walls panelled with pink -lacquer beaded with ormolu, the shelves, brackets and cabinets laden -with priceless specimens of crackle ware—the joy of the connoisseur and -the envy of the collector. - -“Thank you,” said Polly, taking the key. “I was anxious to see for -myself how many of Lady Bab’s vases and bowls are left to us.” She -looked very tall and very fair, and rather terrifying as she confronted -Sir Giles. They were in the hall of Overshott, the doors of which stood -wide open to the faint September breeze and the hot September sunshine, -and Sir Giles, who was going to luncheon at The Sabines, was putting on -a thin dust-coat in preparation for the drive. He jumped at the -reference to the crackle. - -“I suppose Mrs. Brownlow has told you that I have removed a piece or -two,” he said, bungling with the sleeves of his dust-coat, for lack of -the daughterly hitch at the back of the collar which would have induced -the refractory garment to go on. - -“Mrs. Brownlow has told me that a baker’s dozen of bowls and vases and -plaques and teapots—the cream of the collection, in fact,” said Polly, -“are adorning Mrs. Osborne’s drawing-room.” - -“Confound it!” said Sir Giles, as he struggled with his garment. “The -crockery isn’t entailed; and if I desire to give a teapot to a friend I -suppose I can do as I like with my own! And—I can’t keep the cart -waiting. Fanchon won’t stand.” - -“Undoubtedly,” said Polly, becoming cool as Sir Giles grew warm. -“Only—if you are going on giving teapots to friends, and there is a -hamper of china at this moment under the seat of the cart—I think it -would be advisable to change the name of the Crackle-Room. One might -call it the ‘Plundered Apartment,’ or something equally appropriate.” - -“Call it what you choose, my dear.” Sir Giles was now recovering from -the shock of the unexpected onslaught. “I have said the crackle is no -more entailed than Overton Foxshott or the Lowndes Square house—or -anything else that at present I may call my own. If I were a younger -man, I might plunder my mother and disappoint my promised wife for the -pleasure of making a considerable present of jewelry to a woman ten -years my senior. As it is——” - -Sir Giles did not finish the speech, but strode angrily out and got into -the cart, and gave Polly a short, gruff “Good-bye,” as he drove away, -leaving that puzzled young woman on the doorsteps. - -“‘Plunder my mother and disappoint my promised wife.... Present of -jewelry ... a woman ten years his senior.’... Can Cis have been giving -jewels to Mrs. Osborne?” Polly wondered. The course of her love affair -had run so smoothly that she was at a loss to account for the pain at -her heart and the fever in her veins. Sir Giles’s complaint she -diagnosed correctly. He was jealous ... jealous of Cis! He was angry -with Polly. He had reminded her that he could do as he liked with his -own, that the county might call her an heiress, but the county had no -certain grounds for the assertion. Jealous and angry, the dear, cheery -Dad. Because Cis chose to loll upon the grass at the skirts of a woman -who was his senior by many more years than ten. Polly ordered round -Kiss-me-Quick, and rode over to Hengs Hall, pondering these things in -her mind. Much had been revealed to her, but it was for Lady Smithgill -to lift the last corner of the veil and disclose to Cis’s future wife -the true meaning of Sir Giles’s reference to jewels. - -“So Cis gave her the pearls, and Dad has given her the crackle to -recover lost ground. Mrs. Osborne must be a clever woman,” Polly -reflected, as she rode slowly home through the sunset lanes on -Kiss-me-Quick. - -“How was it going to end, all this? - -“If Dad married Mrs. Osborne, it will be extremely unpleasant to possess -a stepmother who has been made love to by one’s husband. And should Mrs. -Osborne succeed in marrying Cis——” Polly tightened the reins -involuntarily, and Kiss-me-Quick quickened her paces. “Let her, if she -wants him. No; let him if he wants her. But first—oh, first—there will -be a Tug of War! I will not endure to be routed on my own ground by this -designing charlataness,” thought Polly. - -In London it might have happened—almost without remark. But here—here in -the open—under familiar pitying, curious eyes.... Never, never, never! -And with each repetition of the word Kiss-me-Quick danced at a cut of -the whip. For Polly was humane, yet human. - -The double report of a gun in one of the Heng coppices gave -Kiss-me-Quick an excuse for more dancing, and presently, as Polly -looked, shading her blue eyes with her half-gauntleted right hand, Cis -and a keeper came plainly into view. She pulled up Kiss-me-Quick and -waited, as the young man, leaving his gun with the keeper, crossed the -hot stubbles dangling a brace of birds. - -“Why, Polly dear!” He tried to look natural and at ease as he lifted his -leather cap from his crisp brown waves. “If you had told me you thought -of riding over to see the mother, I’d have called for you and brought -you over.” - -“It was a sudden idea, Cis,” Polly said, as she gave him her gloved -hand. - -“Can you tie these birds on the saddle—or shall I send them over?” asked -Cis, glad of an excuse that made it possible to fix his eyes below the -level of hers. “They’re clean shot,” he added. - -“Fasten them on—there’s a strap in the saddle pocket—and I will leave -them at The Sabines as I pass!” said Polly cheerfully. - -Cis’s jaw dropped: he turned pale under his sun tan. “Leave them at The -Sabines!” he repeated blankly. - -“I thought,” said Polly, bending a cool, amused glance upon her lover’s -perturbed countenance, “that you meant them for Mamma. To be sure, she -is not Mamma yet, but it is a pretty compliment to treat her as though -she were already Papa’s wife—taking the pearls to show her before you -brought them to me! I call it _quite sweet_ of you!” Polly ended. - -“I—I!” The young man’s face was an extraordinary study. “I am so glad -you’re pleased,” he stuttered. - -“Dad is with her to-day,” went on Polly, stroking Kiss-me-Quick’s glossy -neck with her whip-lash. “He took her over a cargo of crackle china out -of Lady Bab’s room. China is a taste one begins to cultivate at her age, -dear thing, and I suppose they are having a nice, quiet, cosy afternoon, -arranging the pieces. She has her fads, Dad has his, and I am sure they -will get on excellently together. Dear me! how warm you are! Come to tea -to-morrow! Good-bye!” - -And Polly rode quickly away. Sore as she was, angry and jealous as she -was, she laughed as the vision of Cis’s hot, astonished, indignant face -rose before her. She laughed again as she turned in at the bridle-gate -of The Sabines. But she was grave and earnest as she dismounted at the -hall-door and followed Ames, the butler, down the long, cool hall to the -drawing-room. - -“Miss Overshott.” - -The announcement made Sir Giles attempt to get up from the footstool on -which he was sitting, but he did not succeed at the first attempt, -thanks to his rheumatism, and his daughter’s eye lighted on him at once. - -“Don’t move, Dad, dearest. Why should you? Oh! Mrs. Osborne!” Polly flew -to the fair widow, who advanced, cool, smiling, and exquisitely clad, to -greet her visitor. “Oh, Mrs. Osborne, I am so—so glad!” Polly seemed -choking with joyful tears as she caught the rounded waist of Melusine in -her strong young embrace, and vigorously kissed the exquisitely powdered -cheeks. “And I may call you Mamma—mayn’t I?” - -“Mamma?” echoed Sir Giles, sitting puzzled on the footstool. - -“Mamma?” re-echoed Mrs. Osborne in cooing accents of surprise. - -“You see, Dad has told me all,” explained Polly, turning beaming, -childlike eyes of happiness upon the embarrassed pair. “Though Cis knew -before I did, and I hardly call that quite fair. But as he is to be your -son, dear Mrs. Osborne—as I am to be your daughter——Why, there is the -crackle arranged upon your cabinets already! How nice it looks! But it -will all be yours, presently, won’t it, Mamma?” Polly gave Mrs. Osborne -another kiss, and then fluttered over to Sir Giles, who sat petrified -upon the footstool, and gave him a couple. “You mustn’t be jealous,” she -said, “you foolish old Dad! And now, Mamma darling, won’t you give me -some tea?” - -“Dear Mary, with pleasure!” assented Mrs. Osborne, who knew that her -hand had been forced, and yet could not help admiring the audacity of -the _coup_. As her graceful form undulated to the tea-table, she cast a -glance at Sir Giles, raising her beautifully tinted eyebrows almost to -her golden-brown curls. She gave him credit for being a party to the -plot, while he, poor astonished gentleman, was as innocent as a new-born -babe. In the passing out of a cup of tea she realized that a double game -was no longer possible, and that Polly Overshott had the stronger hand. -“Your father,” she said, as she gave Polly her tea, “has enlisted a -powerful advocate. All was not so settled as you seem to think, dear -Mary, but——” And she sighed, and extended her white hand to Sir Giles, -and helped him up from the footstool; and he was in the act of -gracefully kissing that fair hand as Cis, in riding-dress, pale, -agitated, and breathless from the gallop over, was ushered in. - -“Cis!” cried Polly, realizing that the supreme moment of the Tug of War -was now or never. Her eyes were blue fires, her cheeks red ones, as she -moved swiftly and gracefully to her lover and led him forward. “Kiss -Mamma and shake hands with Dad,” she said, and added with a coquetry of -which Cis had never thought her capable: “and then, perhaps, you may -kiss me.” Bewildered, choking with the reproaches, the recriminations -with which he was bursting, and which it need hardly be explained were -intended for Mrs. Osborne’s private ear, the young man obeyed. - -“I—I congratulate you both,” he said thickly. Mrs. Osborne had never -felt so little the niceties of a situation in her life. Nonplused, -angry, and perturbed, she looked every hour of her age, despite pink -curtains; and the powder only served to accentuate the suddenly revealed -hollows in her face. Polly, as I have explained, had never worn such an -air of coquetry, of brilliancy, of dare-devil, defiant mastery as she -now displayed. But her final blow was to be dealt—and she dealt it. - -“Mamma darling,” she cooed, taking the vacated stool at Mrs. Osborne’s -feet—the stool contested for by both the discomfited wooers—“how cosy we -are here—all together! Won’t you please Dad—and me—and Cis—by bringing -out the pearls!” - -“The—pearls!” Mrs. Osborne said. An electric shock went through her; she -turned stabbing eyes upon the speechless Cis. And Sir Giles, studying -her face, made up his mind that he would never marry that woman—not if -Polly did her level best to bring the match about. - -While Polly prattled on. - -“The pearls, of course. I told Cis I thought it sweet of him to bring -them to show you—as though I were really your daughter, don’t you know. -And if you will fasten them round my neck yourself, I shall think it -sweet of you. Where have you hidden them? Why, I believe you are wearing -them now—to keep them warm for me—under your lace cravat, you dear, -darling thing!” - -The affectionate daughter-elect raised a guileless hand and twitched the -jewels into sight. - -Mrs. Osborne, ashy pale, and with Medea-like eyes, unfastened the jewels -from her throat. - -“Here they are, dear Mary. Take them—and may they bring you all the -happiness I wish you!” said Mrs. Osborne in cooing accents. - -Polly could not restrain a little shudder, but she was grave. - -“Now Cis and I will go,” she said, when the pearls were fastened round -her neck over the neat white collar. “I am sure you and Dad want to be -alone. Come, Cis dear.” - -And she kissed Mrs. Osborne again, and bore Cis—not unwilling, strangely -fascinated by the new Polly so suddenly made manifest—away. They were -riding slowly home to dinner at Overshott Foxbrush, when the sound of -wheels rattling behind them, and Fanchon’s well-known trot, brought a -covert smile to Polly’s lips. - -Mrs. Osborne had a headache, Sir Giles explained, and so he had decided -not to remain to dinner. - -But father, daughter, and betrothed dined pleasantly at Overshott -Foxbrush. And when the dazzled Cis said good-night to the triumphant -Polly, the valediction was uttered unwillingly with as many repetitions -as there were pearls in the string Miss Overshott wore round her firm -white throat. - -There was no gas laid on at Overshott. Bedroom candlesticks were an -unabolished institution. As Sir Giles gave his daughter hers, he spoke. - -“You were a little premature in your conclusions, my girl, at The -Sabines to-day. I won’t ask why you played that little comedy, because I -know.... But you played it well ... and I don’t think Cis will kick over -the traces in that direction again. Nor do I think”—the Colonel cleared -his throat rather awkwardly—“that you are going to have Mrs. Osborne for -your second mother. She is too clever—and so are you! Good-night, my -dear!” - - - - - GAS! - - -Mrs. Gudrun’s season at the Sceptre Theatre was drawing to a finish, and -the funds of the Syndicate were in the same condition. Teddy -Candelish—Teddy of the cherubic smile and the golden mustache, -constantly described by the _Theatrical Piffer_ as the most ubiquitous -of acting-managers—sat in his sanctum before an American roll-top desk, -checking off applications for free seats and filing unpaid bills. -Gormleigh, the stage-director, balanced himself on the end of a -saddle-bag sofa, chewing an unlighted cigar; De Hanna, the -representative of the Syndicate, was going over the books at a -leather-covered table, his eyeglasses growing dim in the attempt to read -anything beyond deficit in those neatly kept columns. Mrs. Gudrun -occupied the easiest chair. Her feet, beautifully silk-stockinged and -wonderfully shod, occupied the next comfortable; her silken draperies -were everywhere, and a cigarette was between her finely cut lips. Her -feather boa hung from an electric-globe branch, and her flowery -diaphanous hat, bristling with diamond-headed pins, crowned the domelike -brow of a plaster bust of the Bard of Avon. - -“Well,” said the manageress, making smoke-rings and looking at De Hanna, -“there’s no putting the bare fact to bed! We’ve not pulled off things as -we had a right to expect.... We’ve lost our little pot, and come to the -end of our resources, eh?” - -“In plain terms,” said De Hanna, speaking through his nose, as he always -did when upon the subject of money, “the Syndicate has run you for all -the Syndicate is worth, and when we pay salaries on Saturday we shall -have”—he did some figuring with a lead pencil on the back of a -millionaire’s request for gratuitous stalls, and whistled -sadly—“something like four hundred and fifty left to carry us through -until the seventeenth.” - -“We began with as nice a little nest-egg as any management could wish -for,” said Candelish, dropping a smoking vesta into the waste-paper -basket with fatalistic unconcern. “We thought _The Stone Age_ would pay. -I’d my doubts of a prehistoric drama in five acts and fourteen scenes -that couldn’t be produced under an outlay of four thousand pounds, but -we were overruled.” He veered the tail of his eye round at Mrs. Gudrun. -“You and the Duke were mad about that piece.” - -“De Petoburgh saw great possibilities for me in it,” said Mrs. Gudrun, -throwing another cigarette-end at the fireplace and missing it. “That -scene where Kaja comes in dressed in woad for battle, and brains -What’s-his-name with her prehistoric stone ax because he doesn’t want to -fight her, always thrilled him. He said I would be greater than Siddons -in it, and, well—you remember the notices I got in the _Morning -Whooper_. Cluffer did me justice _then_, if he did turn nasty -afterward—the beast!” - -“When I met Cluffer in the vestibule on the first night after the third -act,” said Teddy Candelish, “he said he was going home because the -tension of your acting was positively too great to bear. He preferred me -to describe the rest of the play to him, and jotted the chief points on -his cuff before he went. And I grant you the notice was a ripper, but it -didn’t seem to bring people in; and after playing to paper for three -weeks, we had to put up the fortnight’s notice and jam _The Kiss of -Clytie_ into rehearsal.” - -“Dad vos a lofely—ach!—a lofely blay!” moaned Oscar Gormleigh, casting -up his little pig’s eyes to the highly ornamental ceiling of the -managerial sanctum. “Brigged from de Chairman in de pekinning, as I told -you, as all de goot blays are.” - -“I wish the Germans had stuck to it, I’m sure,” said De Hanna. “It -always appeared to me too much over the heads of ordinary intelligent -playgoers to pay worth a little damn.” - -“De dranscendental element——” Gormleigh was beginning, when Mrs. Gudrun -cut him short. - -“I never cared for it very much myself; but Bob Bolsover was dead set -upon my giving the public my reading of _Clytie_—and, well, you must -recollect the effect I created in that studio scene. Mullekens came -round afterward, and brought his critic with him, and said that the best -French school of acting must now look to its laurels, and a lot more. -Mullekens is the proprietor of the _Daily Tomahawk_, and so, of course, -I thought we were in for a good thing. How could I imagine that the -creature of a critic would go home and make game of the whole show? -Doesn’t Mullekens pay him?” - -“Ah, ja! Poot dat gritic’s vife is de sister of de Chairman agtress dat -blayed _Glytie_ in de orichinal Chairman broduction,” put in Gormleigh, -whose real surname was Gameltzch, as everybody does not know. “Did I not -varn you? It vas a gase of veels vidin veels.” - -“Wheels or no wheels, _Clytie_ kissed us out of three thou. odd,” said -De Hanna, wearily scratching his ear with his “Geyser” pen, “and then we -cut our throats with——” - -“With him,” put in Candelish, jerking a contemptuous thumb at the -hat-crowned effigy of the Bard of Avon. - -“You were keen on my giving the great mass of playgoers a chance of -seeing my Juliet,” remarked Mrs. Gudrun casting a Parthian glance at the -worm that had turned. - -“But they didn’t take the chance,” put in De Hanna, “and consequently—we -fizzle out.” - -“Like a burst bladder ...” moaned Candelish, who saw before him a weary -waste of months unenlivened by paid occupation. - -“Or a damp sguib,” put in Gormleigh. - -“Let’s have a sputter before we expire,” said De Hanna, with a momentary -revival of energy. “Lots of manuscripts have been sent in.... Isn’t -there a little domestic drama of the purely popular sort, or a farce -imbecile enough to pay for production, to be found among ’em?” - -“Dunno,” yawled Candelish, tilting his chair. - -“Who is supposed to read the plays that are sent in?” asked De Hanna, -turning his large Oriental eyes toward. Mrs. Gudrun. - -“I read some,” said the lady languidly, “and the dogs get the rest.” - -She stretched, and an overpowering combination of fashionable perfumes, -shaken from her draperies, filled the apartment. The three men sneezed -simultaneously. Mrs. Gudrun rose with majesty, and going to the -mantel-glass, patted her transformation fringe into form, and smiled at -the perennially beautiful image that smiled and patted back. Suddenly -there was a whining and scratching outside the door. - -“It’s Billy. Let him in, one of you,” ordered the manageress. - -All three men obeyed, clashing their heads together smartly at the -portal. De Hanna, with watering eyes, opened the door, and a brindled -bull of surpassing ugliness trotted into the office, carrying a chewed -brown paper parcel decorated with futile red seals and trailing loops of -string. Lying down in the center of the carpet and carefully arranging -the parcel between his forepaws, Billy proceeded to worry it. - -“Vot has de beast kott dere?” asked Gormleigh. - -“Take it from him and see!” said Mrs. Gudrun carelessly. Gormleigh’s -violet nose became pale lavender as Billy, looking up from the work of -destruction, emitted a loud growl. - -“He understonds everyding vot you say!” spluttered the stage-manager. - -“Try him with German,” advised De Hanna. - -“Or mit Yiddish,” retorted Gormleigh spitefully. - -As De Hanna winced under the retort, Candelish, who had rummaged -unnoticed in a drawer for some moments, produced a biscuit. Billy, -watching out of the corner of his eye, pricked a ragged ear and whacked -the carpet with his muscular tail. - -“Hee, boy, hee, Billy!” Candelish said seductively. Billy rose upon his -powerful bow-legs and hung out his tongue expectantly. - -“Koot old Pillee!” uttered Gormleigh encouragingly. “Gleffer old poy!” - -Billy vouchsafed the stage-manager not a glance; his bloodshot eyes were -glued upon the biscuit as he stood over the brown paper parcel. Then, as -Candelish, throwing an expression of eager voracity into his -countenance, made believe to eat the coveted delicacy himself, Billy -made a step forwards.... The end of the parcel projected from between -his hind-legs.... De Hanna softly stepped to the fireplace and seized -the tongs.... - -“Poo’ boy—poo’ ol’ Billy, then!” coaxed the acting-manager. He broke the -biscuit with one inviting snap, Billy forgot the parcel, and De Hanna -grabbed and got it. The next moment the bull, realizing his loss, pinned -the representative of the Syndicate by the leg. - -“Dash—dash—dash! Take the dash brute off, somebody!” shrieked De Hanna. - -There was a brief scene of confusion. Then, as Billy retired under a -corner table with a mouthful of ravished tweed, “He’s torn a piece out -of your trow-trows, old man,” Candelish remarked sympathetically. - -“He might have torn all the veins out of my leg!” De Hanna gasped. - -“Den,” said Gormleigh, chuckling, “you would haf been Kosher.” - -But Mrs. Gudrun was deeply disappointed in Billy. “Letting you off for a -bit of cloth!” she said. “Why, the breed are famous for their bite. He -ought to have taken a piece of flesh clean out—I shall never believe in -that dog again!” She swept over to Gormleigh, who was busy disentangling -the lengths of chewed string and removing the tatters of brown paper -from Billy’s treasure-trove. It proved to be a green-covered, rather -bulky volume of typescript. A red-bordered label gummed on the cover -announced its title: - - “MAGGS AT MARGATE - A SEASIDE FARCE, - IN THREE WHIFFS OF OZONE.” - -“What funny fool has written this?” snorted the manageress. - -“De name of de author.... Ach so! De name of de author is -Slump—Ferdinand Slump.” - -“I know the chap, or of him. He’s a business man who owns a half share -in some chemical gasworks at Hackney, and does comic literature in off -hours. He writes the weekly theatrical page of _Tickles_,” said De -Hanna, “and——” - -“_Dickles_ is a stupid halfpenny brint,” said Gormleigh, “dat sdeals all -its chokes from de Chairman babers.” - -“Really? It struck me that there must be some existing reason,” said -Candelish, “for the wonderfully level flow of dullness the publication -manages to maintain——” - -“Well, I suppose somebody is going to read this farce, since that is -what he calls it, by this Slump, since that is what he calls himself,” -said Mrs. Gudrun, removing her hat from Shakespeare and pinning it on. - -“Certainly. De Hanna, as the Representative of the Syndicate——” began -Candelish eagerly. - -“Pardon me. As acting-manager,” objected De Hanna, “you, Candelish, have -the prior claim.” - -“Didn’t you say you were going out of town to-night, Gormleigh?” -interrupted Mrs. Gudrun, who had stuck in all her hatpins, and was now -putting on her gloves. - -“Choost for a liddle plow,” admitted Gormleigh. “Dere is a cheab night -drain to Stinkton-on-Sea, sdarding from de Creat Northern at dwelve -dirty. I shall sleep in de gorridor gombardmend, oond breakfast at a -goffee and vinkle stall on de peach to-morrow morgen. By vich I haf poot -von night to pay for at de hotel.” His bearded lips parted in a -childlike smile of delight. “My vife goes not vid me,” he said, and -smiled again. - -“Then take this!” said Mrs. Gudrun, turning Slump’s farce over. “Report -on it after the show on Monday.” And she rustled from the office on -billows of silk, attended by clouds of perfume, the despised Billy, and -the assiduous Candelish. The stage-manager swore. De Hanna, concealing -the solution in the continuity of his tweeds with a bicycle -trouser-clip, grinned. - -“A little solid reading will steady you down, Gummy, and if my -experience of Slump goes for anything—you’ve got it there. But you’ll -report on Monday, as Her Nibs ordered. If you’ve not read it, look out -for squalls on Monday night!” - - * * * * * - -“Potstausend! Hof I read dot farce!” gasped Gormleigh on the night of -Monday. “Schwerlich! I hof read him tvice. Once from de beginning to de -end, oond akain from de end to de beginning.” His face assumed an -expression of anguish, and the veins on his bald forehead stood out as -the thick drops gathered there. “I cannot make heads or dails of him.... -He is gram-jam with chokes, poot I cannot lof at dem; his situations are -sgreaming, poot I cannot sgream. De tears day komm instead.... Dat vork -is vonderful ... it should one day be broduced, poot in de kreat -National School Theatre for authors oond actors dot de gountry hos not -yet founded, to brove to bubils vot is not a farce——” - -“Yet I shouldn’t be surprised if we did the piece here,” said Teddy -Candelish. “Slump, the author, has been talking over Her Nibs, and as he -would let _Maggs at Margate_ go for nothing down, find three hundred -pounds toward the production, and merely take a nominal sixty per cent., -the chances are that you’ll be rehearsing before Tuesday. Hullo!” for -the stage-manager had reeled heavily against him. - -“Ich bin unwohl.... It is dose undichested chokes of Slumps I haf hodd -on my gonstitution since I read dot farce. Oond now you komm mit -anodder,” Gormleigh groaned. - -“Here’s Her Nibs with Slump,” said Candelish, with a grin; and Mrs. -Gudrun, in the Renaissance robes of Juliet, swept into the green room -with a little grinning, long-haired man in an imitation -astrachan-collared overcoat over crumpled evening dress—a little man who -gave a large hand, with mourning nails, familiarly to Candelish, and -nodded cavalierly when Gormleigh was introduced. Slump was to read his -play to the manageress and her staff after the performance that night. - -Read his play Slump did, and Cimmerian gloom gathered upon the -countenances of his listeners as the first act dragged to a close. Slump -put the typescript down on the supper-table and looked round; -Gormleigh’s head had sunk upon his folded arms. Heavy snores testified -to the depth and genuineness of his slumbers. The countenances of De -Hanna and Candelish expressed the most profound dejection, while the -intellectual half of Mrs. Gudrun’s celebrated countenance had -temporarily vanished behind her upper lip. - -“What do you say to that?” Slump asked, quite undismayed by these signs -of weariness on the part of his listeners. Mrs. Gudrun came back to -answer him. - -“I say that it’s the longest funeral I’ve ever been at. Open another -bottle of the Boy, Teddy, and wake up, Gormleigh.” - -“I hof not been asleep,” explained Gormleigh. - -“I wish I had,” sighed De Hanna. “The fact is,” he continued, prompted -by a glance from Mrs. Gudrun, “that your play don’t do.” - -Slump maintained, in the face of this discouragement, a smiling front. - -“Won’t do, eh?” - -“Won’t do for nuts,” said De Hanna firmly. “Nobody could possibly laugh -at it,” he continued. - -“It is too tam tismal,” put in Gormleigh. - -“But if I prove to you that people can laugh at it, what then?” queried -the undismayed Slump. He took from a fob pocket-book a newspaper cutting -and handed it across the supper-table to De Hanna. The cutting was -headed - - “OZONE AT THE BALL,” - -and ran thus: - - -“‘Will you take a little refreshment?’ - -“‘Thank you, I have just had a sniff of ozone.’ - -“Question and answer at the ball given last night in aid of the —— -Hospital, —— Square, at the Royal Rooms, Kensington. For, besides -champagne, ozone was laid on. After every dance Dr. Blank, head of the -Hospital, wheeled about the hall an appliance in which, by electrical -action, pure oxygen was converted into the invigorating element of -mountain or seaside air, greatly to the purifying and enlivening of the -atmosphere of the ballroom.” - - -“My firm supplies the gas used in the treatment of the patients at that -hospital,” said Slump. “It’s a turnover of ten thousand per annum. We’re -ready to lay it on at the theater, and give the playgoers genuine ozone -with their evening’s entertainment. As for the farce, I don’t count it -A1 quality, but I’ve made up my mind to be acted and laughed at, and I’m -going to bring chemistry in to help me. Think what an advertisement for -the hoardings: ‘Real Ozone Wafted Over the Footlights,’ ‘Sea Air in the -Stalls and Gallery!’” - -“By thunder! it’s a whacking notion!” cried Candelish. - -“Colossal!” exclaimed De Hanna, taking fire at last. - -“Poot vill de beoble loff?” asked Gormleigh. - -“Ah, yes! Will they stand your farce even with an ozone accompaniment?” -doubted Mrs. Gudrun. - -“I’ve a machine downstairs in the stage-door office,” said Slump calmly. -“Will you try the first act over again—with gas?” - -Gormleigh groaned, but the other three nodded acquiescence; and the men -in charge of the electrical oxygen-generator received instructions to -bring the machine upstairs. - - * * * * * - -“Ha, ha, ha!” - -“Haw, haw, haw!” - -“Ach, it is too funny for anydings!” This from Gormleigh, rocking in his -chair, and mopping his streaming eyes with a red silk handkerchief. -“Ach, ha, ha, ha!” - -Mrs. Gudrun held up her jeweled hands for mercy. The laughing man who -worked the machine stopped pumping, the laughing author ceased to read, -Billy the bulldog, who had been grinning from ear to ear, wiped a wet -nose on his mistress’s gown and sat down panting. - -“How the deuce,” gasped De Hanna, “can oxygen make a stupid farce a -funny one? I can’t understand it, for the life of me.” - -“Because,” replied Slump, with brevity and clearness, “that’s my trade -secret, and I don’t mean to give it away. Well, does _Maggs_ go on, or -do I take it to another management?” - -The general assent was flattering in its unanimity. _Maggs at Margate_ -went into rehearsal at the “Sceptre” next day, and in a week was -presented to the public. We refer you to the critiques published in the -_Daily Tomahawk_, the _Yelper_, and other morning prints: - - -“It seems as though the good old days were come again.... Peals of -irresistible laughter rang through the crowded theater as the -side-splitting story of _Maggs_ was unfolded. The audience laughed, the -orchestra laughed, the actors themselves were infected by the general -merriment.” - - -“Mr. Slump is a public benefactor. When ‘down,’ a dose of him will be -found to act like magic. The management’s happy notion of supplying the -theater with real ozone adds not a little to the pleasure of the -entertainment.” - - -And so forth, and so forth. Booking was immense, the box-office and -libraries were besieged with applicants eager to breathe the genuine sea -air wafted over the footlights at the “Sceptre.” The treasury boxes had -to be carried to the office at night by two of the strongest -commissionaires. - -“Slump has a soft snap,” said De Hanna, chewing his Geyser pen -rapturously as he went over the books. “Sixty per cent. of the gross -receipts in author’s fees, and we’re averaging two thousand a week since -we went in for daily _matinées_. Then the Transatlantic Trust is running -the play in New York to phenomenal business, and we’ve planted it out -for the Colonies, while France and Germany——” - -“Id vas from Chairmany dat de leading itea of de blay was orichinally -sdolen,” said Gormleigh, who had blossomed out in new clothes, a red -necktie, and a cat’s-eye pin. - -“Leading idea of the play is the Ozone,” said De Hanna; “and as Slump’s -firm holds the patent for the electro-oxygen generator, and manufactures -the oxygen used in the theater——” - -“Dey call it bure oxygen, poot it is not dat,” said Gormleigh, laying -his finger to his nose. “It is a motch cheaber gombound, I give you my -vort.” - -“What?” De Hanna came closer, and his Oriental eyes gleamed. “If that’s -true, and we could manufacture and generate it for ourselves, we—we -could buy up every rotten play we come across—there’s heaps of them to -be had, Heaven knows—and run ’em for nuts. What is the stuff?” - -“It is nitrous oxide,” said Gormleigh, “gommonly known as loffing -kass—and I hof a friend, a Chairman chemist—dat vill——Hoosh!” He laid -his finger to his nose with an air of secrecy as Mrs. Gudrun swept into -the office, enveloped in her usual clouds of silk and perfume. Candelish -was not with her, but Slump and Billy followed at her heels. - -“Of course, it must be admitted, _Maggs_ is a phenomenal success,” she -was saying, “and we’re making money hand over hand; but the part of -‘Angelina’—though Cluffer says no French comedy actress of any age or -period could act it as I do—does not give me proper opportunities. Mr. -Slump thinks with me.” She smiled dazzlingly upon the enamored little -man. “And he has written a tragedy in blank verse—_The Poisoned -Smile_—which we mean to produce as soon as the run is over.” She swept -out again with her following, and De Hanna and Gormleigh exchanged a -wink of partnership. - -“A tragedy in blank verse by Slump.... Phew!” De Hanna whistled. “They -won’t want laughing-gas for that.... As for us, we go snacks in biz. -I’ll find the Syndicate and the theater.” - -“Oond I de blays, de sdage-management, oond de kass. De Chairman chemist -friend I dold you of, I hof vith him already a gontract made.” - -“Perhaps it is a bit shady,” said De Hanna punctiliously, “to exploit an -idea that really is Slump’s property....” - -“De chokes in Slump’s comic baber he sdole from a Chairman orichinal,” -said Gormleigh pachydermatously. “It is nodding poot tid for tad!” - - - - - AIR - - - “Sweet are the uses of advertisement.” - _The Professional Shakespeare._ - -“I believe in the value of an ad.,” said Mrs. Gudrun one night at the -Paris Grand Opera, the Sceptre Theatre, London, being temporarily closed -pending a new production. “Sarah believes in it, too—and that’s another -of the remarkable points of resemblance between us. And for the sake of -a puff, I’m willing to do all that a woman can.” - -“Can’t do more,” said De Petoburgh, shaking his head owlishly. “Can’t -possibly do more.” - -“Shut up, De Peto. That woman’s ready to bite you for talking through -her big _aria_,” commanded Mrs. Gudrun, with a slight glance of imperial -indifference towards the infuriated _prima donna_. She dropped her -opera-glasses into the orchestra with a crash, narrowly shaving the -kettle-drums, and causing the cymbal-player to miss his cue, as she -continued: “But, though I’m generally keen to see the pay-end of a big -notion, this idea of Bobby Bolsover’s won’t do for macaroons. Not that -I’m lacking in what the Americans call horse-grit—wasn’t I on De Brin’s -automobile when he won the Paris-Rouen race with his Gohard Cup Defender -in nineteen-three? That was one hairbreadth escape, from the revolver -shot that started us—you remember Bobby put in ball cartridge by -mistake—to the three flying kilometers at the finish, which we did on -one wheel, as the brakes refused to act. And I’ve hung by one coupling -over a raging American river in my own drawing-room Pullman saloon. But -when it comes to dangling in a little basket that weighs next to nothing -from a bag of gas that weighs nothing at all—I’m not taking any, and I -don’t care who knows it. A captive balloon’s another thing. You’re -cabled and sand-bagged and what not, and, unless you jump out, nothing -can happen to you. But——Do see who’s knocking at the door!” - -It was a uniformed and epauletted functionary conveying the polite -intimation of the management that Madame and her party must positively -maintain silence during the performance, or make themselves the trouble -to depart! - -“Tell him we’d had enough and were just going!” commanded Mrs. Gudrun. -She rose, and, followed by the Duke, Bobby Bolsover, and Teddy -Candelish—most active and ubiquitous of business managers, sailed out of -the box, knocking over a fauteuil and carrying a footstool away upon the -surging billows of her train. “Calls herself an artist!” she said, in -reference to the _prima donna_, upon whose trills and roulades an -enraptured audience hung breathless and enthralled; “and lets herself be -put about by a little thing like that! Where’s her artistic absorption, -I should like to know. Why, I’ve studied Juliet in the drawing-room -where Bobby and De Petoburgh were having a rat-hunt under the tables and -things, and what difference did it make to my conception of the part? -Not a sou. And _she_ was a shrimp-seller at Nice! They all have that -_voce squillante_ and those thick flat ankles and those rolling black -eyes like treacle-balls. Let’s go and have some supper at the Café -Paris.” - -Over American grilled lobster and quails _Georges Sand_, Bobby -Bolsover’s grand notion for an advertisement, cropped up again. One may -explain that it consisted in the suggestion that Mrs. Gudrun and party -should electrify Paris, and subsequently London, by traveling _per_ -motor-airship from St. Cloud, rounding the Eiffel Tower in emulation of -the immortal Santos, and returning to the Highfliers’ Club airship -station at the Parc upon the conclusion of the feat. A friend of De -Petoburgh’s, a distinguished member of the Highfliers’ Club, would -undertake to lend the airship—a newly completed vessel, with basket -accommodation for three. This philanthropist did not propose to share -the notoriety by joining the trip, and it was to be distinctly -understood that De Petoburgh was to be responsible for any expenses -involved. - -And Bobby Bolsover, brimming, as usual, with genuine British bravery and -brandy-and-soda, was ready to assume command. - -“You know the principle of a motor?” Bobby demanded, as the supper -proceeded, and a collection of champagne corks, gradually amassed on the -corner of the table, assumed proportions favorable to purposes of -demonstration. - -“Candelish knows the principle of a motor,” said De Petoburgh. “Never -could learn myshelf. Too much borror!” - -“One may say that there is gasoline in a receptacle,” began Teddy. “Air -passing through becomes charged with gas, and comes out ready to -explode. Then——” - -“To explode,” agreed De Petoburgh; “absorutely correc’ dennifishion, by -Ringo!” - -“Don’t mind De Peto: he’s in for one of his old attacks,” said Mrs. -Gudrun. “His legs have been all over the place since breakfast. Well?” - -“You give a twirl to a crank,” said Bobby Bolsover. - -“Down goes the piston,” continued Teddy. - -“Down go her pistol,” nodded De Petoburgh. - -“And the dashed thing begins working automatically,” exclaimed Bobby -Bolsover. De Petoburgh balked at the six-syllabled hedge. “Now, an -airship is an example of——” - -“The effectiveness of an aërial propeller driven by a petrol motor,” put -in Teddy. - -“Jusso,” said De Petoburgh. “Jusso.” - -“There is, practically speaking, no danger whatever,” pursued Bobby -Bolsover, warming to the subject, “that does not attend other popular -pursuits. You may be thrown from a horse, or tumble off a coach-box——” - -“Did once,” said De Petoburgh, smiling in sad retrospection. - -“Or you may blow up in a motor,” went on Bobby. - -“But in either case,” said Mrs. Gudrun, with point, “one is on the -ground, not hanging between heaven and earth, like What’s-his-name’s -coffin.” - -“Brarro!” exclaimed De Petoburgh. “Encore! _Bis!_” - -“Permit me to put in, dear lady,” said Teddy Candelish, with his best -professional manner, “that if you fall out of an airship, you eventually -finish on the ground!” - -“Under,” gloomily interpolated De Petoburgh. “Under.” - -“And, further,” said Bobby Bolsover, “the guide-rope is in connection -with the ground all the time. Seventy feet of it, trailing like——” - -“Snakes!” said the irrepressible De Petoburgh, with a glassy stare. - -“And,” went on Bobby, “we will have four picked men from the Highfliers’ -Club Grounds to run beside the guide-rope all the way and back.” - -“Thus combining personal advertisement,” said Teddy Candelish, “with -physical integrity.” - -Mrs. Gudrun permitted her classical features to soften. “Now you’re -talking!” the lady said. She smiled through the bottom of her -champagne-glass as Teddy, bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, and -the trip was arranged forthwith. Thanks to the discretion of Teddy -Candelish, the preparations were kept so profoundly secret that all -Paris was on the alert when the eventful morning dawned. The Highfliers’ -Club Grounds were literally besieged, and the intending sky-navigators -fought their way to the aërodrome containing their vessel through a -surging throng of scientists, editors, journalists, dandies, actresses, -photographers, pickpockets, and politicians. - -“Regular scrimmage—what?” panted Bobby Bolsover, as, bare-headed and -disheveled, he reached the private side-door of the balloon-house. - -“We ought to have slept here,” said Mrs. Gudrun, straightening her -hat-brim as the breathless men collected her hairpins. - -“Nothing but perches to sleep on,” objected Bobby Bolsover, indicating -the skeleton arrangements of the vast interior. - -Mrs. Gudrun, whose eye soared with Bobby’s, would have changed color had -the feat been possible. - -“Do we really climb up that awful ladder to get on board?” she inquired. -“I have more nerve than any woman I know; but I wasn’t educated as an -acrobat. _J’en suis tout baba_, Bobby, that you should have let us all -in for a thing like this. We’re planted, however, and must go through. -What crowds of smart women! What on earth has brought _them_ out so -early in the morning? It must have got about that I’m going to be -killed!” She gulped and clutched Teddy. “I c-can’t go on in this scene! -Make an apology—make an apology and say I’m ill. I _am_ ill—horribly!” - -“I feel far from frisky,” said Bobby Bolsover candidly. “Gout all last -night in the head and eyes, and—every limb, in fact, that one relies -upon in steering a motor. But, of course, I am ready to undertake the -helm—unless anybody else would like to volunteer?” - -He looked at Teddy, whose eye was clear, whose cheek was blooming, whose -golden curls encroached upon a forehead unlined with the furrows of -personal apprehension. - -“W-what do you say, Teddy?” gasped Mrs. Gudrun. - -“I deeply regret.... It is imperatively necessary, dear lady,” said -Teddy glibly, “that in your absolute interests I should be at the -‘Fritz’ at twelve. The Paris representatives of the _Daily Yelper_, the -_Morning Whooper_, and the _Greenroom Rag_, have appointed that hour to -receive particulars of your start; three Berlin correspondents, one from -Nice, and the editors of the _Journal Rigolo_ and the _Vie Patachon_ are -to hole in ten minutes later; and there will be thousands of telegrams -to open and answer. You know that the Syndicate of the Escurial Palace -of Varieties have actually tendered to secure the turn. Therefore, -though my heart will make the voyage in your company, I—cannot.” - -Blue-eyed Teddy melted into thin air. Mrs. Gudrun, looking older than a -professional beauty has any right to look, surveyed her companions with -a hollow gaze of despair, while outside the aërodrome Paris roared and -waited. Bobby, as green as jade, in a complete suit of motor armor, -goggles included, leaned limply against the ladder that led upwards to -the platform of the aërodrome. De Petoburgh, in foul-weather yachting -kit, his glass fixed in his bloodshot left eye by the little mechanical -contrivance that keeps it from tumbling, looked back. That debilitated -nobleman, though shaky, was game to the backbone. - -“I can’t drive a motor, Bolsover,” he said quite distinctly, “but I can -drive _you_. Will you—oblige me—by climbing up that ladder? We follow. -After you, dear lady!” - -And the three negotiated the giddy ascent. Upon the platform they found -the owner of the airship and the four workmen who, under promise of -reward and threat of punishment, were to attend the guide-rope. The -airship itself, a vast sausage-shaped silk bag of hydrogen, from which -depended by rubber-sheathed piano wires a framework of proven bamboo -supporting three baskets—one forward, one amidships, and one aft—hovered -over the heads of the three depressed adventurers like a shapeless -embodiment of adverse Fate. And Paris was growing impatient. - -“Tell ’em to stick to the guide-rope, De Croqueville, for their lives,” -urged Bobby feverishly, squeezing the hands of the owner of the machine. -“Give it ’em in their own lingo; my French isn’t fluent to-day. They’re -not to trust to my steering, but just tow us to the Tower and back.” - -De Croqueville squeezed back, and embraced Bobby on both cheeks. “My -brave, my very dear, rely upon me. Madame”—he kissed the jeweled -knuckles of Mrs. Gudrun—“all Paris is assembled to behold the most -beautiful woman prove herself also to be of the most brave. M. le Duc,” -he saluted De Petoburgh distantly, and then cordially shook hands, “I am -as kin a sportsman as how you. I have plank my egg—my oof—a thousand -francs you circulate the Tour Eiffel, in spite of the wind, which blows -from the wrong quarter. Adieu!” - -“Blows from the wrong quarter!” gasped Bobby Bolsover. The eyeglass of -De Petoburgh turned in his direction, and he immediately climbed the -forward ladder and got into the steersman’s creaking basket, and grasped -the wheel with an awful sinking immediately below the heart.... The Duke -helped Mrs. Gudrun to assume the central position, and got in astern. -Just before the starting word was given and the great doors of the -aërodrome rolled apart in their steel grooves, he leaned over to De -Croqueville, addressing that gentleman in his own language: - -“One supposes she”—he alluded to the vessel—“is—sea—I mean -air-worthy—eh, my friend?” - -De Croqueville shot up his eyebrows and spread his hands. - -“One supposes.... Truly, dear friend, I know not!... The vessel is newly -complete—this is what in English you call the try-trip. That is why I -hedge my bet. One thousand francs you round the Tour Eiffel and return -uninjure—two thousand you do not return uninjure—whether you round the -Tour or no. _Adieu-dieu!_” - -The electric signal rang. The colossal doors groaned apart. The four -workmen scuttled down the ladders like frightened mice, seized the -guide-rope, and towed the airship out of dock. Paris waved -handkerchiefs, cheered. Bobby Bolsover, ghastly behind his goggles, -pressed the pedal and manipulated the wheel. The engine throbbed, the -tail-shaft screw revolved. The adventurers had started. - -“Qui-quite nice,” gulped Mrs. Gudrun tremulously, as the keen wind toyed -with her silk veil and fluttered her fur boa. - -“She pitches,” said De Petoburgh briefly. “Keep her head to it, -Bolsover.” - -There was a sickening moment as the airship mounted obliquely upward.... -Then a tug at the guide-rope brought her nose down, pointing to the sea -of fluttering handkerchiefs beneath. Mrs. Gudrun groaned and clung to -the sides of her padded basket. De Petoburgh swore. - -“I can’t—manage her. My—my nerve has gone. Let’s put about and take her -back to dock again,” gasped Bobby. - -“For—for Heaven’s sake, do!” groaned Mrs. Gudrun. But again that new -voice spake from the blue lips of De Petoburgh, and—— - -“I’ve lived like a dashed blackguard, but I’m not going to die like a -cowardly cad. Curtain’s up—go through with the show. Bolsover, you -bragging, white-livered idiot, you can steer an electric launch and -drive a motor-car. If I’d ever learned to do either, I’d take your -place. But as I can’t—go ahead, and keep on as I direct, or I’ll shoot -you through your empty skull with this revolver”—the click of the weapon -came stimulatingly to the ears of the scared helmsman—“and swear I went -mad and wasn’t responsible. They—they’d believe me! Mabel, if you sit -tight and go through with this, I’ll stand you that thousand-guinea -tiara you liked at Alphonse’s, if we—when we get safe to ground. Now, -Bolsover, drive on, or take the consequences!” - -Perhaps the familiar terms employed restored Bobby to the use of his -suspended faculties. Certain it is that the airship began to forge -steadily ahead at the rate of some twenty miles an hour—but _not_ -absolutely in the direction of the vast spidery erection of metal which -was its destined goal. It skimmed in the direction of the Bois de -Boulogne, keeping at so lofty an altitude that of the end of the -guide-rope merely a length of some six feet trailed upon the ground. - -“Those—those men l-look so funny running after it,” said Mrs. Gudrun, -upon whom the promise of the tiara had acted as a stimulant. - -“I hope they may keep up with it,” muttered De Petoburgh as the airship -sailed over the humming streets of the gay city, and tiny men and women -turned white specks of faces upwards to stare. “Ease her, Bolsover,” he -commanded. - -“Oh, we’re going right up again!” gasped Mrs. Gudrun. Then, as the -airship regained the horizontal: “This isn’t half bad,” she said in a -more cheerful tone, “but the housetops with their spiky chimney-pots -look dreadfully dangerous. The guide-rope has knocked a row of potted -geraniums off a third-floor balcony, and the old man who was reading the -paper in the cane chair must be swearing awfully. But where are the men? -I don’t see them; do you?” - -The four workmen were at that moment heatedly cursing the Municipal -Council of Paris at the bottom of a very long, very deep trench which -had been excavated across a certain street for the accommodation of a -new drain. The guide-rope pursued its course without them, now sweeping -a peaceful citizen off his legs, now covering the occupants of a smart -victoria with mud, now trailing over a roof or coiling serpent-wise -around the base of a block of chimneys. In the distance loomed the -Eiffel Tower, but in answer to De Petoburgh’s repeated requests that he -should steer thither, Bobby Bolsover only groaned. And the airship, -after navigating gracefully over the green ocean of the Bois de -Boulogne, continued her trip over the Longchamps racecourse, veered to -the south at the pleasure of a shifting current of air, and, having -leaked much, began plainly to buckle and bend. - -De Petoburgh, uncomfortably conscious of a misspent existence and wasted -opportunities, looked at the back of Mrs. Gudrun’s head, and wondered -whether she knew any prayers. - -“The trees are coming awfully close, aren’t they?” said the unconscious -beauty. - -“Awfully!” said the Duke, as the capricious motor stopped. - -Then Mrs. Gudrun screamed, and Bobby Bolsover, casting his goggles to -the winds, huddled in the bottom of his basket, and the debilitated but -plucky nobleman shut his eyes and thought of his long-dead mother as the -airship hurtled downwards ... crash into the top of the tallest of the -giant oaks in the magnificent park of H.S.H. Prince Gogonof Babouine. - -The Prince has the reputation of being excessively hospitable. When the -three passengers recovered from the shaking, the top of a long ladder -pierced the thick foliage beneath the wrecked vessel, and the Prince’s -major-domo, a stout personage in black with a gold chain, came climbing -up with a courteous message from the Prince. Would Madame and M. le Duc -and the other gentleman descend and partake of the second _déjeuner_, -which was on the point of being served, or would they prefer to remain -on board their vessel? - -“Stop up here? Does the man take us for angels?” snorted Mrs. Gudrun -indignantly. - -The descent was not without danger, but with the aid of De Petoburgh and -the major-domo, she braved and completed it without injury either to her -long celebrated limbs or her famous features. Bobby followed. - -The Prince entertained the shipwrecked castaways in princely fashion, -and drove the party back to Paris on his drag, the wonderful yellow -coach with the team of curly Orloffs. And he consented to dine; and that -night Mrs. Gudrun held a reception behind the illuminated balconies of -the Hotel Fritz, while the London newsboys were yelling her familiar -name, and the evening papers containing the most ornamental particulars -of her adventure went off like hot cakes. - -According to the most reliable account garnered by our special -correspondent from the lovely lips of the exquisite aëronaut, she had -never quailed in the moment of peril, and, indeed, upon the -distinguished authority of the Hon. R. Bolsover: “One is never -frightened while one can rely upon one’s own pluck!” Nobody interviewed -De Petoburgh, leaning vacuously smiling against the wall. Indeed, he had -developed another of his attacks, and could not have responded with any -coherence. - -“Wonderful fellow, Bolsover,” Teddy Candelish gushed, Teddy, all smile -and sparkle, “so brainy and resourceful!” - -“Rath’ ...” assented De Petoburgh fragmentarily. - -“And Her Nibs—a heroine—positively a heroine!” - -“Ra’!” assented De Petoburgh, as the heroine swept by, making -magnificent eyes at the palpably enamored Prince, while Paris murmured -indiscreet admiration. - -“And you, Duke, eh? Found it trying to your nerves, they tell me?” Teddy -continued, twirling his golden mustache. “Such trips too costly, eh, to -indulge in often?” - -“Ra’!” agreed De Petoburgh, with a glance at the thousand-guinea diamond -fender surmounting the most frequently photographed features in the -world. - - - - - SIDE! - - -Upon the conclusion of the phenomenally brief run of _The Poisoned Kiss_ -at the Sceptre Theatre, Mrs. Gudrun, who had sustained the heroic rôle -of Aldapora “with abounding verve and true histrionic inwardness” (to -cull a quotation from the enthusiastic notice which appeared in the -_Theatrical Piffer_), and whose sculpturesque temples throbbed no less -with the weight of the dramatic laurels heaped upon them than with the -heady quality of the champagne with which those laurels had been -liberally drowned—Mrs. Gudrun left the author and the Syndicate, _per_ -their Business Representative, exchanging poignant personalities over a -non-existent percentage, and hied her to the Gallic capital for -recreation and repose; bearing in her train the leading man, Mr. Leo De -Boo, a young actor who had chipped the egg of obscurity in the recent -production. De Boo was “a splendid specimen of virile beauty,” according -to the _Greenroom Rag_—all shoulders, legs, nose, and curls, without any -perceptible forehead; and Teddy Candelish, most ubiquitous of -acting-managers, came within an appreciable distance of being -epigrammatic when he termed him “a chronic cad in beautiful boots.” For -more exquisite foot-gloves than those De Boo sported were never seen, -whoever made and gave credit for them; and De Boo was said to have a -different pair for every day in the month and every imaginable change in -the weather. - -“Nearly threw up his part in _The Poisoned Kiss_,” said Teddy -afterwards, at the club, “when he discovered that it was to be a -sixteenth-century production; took me aside, and told me in confidence -afterwards, that if he’d been allowed to play Hermango in gray suède -tops with black pearl buttons and patent leather uppers, the piece would -have been a colossal monetary, as well as artistic, success.” - -“Schwerlich! Who konn bretend to follow de workings of a mind like dot -jung man’s,” said Oscar Gormleigh, “vidout de assisdance of de -migroscope? Und hof I not known a brima donna degline to go on for -Siebel begause she hodd been kifen brown insdead of violet tights? It -vas a tam gonsbiracy, she svore py all her kodds! In prown legs she -vould groak like von frog mit kvinsy—mit violet she always varble like -de nachtigall. De choke of it vas”—the talented stage-director laid a -hairy finger archly against his Teutonic nose—“dat voman always -groak—not never varble—tights or no tights!” - -“De Boo is a rank bounder,” said Candelish decidedly. - -“He has pounded from de ranks,” pronounced Gormleigh, “und he vill go on -pounding—each pound so motch higher dan de last von, oontil he drop -splosh into de kutter akain. He who now oggupies a svell mansion-flat in -Biccadilly, _ach ja!_—he vill end vere he bekan—in de liddle krubby -sit-bedding-room over de shabby shop vere dey let out segond hond boogs -on hire mit segond hond furnidure.” - -Mrs. Gudrun would have been deeply incensed had she heard this -unlicensed expression of opinion from one whom she had always kept in -his place as a paid underling. For six nights and a matinée she had, in -the character of Aldapora, elected to poison herself in the most painful -manner rather than incur the loss of De Boo’s affections, and, with the -“true histrionic inwardness” so belauded by the _Theatrical Piffer_, she -had identified herself with the part. So she took a blazing comet flight -to Paris with the actor in her train, and paragraphs announcing their -arrival at the Hotel Spitz appeared in the London papers. - -“Listen to this, Jane Ann,” said the paternal De Boo, whose name was -Boodie—and when I add that for twenty years the worthy father had been -employed as one of the principal cutters at Toecaps and Heels, that -celebrated firm of West-End bootmakers, it will be understood whence the -son obtained his boots. “To think,” Mr. Boodie continued, “that -Alfred—our Alfred, who sp’iled every particle of leather he set his -knife to, and couldn’t stitch a welt or strap a seam to save his -life—should ever have lived to be called a rising genius!” - -“The ways of Providence are wonderful, father!” returned the said -Alfred’s mother dutifully. Mrs. Boodie was an experienced finisher -herself, and had always lamented Alfred’s lack of “turn” in the family -direction. “An’, if I was you, I wouldn’t mention that bit in the paper -to Aphasia Cutts. She’s dreadful jealous over our Alfred, even now, -though he hasn’t bin to see ‘er or wrote for two years. As good as a -break off, I should a-regarded it, ’ad I bin in her place. But she’s -different to what I was.” - -“So are all the gals,” said Mr. Boodie with conviction, bestowing upon -his wife a salute flavored with Russia leather and calf. - -“Well, I’m sure. Go along, father, do!” said Mrs. Boodie, with a -delighted shove. - -But of course Aphasia—so christened by an ambitious mother in defiance -of the expostulations of a timid curate—had already seen and cried over -the paragraph. She had loved Alfred and stood up for him when he was a -plain, stupid boy with an unconquerable aversion to work. She had been -his champion when he grew up, no longer plain, but as pronounced a -loafer as ever. She had given up, in exchange for his loutish -affections, the love of an honest and hard-working man. - -“I can’t ’elp it!” she had said; “you can get on without me, and Alfred -can’t, pore chap. His Par calls ’im a waster—I believe ’e’d give ’im the -strap if ’e wasn’t six foot ’igh. But I’ve got ’im an opening in the -theatrical line, through a friend of mine as does fancy braiding at -Buskin’s, the stage shoemaker’s in Covent Garden. It’s only to walk on -as one of the Giant’s boy-babies in the Drury Lane panto.—eighteen pence -a night _and matinées_—but his Mar will be thankful. If only ’is legs -are long enough for the part——” - -They were, and from that hour Alfred had embarked on a career. When -entrusted with a line to speak, it was Aphasia who held the grimy slip -of paper on which it was written and aided the would-be actor with -counsel and advice. - -“And ’old up your ’ead, do, as if you was proud of yourself, and don’t -bend at the knees; and whether you remember your words or not, throw ’em -out from your chest as if you was proud of ’em. An’ move your arms from -the shoulder like as if you was swimmin’—don’t crook your elbers like a -wooden doll. And throw a bit o’ meanin’ into your eye. You took me to -see that Frenchman, Cocklin ’e calls ’imself; as played the chap with -the boko ’e wouldn’t let the other chaps make game of.... French or -Japanese, they’re both Dutch to me, but I watched Cocklin’s eye, and I -watched ’is ’ands, an’ I could foller the story as if it was print, an’ -plainer. I’ve went to see an actor since what folks said was a great -artis’, and if ’e did talk English, ’is eye was as dumb as a boiled -fresh ’addock’s an’ ’s ’ands was like slices of skate. Now say your bit -over again.” - -And Alfred said it, this time to the satisfaction of his instructress. -When he got a real part Aphasia coached him, and rode down from -Hammersmith with him on the bus, and was waiting for him at the -stage-door when he came out, the tears of joy undried on her pale -cheeks. And that was the night upon which she first noticed a coldness -in the manner of her betrothed. - -“An’ now I’m not good enough for him to wipe his boots on,” she sobbed, -sitting on her bed in the single room lodging off the roaring, clanging -Broadway—“the boots ’is Par cut an’ welted, an’ ’is Mar stitched, an’ I -finished. But I won’t stand in ’is light. I’ve my pride, if I am a -boot-finisher. I’ll see that Mrs. What’s-her-name face to face, an’ ’ave -it out as woman to woman, an’ tell ’er she’s welcome to marry ’im for -me.” - -And Aphasia dried her poor red eyes and took off Alfred’s betrothal -ring—a fifteen-carat gold circlet with three real garnets, bought in the -Broadway one blushful, blissful Saturday night—and evicted his -photographs from their gorgeous cheap frames, and made a brown-paper -parcel of these things, with a yellow leather purse with a blue enamel -“A” on it, and tied it up with string. - -Perhaps something of her fateful mood was telepathically conveyed to Mr. -Leo De Boo at that moment, for he shivered as he sat at the feet of Mrs. -Gudrun upon the balcony of a private suite at the Hotel Spitz, and -turned up eyes that were large and lustrous at that imperishable image -of Beauty, exhaling clouds of fashionable perfume and upborne on billows -of chiffon and lace. Mrs. Gudrun, who naturally mistook the spasms of a -genuine plebeian British conscience for the pangs of love, lent him her -hand—dazzlingly white, astonishingly manicured, jeweled to the knuckles, -and polished by the devout kisses of generations of worshipers—and De -Boo mumbled it, and tried to be grateful and talk beautifully about his -acting. But this bored Mrs. Gudrun, who preferred to talk about her own. - -“I have often felt that myself,” she said—“the conviction that a crowded -audience hung upon my lips and saw only with my eyes, and that I swayed -them as with a magic thingumbob, by the power of a magnetic -personality.” - -“It is a mystery,” said De Boo, passing his long fingers through his -clustering curls, “that once in a century or so a man should be born——” - -“Or a woman. Marvelous!” agreed Mrs. Gudrun. “Marvelous! the man who -runs the _Daily Tomahawk_ said that when I made my first appearance on -the stage.” - -“Genius is a crown of fire,” said De Boo, who had read this somewhere. -“It illuminates the world, yet scorches the wearer to the bone. He——” - -“She suffers,” said Mrs. Gudrun, neatly stopping the ball and playing it -on her side. “You may bet she suffers. Hasn’t she got the artistic -temperament? The amount of worry mine has given me you would never -believe. Cluffer, of the _Morning Whooper_, calls me a ‘consolidated -bundle of screaming nerves.’ When I’ve sat down to dinner on the eve of -a first night, De Petoburgh—you’ve met the Duke?—has had to hold me in -my chair while Bobby Bolsover gave me champagne and Angostura out of the -soup-ladle. And I believe I bit a piece out of that. And afterwards—ask -’em both if I wasn’t fairly _esquinte_.” - -“But the possessor of an artistic temperament—such as mine—even though -the fairy gift entails the keenest susceptibility to anguish,” quickly -continued De Boo, “enjoys unspeakable compensation in the revelation to -him alone of a kingdom which others may not enter. Looking upon the high -mountains in the blush of dawn, I have shouted aloud with glee——” - -“The first time I ever went into a southern Italian orange-grove in full -bloom,” acquiesced Mrs. Gudrun, “the Prince of Kursaal Carle Monto, who -was with me, simply sat down flat. He said Titian ought to have been -alive to paint my face and form against that background.... By the way, -the first act of that new play, the title of which I’ve forgotten, and -which I’ve leased from a scribbling idiot whose name don’t signify, -takes place in a blooming orange-grove. I’ve cast you for the leading -man’s part, Leo, and I hope you will be properly grateful for the -chance, and conquer that nasty habit you have of standing leering at the -audience in all my great moments.” - -“Dearest lady,” De Boo argued glibly, “does it not increase the dramatic -poignancy of such moments if the spectators are enabled to read in the -varying expressions pictured on _my_ face the feelings your art -inspires?” - -But Mrs. Gudrun was inexorable. “They can read ’em in the back of your -head if they’re anxious,” said she, “or they can take the direct tip -from me. I hope that’s good enough. I don’t see the cherry-bun of -running a theater to be scored off by other people, and so you know! And -now that’s settled, let us go and have stuffed oysters and roast ices at -Noel Peter’s, and see Sarah afterwards in her new tragedy _rôle_. I’m -the only woman she’s really afraid of, you know, and I feel I’m bound to -romp in in front of her before long. She says herself that acting like -mine cannot be taught in a conservatoire, and that I constitute a -complete school in myself. Have you ever seen me play Lady Teazle?” - -“Unhappily I have not. It is a loss,” said De Boo, “a distinct loss. By -the way, when I scored so tremendously as Charles Surface at -Mudderpool——” - -“Hell is full of men who have scored as Charles Surface at Mudderpool,” -said Mrs. Gudrun crushingly. “That sounds like a quotation, doesn’t it? -Only it must be mine, because I never read. You’re a charming fellow, -and a clever boy, Leo, but, as a friend, let me tell you that you talk -too much about yourself. It’s bad form; and the truly great are -invariably the truly modest. I must save up that epigram for my next -interview, I think. There’s the auto-brougham.” - -And De Boo enfolded the renowned form of his manageress in a point lace -and sable wrap, and they went off to Noel Peter’s, and saw La Gr-r-ande -perform. - - -Rehearsals of the new play, _Pride of Race_, at the Sceptre had scarcely -commenced when in upon Teddy Candelish, laboriously smoking in his -sanctum and opening the morning’s mail, swept Mrs. Gudrun. - -“I haven’t a moment to breathe,” she said imperially, accepting the -chair Teddy acrobatically vacated. “Come in, De Petoburgh—come in, -Bobby; you are in the way, but I’m used to it. No, De Petoburgh, that -cellaret’s tabooed; remember what Sir Henry said to you about liqueurs -before lunch. Are there any letters of importance, Teddy, to my cheek?” - -“Several bundles of press-cuttings from different firms, thirty or forty -bills, a few tenders from photographers, and—and some love-letters,” -replied Candelish, pointing to some neat piles of correspondence -arranged on the American roll-top desk. “Usual thing—declarations, -proposals, and so forth.” - -“Always plenty of those—hey?” chuckled De Petoburgh, sucking a -perfunctory peptoid lozenge in lieu of the stimulant denied. - -“Plenty, b’Jove!” echoed Bobby Bolsover. - -“Not so many as there used to be,” responded Candelish with tactless -truthfulness, rewarded by the lady with a magnificent glare. “By the -way, there’s one odd letter, from a girl or a woman who _isn’t_ quite a -lady, asking for an interview on private business. Signs herself by the -rummiest name—Aphasia Cutts.” He presented the letter. - -“Aphasia?” said Mrs. Gudrun, extending heavily jeweled fingers for the -missive. “Isn’t that what De Petoburgh has when he can only order drinks -in one syllable and his legs take him where he doesn’t want to go? Eh, -Bobby?” - -“Yes; but remindin’ the Duke of that always brings on an attack,” said -Bobby solicitously. “Look at him twitchin’ now.... Steady, Peto! Woa-a, -old mannums!” - -“Take him for a tatta while I finish the rehearsal,” commanded Mrs. -Gudrun, rising from Teddy’s chair in an upsurge of expensive draperies. -“Write to this Aphasia girl, Teddy, and say I’ll see her to-morrow, -between three and four p. m. After all, the whole-souled adoration of -one’s own sex is worth having,” the lady said, as, heralded by the -rustling of silken robes, the barbaric clash of jeweled ornaments, and -wafts of fashionable perfume, she sailed back to the boards. - -When Aphasia got her reply, p.p. Teddy, some hours later, there was very -little of whole-souled adoration in her reception of the missive. - -“I s’pose she looks on me as the dirt under her feet, like Alfred. But I -won’t let that put me off makin’ the sacrifice that’s for his good—the -ungrateful thing! I ’ope she’ll make ’im a nice wife, that’s all,” she -sobbed, as she took from her collar-and-cuff drawer the flat brown-paper -parcel containing the garnet ring, the photographs, and the letters. And -she dressed herself in her best, with a large lace collar over a cloth -jacket, and the once fashionable low-necked pneumonia-blouse, to which -the girls of her class so fondly cling, and went to meet the lady whom, -in terms borrowed from the latest penny romance, she called her “haughty -rival.” - -Mrs. Gudrun received her with excessive graciousness. A costume -rehearsal was in progress, and the lady was in the hands of her maids -and dressers. “I suppose this is the first time you have ever been -behind the scenes?” she inquired. “Look about you as much as you like, -and then you will be able to say to your friends: ‘I have been in Mrs. -Gudrun’s dressing-room.’ You see, I am in the gown I wear in the first -act. It is by Babin; and if you write for a ladies’ paper, you will -remember to say so, please.” - -“I don’t write for any ladies’ paper,” said Aphasia. “I couldn’t spell -well enough—not if they ast me ever so. But it’s a lovely gownd, and I -suppose all that stuff on your face is what makes you look so young an’ -’andsome—from a long way off.” - -Mrs. Gudrun’s famous features assumed a look of cold displeasure. She -assumed the majestic air that suited her so eminently well, and asked -the young person’s business. - -“It’s quite private, and I’ll thank you to send away your maids, if -you’ve no objection,” said the dauntless Aphasia. “The fact is,” she -continued, when the indignant menials had been waved from the apartment, -“as I’ve come to make you a present—a present of a young man——” - -“Look here, my good young woman,” began the incensed manageress. - -Aphasia suddenly handed her the brown-paper parcel, and the wrath of -Mrs. Gudrun was turned to trembling. She was sure this was an escaped -lunatic. Aphasia profited by the lull in the storm to explain. She had -come to hand over her Alfred—stock, goodwill, and fixtures. He had -forgotten to be off with the old love before he went on with the new, -but the old love bore no malice. All was now over. - -“And you may marry ’im whenever you like,” sobbed Aphasia. - -“I never heard anything so indecent in the whole course of my life,” -said Mrs. Gudrun, rising in offended majesty. “Marry Mr. De Boo, indeed! -If I had married every leading man I’ve played love-scenes with since I -adopted this profession, I should be a female Brigham Young! ‘In love -with me!’ Perhaps he is; it’s rather a common complaint among the men I -know. As for Mr. De Boo, if he has low connections and vulgar -entanglements, they are nothing to me. Good-day! Stop! You had better -take this parcel of rubbish with you. Dawkins—the stage-door!” - -And Aphasia found herself being ushered along the passage. Bewildered -and dazzled by the glaring lights, the excitement and the strangeness, -she ran almost into the arms of De Boo himself as he emerged from his -dressing-room next the manageress’s. Had he overheard? There had been a -curtained-over door on that side. Under his paint his handsome features -were black with rage; he caught the girl’s shoulders in a furious grip, -and spluttered in her ear: - -“Damn you! Damn you, you sneaking creature! You have made a pretty mess -of things for me—haven’t you?—with your blab about my father and the -boot-business, and my letters and the ring I gave you. To my dying day -I’ll never speak to you again!” - -He threw her from him savagely and strode away. - -Aphasia stood outside the theater and shook with sobs. It chanced—or did -not chance, so queer are the vagaries of Destiny—that Ulick Snowle, the -president of the New Stage-Door Club, happened to be passing; he had -just called in at the box-office to privately book the first three rows -of the upper circle on behalf of the club, the Old Stage-Doorers having -secured the gallery. Both clubs were originally one, the Old -Stage-Doorers having thrown off the younger club as the cuttlefish gets -rid of the supernumerary limb which in time becomes another cuttlefish. -And the unwritten compact between both clubs is that if one applauds a -new production, the other shall execrate the same—an arrangement which -contributes hugely to the liveliness of first-nights. - -No uninitiated person beholding Ulick, with his shaggy beard, aged -felt-basin hat of Continental make, short nautical coat, and -tight-fitting sporting trousers, would suppose him to be the great -personage he really is. He came up to Aphasia, and bluntly asked her -what was the matter, and if he couldn’t do something? In her -overwhelming woe and desolation, she was like the soda-water bottle of -the glass-ball-stoppered description—once push in the stopper, there is -no arresting the escape of the aërated fluid. She told the sympathizing -Ulick all before he put her into the Hammersmith bus, and when he would -have handed in the fateful brown-paper parcel—“Keep it,” she said, with -a gesture of aversion. “Burn it—chuck the thing in the dustbin. They’re -no manner o’ use to me!” And away she rattled, leaving Ulick Snowle upon -the pavement, in his hands an engine of destruction meet to be used in -the extermination of the unfittest. - -For the New Stage-Door Club did not love Mr. Leo De Boo, whose manner to -old friends—whom he had often led around street corners and relieved of -half-crowns—did not improve with his worldly prospects. And Ulick stood -and meditated while the double torrent of the London traffic went -roaring east and west; and as a charitable old lady was about to press a -penny into his hand, Tom Glauber, the dandy president of the Old -Stage-Doorers, came along, and the men greeted cordially. Von Glauber -seemed interested in something that Ulick had to tell, and the two went -off very confidentially, arm-in-arm. - -“It would be a sensation if, for once, the O.S.D.’s and the N.S.D.’s -acted in unison,” agreed Tom Glauber. - -And on the night when _Pride of Race_ was produced at the Sceptre, both -clubs attended in full strength, every man with a crook-handled -walking-stick, and a parcel buttoned under his coat. The piece had just -concluded a run of three hundred nights, and every reader is acquainted -with the plot, which is of modern Italy and Rome of to-day, to quote the -programme. We all know how the young Marchese di Monte Polverino, in -whose veins ran the bluest blood of the Latin race, secretly wedded -Aquella Guazetta, the tripe-seller, who had won his lofty affections in -the guise of a Bulgarian Princess, and how the dread secret of Aquella’s -origin was revealed at the very moment when the loftiest and most -exclusive of the Roman nobility were about to welcome the newly made -Marchesa into their ranks.... Aquella, her brain turned by the acuteness -of her mental suffering, greets the revelation with a peal of frenzied -laughter. Now this laughter was a continual obstacle, during rehearsals, -in the path of Mrs. Gudrun. Said she: - -“The peculiarity and originality of my genius, as Cluffer says, consists -in the fact that I can’t do the things that might be expected of me—not -for filberts; while I _can_ do the things that mightn’t. If I can’t -really hit off that laugh, I’ll have a woman in the wings to do it for -me. But my impression is that I shall be all right at night. Don’t -forget, Gormleigh, that you’re not to tub the chandelier altogether; I -hate to play to a dark house.” - -“Py vich innovation,” said Gormleigh afterwards, “de gonsbirators vas -enapled to garry out their blan. Himmel!” he cried, dabbing his -overflowing eyes with an antediluvian silk pocket-handkerchief, “shall I -effer forget—no, not vile I lif—de face of dot jung man!” - -For at the moment when Monte Polverino’s scorn of the lovely plebeian he -has wedded is expressed in words—when Aquella, pierced to the heart by -being called “a low-born vulgarian” and a “peasant huckster,” is about -to utter her famous yell of frenzied laughter, the Old Stage-Doorers and -the New Stage-Doorers hung out their boots. A _chevaux de frise_ of -walking-sticks, from each of which depended a pair of these -indispensable articles of attire, graced the gallery, distinguished the -upper circle, and appeared upon the level of the pit. Stricken to the -soul, faltering and ghastly under his paint, and shaking in the most -sumptuous pair of patent leathers, white kid topped, in which he had yet -appeared, De Boo blankly contemplated the horrid spectacle; while Mrs. -Gudrun, to whose somewhat latent sense of humor the spectacle appealed, -burst into peal upon peal of the wildest laughter ever heard beyond the -walls of an establishment for the care of the mentally afflicted. “The -grandeur, poignancy, and reality of the acting,” wrote Cluffer, of the -_Morning Whooper_, “was acknowledged by a crowded house with a deafening -and unanimous outburst of applause.” - -“Both Mrs. Gudrun and Mr. De Boo attained the highest level of dramatic -expression,” pronounced Mullekens, of the _Daily Tomahawk_. “It was the -touch of Nature which attunes the universe to one throb of universal -relationship.” - -The play was a success. Even the “Boo’s!” of both the clubs, united for -the nonce in disapprobation, could not rob Leo of his laurels. He wears -them to-day, for _Pride of Race_ has enjoyed a tremendous run. - -“We’ve made the beggar’s reputation instead of sending him back to the -boot-shop and that poor girl,” said Ulick Snowle to Tom Glauber next -day. - -“Possibly,” said Tom Glauber, sniffing at his inseparable carnation. -“But it’s all the better for the girl, I imagine, in the long run.” - - - - - A SPIRIT ELOPEMENT - - -When I exchanged my maiden name for better or worse, and dearest -Vavasour and I, at the conclusion of the speeches—I was married in a -traveling-dress of Bluefern’s—descended the steps of mamma’s house in -Ebury Street—the Belgravian, _not_ the Pimlican end—and, amid a -hurricane of farewells and a hailstorm of pink and yellow and white -_confetti_, stepped into the brougham that was to convey us to a -Waterloo Station, _en route_ for Southampton—our honeymoon was to be -spent in Guernsey—we were perfectly well satisfied with ourselves and -each other. This state of mind is not uncommon at the outset of wedded -life. You may have heard the horrid story of the newly-wedded cannibal -chief, who remarked that he had never yet known a young bride to -disagree with her husband in the early stages of the honeymoon. I -believe if dearest Vavasour had seriously proposed to chop me into -_cotêlettes_ and eat me, with or without sauce, I should have taken it -for granted that the powers that be had destined me to the high end of -supplying one of the noblest of created beings with an _entrée_ dish. - -We were idiotically blissful for two or three days. It was flowery -April, and Guernsey was looking her loveliest. No horrid hotel or -boarding-house sheltered our lawful endearments. Some old friends of -papa’s had lent us an ancient mansion standing in a wild garden, now one -pink riot of almond-blossom, screened behind lofty walls of lichened red -brick and weather-worn, wrought-iron gates, painted yellow-white like -all the other iron and wood work about the house. - -“Mon Désir” the place was called, and the fragrance of potpourri yet -hung about the old paneled salons. Vavasour wrote a sonnet—I have -omitted to speak before of my husband’s poetic gifts—all about the -breath of new Passion stirring the fragrant dust of dead old Love, and -the kisses of lips long moldered that mingled with ours. It was a lovely -sonnet, but crawly, as the poetical compositions of the Modern School -are apt to be. And Vavasour was an enthusiastic convert to, and follower -of, the Modern School. He had often told me that, had not his father -heartlessly thrown him into his brewery business at the outset of his -career—Sim’s Mild and Bitter Ales being the foundation upon which the -family fortunes were originally reared—he, Vavasour, would have been, -ere the time of speaking, known to Fame, not only as a Minor Poet, but a -Minor Decadent Poet—which trisyllabic addition, I believe, makes as -advantageous a difference as the word “native” when attached to an -oyster, or the guarantee “new laid” when employed with reference to an -egg. - -Dear Vavasour’s temperament and tastes having a decided bias towards the -gloomy and mystic, he had, before his great discovery of his latent -poetical gifts, and in the intervals of freedom from the brain-carking -and soul-stultifying cares of business, made several excursions into the -regions of the Unknown. He had had some sort of intercourse with the -Swedenborgians, and had mingled with the Muggletonians; he had coquetted -with the Christian Scientists, and had been, until Theosophic Buddhism -opened a wider field to his researches, an enthusiastic Spiritualist. -But our engagement somewhat cooled his passion for psychic research, and -when questioned by me with regard to table-rappings, manifestations, and -materializations, I could not but be conscious of a reticence in his -manner of responding to my innocent desire for information. The -reflection that he probably, like Canning’s knife-grinder, had no story -to tell, soon induced me to abandon the subject. I myself am somewhat -reserved at this day in my method of dealing with the subject of spooks. -But my silence does not proceed from ignorance. - -Knowledge came to me after this fashion. Though the April sun shone -bright and warm upon Guernsey, the island nights were chill. Waking by -dear Vavasour’s side—the novelty of this experience has since been -blunted by the usage of years—somewhere between one and two o’clock -towards break of the fourth day following our marriage, it occurred to -me that a faint cold draft, with a suggestion of dampness about it, was -blowing against my right cheek. One of the windows upon that side—our -room possessed a rather unbecoming cross-light—had probably been left -open. Dear Vavasour, who occupied the right side of our couch, would -wake with toothache in the morning, or, perhaps, with mumps! Shuddering, -as much at the latter idea as with cold, I opened my eyes, and sat up in -bed with a definite intention of getting out of it and shutting the -offending casement. Then I saw Katie for the first time. - -She was sitting on the right side of the bed, close to dear Vavasour’s -pillow; in fact, almost hanging over it. From the first moment I knew -that which I looked upon to be no creature of flesh and blood, but the -mere apparition of a woman. It was not only that her face, which struck -me as both pert and plain; her hands; her hair, which she wore dressed -in an old-fashioned ringletty mode—in fact, her whole personality was -faintly luminous, and surrounded by a halo of bluish phosphorescent -light. It was not only that she was transparent, so that I saw the -pattern of the old-fashioned, striped, dimity bed-curtain, in the -shelter of which she sat, quite plainly through her. The consciousness -was further conveyed to me by a voice—or the toneless, flat, faded -impression of a voice—speaking faintly and clearly, not at my outer, but -at my inner ear. - -“Lie down again, and don’t fuss. It’s only Katie!” she said. - -“Only Katie!” I liked that! - -“I dare say you don’t,” she said tartly, replying as she had spoken, and -I wondered that a ghost should exhibit such want of breeding. “But you -have got to put up with me!” - -“How dare you intrude here—and at such an hour!” I exclaimed mentally, -for there was no need to wake dear Vavasour by talking aloud when my -thoughts were read at sight by the ghostly creature who sat so -familiarly beside him. - -“I knew your husband before you did,” responded Katie, with a faint -phosphorescent sneer. “We became acquainted at a _séance_ in North-West -London soon after his conversion to Spiritualism, and have seen a great -deal of each other from time to time.” She tossed her shadowy curls with -a possessive air that annoyed me horribly. “He was constantly -materializing me in order to ask questions about Shakespeare. It is a -standing joke in our Spirit world that, from the best educated spook in -our society down to the most illiterate astral that ever knocked out -‘rapport’ with one ‘p,’ we are all expected to know whether Shakespeare -wrote his own plays, or whether they were done by another person of the -same name.” - -“And which way was it?” I asked, yielding to a momentary twinge of -curiosity. - -Katie laughed mockingly. “There you go!” she said, with silent contempt. - -“I wish _you_ would!” I snapped back mentally. “It seems to me that you -manifest a great lack of refinement in coming here!” - -“I cannot go until Vavasour has finished,” said Katie pertly. “Don’t you -see that he has materialized me by dreaming about me? And as there -exists _at present_”—she placed an annoying stress upon the last two -words—“a strong sympathy between you, so it comes about that I, as your -husband’s spiritual affinity, am visible to your waking perceptions. All -the rest of the time I am hovering about you, though unseen.” - -“I call it detestable!” I retorted indignantly. Then I gripped my -sleeping husband by the shoulder. “Wake up! wake up!” I cried aloud, -wrath lending power to my grasp and a penetrative quality to my voice. -“Wake up and leave off dreaming! I cannot and will not endure the -presence of this creature another moment!” - -“_Whaa_——” muttered my husband, with the almost inebriate incoherency of -slumber, “_whasamaramydarling?_” - -“Stop dreaming about that creature,” I cried, “or I shall go home to -Mamma!” - -“Creature?” my husband echoed, and as he sat up I had the satisfaction -of seeing Katie’s misty, luminous form fade slowly into nothingness. - -“You know who I mean!” I sobbed. “Katie—your spiritual affinity, as she -calls herself!” - -“You don’t mean,” shouted Vavasour, now thoroughly roused, “that you -have seen _her_?” - -“I do mean it,” I mourned. “Oh, if I had only known of your having an -entanglement with any creature of the kind, I would never have married -you—never!” - -“Hang her!” burst out Vavasour. Then he controlled himself, and said -soothingly: “After all, dearest, there is nothing to be jealous of——” - -“I jealous! And of that——” I was beginning, but Vavasour went on: - -“After all, she is only a disembodied astral entity with whom I became -acquainted—through my fifth principle, which is usually well -developed—in the days when I moved in Spiritualistic society. She was, -when living—for she died long before I was born—a young lady of very -good family. I believe her father was a clergyman ... and I will not -deny that I encouraged her visits.” - -“Discourage them from this day!” I said firmly. “Neither think of her -nor dream of her again, or I will have a separation.” - -“I will keep her, as much as possible, out of my waking thoughts,” said -poor Vavasour, trying to soothe me; “but a man cannot control his -dreams, and she pervades mine in a manner which, even before our -engagement, my pet, I began to find annoying. However, if she really is, -as she has told me, a lady by birth and breeding, she will -understand”—he raised his voice as though she were there and he intended -her to hear—“that I am now a married man, and from this moment desire to -have no further communication with her. Any suitable provision it is in -my power to make——” - -He ceased, probably feeling the difficulty he would have in explaining -the matter to his lawyers; and it seemed to me that a faint mocking -sniggle, or rather the auricular impression of it, echoed his words. -Then, after some more desultory conversation, we fell soundly asleep. An -hour may have passed when the same chilly sensation as of a damp draft -blowing across the bed roused me. I rubbed my cheek and opened my eyes. -They met the pale, impertinent smile of the hateful Katie, who was -installed in her old post beside Vavasour’s end of the bolster. - -“You see,” she said, in the same soundless way, and with a knowing -little nod of triumph, “it is no use. He is dreaming of me again!” - -“Wake up!” I screamed, snatching the pillow from under my husband’s head -and madly hurling it at the shameless intruder. This time Vavasour was -almost snappish at being disturbed. Daylight surprised us in the middle -of our first connubial quarrel. The following night brought a repetition -of the whole thing, and so on, _da capo_, until it became plain to us, -to our mutual disgust, that the more Vavasour strove to banish Katie -from his dreams, the more persistently she cropped up in them. She was -the most ill-bred and obstinate of astrals—Vavasour and I the most -miserable of newly-married people. A dozen times in a night I would be -roused by that cold draft upon my cheek, would open my eyes and see that -pale, phosphorescent, outline perched by Vavasour’s pillow—nine times -out of the dozen would be driven to frenzy by the possessive air and -cynical smile of the spook. And although Vavasour’s former regard for -her was now converted into hatred, he found the thought of her -continually invading his waking mind at the most unwelcome seasons. She -had begun to appear to both of us _by day as well as by night_ when our -poisoned honeymoon came to an end, and we returned to town to occupy the -house which Vavasour had taken and furnished in Sloane Street. I need -only mention that Katie accompanied us. - -Insufficient sleep and mental worry had by this time thoroughly soured -my temper no less than Vavasour’s. When I charged him with secretly -encouraging the presence I had learned to hate, he rudely told me to -think as I liked! He implored my pardon for this brutality afterwards -upon his knees, and with the passage of time I learned to endure the -presence of his attendant shade with patience. When she nocturnally -hovered by the side of my sleeping spouse, or in constituence no less -filmy than a whiff of cigarette-smoke, appeared at his elbow in the face -of day, I saw her plainly, and at these moments she would favor me with -a significant contraction of the eyelid, which was, to say the least of -it, unbecoming in a spirit who had been a clergyman’s daughter. After -one of these experiences it was that the idea which I afterwards carried -into execution occurred to me. - -I began by taking in a few numbers of a psychological publication -entitled _The Spirit-Lamp_. Then I formed the acquaintance of Madame -Blavant, the renowned Professoress of Spiritualism and Theosophy. -Everybody has heard of Madame, many people have read her works, some -have heard her lecture. I had heard her lecture. She was a lady with a -strong determined voice and strong determined features. She wore her -plentiful gray hair piled in sibylline coils on the top of her head, -and—when she lectured—appeared in a white Oriental silk robe that fell -around her tall gaunt figure in imposing folds. This robe was replaced -by one of black satin when she held her _séances_. At other times, in -the seclusion of her study, she was draped in an ample gown of Indian -chintz innocent of cut, but yet imposing. She smiled upon my new-born -desire for psychic instruction, and when I had subscribed for a course -of ten private _séances_ at so many guineas a piece she smiled more. - -Madame lived in a furtive, retiring house, situated behind high walls in -Endor’s Grove, N.W. A long glass tunnel led from the garden gate to the -street door, for the convenience of Mahatmas and other persons who -preferred privacy. I was one of those persons, for not for spirit worlds -would I have had Vavasour know of my repeated visits to Endor’s Grove. -Before these were over I had grown quite indifferent to supernatural -manifestations, banjos and accordions that were thrummed by invisible -performers, blood-red writing on mediums’ wrists, mysterious characters -in slate-pencil, Planchette, and the Table Alphabet. And I had made and -improved upon acquaintance with Simon. - -Simon was a spirit who found me attractive. He tried in his way to make -himself agreeable, and, with my secret motive in view—let me admit -without a blush—I encouraged him. When I knew I had him thoroughly in -hand, I attended no more _séances_ at Endor’s Grove. My purpose was -accomplished upon a certain night, when, feeling my shoulder violently -shaken, I opened the eyes which had been closed in simulated slumber to -meet the indignant glare of my husband. I glanced over his shoulder. -Katie did not occupy her usual place. I turned my glance towards the -armchair which stood at my side of the bed. It was not vacant. As I -guessed, it was occupied by Simon. There he sat, the luminously -transparent appearance of a weak-chinned, mild-looking young clergyman, -dressed in the obsolete costume of eighty years previously. He gave me a -bow in which respect mingled with some degree of complacency, and -glanced at Vavasour. - -“I have been explaining matters to your husband,” he said, in that -soundless spirit-voice with which Katie had first made me acquainted. -“He understands that I am a clergyman and a reputable spirit, drawn into -your life-orbit by the irresistible attraction which your mediumistic -organization exercises over my——” - -“There, you hear what he says!” I interrupted, nodding confirmatively at -Vavasour. “Do let me go to sleep!” - -“What, with that intrusive beast sitting beside you?” shouted Vavasour -indignantly. “Never!” - -“Think how many months I have put up with the presence of Katie!” said -I. “After all, it’s only tit for tat!” And the ghost of a twinkle in -Simon’s pale eye seemed to convey that he enjoyed the retort. - -Vavasour grunted sulkily, and resumed his recumbent position. But -several times that night he awakened me with renewed objurgations of -Simon, who with unflinching resolution maintained his post. Later on I -started from sleep to find Katie’s usual seat occupied. She looked less -pert and confident than usual, I thought, and rather humbled and fagged, -as though she had had some trouble in squeezing her way into Vavasour’s -sleeping thoughts. By day, after that night, she seldom appeared. My -husband’s brain was too much occupied with Simon, who assiduously -haunted me. And it was now my turn to twit Vavasour with unreasonable -jealousy. Yet though I gloried in the success of my stratagem, the -continual presence of that couple of spooks was an unremitting strain -upon my nerves. - -But at length an extraordinary conviction dawned on my mind, and became -stronger with each successive night. Between Simon and Katie an -acquaintance had sprung up. I would awaken, or Vavasour would arouse, to -find them gazing across the barrier of the bolster which divided them -with their pale negatives of eyes, and chatting in still, spirit voices. -Once I started from sleep to find myself enveloped in a kind of -mosquito-tent of chilly, filmy vapor, and the conviction rushed upon me -that He and She had leaned across our couch and exchanged an intangible -embrace. Katie was the leading spirit in this, I feel convinced—there -was no effrontery about Simon. Upon the next night I, waking, overheard -a fragment of conversation between them which plainly revealed how -matters stood. - -“We should never have met upon the same plane,” remarked Simon silently, -“but for the mediumistic intervention of these people. Of the man”—he -glanced slightingly towards Vavasour—“I cannot truthfully say I think -much. The lady”—he bowed in my direction—“is everything that a lady -should be!” - -“You are infatuated with her, it is plain!” snapped Katie, “and the -sooner you are removed from her sphere of influence the better.” - -“Her power with me is weakening,” said Simon, “as Vavasour’s is with -you. Our outlines are no longer so clear as they used to be, which -proves that our astral individualities are less strongly impressed upon -the brains of our earthly sponsors than they were. We are still -materialized; but how long this will continue——” He sighed and shrugged -his shoulders. - -“Don’t let us wait for a formal dismissal, then,” said Katie boldly. -“Let us throw up our respective situations.” - -“I remember enough of the Marriage Service to make our union, if not -regular, at least respectable,” said Simon. - -“And I know quite a fashionable place on the Outside Edge of Things, -where we could settle down,” said Katie, “and live practically on -nothing.” - -I blinked at that moment. When I saw the room again clearly, the chairs -beside our respective pillows were empty. - -Years have passed, and neither Vavasour nor myself has ever had a -glimpse of the spirits whom we were the means of introducing to one -another. We are quite content to know ourselves deprived for ever of -their company. Yet sometimes, when I look at our three babies, I wonder -whether that establishment of Simon’s and Katie’s on the Outside Edge of -Things includes a nursery. - - - - - THE WIDOW’S MITE - - -People bestowed that nickname upon little Lord Garlingham years ago, -when he was the daintiest of human playthings ever adored by a young -mother. Shutting my eyes, I can recall him, all golden curls and frills, -sitting on the front seat of the victoria with Toto, the Maltese. -Japanese pugs had not then come into fashion, nor the ubiquitous -automobile. Gar is the Widow’s Mite still, but for other reasons. He was -a charming, irresolute, impulsive child, who invariably meant -“macaroons” when he said “sponge cake.” It recurs to me that he was -passionately fond of dolls, not nigger Sambo dolls, or sailor dolls, or -Punchinelli with curved caps and bells, or policemen with large feet so -cunningly weighted that it is next door to impossible to knock them -over, but frilled and furbelowed dollies of the gentler sex. There was a -blue princess in tulle with a glass chandelier-drop tiara, and a dancing -girl in pink, and a stout, shapeless, rag lady, whose features were -painted on the calico ball that represented her head, and whose hair -resembled the fringe of a black woollen shawl. Holding her by one leg, -Gar would sink to sleep upon his lace-trimmed pillows in a halo of -shining curls, and Lady Garlingham’s last new friend or latest new -adorer would be brought up to the night nursery for an after-dinner peep -at “my precious in his cot.” - -“My precious” was equally charming in his Eton days, when his sleepy -green eyes looked up at you from under a lock of fair silky hair that -was never to be kept within regulation School bounds, but continually -strayed upon the fair, if freckled, expanse of a brow which might have -been the home of a pure and innocent mind, and probably was not. He had -a pleasant treble boy’s voice and a beautiful smile, particularly when -his mother told him he might smoke just one cigarette, of her own -special brand, as a great treat. - -“Mother’s are hay,” he said afterwards in confidence, and added that he -preferred cut Cavendish, and that the best way to induce a meerschaum to -color was to smoke it foul, and never to remove the dottle. But Lady -Garlingham was never the wiser. She had the utmost faith in her boy. - -“Gar will be a dab at Classics,” she said with pride. “Fancy his knowing -that Dido was a heathen goddess, and Procrustes was a Grecian King who -murdered his mother and afterwards put out his own eyes! I must really -give his tutor a hint not to bring him on _too_ fast. He will have to -make his own way in the world, poor dear, that is certain; but I don’t -want him to turn out a literary genius with eccentric clothes, or -anything in the scientific line that isn’t careful about its nails and -doesn’t comb its hair.” - -Garlingham’s clothes are always of the latest fashion and in the most -admirable taste. His hair is as well groomed, his hands are as -immaculate as any mother’s heart could desire, and he has not turned out -a genius. During his career at Oxford he did not allow his love of study -to interfere with the more serious pursuit of athletic distinction. He -left the University unburdened with honors, carrying in his wake a -string of bills as long as a kite’s tail. Relieved of this by the -sacrifice of some of Lady Garlingham’s diamonds, the kite shot up into -the empyrean in the wake of a dazzling star of the comic-opera stage. - -“But, thank Heaven, the boy has principles,” breathed Lady Garlingham. -“He never dreamed of marrying her!” - -Garlingham descended from the skies ere long, tangled in a telegraphic -wire, and went into the Diplomatic Service. He became fourth -under-secretary at an Imperial foreign Embassy, in virtue of the -marriage of his maternal aunt with Prince John Schulenstorff-Wangelbrode -(who was Military Attaché in the days of the pannier and the polonaise, -the bustle and the fringed whip-parasol). I have not the least idea in -what Garlingham’s duties consisted, and the dear fellow was -diplomatically reticent when sounded on the subject; but of one thing I -am sure, that few young men have worn an official button and lapels with -greater ease and distinction. He quite adored his mother, and made her -his _confidante_ in all his love affairs. Indeed I believe Lady -Garlingham kept a little register of these at one time on the sticks of -an ivory fan—those that were going off, those that were in full bloom, -and those that were just coming on; and posted up dates and set down -names with the utmost regularity. - -For, like the typical butterfly, Garlingham sipped every flower and -changed every hour. A very mature Polly has now his passion requited, -and if human happiness depended on avoirdupois, and it were an -established mathematical fact that the felicity of the object attracted -may be calculated by the dimensions of the object attracting, then is -the handsome boy I used to tip a happy man indeed. - -For Gar, “that pocket edition of Apollo,” as a Royal personage with a -happy knack at nicknames termed him—Gar has married a middle-aged, not -too good-looking, extremely fat widow, unknown to fame as Mrs. Rollo -Polkingham. The couple were Hanover Squared in June. Leila and Sheila -Polkingham made the loveliest pair of Dresden china bridesmaids -imaginable, and a Bishop tied the knot, assisted by the brother of the -bride, the Reverend Michael O’Halloran, of Mount Slattery, County Quare, -a surpliced brogue with a Trinity College B.A. hood. The hymns that were -sung by the choir during the ceremony were, “The Voice that Breathed,” -and “Fight the Good Fight,” and the bride looked quite as bridal as -might have been expected of a thirty-eight inch girth arrayed in the -latest heliotrope shade. She became peony, Garlingham pale blue, when -the moment arrived for him to pronounce his vows, and a voice—a high, -nasal voice of the penetrating, saw-edged American kind—said, several -pews behind, quite audibly: “Well, I call it child-stealing!” - -The owner of that voice was at the reception in Chesterfield Crescent. -So was I, and when Garlingham thanked me for a silver cigar-box I had -sent him in memory of our old friendship, his hand was damp and clammy, -though he smiled. The Dowager Lady Garlingham, looking much younger than -her daughter-in-law, floated across to ask me why I never came to see -her now, and Gar drifted away. Later, I had a fleeting glimpse of the -bridegroom standing in the large, cool shadow of his newly-made bride, -looking helplessly from one to the other of his recently-acquired -stepdaughters. Then my circular gaze met and merged in the still -attractive eyes of Lady Garlingham. - -“You heard,” she breathed in her old confidential way, “what that very -outspoken person—I think a Miss Van Something, from Philadelphia—said in -church?” - -“I did hear,” I returned, “and, while I deplored her candor, I could not -but admit——” - -“That she had hit off the situation with dreadful accuracy—I felt that, -too,” sighed Gar’s mother. - -“We are old friends, or were,” said I, for people always became -sentimental in the vicinity of Lady Garlingham. “Tell me how it -happened!” - -“Oh, how——” Lady Garlingham adroitly turned a slight groan into a little -cough. “Indeed, I hardly know. All that seems burned into me is that I -have become a dowager without adequate cause.” - -Her pretty brown eyebrows crumpled; she dabbed her still charming eyes -with an absurd little lace handkerchief. She wore a wonderful dress of -something filmy in Watteau blue, and a Lamballe hat with a _paradis_. -Through innumerable veils of tulle her complexion was really wonderful, -considering, and her superb hair still tawny gold. - -“Don’t look at me and ask yourself why I’ve never married again,” she -commanded, in the old petulant way. “For Gar’s sake, is the stereotyped -answer to that. And when I look at _her_——” She dabbed away a tear with -the absurd little handkerchief. “She hasn’t had the indecency to call me -‘Mother’ _yet_.... But she will, I know she will! If she doesn’t, she is -more than human. I have said such things to _her_.” - -“I can quite believe it,” I agreed. - -Champagne cups were going about; infinitesimal sandwiches, tabloids of -condensed indigestion, were being washed down. The best man, an Attaché -friend of Garlingham’s, brandishing a silver-handled carving-knife, was -encouraging the bridling bride to attack the cake. Sheila and Leila -hovered near with silver baskets, and Garlingham, with the merest shadow -of his old easy _insouciance_, was replying to the statute and legendary -chaff of the other men. - -“You know he was engaged to the second girl, Sheila, first?” went on -Lady Garlingham plaintively. - -I had not known it, and it gave me a thrill. - -“Indeed!” I said in a tone of polite inquiry. - -“When he was a very little boy, and I took him into a shop to buy a -toy,” said poor Lady Garlingham, “he always was in raptures with it, -whatever it was, until we were half-way home, and _then_ nothing would -satisfy him but the carriage being turned round and driven back, so that -he might exchange the thing for something he had particularly disliked -at first.” - -I recalled the trait in my own experience of my young friend. - -“Ah, yes. He always took _pralines_ when he really wanted chocolate -fondants,” sighed his mother. “And then—but perhaps you have -forgotten—the dolls?” - -I had forgotten the dolls. I suppose I gaped rather stupidly. - -“He had three,” gulped Lady Garlingham. “He chose the blue one first, -and then, when we had just reached Hyde Park Gate, he cried, and said it -was the pink one he had wanted all along. So we went back and got her, -and drove home to lunch, which, of course, was Gar’s dinner. And then, -if you had seen him, poor darling,”—her maternal bosom heaved with a -repressed sob—“with his underlip turned down in a quite South Sea Island -way, and the tears tumbling into his rice pudding because the blue -creature was absolutely his ideal from the first, you would have been -foolish enough to order the carriage and drive him back to the Regent -Street toyshop.” - -“As you did?” - -“As I did,” admitted Lady Garlingham. - -“With the result that might have been expected?” - -“With the result that seems to me _now_ to be a hateful foreshadowing of -what was to be my poor darling’s fate in life,” said the poor darling’s -mother.... “No, thank you, Sheila dear, I positively could not touch -it,” she added, as the cake-basket came our way. “Not even to dream on—I -have quite done with dreaming now.” - -“But how,” I asked hypercritically, “could Garlingham’s subsequent -choice of the blue doll, originally discarded in favor of the pink, -foreshadow his ultimate fate in life?” - -“Oh, don’t you understand?” quavered poor Lady Garlingham. “He went into -the toyshop by himself, and came marching out with what the Americans -call a rag-baby, the most odious, distorted, shapeless horror you can -imagine. It fascinated him by its sheer ugliness. He was obsessed, -magnetized, compelled.... As in this case!” A burst of confidence broke -down the floodgates of the poor woman’s reserve. She grasped me by the -arm as she gurgled out hysterically—rocking her slight form to and fro: -“My dear, _she_ is the rag-doll, this awful widow creature Garlingham -has married. And to his fatal curse of indecision he owes the Incubus -that is crushing him to-day.” - -The bride had tripped upstairs to put on her going-away gown, attended -by Leila and Sheila and some freshly-married women, who meant to -struggle for the slippers for second choice. - -Loud, explosive bursts of jeering merriment came from the dining-room, -where most of the men of the party had congregated. An exhausted maid -and a very obvious private detective hovered in the neighborhood of the -display of wedding presents, and through the open door of the -drawing-room one caught a glimpse of suspiciously new luggage piled up -in the hall, and a little group of youths and maidens of the callower -kind, who were industriously packing the sunshades and umbrellas in the -holdalls with rice and confetti. - -“My poor, poor boy has been in and out of love _hundreds_ of times,” -moaned the despairing Dowager, “without once having been actually -engaged. So that when I saw Gar with these three women sitting on four -green chairs in the Park in May, I was not seriously alarmed. Georgiana -Bayham told me that the stout woman with too many bangles was a Mrs. -Rollo Polkingham, a widow, of whom nobody who might with truth be styled -anybody had ever heard, and that she had a wild, jungly house in -Chesterfield Crescent—(don’t those climbing peacocks in the wall-paper -set your teeth on edge?)—and always asked young men to call—and wanted -to know their intentions at the third visit.... ‘I would give this -turquoise charm off my _porte-bonheur_,’ said Georgiana, in her loud, -bubbling voice, ‘to know which of the two daughters Gar is smitten with. -The girl with the eyes like black ballot-balls, or the other with the -Gaiety smile.’ ... My dear, it was the dark one, Leila, as it happened. -Not that Gar flirted desperately. But they went to Hurlingham and -lunched at Prince’s, and then the mother thought my boy hooked, and -struck——” - -“Asked his intentions?” I hinted. - -“I knew something had happened,” said Gar’s mother, “when he came in to -tea with me that very afternoon. ‘Mother, am I a villain?’ were his very -words. ‘No, dear,’ I said, ‘do you feel like one?’ Then it came out that -the Polkingham woman had asked his intentions with regard to Leila; and -never having had such a thing done to him before, poor, dear boy! Gar -was quite prostrated. He did not deny that he found the eldest -Polkingham girl attractive, but secretly he had been more closely drawn -to the second, Sheila.” - -“The pink doll,” I murmured. - -“He behaved with the nicest honor in the matter,” declared Lady -Garlingham. “When he told me he was really in love with Sheila, and -could never be happy until he had married her—and how a young woman with -such a muddy complexion could inspire such a passion I don’t pretend to -know—I said: ‘Very well, you have my permission to tell her so. I shall -never stand in the way of your happiness, my son—although these people -are not in Our Set.’ If you had seen his shining eyes. If you had heard -the thrill in his voice as he said, ‘What a rattling good sort you are, -mother!’ you would have felt with me that the sacrifice was worth it. -And then he rushed off in a hansom to declare himself.” Lady Garlingham -clutched my arm painfully. - -“To declare himself to Sheila?” - -“And came back within the space of half an hour engaged to Leila,” -panted Lady Garlingham. “No, don’t laugh!” - -“The b-blue d-doll!” I gasped. - -“He was as pale as death!” said his mother. “He had found Leila in the -drawing-room in a becoming half-light, and been taken off his guard.” - -“And metaphorically he told the shopwoman he would prefer that one,” I -said shakily. “I understand! Was he very unhappy over his bargain?” - -“Frightfully out of sorts and off color,” said the wooer’s mother, -“until at a crisis, a month later, I nerved him to go and see the mother -and explain the mistake.” - -“And did he?” - -“I will say Mrs. Polkingham took the revelation in good part,” said Lady -Garlingham. “Leila cried a good deal, I believe, when she turned Gar -over to Sheila, and Sheila was not disagreeably inclined to crow. I must -give the girls credit for their behavior. As for Gar, he was the very -picture of young, ardent happiness. ‘Mother,’ I can hear him saying, -‘thanks to you, I have won the dearest and loveliest girl in the world.’ -(Poor boy!) ‘And I’m as happy as a gardener.’” - -“Did that phase last long?” I queried, with twitching facial muscles. - -“He began to flag, as it were, in about six weeks,” said Garlingham’s -mother mournfully. “My poor, affectionate, _wobbly_ boy. The sky of his -simple happiness was overcast. There came a day when the floodgates of -his resolve to go through with everything at any cost—sacrifice himself -for the sake of his duty and for the credit of his family name——” - -“_Noblesse oblige_,” I stammered chokily. “_Noblesse oblige._” - -“The floodgates were broken down,” said his mother, with a tremble in -her voice. “His heart reverted with a bound to the—the other—to Leila.” - -“To the blue doll!” I spluttered. - -“When he entreated me,” went on Lady Garlingham, “begged me even with -tears to be his ambassadress to Leila, I grieve to say that for the -first time in his life I failed to rise to the occasion of his need. I -said: ‘I shall do nothing of the kind. Get out of the muddle as you -can—I wash my hands of it.’ And he thought me very hard and very -unfeeling, I know; but even when the _bouleversement_ was managed for -the third time, I could not bring myself to regard the position from my -usually philosophical point of view. It was too cruel. The retransfer of -the engagement-ring, for instance——” - -“Ah, true,” I murmured, “and the presents!” - -“Too painful!” sighed Lady Garlingham. “It was ultimately arranged by -Gar’s buying a new ring, and Sheila’s dropping the old one into the -almsbag at St. Baverstock’s. Poor girl! I will say her demeanor in the -trying circumstances was admirable.” - -“As for the other?” I hinted. - -“Leila is not a refined type of girl,” said Lady Garlingham decidedly. -“Her whole expression was that of a Bank Holiday tripper young person -who has just dismounted from one of those giddy-go-rounds. Boat-swings -might impart the dazed look. The mother seemed harassed. As for Gar——” - -I guessed what was coming, but I would not have missed hearing Lady -Garlingham tell it for worlds. - -“There came a day—a dreadful, dreadful day,” she said, with pale lips, -“when Gar told me that his life was ruined _unless he changed back_! We -had a _dreadful scene_, and for the first time in my life I had -hysterics. Then the unhappy boy tore from the house—_ventre à -terre_—leaving me a perfect wreck, held up by my maid Pinner—you know -Pinner?” - -I nodded speechlessly. - -“My wretched boy tore from the house, jumped into his ‘Gohard,’ which -was standing at the door—hurtled to Chesterfield Crescent—told the -painful truth——” - -“Swopped dolls yet once again, and came back with the rag-baby,” I -gasped. - -“_And_ now,” groaned Lady Garlingham, “he has to carry it through life!” - -There was a gabbling on the upper landing. The bride was coming down in -a white cut-cloth, tailor-made gown and a picture hat, Leila and Sheila -and a bonneted maid following. The bridegroom, in immaculate tweeds, -appeared at a lower door, the smug face of his valet behind him. There -was a rush of women, an insane kissing and shaking of hands, a glare of -red carpet, a flapping of striped awning. Rice and confetti impregnated -the air, the doorsteps were swamped with smartly-dressed people. The -chauffeur of Gar’s “Gohard” with a giant favor in the buttonhole of his -livery coat grinned when Garlingham leaped tigerishly upon him and tore -it from his chest. The automobile moved on, pursued by farewells. Some -one had thoughtfully attached two slippers to its rearward steps, a -stout, elderly, white satin slipper and a slim masculine, evening shoe -of the pump kind, almost new. - -“Say!” said the saw-edged American voice I had heard in the church—“say, -won’t the car-conductor allow she’s traveling with her little boy? What -will folks call him, anyhow?” - -My mouth was on a level with the speaker’s back hair. - -“The Widow’s Mite,” I said aloud—and fled. - - - - - SUSANNA AND HER ELDERS - - - I - -The Earl of Beaumaris, a worthy and imposing personage, flushed from the -nape of his neck to the high summit of his cranium—premature baldness -figured amongst the family heredities—paced, in creaking patent-leather -boots, up and down the castle library—a noble apartment of Tudor design, -lined with rare and antique volumes into which none ever looked. There -were other persons present beside the Dowager Countess, and, to judge by -the strainedly polite expression of their faces, the squeaking leather -must have been playing havoc with their nerves. - -“Gustavus,” said the Dowager at length, “you’re an English Peer in your -own castle, and not a pointsman on a Broadway block, unless I’m -considerably mistaken. Sit down!” - -“Mother, I will not be defied!” said Lord Beaumaris. “I will not be -bearded by my own child—a mere chit of a girl! Had Susanna been a boy I -should have known how to deal with this spirit of insubordination. Being -a girl—and moreover, motherless—I abandon her to you. She has many -things to learn, but let the first lesson you inculcate be this—that I -positively refuse to be defied!” - -“The child has, I gather, gone out to take the air when she ought to -have stayed in and taken a scolding,” said Lady Beaumaris. “Does anybody -know of her whereabouts?” - -Alaric Osmond-Omer, a languid, drab-complexioned, light-haired man of -aristocratic appearance, never seen without the smoked eyeglass that -concealed a diabolic squint, spoke: - -“I saw her in a crimson golfing-jacket and a white Tam-o’-shanter -crossing the upper terrace. She carried an alpenstock, and was followed -by quite a pack of dogs—incorporated in the body of one extraordinary -mongrel which I have occasionally observed about the stable-yards. I -gathered that she was going for a climb upon the cliffs. That was about -half an hour ago!” - -“Alaric, you have attended every Family Council that I recollect since I -became a member of this family, and have never before opened your lips,” -said Lady Beaumaris, fixing the unfortunate Alaric with her eye, which -was still black and snappingly bright. “Make this occasion memorable by -offering a suggestion. You really owe us one!” - -Everybody present looked at Alaric, who smiled helplessly and dropped -his eyeglass, revealing the physical peculiarity it concealed. The -effect of the diabolic squint, in combination with his mild features and -somewhat foolish expression, conveyed a general impression of reserve -force. He spoke, fumbling for the missing article, which had plunged -rapturously into his bosom, with long, trim fingers, encrusted with -mourning rings. - -“The question at issue is—unless I have failed in my mental digest of -the situation—how to bring Susanna Viscountess Lymston—pardon me if I -indulge a little my weakness for prolixity——” - -The door creaked, and Alaric broke off. - -“My dear man,” said the Dowager, “I never before heard you utter a -sentence of more than two words’ length!” - -“—To bring Susanna, who is just seventeen and fiercely virginal in her -expressed aversion to, and avoidance of, ordinary, everyday Man—into -compliance with your paternal wishes”—Alaric bowed to Lord -Beaumaris—“where the encouragement of a suitor is concerned!” - -“I have appealed to her filial feelings—which do not appear to exist,” -said Lord Beaumaris; “I have appealed to her reason—I doubt gravely -whether the girl possesses any: ‘There is too much landed property, -there are too many houses and too many heirlooms, and there is not -enough ready money to keep things going,’ I said. Her reply was: ‘Sell -some of the land and some of the houses and all of the pictures, and -then there will be enough to keep up the rest.’ ‘My dear child, is it -possible,’ I said, ‘that at your age, and occupying the position you -occupy, you have no idea of what is meant by an Entail?’ Then I made her -sit down here, in this library, opposite me, and laid plainly before her -why it is necessary for her, as my daughter, to marry, and to marry -Wealth, Position, and Title. Before I had ended she rose with a flaming -face and burst into an hysterical tirade, which lasted ten minutes. I -gather that she was willing to marry Sir Prosper Le Gai or the Knight of -the Swan if either of these gentlemen proposed for her hand. Neither -being available, she intends, I gather, to write great poems, or paint -great pictures, or go upon the stage.... Go upon the stage! My blood -curdled at the bare idea. It is still in that unpleasant condition.” -Lord Beaumaris shuddered violently, and pressed his handkerchief to his -nose. “If you have any advice to give, Alaric,” he said bluntly, “oblige -us by giving it. We are at a positive crux!” - -The drab-complexioned, light-haired Alaric responded: - -“In my poor opinion—which may be crassly wrong—too much stress has been -laid upon the necessity of Susanna’s marrying.” At this point the -contrast between the amiable vacuity of Alaric’s face and the -Mephistophelian intelligence of his monocled eye was so extraordinary as -to hold his listeners spellbound in their chairs. “I think we may take -it that the principal feature of the child’s character is—call it -determination amounting to obstinacy——” - -“Crass obstinacy!” burst from the Earl. - -“Pig-headedness!” interjected the Dowager. - -“I think I remember hearing that in her nursery days the sure way to -make her take a dose of harmless necessary medicine,” pursued Alaric, -his left eye fixed upon the door, “was to prepare the potion, pill, or -what-not, sweeten, and then carefully conceal it from her. Were she my -daughter—which Heaven for—which Heaven has not granted!—I should make -her take a husband in the same way.” - -“An utterance possibly inspired, but as obscure as the generality. I -fear, my dear Alaric——” Lord Beaumaris began. The Dowager cut him short. - -“Say, Gus, can’t you let him finish? That’s what I call real mean—to -switch a man off just when he’s beginning to grip the track.” - -“Mother, I bow to you,” Lord Beaumaris said, purpling with indignation. -“Pray continue, Alaric!” - -“Hum along, Alaric,” encouraged the Dowager. - -Alaric, his countenance as the countenance of a little child, his right -eye beaming with mildness, and his left eye as the eye of an intelligent -fiend, went on: - -“Susanna has never yet seen the Duke of Halcyon—her cousin, and the -husband for whom you destine her. When she does see him—I think I may be -pardoned for saying——” - -“She’ll raise Cain,” agreed Lady Beaumaris. “Girls think such heaps of -good looks; I was like that myself, before I married your father, Gus.” - -“My dear mother, granted that Halcyon’s gifts, both physical and mental, -are not”—the Earl coughed—“not of the kind best calculated to impress -and win upon a romantic, willful girl!... He is, to speak plainly——” - -“A hideous little Troglodyte,” nodded the Dowager, over her interminable -Shetland-wool knitting. - -“Odd, considering that his mother, when Lady Flora MacCodrum, was, with -the sole exception of myself, the handsomest young woman presented in -the Spring of 1845.” - -“Mother,” said Lord Beaumaris, “delightful as your reminiscences -invariably are, Alaric is waiting to resume.” - -“I had merely intended to suggest,” said Alaric, twirling his eyeglass -by its black ribbon and turning his demure drab-colored countenance and -balefully glittering left eye upon the Earl and the Dowager in turn, -“that the Duke of Halcyon, like the rhubarb of Susanna’s infancy, should -be rendered tolerable, agreeable, and even desirable to our dear girl’s -palate, by being forbidden and withheld. Ask him here in September for -the partridge shooting—as I understand you think of doing—but let him -appear, not in his own character as a young English Peer of immense -wealth and irreproachable reputation, but as one of those literary and -artistic Ineligibles, who are encouraged by Society to take every -liberty with it—short of marrying its cousins, sisters, or daughters. -Let him encourage his hair to grow—wear a velvet coat, a flamboyant -necktie, and silk stockings in combination with tweed knickerbockers. -Let him pay attention to Susanna—as marked as he chooses. And do you, -for your part”—he fixed Lord Beaumaris with his gleaming left -eye—“discourage those attentions, and lose no opportunity of impressing -upon your daughter that she is to discourage them too. Given this -tempting opportunity of manifesting her independent spirit, you will -find—or I know nothing of Susanna—that it will be pull baker, pull -devil. And I know which will pull the hardest!” - -Lord Beaumaris rose to his feet in superb indignation. He struck the -attitude in which he had posed for his portrait, by Millais, which hung -at the upper end of the library, representing him in the act of -delivering his maiden speech in Parliament—an address advocating the -introduction of footwarmers into the Upper House, and opened upon -Alaric: - -“Your proposal—I do not hesitate to say it—is audacious. You -deliberately expect that I—I, Gustavus Templebar Bloundle-Abbott -Bloundle, ninth Earl of Beaumaris, and head of this ancient -family—should stoop to carry out a deception—and upon my only child. -That I should take advantage of her willful youth, her undisciplined -temper, to——” - -“To bring about a match that will set every mother’s mouth watering, and -secure your daughter’s son a dukedom, and a hundred and thirty thousand -a year.... That’s so, and I guess,” said Lady Beaumaris, “you’ll do it, -Gus! You’re a representative English peer, it’s true, but on my side -you’ve Yankee blood in you, and the grandson of Elijah K. Van Powler -isn’t going to back out of a little bluff that’s going to pay. No, sir!” -The Dowager ran her knitting-needles through her wool ball, and rolled -up her work briskly. “He’ll do it, Alaric,” she said with conviction. - -“Mother,” exclaimed the Earl in desperation. “You were my father’s -choice, and Heaven forbid that I should fail in respect towards a lady -whom he honored with his hand. But when you suggest that to bring about -this most desirable union, I should wallow, metaphorically, in dirt——” - -“It’s pay dirt, Gus,” said the Dowager. “A hundred and thirty thousand a -year, my boy!” - -“Mother!” cried Lord Beaumaris. “If I brought myself to grovel to such -infamy, do you suppose for one moment Halcyon——” - -“That Halcyon would tumble to the plot? There are no flies on Halcyon,” -said the Dowager, “and you bet he’ll worry through—velvet coat, orange -necktie, forehead, curls, and all!” - -“Then do I understand,” said Lord Beaumaris helplessly, “that I am to -ask him to accept my hospitality in a character that is not his own, and -appear at my table in a disguise! The idea is inexpressibly loathsome, -and I cannot imagine in what character he could possibly appear.” - -“As a painter—of the fashionable fresco brand—engaged if you like to -decorate your new ballroom!” put in Alaric in his level expressionless -tones. - -“But he can’t paint!” said the Dowager. “That’s where we’re going to -buckle up and collapse. He can’t paint worth a cent! That takes brain, -and Halcyon isn’t overstocked with ’em, I must allow.” - -“Get a man who has the brain and the ability to do the work,” said the -imperturbable Alaric. - -“Deception on deception!” groaned Lord Beaumaris. - -“I have the very fellow in my eye,” pursued Alaric: “Remarkable clever -A.R.A., and a kinsman of your own. Perhaps you have forgotten him,” he -continued, as Lord Beaumaris stiffened with polite inquiry, and the -Dowager elevated her handsome and still jetty eyebrows into -interrogative arches; “perhaps—it’s equally likely—you never heard of -him, but at least you remember his mother, Janetta Bloundle?” - -“She married a person professionally interested in the restoration of -Perpendicular churches,” said Lord Beaumaris, “and though I cannot now -recall his name, I remember hearing of his death, and forwarding a -brief, condolatory postcard to his widow.” - -“Who joined him, wherever he is, six months ago.” - -“Dear me!” said Lord Beaumaris, “that is quite too regrettable. However, -it is too late in the day to send another postcard addressed to the -surviving members of the family.” - -“There is only a son,” said Alaric, “and he is the rising artist to whom -I suggest that you should offer a commission. He is strong in fresco, -and has just executed a series of wall cartoons for the new Naval and -Military Idiot Asylum, which will carry his name down to the remotest -posterity.” - -“Might—I—ah!—ask his name?” said Lord Beaumaris. - -“Wopse,” responded Alaric. - -Lord Beaumaris shuddered. - -“And the Christian prefix?” He closed his eyes in readiness for the -coming shock. - -“Halcyon.” - -Lord Beaumaris opened his eyes, and the Dowager uttered a slight snort -of astonishment. - -“A relationship existing upon the mother’s side between young Wopse and -the ducal house of Halcyon,” said Alaric, twirling his eyeglass faster: -“it is not surprising that the poor lady should have improved upon the -homespun Anglo-Saxonism of Wopse by the best means in her power. At any -rate the young fellow is well-looking and well-bred enough to carry both -names in a creditable fashion.” - -“You’ve taken considerable of a time about making it,” said Lady -Beaumaris, “but I’m bound to say your suggestion ain’t worth shucks. -Given the real artistic and Bohemian article to nibble at, is a girl -like Susanna likely to swallow the imitation article? I guess not!” - -“I concur entirely with my mother, Alaric,” said Lord Beaumaris. “You -propose, in the person of this young man, to introduce an element of -danger into our limited September house-party.” - -“You could let this Mr. Wopse live in the garden _châlet_, and -commission the keeper’s wife to attend to him,” said the Dowager, “but -even then, how are you to make sure that——” - -“That Susanna does not associate with him? There is a simple method of -divesting the young man of all attraction for a young creature of our -dear girl’s temperament,” said Alaric, “but for several reasons I shrink -from recommending its selection.” - -“Pray mention it,” said Lord Beaumaris, with an uneasy laugh. - -“Let’s hear it!” said Lady Beaumaris. - -“You have only,” said Alaric, with great distinctness, “to call this -young fellow by his Christian name; to let him take Lady Beaumaris in to -dinner; to put him up in your best room—the Indian chintz suite—and -generally to foster the idea——” - -“That he is the Duke of Halcyon!” cried the Dowager. “My stars! what a -Palais Royal farce to be played under this respectable old roof.” - -“You suggest a double—a doubly-infamous and objectionable deception! Not -a word more.... I will not hear it!” Lord Beaumaris rapped decidedly on -the table, rose in agitation, and strode on creaking patent leathers to -the door. “The question is closed forever,” said he, turning upon the -threshold. “Let no one refer to it again in my——” - -The door, which had occasionally creaked throughout this discussion, -smartly opened from without, and acting upon the Earl’s offended person -as a battering-ram, caused him to run forwards smartly, tripping over -the edge of the worn, but still splendid Turkey carpet. Lord Beaumaris -saved himself by clinging to the high back of an ancestral chair, upon -the seat of which he subsided, as the tall young figure of his daughter -appeared on the threshold, her Tam-o’-shanter cap, her long yellow -locks, and her red golfing jacket shining with moisture, her fresh -cheeks red with the cold kisses of the March winds. - -“It began to snow like Happy Jack,” said Susanna, pulling off her rough -beaver gauntlet gloves, “so I came home. Well, have you all done -plotting? You look like conspirators—all—with the exception of Alaric.” - -This was true, for while the Earl, his mother, and three other members -of the family council, whom we have not found it necessary to describe, -wore an air of somewhat guilty perturbation, the drab-colored, mild -countenance of Alaric, its diabolical left eye now blandly shuttered -with its tinted eyeglass, alone appeared guiltless and unmoved. - -“We’ve been discussing the September house-party,” explained this -Catesby, as Susanna sat upon the elbow of his chair and affectionately -rumpled his sparse, light-colored locks. - -“And husbands for me!” said Susanna, half throttling Alaric with her -strong young arm. - -“Susanna!” cried her father. “I am surprised! I say no more than that I -am surprised!” - -“And I say,” retorted Susanna, in clear, defiant, ringing accents, as -she swayed herself to and fro upon her narrow perch, “that it is -_beastly_ to be expected to marry just because money has got to be -brought into the family. Of course I _shall_ marry one day—I don’t want -to study law, or be a hospital nurse like that idiotic Laura Penglebury. -But I don’t want to be a married woman until I’m tired of being a girl. -I want to have lots of fun and do lots of things, and see lots of -people, and make my mind up for my own self. And——” - -Lord Beaumaris, who had long been fermenting, frothed over. “When you -form an alliance, my child, you will form it with my sanction and my -approval, and the husband you honor with your hand will be a person -selected and approved of by me. By me! I will choose for you——” - -“And suppose I choose for myself afterwards!” cried Susanna, blue fire -flashing from her defiant eyes. - -“_Every woman is at heart_—ahem!” muttered Alaric, as Lord Beaumaris -strove with incipient apoplexy. Susanna continued, with a whimper in her -voice: - -“The young men you and grandmother point out to me as nice and eligible, -and all that, are simply awful. They have no chins, or too much, and no -teeth, or too many, and they don’t talk at all, or they gabble all the -time, about nothing. They never read, they don’t care for Art or -Poetry—they aren’t interested in anything but Bridge and racing; and if -you told them that Beethoven composed the ‘Honeysuckle and the Bee,’ or -that Chopin wrote ‘When I Marry Amelia,’ they’d believe you. They like -married women better than girls, and people who dance at theaters better -than the married women——” - -“Pet, you’d better go to Mademoiselle.... Ask her, with my love, to fix -you up some French history to translate,” Lady Beaumaris suggested. - -“I should prefer a Gallic verb,” Lord Beaumaris amended. “I marry in -accordance with my parents’ wishes. Thou marriest in accordance with thy -parents’ wishes. He marries—and so on! And make a solid schoolroom tea -while you are about it, my child,” he continued, as Susanna bestowed a -parting strangle upon Alaric, kicked over a footstool, and rose to leave -the room. “For I fear we are to be deprived of your society at dinner -this evening.” - -Susanna’s lovely red underlip pouted; her blue eyes clouded with tears. -She flashed a resentful look at her sire, and went out. - -“She is not manageable by any ordinary methods,” said Lord Beaumaris, -running his forefinger round the inside of his collar, and shaking his -head. “In such a case Contumacy must be combated with Craft, and -Defiance met with Diplomacy. Alaric, regrettable as is the course you -have counseled us to pursue, I feel inclined to adopt it.... I shall -write to-night to make an appointment on Wednesday with the Duke of -Halcyon at the Peers’ Club, and—I shall be obliged if you will, at your -early convenience—favor me with the address of the young man Wopse.” - - - II - -The garden _châlet_ was damp; it had been raining, and the glittering -appearance of the walls betrayed the fact. “As though a bally lot of -snails had been dancin’ a cotillon on ’em!” said the Duke of Halcyon. He -yawned dismally as he opened the casement and leaned out, looking, in -his gaudily-hued silken night-suit, like a tulip drooping from the -window-sill. Then the keeper’s wife came splashing up the muddy path -carrying a tray covered with a mackintosh, and the knowledge that his -breakfast would presently be set before him, and set before him in a -lukewarm, flabby, and tepid condition, caused Halcyon to groan. But -presently, when bathed, shaved, and attired in a neat knickerbocker suit -of tawny-orange velveteen, with green silk stockings and tan shoes, -salmon-colored silk shirt, rainbow necktie, and Panama, he issued, -cigarette in mouth, from the _châlet_, and strolled in the direction of -the newly-restored west wing, his Grace’s equanimity seemed restored. He -even hummed a tune, which might have been “The Honeysuckle and the Bee” -or “God Save the King,” as he mounted the short, wide, double flight of -marble steps that led from the terrace, and, pushing open the glazed -swing-doors, entered the ballroom, the entire space of which was filled -by a bewildering maze of ropes and scaffolding, as though a giant spider -had spun a cobweb in hemp and pine. A smell of turpentine and size was -in the air, and a paint-table occupied a platform immediately under the -skylight dome, the sides of which were already filled in with outlines, -transferred from cartoons designed by the artist engaged to ornament the -apartment. That gentleman, arrayed in a blue canvas blouse and wearing a -deerstalker cap on the back of a well-shaped head, was actively engaged -in washing in the values of a colossal nude figure-group with a bucket -of sepia and a six-foot brush. He whistled rather queerly as his bright -eye fell upon the intruder. - -“You’re there, are you?” said the Duke unnecessarily. “Shall I come up?” - -“If you can!” said Halcyon Wopse, with a decided smile, that revealed a -very complete set of very white teeth. “But, to save time, perhaps I had -better come down to you.” And the painter swung himself lightly down -from stage to stage until he reached the ground-level of his august -relative. - -“Put what you’ve got to tell me as clearly as you can,” said the Duke. -“I never was a sap at Eton, and the classical names of these Johnnies -you’re thingambobbing on the what’s-a-name rather queer me.” - -“The design outlined on the plaster in the central space on the -left-hand side of the skylight dome,” said Wopse, A.R.A., “is the -‘Judgment of Paris.’ The three figures of the rival goddesses are -completely outlined, but, as you see, Paris is only roughly blocked in.” - -“I don’t see a city,” said the Duke with some annoyance. “I only see a -bit of a man. And, as for being block-tin——” - -“Paris was a man—or, rather, a youth,” said Halcyon Wopse, quoting— - - “‘Fair and disdainfully lidded, the Shepherd of Ida, - Holding the golden apple, desired of——’” - -“Hold on! When people get spouting it knocks me galley-west,” said the -Duke. “Just tell me plainly what the beggar was to judge? Goddesses? I -savvy! And which of ’em took the biscuit—I mean the apple? Venus? Right -you are! That’s as much as I can hold at one time, thanky!” - -“Sorry if I’ve over-estimated the extent of the accommodation,” said -Halcyon Wopse, smiling and lighting a cigar. - -“One of the Partagas. Now, hang it,” said the Duke, “that is infernally -stupid of my man.” - -“Of my man, you mean,” corrected the painter. - -“I begin to think,” said the Duke, “that I have, in falling in with the -absurd plot, cooked up by that old footler, Beaumaris, and swopping -characters with a beg—with an artist fellow like you, in order to take -the fancy of a long-haired, long-legged colt of a girl——” - -“I presume you allude to Lady Lymston?” put in the painter coldly. - -“Of course. I say, in tumblin’ to the idea and embarkin’ in the game, -I’ve made an ass of myself,” said the Duke. “As for you, you’re in -clover.” - -“Say nettles,” sighed the painter. - -“Passin’ under my name——” - -“Pardon,” said the painter. “The name is my own. And let us say, simply, -that in changing identities with your Grace in order to enable your -Grace to cast a glamour of artistic romance over a very ordinary——” - -“Eh?” interjected the Duke. - -“Situation,” continued the painter. “In doing this I have laid up for -myself a considerable store of regret.” - -“Regret! Why, hang you! You’re chalkin’ up scores the whole bally time!” -shrieked the Duke, stamping his tan shoes on the canvas-protected -parquet. “Beaumaris’s guests—only a few purposely selected fogies and -duffers, who don’t count, it’s true—believe you to be me. They flatter -you and defer to you. You take the Dowager in to dinner, and I’m left to -toddle after with Susanna’s French governess. I’m out of everything—and -obliged to talk Art, bally Art—from mornin’ till night! While you—you’ve -ridden to cub-hunts on my mounts—driven my motor-cars and bust my -tires——” - -“And very bad ones they are,” said the painter. - -“You ride infernally well, and show off before the field at Henworthy -Three Gates, where the hardest riders in the county hang back. You ain’t -afraid of a trappy take-off—you weren’t built for a broken neck,” -screeched the incensed Peer. “You play golf too, and win the Coronation -Challenge Cup for the Lymston Club, takin’ seven holes out of the -eighteen, and holin’ the round in the score of sixty-eight.” - -“It was my duty to maintain the honor of your Grace’s rank once I had -consented to assume it,” said the painter with a bow. - -“And you’re a dead shot, confound you, knockin’ the birds over right and -left, and getting a par. in every sportin’ newspaper for a record bag of -four hundred. You’re a polo player too—hit a ball up and down the field -and through the goals at each end, and look as if you didn’t care -whether the ladies applauded you or not, da—hang you! And you must own -to bein’ a bit of a cricketer, and consent to play in the County Match -on Thursday, and I wouldn’t like to bet against your chances of makin’ a -big score—an all-round admirable what’s-a-name of a fellow like you!” - -“Perhaps you’d better not,” the painter remarked calmly, knocking off -the ash of his cigar. “But I should be glad to know the reason for this -display of temper on your Grace’s part, all the same,” he added. “If I -rode like a tailor and shot like a duffer, hit your ponies’ legs instead -of the ball, and played cricket like a German governess at a girls’ -boarding-school, I could understand——” - -“Don’t you understand when I get back into my own skin again, I’ll have -to live up to the reputation you’ve made me?” yelled Halcyon. “I could -pass muster before because nobody looked for anything. But now....” - -“And what of my reputation? I think I heard you telling Susanna——” - -“Susanna!” echoed the Duke. - -“She is Susanna to your Grace. Did I not hear you telling her that -Chiaroscuro was an Italian painter of the Cinquecento—who, you said, was -a Pope who patronized Art! You went on to say that Chiaroscuro lived on -hard eggs, and designed carnival cars, and that Benvenuto Cellini won -the Gold Cup at Ascot Race Meeting in ’91.” - -“Look here, we won’t indulge in mutual recriminations. It’s beastly bad -form!” said the Duke. “And though you can ride and all that, I never -said I thought you could paint for nuts! In fact, between ourselves, I -don’t half like havin’ these spooks on the ceilin’ set down to me.” He -twisted his sandy little moustache, and fixed his eyeglass in his eye, -and started. “Here’s Lady Lymston comin’ over the lawn with a whole pack -of dogs, to ask me how I’ve got on since yesterday.” - -“Take my blouse!” The painter denuded himself of the turpentiny garment, -appearing in a well-cut tweed shooting-suit. - -“Get into that rag! Not me, thanks! Hand over your brush, and give me a -leg up on that scaffoldin’, like a good chap. I’d better be discovered -at work, I suppose,” said his Grace of Halcyon, as he slowly mounted to -the platform under the dome. - -He had just reached it when Susanna’s fresh young voice was heard -outside calling to her dogs, and a moment later she appeared. Her fair -cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes were bright with exercise. She wore a -rough gray skirt, which, if less abbreviated than of yore, still showed -a slim, arched foot and suggested a charming ankle. Her white silk -blouse was confined by a Norwegian belt, and a loose _beret_ cap of -black velvet crowned her yellow head, its silken riches being now -disposed in a great coil, through which a silver arrow was carelessly -thrust. She started and reddened from her temples to the edge of lace at -her round throat when the tweed-clad figure of the painter caught her -eye, and gave him her hand with an indifference which was too -ostentatious. - -“I didn’t know you were interested in Art,” she said. - -“Oh yes!” responded the painter. “At least, if this can be called Art,” -he added modestly. - -“’Ssh!” warned Susanna. “He is up there, and will hear you.” - -“He?” echoed the painter, reveling in the blush. - -“Did I hear my name?” called the Duke sweetly, from above. “Hulloa, Lady -Lymston, that you? Come to record progress? As you see, we’re going -strong.” His six-foot brush menaced a Juno’s draperies, a gallipot of -size upset, trickled its contents through the planking; his velveteen -coat-tails placed Paris in peril, as he turned his back to the cartoon -and resting his hands upon his knees, assumed a stooping attitude, and -peered waggishly down over the edge of the scaffolding at Susanna. - -“Take care—you!” shouted the painter, forgetting his aristocratic -_rôle_. - -“My foot is on my native thingumbob, ain’t it, Lady Lymston?” said the -owner of the small, cockneyfied, grinning countenance above. “How do you -like the wax-works? This is the”—he flourished the six-foot brush -perilously—“this is the Judgment of Berlin.” - -“Paris!” prompted the false Duke hoarsely. - -“He is trying to joke,” said Susanna, in an undertone. “Don’t discourage -him.” - -“I should think that would be difficult,” remarked Wopse grimly. - -“Papa tries to be crushing, and Cousin Alaric’s rudeness is simply -appalling,” said Susanna, in a confidential undertone. “And grandmother -walks over him as though he were a beetle—no! she would run away from a -thing like that—I should say an earwig or a snail, so one feels bound to -be a _little_ nice.” - -“If only out of opposition!” said the painter, with a keen look of -intelligence, at which Susanna blushed again. - -“He is idiotic when he tries to be funny about Art—and mixes up names -and dates—and tells you that Titian sang in opera and Rubens is a -popular composer. But he can paint, and Alaric Orme thinks he will be -President of the Academy one day. These cartoons are splendidly bold and -effective.” - -“You think so! Wait till I’ve colored these girls up a bit,” said the -Duke, catching the end of the sentence. “Then you’ll——” He dipped his -brush and advanced it, dripping with cobalt, towards the group of -goddesses. - -“Don’t touch them!” shouted Wopse, in agony. - -“Why not?” asked Susanna. - -“I don’t know. Excuse me, Lady Lymston, I believe the smell of this size -isn’t wholesome,” Wopse stammered. “I’ll get out into the air.” He -bolted. - -“Good Heavens!” he moaned, as he strode unseeing down a broad path of -the dazzling west front pasture, “I can’t stand this! I’ll tell that -idiot Osmond-Orme that the deception must come to an end....” - -“Why do you walk so fast?” said the voice of Susanna, behind him. “I -have had to _race_ to catch you.” - -“I am sorry,” said Wopse, stopping and turning his troubled eyes upon -the fair face of his young relation. - -“Let us walk on”—Susanna cast an apprehensive glance behind her—“or -somebody——” - -“Somebody will see us walking together!” said Wopse acutely. - -“It is so much nicer,” Susanna said demurely, “when one can keep -pleasant things to oneself. And we have had a good many walks and talks -since you came down here, haven’t we? And cliff scrambles—and bicycle -rides—and rows on the river. And the fun of it is that, although we are -such pals, really, father and grandmother and Uncle Alaric believe that -I positively detest you.” Her young laugh rang out gayly; she thrust a -sprig of lavender, perfumed and spicy, under the painter’s nose. He -captured the tantalizing hand. - -“Do you not?” - -“Detest you! You know I don’t.” - -“May I have it?” It was the sprig of lavender. But the painter looked -at, and squeezed, the hand. - -“If you promise to make a big score on Thursday!” - -Susanna, it must be admitted, was learning coquetry. - -“I will—if you are looking at me!” - -“Done!” - -“Done! Come into the beech avenue,” the painter pleaded, “just for a few -moments, before that little beast follows us. You know he will!” - -“He can’t!” Susanna’s golden eyelashes drooped upon crimson cheeks. “He -can’t get down! I—I took away the ladder before I came away!” she owned. -Both hands were imprisoned, her blue eyes lifted, lost themselves in the -brown ones that looked down at her. - -“Was that because you wanted—to be alone with me? Was it?” demanded -Wopse. - -“Oh, Hal, don’t!” - -“I’ll let you go when you have owned up, not before,” Wopse said -sternly. - -Susanna’s reply came in a whisper: “You—know—it—was!” - -The whisper was so faint that Wopse had to bend quite low to catch it. -Of course he need not have kissed Susanna. But he did, as Alaric -Osmond-Orme and Lord Beaumaris appeared, walking confidentially together -arm-in-arm. - -“I think my little stratagem succeeds!” Lord Beaumaris had just said, in -reference to the preference exhibited by his daughter for the society of -the pretended painter. And Alaric had responded: - -“Yes, as you say, my plan has proved quite a brilliant success!” when -Lord Beaumaris clutched his cousin’s arm. - -“Merciful powers! Susanna and that—that young impostor!” - -Alaric’s eyeglass fell with a click, and the diabolical left eye twirled -and twisted fiendishly in its socket as its retina embraced the picture -indicated. - -“Feign not to have observed.... Well, Susanna! How are you, Halcyon. We -are strolling towards the ballroom for a glimpse of Wopse’s work.” - -“We are stro——” Lord Beaumaris choked and purpled. Alaric dragged him -on. - -“Do you think?...” Susanna’s cheeks were white roses now. “Do you -think—they——” - -“Saw me kiss you? Not a doubt of it!” - -“Oh!” Susanna confronted him with blazing eyes. “You!—you did it on -_purpose_! It was a plot——” - -She clenched her strong young hands, battling with the desire to buffet -the handsome bronzed face before her. “I’ll never—never speak to you -again!” she cried. - -“You will not be allowed to,” groaned the poor painter. “Our walks and -rides and all the rest are over.... Yes, there has been a plot, but not -of the kind you suspect. I am a traitor—but not the kind of traitor you -think me. Lady Lymston, I am not the Duke of Halcyon. I am a poor -devil—I beg your pardon!—I am a painter; my name is Wopse, and I have -disgraced my profession by the part I have played!” He sat down -miserably on a rustic bench. - -“Oh! It has been a put-up thing between you all!” Susanna gasped. “Oh!” -She towered over Wopse like an incensed young goddess. - -“If I could only paint you like that! Yes—I deserve that you should hate -me. Never mind who planned the thing, I should have known better than to -soil my hands with a deception,” said Wopse. “As for the Duke——” - -“The Duke! Do I understand that that earwig in velveteen is my cousin -Halcyon!” Susanna’s voice was very cold. - -“Yes. I am a kind of cousin, too,” said Wopse. - -“But not that kind. Those—those designs—the work on the ceiling. They -are really yours?” Susanna asked. - -“Mine, of course. Do you think that fellow could have done them?” cried -Wopse, firing up. “I’ve risen at four every morning to work at them, -and——” - -“And you ride splendidly, and you’re a crack shot and polo player, and -you’re going to win for the county Eleven on Thursday,” came -breathlessly from Susanna. - -“Ah, you won’t care to look at me now!” said the depressed Wopse. - -“Won’t I?” Susanna’s eyes were dancing, her cheeks were glowing, she -pirouetted on the moss-grown ground of the avenue and dropped a little -curtsey to the painter. “When doing it will drive father and grandmother -and Alaric and the Earwig wild with rage.... When—when I like doing it, -too! When——” she stooped, and her lips were very near Wopse’s -cheek—“when I love doing it!” - -“Oh, Susanna!” cried the painter. - - -“My dear Halcyon!” said Lord Beaumaris, peering short-sightedly upwards -through a maze of scaffolding. “I think you may as well come down.” - -“In other words—the game is up!” said Alaric Osmond-Orme mildly. “Come -down, my dear fellow, and resume your own _rôle_ of hereditary -legislator. Allow me to replace the ladder.” He did so. - -“So that fellow’s done me! I guessed as much when that little—when -Susanna took away the ladder,” said the Duke, preparing to descend. “And -then when I saw him kiss her—there’s a remarkably good view of the -gardens through the end window. I——” He pointed to some remarkable -effects of color splashed upon the ground so carefully prepared by the -painter. “I took it out of the beggar in the only way I could, don’t you -know.” - -“Take it out of him still more,” suggested Alaric, his tinted eyeglass -concealing a fiendish twinkle, “by playing in the County Cricket Match. -He’s entered in your name, you know!” - -“You’re very obligin’,” said the Duke, “but I don’t think I’m taking -any.” He gracefully slithered to the floor as Susanna and Halcyon Wopse -entered the ballroom, radiant and hand in hand. - -“Papa,” said Susanna, taking the bull by the horns, “Mr. Wopse and I are -engaged. We mean to be married as soon as possible after the County -Cricket Match.” She kissed the perturbed countenance of Lord Beaumaris, -nodded to the Duke, and walked over to Alaric. “Your plan has succeeded -beautifully,” she said. “Ain’t you pleased—and won’t you congratulate -us?” - -“I am delighted,” said the imperturbable Alaric. He dropped his eyeglass -and before the preternatural intelligence of his left eye even Susanna -quailed. “And I congratulate you both most heartily.” He smiled, and -pressed the hands of Susanna and her lover, and, moving away, stepped -into the garden. There, unseen, he rubbed his hands, twinkling with -mourning rings. - -“I loved that boy’s mother very dearly, boy as I was then ...” said -Alaric. “As for Susanna, if she knew that I knew she was listening at -the library door....” He replaced his eyeglass, and his expression -became, as usual, a blank. - - - - - LADY CLANBEVAN’S BABY - - -There was a gray, woolly October fog over Hyde Park. The railings wept -grimy tears, and the damp yellow leaves dropped soddenly from the soaked -trees. Pedestrians looked chilled and sulky; camphor chests and -cedar-presses had yielded up their treasures of sables and sealskin, -chinchilla and silver fox. A double stream of fashionable traffic rolled -west and east, and the rich clarets and vivid crimsons of the -automobiles burned through the fog like genial, warming fires. - -A Baby-Bunting six horse-power petrol-car, in color a chrysanthemum -yellow, came jiggeting by. The driver stopped. He was a technical -chemist and biologist of note and standing, and I had last heard him -speak from the platform of the Royal Institution. - -“I haven’t seen you,” said the Professor, “for years.” - -“That must be because you haven’t looked,” said I, “for I have both seen -and heard you quite recently. Only you were upon the platform and I was -on the ground-floor.” - -“You are too much upon the ground-floor now,” said the Professor, with a -shudder of a Southern European at the dampness around and under foot, -“and I advise you to accept a seat in my car.” - -And the Baby-Bunting, trembling with excitement at being in the company -of so many highly-varnished electric victorias and forty horse-power -auto-cars, joined the steadily-flowing stream going west. - -“I wonder that you stoop to petrol, Professor,” I said, as the thin, -skillful hand in the baggy chamois glove manipulated the driving-wheel, -and the little car snaked in and out like a torpedo-boat picking her way -between the giant warships of a Channel Squadron. - -The Professor’s black brows unbent under the cap-peak, and his thin, -tightly-gripped lips relaxed into a mirthless smile. - -“Ah, yes; you think that I should drive my car by radio-activity, is it -not? And so I could—and would, if the pure radium chloride were not -three thousand times the price of gold. From eight tons of uranium ore -residues about one gramme—that is fifteen grains—can be extracted by -fusing the residue with carbonates of soda, dissolving in hydrochloric -acid, precipitating the lead and other metals in solution by the aid of -hydrogen-sulphide, and separating from the chlorides that -remain—polonium, actinium, barium, and so forth—the chloride of radium. -With a single pound of this I could not only drive an auto-car, my -friend”—his olive cheek warmed, and his melancholy dark eyes grew oddly -lustrous—“I could stop the world!” - -“And supposing it was necessary to make it go on again?” I suggested. - -“When I speak of the world,” exclaimed the Professor, “I do not refer to -the planet upon which we revolve; I speak of the human race which -inhabits it.” - -“Would the human race be obliged to you, Professor?” I queried. - -The Professor turned upon me with so sudden a verbal _riposte_ that the -Baby-Bunting swerved violently. - -“You are not as young as you were when I met you first. To be plain, you -are getting middle-aged. Do you like it?” - -“I hate it!” I answered, with beautiful sincerity. - -“Would you thank the man who should arrest, not the beneficent passage -of Time, which means progress, but the wear and tear of nerve and -muscle, tissue, and bone, the slow deterioration of the blood by the -microbes of old age, for Metchnikoff has shown that there is no -difference between the atrophy of senility and the atrophy caused by -microbe poison? Would you thank him—the man who should do that for you? -Tell me, my friend.” - -I replied, briefly and succinctly: “Wouldn’t I?” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the Professor, “I thought so!” - -“But I should have liked him to have begun earlier,” I said. -“Twenty-nine is a nice age, now.... It is the age we all try to stop at, -and can’t, however much we try. Look there!” - -A landau limousine, dark blue, beautifully varnished, nickel-plated, and -upholstered in cream-white leather, came gliding gracefully through the -press of vehicles. From the crest upon the panel to the sober -workmanlike livery of the chauffeur, the turn-out was perfection. The -pearl it contained was worthy of the setting. - -“Look there?” I repeated, as the rose-cheeked, sapphire-eyed, smiling -vision passed, wrapped in a voluminous coat of chinchilla and silver -fox, with a toque of Parma violets under the shimmer of the silken veil -that could only temper the burning glory of her wonderful Renaissance -hair. - -“There’s the exception to the rule.... There’s a woman who doesn’t need -the aid of science or of Art to keep her at nine and twenty. There’s a -woman in whom ‘the wear and tear of nerve and muscle, tissue and bone’ -goes on—if it does go on—imperceptibly. Her blood doesn’t seem to be -much deteriorated by the microbe of old age, Professor, does it? And -she’s forty-three! The alchemistical forty-three, that turns the gold of -life back into lead! The gold remains gold in her case, for that hair, -that complexion, that figure, are,” I solemnly declared, “her own.” - -At that moment Lady Clanbevan gave a smiling gracious nod to the -Professor, and he responded with a cold, grave bow. The glow of her -gorgeous hair, the liquid sapphire of her eyes, were wasted on this -stony man of science. She passed, going home to Stanhope Gate, I -suppose, in which neighborhood she has a house; I had barely a moment to -notice the white-bonneted, blue-cloaked nurse on the front of the -landau, holding a bundle of laces and cashmeres, and to reflect that I -have never yet seen Lady Clanbevan taking the air out of the society of -a baby, when the Professor spoke: - -“So Lady Clanbevan is the one woman who has no need of the aid of Art or -science to preserve her beauty and maintain her appearance of youth? -Supposing I could prove to you otherwise, my friend, what then?” - -“I should say,” I returned, “that you had proved what everybody else -denies. Even the enemies of that modern Ninon de l’Enclos, who has just -passed——” - -“With the nurse and the baby?” interpolated the Professor. - -“With the nurse and the baby,” said I. “Even her enemies—and they are -legion—admit the genuineness of the charms they detest. Mentioning the -baby, do you know that for twenty years I have never seen Lady Clanbevan -out without a baby? She must have quite a regiment of children—children -of all ages, sizes, and sexes.” - -“Upon the contrary,” said the Professor, “she has only one!” - -“The others have all died young, then?” I asked sympathetically, and was -rendered breathless by the rejoinder: - -“Lady Clanbevan is a widow.” - -“One never asks questions about the husband of a professional beauty,” I -said. “His individuality is merged in hers from the day upon which her -latest photograph assumes a marketable value. Are you sure there isn’t a -Lord Clanbevan alive somewhere?” - -“There is a Lord Clanbevan alive,” said the Professor coldly. “You have -just seen him, in his nurse’s arms. He is the only child of his mother, -and she has been a widow for nearly twenty years! You do not credit what -I assert, my friend?” - -“How can I, Professor?” I asked, turning to meet his full face, and -noticed that his dark, somewhat opaque brown irises had lights and -gleams of carbuncle-crimson in them. “I have had Lady Clanbevan and her -progeny under my occasional observation for years. The world grows -older, if she doesn’t, and she has invariably a baby—_toujours_ a new -baby—to add to the charming illusion of young motherhood which she -sustains so well. And now you tell me that she is a twenty-years’ widow -with one child, who must be nearly of age—or it isn’t proper. You puzzle -me painfully!” - -“Would you care,” asked the Professor after a moment’s pause, “to drive -back to Harley Street with me? I am, as you know, a vegetarian, so I -will not tax your politeness by inviting you to lunch. But I have -something in my laboratory I should wish to show you.” - -“Of all things, I should like to come,” I said. “How many times haven’t -I fished fruitlessly for an invitation to visit the famous laboratory -where nearly twenty years ago——” - -“I traced,” said the Professor, “the source of phenomena which heralded -the evolution of the Röntgen Ray and the ultimate discovery of the -radio-active salt they have christened radium. I called it protium -twenty years ago, because of its various and protean qualities. Why did -I not push on—perfect the discovery and anticipate Sir William C—— and -the X——’s? There was a reason. You will understand it before you leave -my laboratory.” - -The Baby-Bunting stopped at the unfashionable end of Harley Street, in -front of the dingy yellow house with the black front door, flanked by -dusty boxes of mildewed dwarf evergreens, and the Professor, relieved of -his fur-lined coat and cap, led the way upstairs as lightly as a boy. -Two garret-rooms had been knocked together for a laboratory. There was a -tiled furnace at the darker end of the long skylighted room thus made, -and solid wooden tables much stained with spilt chemicals, were covered -with scales, glasses, jars, and retorts—all the tools of chemistry. From -one of the many shelves running round the walls, the Professor took down -a circular glass flask and placed it in my hands. The flask contained a -handful of decayed and moldy-looking wheat, and a number of peculiarly -offensive-looking little beetles with tapir-like proboscides. - -“The perfectly developed beetle of the _Calandria granaria_,” said the -Professor, as I cheerfully resigned the flask, “a common British weevil, -whose larvæ feed upon stored grain. Now look at this.” He reached down -and handed me a precisely similar flask, containing another handful of -grain, cleaner and sounder in appearance, and a number of grubs, -sharp-ended chrysalis-like things buried in the grain, inert and -inactive. - -“The larvæ of _Calandria granaria_,” said the Professor, in his drawling -monotone. “How long does it take to hatch the beetle from the grub? you -ask. Less than a month. The perfect weevils that I have just shown you I -placed in their flask a little more than three weeks back. The grubs you -see in the flask you are holding, and which, as you will observe by -their anxiety to bury themselves in the grain so as to avoid contact -with the light, are still immature, I placed in the glass receptacle -twenty years ago. Don’t drop the flask—I value it.” - -“Professor!” I gasped. - -“Twenty years ago,” repeated the Professor, delicately handling the -venerable grubs, “I enclosed these grubs in this flask, with sufficient -grain to fully nourish them and bring them to the perfect state. In -another flask I placed a similar number of grubs in exactly the same -quantity of wheat. Then for twenty-four hours I exposed flask number one -to the rays emanating from what is now called radium. And as the -electrons discharged from radium are obstructed by collision with -air-atoms, I exhausted the air contained in the flask.” He paused. - -“Then, when the grubs in flask number two hatched out,” I anticipated, -“and the larvæ in flask number one remained stationary, you realized——” - -“I realized that the rays from the salt arrested growth, and at the same -time prolonged to an almost incalculable extent,” said the -Professor—“for you will understand that the grubs in flask number one -had lived as grubs half a dozen times as long as grubs usually do.... -And I said to myself that the discovery presented an immense, a -tremendous field for future development. Suppose a young woman of, say, -twenty-nine were enclosed in a glass receptacle of sufficient bulk to -contain her, and exposed for a few hours to my protium rays, she would -retain for many years to come—until she was a great-grandmother of -ninety!—the same charming, youthful appearance——” - -“As Lady Clanbevan!” I cried, as the truth rushed upon me and I grasped -the meaning this astonishing man had intended to convey. - -“As Lady Clanbevan presents to-day,” said the Professor, “thanks to the -discovery of a——” - -“Of a great man,” said I, looking admiringly at the lean worn figure in -the closely-buttoned black frock-coat. - -“I loved her.... It was a delight to her to drag a disciple of Science -at her chariot-wheels. People talked of me as a coming man. Perhaps I -was.... But I did not thirst for distinction, honors, fame.... I -thirsted for that woman’s love.... I told her of my discovery—as I told -her everything. Bah!” His lean nostrils worked. “You know the game that -is played when one is in earnest and the other at play. She promised -nothing, she walked delicately among the passions she sowed and fostered -in the souls of men, as a beautiful tigress walks among the -poison-plants of the jungle. She saw that rightly used, or wrongly used, -my great discovery might save her beauty, her angelic, dazzling beauty -that had as yet but felt the first touch of Time. She planned the whole -thing, and when she said, ‘You do not love me if you will not do this,’ -I did it. I was mad when I acceded to her wish, perhaps; but she is a -woman to drive men frenzied. You have seen how coldly, how slightingly -she looked at me when we encountered her in the Row? I tell you—you have -guessed already—I went there to see her. I always go where she is to be -encountered, when she is in town. And she bows, always; but her eyes are -those of a stranger. Yet I have had her on her knees to me. She cried -and begged and kissed my hands.” - -He knotted his thin hands, their fingers brown-tipped with the stains of -acids, and wrung and twisted them ferociously. - -“And so I granted what she asked, carried out the experiment, and paid -what you English call the piper. The giant glass bulb with the -rubber-valve door was blown and finished in France. It involved an -expense of three hundred pounds. The salt I used—of protium (christened -radium now)—cost me all my savings—over two thousand pounds—for I had -been a struggling man——” - -“But the experiment?” I broke in. “Good Heavens, Professor! How could a -living being remain for any time in an exhausted receiver? Agony -unspeakable, convulsions, syncope, death! One knows what the result -would be. The merest common sense——” - -“The merest common sense is not what one employs to make discoveries or -carry out great experiments,” said the Professor. “I will not disclose -my method; I will only admit to you that the subject—the subjects were -insensible; that I induced _anæsthesia_ by the ordinary ether-pump -apparatus, and that the strength of the ray obtained was concentrated to -such a degree that the exposure was complete in three hours.” He looked -about him haggardly. “The experiment took place here nineteen years -ago—nineteen years ago, and it seems to me as though it were yesterday.” - -“And it must seem like yesterday to Lady Clanbevan—whenever she looks in -the glass,” I said. “But you have pricked my curiosity, Professor, by -the use of the plural. Who was the other subject?” - -“Is it possible you don’t guess?” The sad, hollow eyes questioned my -face in surprise. Then they turned haggardly away. “My friend, the other -subject associated with Lady Clanbevan in my great experiment was—Her -Baby!” - -I could not speak. The dowdy little grubs in the flask became for me -creatures imbued with dreadful potentialities.... The tragedy and the -sublime absurdity of the thing I realized caught at my throat, and my -brain grew dizzy with its horror. - -“Oh! Professor!” I gurgled, “how—how grimly, awfully, tragically -ridiculous! To carry about with one wherever one goes a baby that never -grows older—a baby——” - -“A baby nearly twenty years old? Yes, it is as you say, ridiculous and -horrible,” the Professor agreed. - -“What could have induced the woman!” burst from me. - -The Professor smiled bitterly. - -“She is greedy of money. It is the only thing she loves—except her -beauty and her power over men; and during the boy’s infancy—that word is -used in the Will—she has full enjoyment of the estate. After he ‘attains -to manhood’—I quote the Will again—hers is but a life-interest. Now you -understand?” - -I did understand, and the daring of the woman dazzled me. She had made -the Professor doubly her tool. - -“And so,” I gurgled between tears and laughter, “Lord Clanbevan, who -ought to be leaving Eton this year to commence his first Oxford term, is -being carried about in the arms of a nurse, arrayed in the flowing -garments of a six-months’ baby! What an astonishing conspiracy!” - -“His mother,” continued the Professor calmly, “allows no one to approach -him but the nurse. The family are only too glad to ignore what they -consider a deplorable case of atavistic growth-arrest, and the boy -himself——” He broke off. “I have detained you,” he said, after a pause. -“I will not do so longer. Nor will I offer you my hand. I am as -conscious as you are—that it has committed a crime.” And he bowed me out -with his hands sternly held behind him. There were few more words -between us, only I remember turning on the threshold of the laboratory, -where I left him, to ask whether protium—radium, as it is now -christened—checks the growth of every organic substance? The answer I -received was curious: - -“Certainly, with the exception of the nails and the hair!” - -A week later the Professor was found dead in his laboratory.... There -were reports of suicide—hushed up. People said he had been more -eccentric than ever of late, and theorized about brain-mischief; only I -located the trouble in the heart. A year went by, and I had almost -forgotten Lady Clanbevan—for she went abroad after the Professor’s -death—when at a little watering-place on the Dorset coast, I saw that -lovely thing, as lovely as ever—she who was fifty if a day! With her -were the blue-cloaked elderly nurse and Lord Clanbevan, borne, as usual, -in the arms of his attendant, or wheeled in a luxurious perambulator. -Day after day I encountered them—the lovely mother, the middle-aged -nurse, and the mysterious child—until the sight began to get on my -nerves. Had the Professor selected me as the recipient of a secret -unrivaled in the records of biological discovery, or had he been the -victim of some maniacal delusion that cold October day when we met in -Rotten Row? One peep under the thick white lace veil with which the -baby’s face was invariably covered would clear everything up! Oh! for a -chance to allay the pangs of curiosity! - -The chance came. It was a hot, waspy August forenoon. Everybody was -indoors with all the doors and windows open, lunching upon the -innutritive viands alone procurable at health resorts—everybody but -myself, Lord Clanbevan, and his nurse. She had fallen asleep upon a -green-painted esplanade seat, gratuitously shielded by a striped awning. -Lord Clanbevan’s C-springed, white-hooded, cane-built perambulator stood -close beside her. He was, as usual, a mass of embroidered cambric and -cashmere, and, as always, thickly veiled, his regular breathing heaved -his infant breast; the thick white lace drapery attached to his -beribboned bonnet obscured the features upon which I so ardently longed -to gaze! It was the chance, as I have said; and as the head of the -blue-cloaked nurse dropped reassuringly upon her breast, as she emitted -the snore that gave assurance of the soundness of her slumbers, I -stepped silently on the gravel towards the baby’s perambulator. Three -seconds, and I stood over its apparently sleeping inmate; another, and I -had lifted the veil from the face of the mystery—and dropped it with a -stifled cry of horror! - -The child had a moustache! - - - - - THE DUCHESS’S DILEMMA - - -“A person called to see me!” repeated the Duchess of Rantorlie. “He -pleaded urgent business, you say?” - -She glanced at the card presented by her groom-of-the-chambers without -taking the trouble to lift it from the salver. “‘Mr. Moss Rubelius.’ I -do not know the name—I have no knowledge of any urgent business. You -must tell him to go away at once, and not call again.” - -“Begging your Grace’s pardon,” remarked the official, “the person seemed -to anticipate a message of the kind——” - -“Did he? Then,” thought her Grace, “he is not disappointed.” - -“And, still begging your Grace’s pardon,” pursued the discreet domestic, -“he asked me to hand this second card to your Grace.” - -It was rather a shabby card, and dog’s-eared as though it had been -carried long in somebody’s pocket; but it was large and feminine, and -adorned with a ducal coronet and the Duchess’s own cipher, and scribbled -upon it in pencil, in the Duchess’s own handwriting, were two or three -words, simple enough, apparently, and yet sufficiently fraught with -meaning to make their fair reader turn very pale. She did not replace -this card upon the salver, but kept it as she said: - -“Bring the person to me at once.” - -And when the softly stepping servant had left the room—one of her -Grace’s private suite, charmingly furnished as a study—she made haste to -tear the card up, dropping the fragments into the hottest part of the -wood-fire, and thrusting at them with the poker until the last tremulous -fragment of gray ash had disappeared. Rising from this exercise with a -radiant glow upon her usually colorless cheeks the Duchess became aware -that she was not alone. A person of vulgar appearance, outrageously -attired in a travesty of the ordinary afternoon costume of an English -gentleman, stood three or four feet off, regarding her with an observant -and rather wily smile. Not at all discomposed, he was the first to -speak. - -“Before burnin’ _that_,” he remarked, in the thick, snuffling accents of -the low-bred, “your Grace ought to have asked yourself whether it was -any use. Because—I put it to your Grace, as a poker-player, being told -the game’s fashionable in your Grace’s set—a man who holds four aces can -afford to throw away the fifth card, even if it’s a king. And people of -my profession don’t go in for bluff. It ain’t their fancy.” - -“What is your profession?” asked the Duchess, regarding with contempt -the dark, full-fed, red-lipped, hook-beaked countenance before her. - -“Money!” returned Mr. Moss Rubelius. He rattled coin in his -trousers-pockets as he spoke, and the superfluity of gold manifested in -large, coarse rings upon his thick fingers, the massy chain festooned -across his broad chest, the enormous links fastening his cuffs, and the -huge diamond pin in his cravat, seemed to echo “Money.” - -The Duchess lost no time in coming to the point. She was not guided by -previous experience, having hitherto, by grace as well as luck, steered -clear of scandal. But, girl of twenty as she was, she asked, as coolly -as an _intrigante_ of forty, though her young heart was fluttering -wildly against the walls of its beautiful prison, “How did you get that -card?” - -“I will be quite plain with your Grace,” returned the money-lender. -“When the second lot of cavalry drafts sailed for South Africa early in -the year of 1900, our firm, ’aving a writ of _’abeas_ out against -Captain Sir Hugh Delaving of the Royal Red Dragoon Guards—I have reason -to believe your Grace knew something of the Captain?” - -“Yes,” said the Duchess, turning her cold blue eyes upon the twinkling -orbs of Mr. Moss Rubelius, “I knew something of the Captain. You do not -need to ask the question. Please go on!” - -“The Captain was,” resumed Mr. Rubelius, “for a born aristocrat, the -downiest I ever see—saw, I mean. He gave our clerks and the men with the -warrant the slip by being ’eaded up in a wooden packin’ case, labeled -‘Officers’ Stores,’ and got away to the Cape, where he was killed in his -first engagement.” - -“This,” said the Duchess, “is no news to me.” - -“No,” said the money-lender; “but it may be news to your Grace that, -though we couldn’t lay our ‘ands on the Captain himself, we got hold of -all his luggage. Not much there that was of any marketable value, except -a silver-gilt toilet-set. But there was a packet of letters in a Russia -writin’-case with a patent lock, all of ’em written in the large-sized, -square ’and peculiar to the leadin’ female aristocracy, and signed -‘Ethelwyne,’ or merely ‘E.’” - -“And this discovery procures me the pleasure of this interview?” -remarked the Duchess. “The letters are mine—you come on the errand of a -blackmailer. I have only one thing to wonder at, and that is—why you -have not come before?” - -“Myself and partner thought, as honorable men of business, it would be -better to approach the Captain first,” explained the usurer. “His mother -died the week he sailed for Africa, and left him ten thousand pounds. We -’astened to communicate with him, but——” - -“But he had been killed meanwhile,” said the Duchess. “You would have -had the money he owed—or did not owe—you, and your price for the -letters, had you reached him in time; but you did not, and your goods -are left upon your hands. Why, as honorable men of business”—her lovely -lip curled—“did you not take them at once to the Duke?” - -Mr. Moss Rubelius seemed for the first time a little nonplussed. He -looked down at his large, shiny boots, and the sight did not appear to -relieve him. - -“I will be quite plain with your Grace.” - -“Pray endeavor!” said the Duchess. - -“The letters are—to put it delicately—not compromising enough. They’re -more,” said Mr. Rubelius, “the letters a school-girl at Brighton would -write to her music-master, supposing him to be young and possessed of a -pair of cavalry legs and a moustache. There’s fuel in ’em for a -First-Class Connubial Row,” continued Mr. Rubelius, “but not material -for a Domestic Upheaval—followed by an Action for Divorce. As a man, no -longer, but once in business—for within this last month our firm has -dissolved, and myself and my partner have retired upon our means—this is -my opinion with regard to these letters in your Grace’s handwriting, -addressed to the late Captain Sir H. Delaving: The Duke, I believe, -would only laugh at ’em.” - -The Duchess started violently, and seemed about to speak. - -“But, still, the letters are worth paying for,” ended Mr. Moss Rubelius. -“And your Grace can have em—at my price.” - -“What is your price?” asked the Duchess, trying in vain to read in the -stolid physiognomy before her the secret purpose of the soul within. - -“Perhaps your Grace wouldn’t mind my taking a chair?” insinuated Mr. -Rubelius. - -“Do as you please, sir,” said the Duchess, “only be brief.” - -“I’ll try,” said the money-lender, comfortably crossing his legs. “To -begin—we’re in the London Season and the month of March, and your Grace -has a party at Rantorlie for the April salmon-fishing. Angling’s my one -vice—my only weakness, ever since I caught minnows in the Regent’s Canal -with a pickle-bottle tied to a string. Coarse fishing in the Thames was -my recreation in grub times, whenever I ’ad a day away from our office -in the Minories. Trout I’ve caught now and then, with a worm on a Stuart -tackle—since I became a butterfly. But I’ve never had a slap at a -salmon, and the finest salmon-anglin’ in the kingdom is to be ’ad in the -Haste, below Rantorlie. Ask me there for April, see that I ’ave the pick -of the sport, even if you ’ave a Royal duke to cater for, as you ’ad -last year, and, the day I land my first twenty-pounder, the letters are -yours.” - -The Duchess burst out laughing wildly. - -“Ha, ha! Oh!” she cried; “it is impossible to help it.... I can’t!... It -is so.... Ha, ha, ha!” - -“I shan’t disgrace you,” said Mr. Rubelius. “My kit and turn-out will be -by the best makers, and I’ll tip the ’ead gillie fifty pound. I’m a -soft-hearted hass to let the letters go so cheap, but——Golly! the chance -of catchin’ a twenty-pound specimen of _Salmo salar_ that a Royal -’Ighness ’as angled for in vain!... Look ’ere, your Grace”—his tones -were oily with entreaty—“write me the invitation now, on the spot, and -you shall ’ave back the first three of those nine letters down on the -nail.” - -“You have them——?” - -“With me!” said Mr. Rubelius, producing a letter-case attached to his -stout person by a chain. “The others are—say, in retirement for the -present.” He extracted from the case three large, square, gray -envelopes, their addresses penned in a large, angular, girlish hand. -“Write me the invite now,” he said, “and these are yours to burn or show -to his Grace—whichever you please. The others shall be yours the day I -land my twenty-pounder.” - -The Duchess moved to her writing-table and sat down. She chose paper and -a pen, and dashed off these few lines: - - - “900, BERKELEY SQUARE, W. - -“DEAR MR. MOSS RUBELIUS, - -“The Duke and myself have asked a few friends to join us at Rantorlie on -April 1, for the salmon-fishing, and we should be so pleased if you -would come. - - “Sincerely yours, - “ETHELWYNE RANTORLIE.” - - -“The first letter I ever had, dated from Berkeley Square,” commented Mr. -Rubelius, as, holding the letter very firmly down upon the blotter with -her slim and white, but very strong hands, the Duchess signed to him -with her chin to read, “that was anything in the nature of a genial -invitation.” - -He allowed the Duchess to take the three letters previously referred to -from his right hand, as he dexterously twitched the invitation from the -blotter with his left finger and thumb. “This, your Grace, will be as -good as half a dozen more to me,” he observed, “when I show it about and -get a par. into the papers.” - -“Horrible!” cried the Duchess, shuddering. “You would not do that!” - -Mr. Rubelius favored her with a knowing smile as he produced his shiny -hat, his gloves, and a malacca cane, gold-handled, from some remote -corner in which he had concealed them. - -“Let us, being now on the footing of ’ostess and guest, part friendly,” -he said. “Your Grace, may I take your ’and?” - -“I think the formality absolutely unnecessary,” said the Duchess, -ringing the bell. - -Then the money-lender went away, and she caught up a little portrait of -the Duke that stood upon her writing-table and began to cry over it and -kiss it, and say incoherent, affectionate things, like quite an -ordinary, commonplace young wife. For, after eighteen months of -marriage, she had fallen seriously in love with her quiet, well-bred, -intellectual husband, and the remembrance of the silly, romantic -flirtation with dead Hugh Delaving was gall and wormwood to the palate -that had learned a finer taste. How had she fallen so low as to write -those idiotic, gushing letters? - -Their perfume sickened her. She shuddered at the touch of them, as she -would have shuddered at the touch of the man to whom they had been -written had he still lived. But he was dead, and she had never let him -kiss her. She was thankful to remember that, as she put the letters in -the fire and watched them blacken and burst into flame. - - * * * * * - -“My dear Ethelwyne,” asked the Duke, “where did you pick up Mr. -Rubelius? Or, I should ask, perhaps, how did that gentleman attain to -your acquaintance?” - -“It is rather a long, dull story,” said his wife, “but he is really an -excellent person, if a little vulgar, and—— You won’t bother me any more -about him, Rantorlie, will you?” - -She clasped her gloved hands about her husband’s arm as they stood -together on the river beach below Rantorlie. The turbid flood of the -Haste, tinged brown by spate, raced past between its rocky banks; the -pine-forests climbed to meet the mountains, and the mountains lifted to -the sky their crowns of snow. There was a smell of spring in the air, -and word of new-run fish in the string of deep pools below the famous -Falls. - -“I will not, if you particularly wish it,” said her husband. “But to -banish your guest from my mind—that is impossible. For one thing, he is -hung with air-belts, bottles, and canteens, as though he were starting -for a tour in the wildest part of Norway. I believe his equipment -includes a hatchet, and I think that wad he wears upon his shoulders is -a rubber tent, but I am not sure. He has never heard of prawn-baiting, -his rods are of the most alarming weight and size, and his salmon-flies -are as large and gaudy as paroquets, and calculated, McDona says, to -frighten any self-respecting fish out of his senses. We can’t allow such -a gorgeous tyro to spoil the best water. He must be sent to some of the -smaller pools, with a man to look after him.” - -“But he—he won’t be likely to catch anything there, will he?” asked the -Duchess anxiously. - -“A seven-pounder, if he has luck!” - -“Oh, Rantorlie, that won’t do _at all_!” cried Rantorlie’s wife in -dismay. “I want him to have the chance of something _really big_. It’s -our duty to see that our guests are properly treated, and, though you -don’t like Mr. Rubelius——” - -“Dear child, I don’t dislike Mr. Rubelius. I simply don’t think about -him any more than I think about the sea-lice on the new-run fish. They -are there, and they look nasty. Rubelius is here, and so does he.” - -“_Doesn’t_ he—especially in evening-dress with a red camelia and a -turn-down collar?” gasped the Duchess. - -The Duke could not restrain a smile at the vision evoked, as Mr. -Rubelius, panoplied in india-rubber, cork, and unshrinkables, strode -into view. One of the gillies bore his rod, the other his basket. A -third followed with that wobbliest of aquatic vehicles, a coracle, -strapped upon his back. With a grin, the man waded into the water, -unhitched his light burden, placed it on the rapid stream, and stood, -knee-deep, holding the short painter, as the frisky coracle tugged at -it. - -“You’re going to try one of those things?” said the Duke, as Rubelius -gracefully lifted his waterproof helmet to the Duchess. “You know -they’re awfully crank, don’t you, and not at all safe for a bung—I mean, -a beginner?” - -“The men, your Grace,” explained Mr. Rubelius, “are going to peg me down -in the bed of the stream, a little way out from the shore.” - -“But if your peg draws,” said his host, “do you know how to use your -paddle?” - -“That will be all right, your Grace,” said the affable Rubelius. “I know -how to punt. Often on the Thames at Twicken’am——” - -“My dear sir, the Haste in Moss-shire and the Thames at Twickenham are -two very different rivers,” said the Duke, beckoning his gillies to -follow, and turning away. “I hope the man may not come to any harm,” he -said. “Ethelwyne, will you walk down to the Falls with me? I”—he -reddened a little—“I sent the others on in carts by road. We see so -little of each other these days.” - -And the young couple started, leaving Mr. Rubelius to be put into his -coracle, with much splashing, and swearing on his part, by two of the -gillies and a volunteer. It was a mild day for April in the North. A -single cuckoo called by the riverside, and the Duke and Duchess did not -hurry, though Ethelwyne turned back before she reached the Falls, below -which the deepest salmon-pools were situated, and where the men, the -boats, and the rest of the party waited. She had her rod and gillie, and -meant to spin a little desultorily from the bank, the Haste being almost -in every part too deep for waders, except in the upper reaches. - -“I wonder how that horror is getting on?” she thought, as the gillie -baited her prawn-tackle. Then, stepping out upon a natural pier of rough -stones leading well out into the turbulent whitey-brown stream, the -Duchess skilfully swung out her line, and, after a little manipulation, -found herself fast in a good-sized fish. - -“What weight should you judge it?” she asked the attendant, when the -silvery prey had been gaffed and landed. - -“All saxteen,” said the gillie briefly. “Hech! What cry was that?” - -As the man held up his hand the noise was repeated. - -“It sounds like somebody shouting ‘Help!’” said the Duchess. - -And, rod in hand, she ran out upon the pier of bowlders, and, shading -her eyes with her hand, gazed upstream, as round a rocky point above -came something like a tarred washing-basket with a human figure huddled -knees-to-chin inside. The coracle had betrayed the confidence of Mr. -Rubelius, and drifted with its hapless tenant down the mile and a half -of racing water which lay between Rantorlie and the Falls. The Falls! At -that remembrance the laughter died upon the Duchess’s lips, and the -ridiculous figure drifting towards her in the bobbing coracle became -upon an instant a tragic spectacle. For Death waited for Mr. Rubelius a -little below the next bend in the rocky bed of the Haste. And—if the -money-lender were drowned—those letters ... yes, those letters, the -proofs of the Duchess’s folly, might be regained and destroyed, -secretly, and nobody would ever—— - -It seemed an age of reflection, but really only a second or two went by -before the Duchess cried out to Rubelius in her sweet, shrill voice, and -ran out to the very end of the pier of rocks, and with a clever -underhand jerk sent the heavy prawn-tackle spinning out up and down the -river. Once she tried—and failed. The second time, two of the three -hooks stuck firmly into the wickerwork of the coracle. It spun round, -suddenly arrested in its course, but the strong salmon-gut held, and, -after an anxious minute or two, the livid Rubelius safely reached shore. - -“I’ve ’ad my lesson,” said he, as the gillie administered whisky. “Never -any more salmon-fishing for me! It’s too tryin’,” he gulped—“too ’ard -upon the nerves of a man not born to it!” Then he got up, and came -bare-headed to the Duchess. His face was very pale and flabby, and his -thick lips had lost their color, as he held out a black leather notecase -to her Grace. “You—you saved my life,” he said, “and I’m not going to be -ungrateful. Here they are—the six letters. Look ’em over, if you like, -and see for yourself. And, my obliged thanks to his Grace for his -hospitality—but I leave for town to-morrow. Good-by, your Grace. You -won’t hear of me again!” And Mr. Rubelius kept his word. - - - - - THE CHILD - - -He arrived late—long after the ship of his father’s fortune had been -safely tugged into dock—announcing his entrance upon this terrestrial -stage at a moment when people had ceased to expect him. I may say that -Tom and Leila, having spent twelve years of married life in the -propagation of theories alone, had the most definite notions upon the -subject of infant rearing, training, culture, and so forth. Leila -intended, she informed me in confidence, to be “an advanced mother,” and -Tom, as father to the child of an advanced mother, could hardly help -turning out an advanced father, even had he not cherished ambitions in -that line. - -The boy—for, as Tom reassured all sympathetic callers during the -high-pressure first week of its existence, it undoubtedly was a -boy—seemed on first sight rather smaller and spottier than the child of -so many brilliant prospects had any right to be. They gave him the name -of Harold, a clanking procession of other names coupled on to it, ending -in Alexander Eric. And they engaged and imported a professional Child -Culturist, Miss Sallie Cooter, of Washington—pronounced -Wawshington—certified teacher, trained nurse, member of the -Ethnophysiological Society of America, and one doesn’t know how many -others, to rear Harold on the very latest scientific plan. Miss Cooter, -as the intimate friend and chosen disciple of the Inventress of the -System at which Tom and Leila had taken fire (a lady of literary talents -and original views, who had brought up, on purely hygienic principles, a -family of one, and expanded it into a multiplicity of chapters)—Miss -Cooter might be trusted to achieve the desired result, and turn out -Harold, physically and mentally, a prodigy of infantile perfection. Her -work was purely philanthropic, and if she consented to accept the -inadequate salary of two hundred a year in return for her services, -Leila and Tom explained, she must in no sense be treated as a hireling. - -The united efforts of the brougham and the spring-cart fetched Miss -Cooter and a mountain of Saratogas from the station one spring day, and -she came down to afternoon tea in the very newest of Parisian tea-gowns, -which, properly speaking, is not a tea-gown at all. She was decidedly -pretty, being dark, slim, bright-eyed, keen-featured, and almost -painfully intelligent-looking, even without her gold-framed pince-nez. -We devoted the evening to sociality, as Harold’s regimen of mental and -physical culture was to commence upon the following day. - -“But you shall have a little peep at Baby,” Leila said, “when we go up -to dress for dinner.” - -Miss Cooter agreed. “But I guess I’ve got to ask you, since the boy’s -name is Har’ld, to call him by it, and no other,” she said. “Our society -is dead against abbreviations and pet names. We hold that they act as a -clog upon the expanding faculties of the child, and arrest mental -progress. Besides, when maturity is reached, how pyfectly absurd it is -to hear middle-aged men and women addressed as ‘Toto’ and ‘Tiny’!” - -Tom, who has a way of calling Leila “Mouse” when in good humor, turned -rich imperial purple at this home-thrust, and Leila, whose pet name for -Tom is “Tumps,” called attention to the green-fly on the pot-roses, both -silently registering a vow never again, save _in camera_, to use the -offending appellations. - -Miss Cooter was formally invested with Harold on the following morning. -His ex-nurse, a plump, rosy-cheeked country-woman, painfully devoid of -culture, and absolutely unskilled in the repression of emotion, was -relegated, in floods of tears, to command of the laundry. Leila, -compassionating the grief of the exile, would have pleaded for Mary’s -reduction to the post of under-nurse; but Miss Cooter pronounced that -Mary was an obstacle in the way of Progress, and an enemy to Culture, -and must go. - -Mary went, and Harold, at first too stunned by her desertion to yield to -sorrow, presently proclaimed his bereavement in a succession of -ear-piercing shrieks. - -“What is to be done?” queried Leila, by signs. - -Applying both hands to his mouth, after the fashion of a -speaking-trumpet, Tom vocalized the suggestion, “Send—for Mary—back!” - -But Miss Cooter sternly shook her head, and, bending over the cradle -which contained Harold, looked sternly in his flushed and disfigured -countenance. He immediately held his breath, growing from crimson to -purple and from purple to black as she delivered her inaugural address. - -“My dear Har’ld,” said she, with crisp distinctness, “you are a vurry -little boy——” - -“Hear, hear!” I interpolated, and got a frown from Leila. - -“And at three months old your reasoning fahculties are not developed -enough for you to comprehend that what you don’t like may be the best -thing for you. Mary has gone, and Mary will not come back. Henceforth -you are in my cayah, and you will find me fyum, but gentle. However -badly you may act, I shall not punish you.” - -Harold hiccoughed and stared up at the bright, intellectual face above -him with round, astonished eyes and open, dribbling mouth. - -“Your own sense of what is right and what is wrawng, dormant though it -be at this vurry moment, I intend to awaken and——” - -Harold, never before in his brief life harangued after this fashion, -appeared to grasp already the idea that something was wrong. The -expression of astonishment faded, his down-drooped mouth assumed the -bell or trumpet-shape, and, rapidly doubling and undoubling himself with -mechanical regularity, he emitted the most astonishing series of sounds -we had yet heard from him. No caresses were administered for the -assuagement of his woe, no broken English babbled in his infant ears. -The Rules of the System of Child Culture absolutely prohibited petting, -and baby-language was denounced by Miss Cooter as “pynicious.” - -As she predicted, Harold left off howling after a certain interval. - -“Now I guess you have lyned one lesson already!” said Miss Cooter. “When -you are older, Har’ld, you will cawmprehend that the truest kindness on -your payrents’ part praumpted the separation that has given you pain. -You will have your bottle now; you will say ‘Thank you’ for it, and -ahfter consuming the contents, you will go quietly to sleep.” - -But it took a long time to convince the dubious Harold that the -trumpet-shaped, nickel-silver-stoppered vessel tendered by his new -guardian was the equivalent of his beloved and familiar “Maw.” When -finally convinced, he grabbed it without the slightest attempt at saying -“Thank you,” and, with the gloomiest scowl that I have ever beheld upon -a countenance of such pulpy immaturity, applied himself to deglutition. -Miss Cooter shook her head discouragingly. - -“This child has a strawngly developed animal nature,” pronounced she—“a -throwback to the primeval savage, I should opine.” - -“Delightful! Do buy him a little stone ax and a baby bearskin, Leila,” I -pleaded. “Think what light he will throw upon the Tertiary Period—if -Miss Cooter happens to be right!” - -But Miss Cooter shook her head. “He must be environed by softening and -civilizing influences,” said she, “from this vurry moment. Vegetarian -diet is what I should strawngly recommend.” Her eye doubtfully -questioned the rapidly sinking level of the sterilized milk in Harold’s -glass trumpet. - -“There is such a thing as a cow-tree, isn’t there?” said Leila -anxiously. “Perhaps Cope might acclimatize one in the tropical house?” - -“But while the cow-tree is being acclimatized,” I asked disturbingly, -“upon what is Harold to live?” - -“Kindly take this,” said Miss Cooter. “May I trouble you? Please!” she -repeated sternly. But Harold only screwed up his eyes and dug his pinky -fists into them as his monitress took the empty trumpet away, telling us -stories of an atypical and highly-cultured boy baby of her acquaintance -who not only exhibited Chesterfieldian politeness at four months of age, -saying “Please” and “Thank you,” and “Kindly pass the salt,” but -regularly performed its own ablutions, went through breathing exercises -and simple gymnastics, was familiar with the use of the abacus, and -could work out sums in simple addition upon a patent hygienic slate. All -these facts Miss Cooter put before us with convincing eloquence. Her -language was well chosen, her scientific knowledge and technical skill -quite appalling. There was nothing about a baby that she did not -understand, except, perhaps—the baby. - -From that day Harold lived under the microscope. Charts of his temper, -as of his temperature, were regularly kept up to date; and his progress, -physical and psychological, was recorded by Miss Cooter in a kind of -ship’s log-book, in which data of meteorological disturbances appeared -with distressing frequency. He was not precocious enough to be -classified as abnormal, or sufficiently original to come under the -heading “Atypical,” or old enough to tell lies, and so be dubbed -imaginative. But that tertiary ancestor from whom, according to Miss -Cooter, he derived his temperament, must have possessed some strength of -character, for from the beginning to the end, Harold’s strongest -prejudice was manifested towards Miss Cooter, his most violent -attachment in the direction of the banished Mary, for whom he howled at -regular intervals until he forgot her, when he became reserved, -distrustful, and apathetic. His intellectual qualities were not of the -kind that responded to scientific forcing. He never learned that an -orange was a sphere, or a rusk an irregular cube. The india-rubber -letters and object-blocks possessed for him no meaning; the colored -balls of the abacus only awakened in him a tepid interest. He was in -texture flabby, and habitually wore an expression of languid -indifference—intensified when Miss Cooter was delivering one of her oral -lectures, to utter boredom. Despite his sanitary surroundings, his -day-nursery, intermediate nursery, and night-nursery, papered, carpeted, -furnished, lighted, ventilated, and warmed upon the most approved -scientific methods, he did not thrive, contracting complaints incidental -to infancy with passionate enthusiasm, and keeping them long after -another child would have done with them. And then he complicated an -unusually violent attack of croup with convulsions, and Miss Cooter -guessed she had better resign the case, which she did “right away,” in -favor of some atypical, imaginative, non-atavistic young American -citizen. When last I looked into the hygienic day-nursery, most of the -educational objects it had contained had vanished—presumably into -cupboards—and Harold was lying in the cotton lap of his recovered Mary, -nursing a stuffed kitten, and sucking an attenuated thumb. The -expression of gloomy boredom had vanished from his countenance as Mary -chanted a rhyme, deplorably lacking in sense and construction, about a -certain Baby Bunting whose father went a-hunting to get a little -rabbit-skin to wrap the Baby Bunting in. It afforded Harold such -undisguised delight that I felt sure the rabbit must have burrowed in -tertiary strata, and that the predatory parents of Baby Bunting must -have been the primal type from which Harold hailed. But Miss Cooter, who -could alone have sympathized with my scientific delight in this -discovery, was tossing in mid-Atlantic on her way to the land of the -Stars and Stripes. - -We were, however, to meet yet once again under the spangled folds of Old -Glory. It was a year or so later, on board a Hudson River steamboat. She -was prettier than ever, quite beautifully dressed, and her _entourage_ -comprised two nurses (a colored “mammy” and a pretty Swiss), a -perambulator with a baby, and a husband. She introduced me to the -husband and the baby, a round, rosy baby, neither atypical nor -atavistic, but just of the common, old-fashioned kind. - -“Isn’t he cute!” she exclaimed, with rapture. “Smile at Momma, Baby, and -show um’s pretty toofs!” Then she addressed the child as a “doodleum -ducksey,” while I stood speechless and staring. - -My circular gaze awakened memories of the past. She asked after Harold. - -“He is very well—now!” I said with point. “May I be pardoned for -remarking that you do not appear to be rearing your own baby upon the -System of Child Culture you formerly followed with such extraordinary -success?” - -“No,” said the late Miss Cooter thoughtfully. “No-o!” - -“Why not?” I asked, hot with the remembrance of Harold’s sufferings. - -Miss Cooter considered, a beautifully manicured forefinger in a dimple -that I had never observed before. - -“Why not? You earnestly advocated the system—for other people’s babies.” - -“Well,” said the late Miss Cooter, with a burst of candor, “I reckon -because those _were_ other people’s babies. This is mine!” - - - - - A HINDERED HONEYMOON - - -The coffee and liquor stage of a long and elaborate luncheon having been -reached, the rubicund and puffy personage occupying the chair at the -head of the table—number three against the glass partition, east end, -Savoy Grill-room—waved a stout hand, and instantly eight of the nimblest -waiters—two to a double-leaved folding-screen—closed in upon the table -with these aids to privacy. The rubicund personage, attired, like each -of his male guests present, in the elaborate frock-coat, with white -buttonhole bouquet, tender-hued necktie, pale-complexioned waistcoat, -gray trousers, and shiny patent leathers inseparable from a wedding—the -rubicund personage (who was no less a personage than Mr. Otto Funkstein, -managing head of the West End Theatre Syndicate) got upon his legs, -champagne-glass in hand, and proposed the united healths of Lord and -Lady Rustleton. - -“For de highly-brivileged nopleman who hos dis day gonferred ubon de -brightest oond lofliest ornamend of de London sdage a disdinguished name -oond an ancient didle I hof noding put gongradulations,” said Mr. -Funkstein, balancing himself upon the tips of his patent-leather toes, -and thrusting his left hand (hairy and adorned with rings of price) in -between the jeweled buttons of his large, double-breasted buff -waistcoat. “For de sdage oond de pooblic dot will lose de most prilliant -star dot has efer dwinkled on de sdage of de West Enf Deatre I hof -nodings poot gommiseration. As de manacher of dot blayhouse I feel vit -de pooblic. As de friend—am I bermitted to say de lofing oond baternal -friend of de late Miss Betsie le Boyntz?”—(tumultuous applause checked -the current of the speaker’s eloquence)—“changed poot dis day in de -dwingling of an eye—in de hooding of a modor-horn—by de machick of a -simble ceremony at de Registrar’s—gonverted from a yoong kirl in de -first dender ploom”—(deafening bravos hailed this flight of poetic -imagination)—“de first dender ploom of peauty oond de early brime of -chenius”—(the lady-guests produced their handkerchiefs)—“into a yoong -vife, desdined ere long to wear upon her lofely prow de goronet of an -English Gountess”—(Otto began to weep freely)—“a Gountess of -Pomphrey.... Potztauzend! de dears dey choke me. Mine dear vriends, I -gannot go on.” - -Everybody patted Funkstein upon the back at once. Everybody uttered -something consoling at an identical moment. Mopping his streaming -features with the largest white cambric handkerchief ever seen, the -manager was about to resume, when Lord Rustleton—whose tragic demeanor -at the Registrar’s Office had created a subdued sensation among the -officials there, whose deep depression during the wedding banquet had -been intensified rather than alleviated by frequent bumpers of -champagne, and who had gradually collapsed in his chair during -Funkstein’s address until little save his hair and features remained -above the level of the tablecloth, galvanically rose and, with a soft -attempt to thump the table, cried: “Order!” - -“Choke him off,” murmured a smart comedian to his neighbor, “for pity’s -sake. He’s going to tell us how he threw over the swell girl he was -engaged to a month before their wedding—for Petsie’s sake; and how he -has brought his parents’ gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, and for -ever forfeited the right to call himself an English gentleman. I know, -bless you! I had it all from him last night at the Mummers’ Club, and -this morning at his rooms in Wigmore Street.” - -“Rustleton!” - -“Order!” yelled Rustleton again. - -“Order!” echoed Funkstein, turning a circular pair of rather bibulous -and bloodshot blue eyes upon the protestant bridegroom. “Oond vy order?” - -“Permimme to reminyou,” said Rustleton, with laborious distinctness, -“that the present Head of my fammary, the Rironaurable the Earl of -Pomphrey—in poinnofac’, my Fara—is at the present momen’ of speaking in -the enjoymen’ of exhallent health, an’ nowistanning present painfully -strained rela’ions essisting bi’ween us, I have no desire—nor, I feel -convinned, has my wife, Lady Rustleton, any desire—to, in poinnofac’, -usurp his shoes, or play leapfrog over his—in poinnofac’, his coffin. -Therefore, the referen’ of the distinnwished gelleman who, in -poinnofac’, holds the floor, to the coronet of a Countess in premature -conneshion with the brow of my newly-marriwife I am compelled to regard -as absorrutely ram bad form!” - -“Tam bad _vat_?” shrieked Funkstein. - -Rustleton leaned over the table. His eyes were set in a leaden-hued -countenance. His hair hung lankly over his damp forehead. He nerved -himself for a supreme effort. “Ununerrarrably ram baform!” he said, and -with this polysyllabic utterance fell into a crystal dish of melted ice, -and a comatose condition. - -“Bad, bad boy!” said the recently-made Lady Rustleton, biting her -notorious cherry underlip, and darting a brilliant glance at Funkstein -out of her celebrated eyes as Rustleton was snatched from his perilous -position by a strong-armed chorus beauty; and the low comedian, who had -become famous since the production of _The Charity Girl_, dried the -Viscount’s head with a table-napkin and propped him firmly in his chair. - -“It is not de Boy, but de man dat drinks it,” giggled Funkstein, with -recovered good temper. “Ach ja, oond also de voman. How many bints hof I -not seen you....” - -“That’ll do, thanks,” said the newly-made Viscountess, with her -well-known expression of prim propriety. “Not so much reminiscing, you -know; it’s what poor Tonnie called ‘ahem’d bad form’ just now, didn’t -you, ducky?” - -“Don’t call me rucky,” said the gentleman addressed, who was now rapidly -lapsing into the lachrymose stage of his complaint. “Call me a -mirerrable worm or a ‘fernal villain. I reserve both names. Doesn’ a man -who has alienarid the affeshuns of his father, blirid his mother’s -fonnest hopes, and broken his pli’rid word to a fonnanloving woman—girl, -by Jingo——” - -“Oh, do dry up about that now, darling!” said Lady Rustleton tartly. “I -dare say she deserved what she got. What you have to remember now is -that you’re married to me, and we shall be spinning away in the -Liverpool Express in another hour, _en route_ for the ocean wave. I -always _said_, when I _did_ have a honeymoon—a real one—I’d have it on -the opening week of the production on a big Atlantic liner. And this is -the trial voyage of the _Regent Street_, and she’s the biggest thing in -ships afloat to-day. Do let’s drink her health!” - -The toast was drunk with enthusiasm. Two waiters advanced bearing a -wedding-cake upon a charger. The bride coyly cut a segment from the -mass. It was divided and passed round. The ladies took pieces to dream -on, the men shied at the indigestible morsels. Somebody had the bright -idea of sending a lump to the chauffeur of the bridal motor-car, which -had been waiting in the bright October sunshine, outside in the -palm-adorned courtyard, since one o’clock. A _chassé_ of cognac went -round. Rustleton was shaken into consciousness of his marital -responsibilities and a fur-lined overcoat; everybody kissed Petsie; all -the women cried, Petsie included—but not unbecomingly. Her bridal gown, -a walking-costume of white cloth trimmed with silver braid, contained a -thoroughly contented young woman; her hat, a fascinating creation, -trimmed with a rose-colored bird, a _marquisette_, and a real lace veil, -crowned a completely happy wife. Tonnie possessed nothing extraordinary -in the way of good looks or good brains, it was true; but Tonnie’s wife -was wealthy in these physical attributes. He possessed a high-nosed, -aristocratic old fossil of a father, whose prejudices against a -daughter-in-law taken from the lyric boards must be got over. He owned a -perfectly awful mother, whose ancestral pride and whose three chins -must—nay, should—be leveled with the dust. His sisters, the Ladies -Pope-Baggotte, Petsie said to herself with a smile, were foewomen -unworthy of such steel as is forged in the _coulisses_ of the musical -comedy theaters. Yet should they, too, bite the dust. In a golden -halo—partly hope, partly champagne—she saw Lady Rustleton sweeping, -attired in electrifying gowns, onwards to the conquest of Society. The -greengrocer’s shop in Camberwell, among whose cabbages and potatoes her -infancy had been passed; the Board-School, on whose benches the -first-fruits of knowledge had been garnered, were quite forgotten. Some -other little circumstances connected with the Past were blotted from the -slate of memory by the perfumed sponge of gratified ambition. She bore -the deluge of rice and confetti with dazzling equanimity. She hummed -“Buzzy, Buzzy, Busy Bee” as the motor-car, its chauffeur sorely -embarrassed by a giant wedding favor, a pair of elderly slippers tied on -the rear-axle, sped to Euston. - -“I’ve got there at last,” said Petsie, as the Express ran into the -Liverpool docks and toiling human ants began to climb up the ship’s -gangways thrust downwards from the beetling gray sides of the biggest of -all modern liners. “I’ve got there at last, I have, and in spite of -Billy Boman. A precious little silly I must have been to take a -hairdresser for a swell; but at seventeen what girl brought up in a -Camberwell backstreet knows a paste solitaire from a real diamond, or a -ready-made suit, bought for thirty bob at a Universal Supply Stores, -from a Bond Street one? And if nice curly hair and a straight nose, a -clear skin, and a good figure were all that’s wanted to make a -gentleman, Billy could have sported himself along with the best. But now -he’s dead, and I’ve married again into the Peerage, and I shall sit on -the Captain’s right at the center saloon table, not only as the -prettiest woman on board his big new ship, but as a bride and a -Viscountess into the bargain. Wake up, Tonnie dear. You’ve slept all the -way from Euston, and there’s a plank to climb.” - -“Eh?” Tonnie stared with glassy eyes at the scurrying crowds of human -figures, the piled-up trucks of giant trunks and dress-baskets soaring -aloft at the end of donkey-engine cables, to vanish into the bowels of -the marine leviathan. “Eh! What! Hang it! How confoundedly my head -aches! Funkstein must have given us a brutally unwholesome luncheon. Why -did I allow him to entertain us? I felt from the first it was a hideous -mistake.” - -“Why did you let the fellows persuade you to drink more of the Boy than -is good for you, you soft-headed old darling?” Petsie gurgled. She -smoothed the lank hair of her new-made spouse, and, reaching down his -hat from the netting, crowned him with it, and bounded out of the -reserved first-class compartment like a lively little rubber ball. -“Here’s Timms, your man, with my new maid. No, thank you, Simpkins. You -can take the traveling-bags. I may be a woman of title, but I mean to -carry my jewel-case myself. Come along into the Ark, Tonnie, with the -other couples. What number did you say belonged to our cabin, darling?” - -“The Gobelin Tapestry Bridal Suite Number Four,” said Rustleton, with a -pallid smile, as a white-capped, gold-banded official hurried forward to -relieve the Viscountess of her coroneted jewel-case. - -“How tweedlums!” sighed Petsie, retaining firm hold of the leather -repository of her brand-new diamond tiara and necklace, not to mention -all the rings and brooches and bangles reaped from the admiring -occupants of the orchestra-stalls at the West End Theatre during the -tumultuously successful run of _The Charity Girl_. - -“It costs for the trip—five days, four hours, and sixteen -minutes—between Queenstown and the Daunts Rock Lightship,” said -Rustleton, with a heavy groan, “exactly two hundred and seventy-five -guineas. Ha, ha!” He laughed hollowly. - -“But why did you choose such a screamingly swell suite, you wicked, -wasteful duckums?” cried the bride coquettishly, as their guide switched -on the electric light and revealed a chaste and sumptuous nest of -apartments in carved and inlaid mahogany, finished in white enamel with -artistic touches of gold, and hung with tapestry of a greeny-blue and -livid flesh-color. - -“Because I can’t afford it,” said the dismal bridegroom, “and because -the meals and all that will be served here separately and privately.” He -sank limply upon a sumptuous lounge, and hurled an extinct cigarette-end -into an open fireplace surrounded by beaten brass and crowned by a -mantel in rose-colored marble. “The execrable ordeal of the first cabin -dining-room, with its crowds of gross, commonplace, high-spirited, -hungry feeders will thus be spared us. You need never set foot in the -Ladies’ Drawing-room; the Lounge and the Smoking-room shall equally be -shunned by me. Exercise on the Promenade Deck is a necessity. We shall -take it daily, and take it together, my _incognito_ preserved by a -motor-cap and goggles, your privacy ensured by a silk—two silk—veils.” -He smiled wanly. “I have roughly laid down these lines, formulated this -plan, for the maintenance of our privacy without making any allowance -for the exigencies of the weather and the condition of the sea. But if I -should be prostrated—and I am an exceedingly bad sailor at the best of -times—remember, dearest, that a tumbler of hot water administered every -ten minutes, alternately with a slice of iced lemon, should feverish -symptoms intervene, is not a panacea, but an alleviation, as my cousin, -Hambridge Ost, would say. I rather wonder what Hambridge is saying now. -He possesses an extraordinary faculty of being scathingly sarcastic at -the expense of persons who deserve censure. An unpleasant sensation in -my spine gives me the impression—do you ever have those -impressions?—that he is exercising that faculty now—and at my expense. -Timms, I will ask you to unpack my dressing-gown and papooshes, and -then, if you, my darling, do not object, I will lie down comfortably in -my own room and have a cup of tea. If I might make a suggestion, -dearest, it is that you would tell your maid to get out _your_ -dressing-gown and _your_ slippers, and lie down comfortably in _your_ -own room and have a cup of tea.” - -The twenty-six thousand ton Atlantic flyer moved gracefully down the -Mersey, the last flutter of handkerchiefs died away on the stage, the -last head was pulled back over the vessel’s rail, the seething tumult of -settling down reduced itself to a hive-like buzzing. The _Regent -Street’s_ passenger-list comprised quite a number of notabilities -connected with Art and the Drama, a promising crop of American -millionaires, an ex-Viceroy of India, and a singularly gifted -orang-utan, the biggest sensation of the London season, who had dined -with the Lord Mayor and Corporation at the Mansion House, and was now -crossing the ocean to fulfill a roof-garden engagement in New York, and -be entertained at a freak supper by six of the supreme leaders of -American Society. Petsie pondered the passenger-list with a pouting lip. -She heard from her enraptured maid of the glories of the floating palace -in which the first week of her honeymoon was to be spent as she sipped -the cup of tea recommended by Rustleton. - -“Lifts to take you up and down stairs, silver-gilt and enamel souvenirs -given to everybody free, Turkish baths, needle baths, electric baths, -hairdressing and manicuring saloons, millinery establishments, a theater -with a stock company who don’t know what sea-sickness means, jewelers’ -shops, florists, and Fuller’s, a palmist, and a thought-reader. -Goodness! the gay old ship must be a floating London, with fish and -things squattering about underneath one’s shoe-heels instead of -‘phone-wires and electric-light cables. And I’m shut up like a blooming -pearl in an oyster, instead of running about and looking at everything. -Oh, Simpkie’—Simpkins, the new maid, had been a dresser at the West End -Theatre—“I’m dying for the chance of a little flutter on my own, and how -am I to get it?” - -The _Regent Street_ gave a long, stately, sliding dive forwards as a -mammoth roller of St. George’s Channel swept under her sky-scraping -stern. A long, plaintive moan—forerunner of how many to come!—sounded -from the other side of the partition dividing the apartments of the -bride from that of her newly-wedded lord. - -“I think you’re goin’ to get it, my lady,” said the demure Simpkins, as -Rustleton’s man knocked at his mistress’s door to convey the intimation -that his lordship preferred not to dine. - -A head-wind and a heavy sea combined, during the next three days of the -voyage, to render Rustleton a prey to agonies which are better imagined -than described. While he imbibed hot water and nibbled captain’s -biscuits, or lay prone and semi-conscious in the clutches of the hideous -malady of the wave, Lady Rustleton, bright-eyed, _petite_, and -beautifully dressed, paraded the promenade deck with a tail of male and -female cronies, played at quoits and croquet, to the delight of select -audiences, and sat in sheltered corners after dinner, well out of the -radius of the electric light, sometimes with two or three, generally -with one, of the best-looking victims of her bow and spear. She sat on -the Captain’s right hand at the center table, outrageously bedecked with -diamonds. She played in a musical sketch and sang at a charity concert. -“Buzzy, Buzzy, Busy Bee” was thenceforth to be heard in every corner of -the vast maritime hotel that was hurrying its guests Westward at the -utmost speed of steel and steam. Fresh bouquets of Malmaison carnations, -roses and violets from the Piccadilly florists, were continually heaped -upon her shrine, dainty jeweled miniature representations of the _Regent -Street’s_ house-flag, boxes of choice bonbons showered upon her like -rain. The celebrated orang-utan occupied the chair next hers at a -special banquet, the newest modes in millinery found their way -mysteriously to her apartment, if she had but tried them on, smiled, -and, with the inimitable Petsie wink at the reflection of her own -provokingly pretty features in the shop mirror, approved. - -“I keep forgetting I’m a married woman,” she would say, with the Petsie -smile, when elderly ladies of the cat-like type, and middle-aged men who -were malicious, inquired after the health of the invisible Lord -Rustleton. “But he’s there, poor dear; or as much as is left of him. -Quite contented if he gets his milk and beef-juice, and the hot water -comes regularly, and there’s a slice of lemon to suck. No; I’m afraid I -can’t give him your kind message of sympathy, you know, because sympathy -is too disturbing, he says.... He doesn’t even like _me_ to ask him if -he’s feeling bad, because, as he tells me, I have only to look at him to -know that he is, poor darling.” - -Thus prattled the bride, even ready to _faire l’ingénue_ for the benefit -of even an audience of one. The voyage agreed with Petsie. Her -complexion, dulled by make-up, assumed a healthier tint; her eyes and -smile grew brighter, even as the ruddy gold faded from her abundant -hair. The end of this story would have been completely different had not -the tricksy sea-air brought about this deplorable change. - -“I’m getting dreadfully rusty, as you say, Simpkie; and if the man in -the hairdresser’s shop on the Promenade Deck Arcade can give me a -shampoodle and touch me up a bit—quite an artist is he, and quite the -gentleman? Oh, very well, I’ll look in on my gentleman-artist between -breakfast and _bouillon_.” - -Petsie did look in. The artist’s studio, elegantly hung with heavy pink -plush curtains, only contained, besides a shampooing-basin, a large -mirror, a nickel-silver instrument of a type between a chimney-cowl and -a ship’s ventilator, and a client’s chair, a young person of -ingratiating manners, who offered Lady Rustleton the chair, and -enveloping her dainty person in a starchy pink wrapper, touched a bell, -and saying, “The operator will attend immediately, moddam,” glided -noiselessly away. Petsie, approvingly surveying her image in the mirror, -did not hear a male footstep behind her. But as the head and shoulders -of the operator rose above the level of her topmost waves, and his -reflected gaze encountered her own, she became ghastly pale beneath her -rose-bloom, and with a little choking cry of recognition gasped out: - -“Bill ... Boman! ... it can’t be you?” - -“The old identical same,” Mr. William Boman said, with a cheerful smile. -“And if the shock has made you giddy, I can turn on the basin-hose in -half a tick, and give you a splash of cold as a reviver. Will you have -it? No? Then don’t faint, that’s all.” - -“You wrote to say you were dying at Dieppe five years ago,” sobbed -Petsie, into the folds of the pink calico wrapper. “You wicked, cruel -man, you know you did!” - -“And now you’re crying because I didn’t die,” said Mr. Boman, arranging -his sable forehead-curls in the glass, and complacently twirling a -highly-waxed mustache. “No pleasing you women. You never know what you -want, strikes me.” - -“But somebody sent me a French undertaker’s bill for a first-class -funeral, nearly thirty pounds it came to when we’d got the francs down -to sovereigns,” moaned Petsie, “and I paid it.” - -“That was my little dodge,” said Mr. Boman calmly, “to get a few -yellow-birds to go on with. Trouble I’d got into—don’t say any more -about it, because I am a reformed character now. And now we’re talking -about characters, what price yours, my Lady Rustleton?” - -“Oh, Billy!” - -“Bigamy ain’t a pretty word, but that’s what it comes to, as I’ve said -to myself many an evening as I smoked my cigar on the second-class deck -promenade, and heard you singing away in there to the swells in the -music-room like a—like a cage full of canaries. I shan’t make no scene -nor nothing like that, says I. Her hair’s getting a bit off color—see it -by daylight, she’ll have to come my way before long, and then I shall -tip her the ghost with a vengeance.” - -“Oh, Bill dear, how could you be so cruel!” pleaded Petsie. - -“Not so much of the ‘Bill dear,’ I’ll trouble you,” said Mr. Boman -sternly. “Why don’t you produce that aristocratic corpse you’ve married, -and let me have it out with him? Seasick, is he? I’ll make him land-sick -before I’ve done with him, and so I tell you. He’ll have to sell some of -his blooming acres to satisfy me, or some of them diamonds of yours, my -lady.” - -But at this juncture the delayed attack of hysteria swooped upon its -victim. Summoning his young lady-assistant, Mr. Boman, with a few -injunctions, placed the patient in her care. Then brushing a few -bronze-hued hairs from his frock-coat, removing his dapper apron, and -tidying his hair with a rapid application of the brush, he winked as one -well pleased, and betook himself to Gobelin Tapestry Bridal Suite Number -Four, in the character of a Messenger of Fate. - -Three hours later the news had leaked out all over the _Regent Street_. -The great vessel buzzed like a wasps’-nest, and the utmost resources of -wireless telegraphy were taxed to communicate to sister ships upon the -ocean and fellow-men upon the nearest land the astounding fact of the -sudden collapse of the Rustleton marriage, owing to the arrival on the -scene of a previous husband of the lady. - -“_Ach Himmel!_ it is klorious!” gasped Funkstein, waving a pale blue -paper, “I haf here Petsie’s reply to de offer of de Syindigate—she comes -to de Vest End Theatre; at an advanced salary returns—and de house will -be cram-jammed to de doors for anoder tree hoondred berformances. It is -an ill vind dot to nopody plows goot, mark my vords!” - -Lord Pomphrey had just given utterance to a similar sentiment; -Rustleton, on the other side of the Atlantic, had previously arrived at -a like conclusion. Mr. Boman had entertained the same view from the -outset of affairs. Petsie—again Le Poyntz—realizing the gigantic -advertisement that the resurrection of her first proprietor involved, -was gradually becoming reconciled to the situation. When all the -characters of a tale are made content, is it not time the narrative came -to a close? - - - - - “CLOTHES—AND THE MAN—!” - - -The smoking-room of the Younger Sons’ Club, the bow-windows of which -command a view of Piccadilly, contained at the hour of two-thirty its -full complement of habitual nicotians, who, seated in the comfortable -armchairs, recumbent on the leather divans, or grouped upon the -hearthrug, lent their energies with one accord to the thickening of the -atmosphere. - -Hambridge Ost, a small, drab-hued man with a triangular face, -streakily-brushed hair, champagne-bottle shoulders, and feet as narrow -as boot-trees without the detachable side-pieces, invariably encased in -the shiniest of patent leathers,—Hambridge, from behind a large green -cigar, was giving a select audience of very young and callow listeners -the benefit of his opinions upon dress. - -“If I proposed to jot down the small events of my insignificant private -life, dear fellers, or had the gift—supposing I did commit ’em to -paper—of makin’ ’em interesting ...” said Hambridge, raising his -eyebrows to the edge of his carefully parted hair and letting them down -again, “I don’t mind telling you, dear fellers, that the resultant -volume or two would mark an epoch in autobiographical literature. But, -like the violet—so to put it—I have, up to the present, preferred to -blush unseen. Not that the violet _can_ blush anything but purple—or -blue in frosty weather, but the simile has up to now always held good in -literature. Lord Pomphrey—a man appreciative to a degree of the talents -of his relatives—has said to me a thousand times if one, ‘Confound you, -Hambridge, why is not that, or this, or the other, so to put it, in -print?’ But Pomphrey may be partial——” - -“No, no!” exclaimed, in a very deep bass, a very young man in a knitted -silk waistcoat and a singularly brilliant set of pimples. “No, no!” - -“Much obliged, dear fellow,” said Hambridge, hoisting his eyebrows and -letting them drop in his characteristic manner. “Some of my views may -possess originality—even freshness when expressed, as I invariably -express ’em, in a perfectly commonplace manner.” - -“No, no!” again exclaimed the pimply-faced owner of the deep bass voice. - -“As to the Ethics of the Crinoline, now,” went on Hambridge, “I observe -that an energetic effort is being made—in a certain quarter and amongst -a certain _coterie_—to revive the discarded hoops of 1855–66. They did -their best to impart a second vitality to the Early Victorian -poke-bonnet some years ago. Why did the effort fail, dear fellers? -Because, with their accompanying garniture of modesty, blushes were -considered necessary to the feminine equipment at the date I have -mentioned. And because blushes—I speak on the most reliable -authority—are more difficult to simulate than tears. Also because, -looking down the pink silk-lined tunnel of the poke-bonnet of 1855–66, -it was impossible for you, as an ordinary male creature, to decide -whether the rosy glow invading the features of the woman you adored—we -adored women, dear fellows, at that period—was genuine or the reverse. -There you have in a nutshell the reason why the poke-bonnet was not -welcomed at the dawn of the twentieth century. Modesty and blushes, dear -fellers, are out of date.” - -Hambridge leaned back in his chair with an air of mild triumph, running -his movable eye—the left was rigidly fixed behind his monocle—over the -faces of the listeners. - -“Will the woman of the Twentieth Century willingly enclose her legs—they -were limbs in 1855–66—once more in the steel-barred calico cage, fifteen -feet in circumference, if not more, that contained the woman of the -Early Victorian Era? Dear fellers, the question furnishes material for -an interestin’ debate. In my young days there was no sittin’ in ladies’ -pockets, no cosy-cornering, so to put it. You invariably kept at a -respectful distance from the young creature whom you, more or less -ardently—we could be ardent in those days—desired to woo and win, simply -because you couldn’t get nearer. You didn’t approach her mother for -permission to pay your addresses-her mother was encased in a similar -panoply. You went to her father, because you could get at him—there you -have the plain, simple reason of the custom of ‘askin’ Papa.’ And if you -were reprehensibly desirous of eloping with another fellow’s wife, you -didn’t express your wish in words. You wrote a letter invitin’ her to -fly with you—we called it flying in those days—and dropped it in the -post. If the lady disapproved, she dropped you. If not, she bolted with -you in a chaise with four or a pair—and even then her crinoline kept you -at a distance. You were no more at liberty to put your arm round her -waist than if the eye of Early Victorian Society had been glued upon -you. - -“To put forward another reason _contra_ the reacceptance of the -crinoline by the Woman of To-day, dear fellers, the Woman of To-day can -swim. Therefore, the advantage of being dressed practically in a -lifebuoy, does not appeal to her as it did early in the previous reign. -I could quote you an instance of an accident which occurred to the Dover -and Calais paddle-wheel steam-packet, on board which I happened to be a -passenger, which, owing to the negligence of the captain, ran ashore -upon a sandbank half a mile from the pier. The first boat which was -lowered was filled with lady passengers, all in crinolines. It was -swamped by a wave which washed over the stern. The steersman and the -sailors who were rowing were unluckily snatched to a watery grave, poor -fellows. Not so the women passengers of the swamped boat, dear -creatures, who simply floated, keeping hold of one another’s scarves and -bonnet-strings, and so forth, until they could be picked up and conveyed -ashore. Not one of ’em could swim a stroke—and all were saved, thanks to -the crinoline in which each was attired. But, useful as under certain -circumstances the birdcage may be, the Twentieth Century Woman will -never be tempted back into it. She has learned what it is to have -muscles and to use ’em, dear fellers! and the era of languid inertia is -over for her. - -“I will add, dear fellers, that in these drab and uncommonly dismal days -of early December, the dash of color now perceptible in the clothes of -the best dressed men present at social functions of the superior sort, -adds largely to the cheeriness of the scene. _Cela me fait cet effet_, -dear fellers, but of course I may be wrong. And the first man to adopt -and appear in the newest style in evenin’ dress—a bright blue coat of -fine faced cloth, with black velvet collar, velvet cuffs, and silk -facin’s, worn with trousers of the same material, braided with black -down the side seams, and a V-cut vest of white Irish silk poplin-has -realized a fortune through it. - -“A well-known man, dear fellers, connected with two old Tory families of -the highest distinction, educated at Eton, popular at the -University-where he did not allow his love of study to interfere with -the more serious pursuit of sport—d’ye take me? Suppose we call him Eric -de Peauchamp-Walmerdale. His marriage took place yesterday at St. -Neot’s, Knightsbridge, the sacred edifice bein’ decorated with large -lilies and white chrysanthemums, and the gatherin’ of guests -surprisingly large—the biggest crush of the Season as yet. There were -six little girl-bridesmaids in pale blue, with diamond lockets, and the -bride’s train was carried by four pages, also in pale blue, with -gold-headed canes. As for the bride, considerin’ her age—a cool -seventy—surprisin’, dear fellers! Only daughter and heiress of an -ex-butler, who invented a paste for cleanin’ plate, patented it, and -became a millionaire, Isaac Shyne, Esq., M.P., of The Beeches, Wopsley, -and 710, Park Lane, deceased ten years ago at the ripe age of ninety. - -“De Peauchamp-Walmerdale’s married sister lived next door to the rich -Miss Shyne, who practically went nowhere, and only received her -Nonconformist minister, and a few whist-playin’ friends of the same -denomination on certain specified evenin’s. House absolutely Early -Victorian—walnut-wood drawing-room suite, upholstered in green silk rep, -mahogany and brown leather for the dinin’-room. Berlin woolwork -curtains, worked by the mistress of the house, at all the front windows. -Three parrots, two poodles, and a pair of King Charles spaniels of the -obsolete miniature breed. Maid-servants—all elderly, butler like a -bishop, uncommon good cellar of gouty old Madeiras and sherries, laid -down by the defunct Shyne, awful collection of pictures by Smith, Jones, -Brown, and Robinson, splendid plate, too heavy to lift. And a fortune of -one hundred and fifty thousand in the most reliable Home Rails and -breweries, besides an estate of sixty thousand acres in Crannshire, and -the title deeds of the Park Lane house. - -“It came—the idea of bringing Miss Shyne and De Peauchamp-Walmerdale -together—like a flash of inspiration—as the dear feller’s sister, Lady -Tewsminster, told me yesterday when people had struggled up after the -Psalm, and yawned through the address, _not_ delivered by a -Nonconformist, but by the Bishop of Baxterham; and while the choir were -singin’, ‘O Perfect Love!’ She was frightfully cast down when she -discovered through her maid, who had scraped, under orders, an -acquaintance with Miss Shyne’s elderly confidential attendant, that her -lady objected to young gentlemen—couldn’t endure the sight, so to put -it, of anything masculine under fifty, or without a bulge under the -waistcoat, and a bald top to its head. Further inquiries elicited that -Miss Shyne had had a disappointment in early life, and wore at the back -of an old-fashioned cameo brooch, representin’ the ‘Choice of Paris,’ -the portrait on ivory of a handsome young man with fair hair, the livin’ -image of Eric de Peauchamp-Walmerdale, in a light blue tail-coat, with a -black velvet collar and gold buttons, holding a King Charles spaniel of -the miniature breed under his arm. - -“Dear fellers, Lady Tewsminster, the evening upon which she received -this item of information, knew no more than a newly-born infant what she -was going to do with it. As happens to most of us, she mentally filed it -for further reference, and getting into her gown, her diamonds, and her -evening _coiffure_—those Etruscan rolled curls are extremely becoming to -a woman of pronounced outlines, and there’s only one place in London, -she tells me, where they can be bought or redressed—went down to the -drawing-room. - -“A small but select party had been invited for the evenin’, including, -on the feminine side, an American heiress on the lookout for a husband -with a title—or, at least, the next heir to one-a handsome widow with a -fairly decent jointure, and a couple of marriageable girls with almost -quite respectable _dots_. From these, carefully collected on approval by -a devoted sister, De Peauchamp-Walmerdale might, who knows? have -selected a life partner, and sunk into the obscurity of moderate means -for ever, had it not occurred to him upon that particular evening—do you -take me, dear fellers?—to array himself in the latest cry of modern -masculine evening dress. - -“He was standing on the hearthrug when Lady Tewsminster entered, a tall, -slim, youthful figure, fair-haired and complexioned, and quite -uncommonly handsome, in his light blue coat with the black velvet -collar, braided accompaniments, and pearl-buttoned, watch-chainless, -white silk vest. - -“‘How do you like me, Ju, old girl?’ he said, coming to kiss her. ‘I’ve -come to dine in character as our great-grandfather. Awful fool I feel, -but my tailor insisted on my wearin’ ’em, and as I owe the brute a -frightful bill I thought I’d best appease him by givin’ in.’ - -“The gilded Early Victorian frame of the high mantel-mirror behind De -Peauchamp-Walmerdale had the effect of being a frame, if you foller me, -out of which, the figure of the dear feller had stepped. A cameo brooch -shot into the mind of Lady Tewsminster, above it the long narrow face -and dowdy black lace bonnet of the heiress, Miss Jane Ann Shyne. A plan -of campaign was instantly formulated in the mind of that surprising -woman. She stepped to one of the windows commandin’ Park Lane, drew -aside the blind, and saw, paddlin’ up and down on the rainy pavement -outside, the waterproofed figure of Miss Shyne’s confidential maid, -taking the King Charles spaniels and the poodles for their customary -evenin’ ta-ta. Instantly she touched the bell, sent for her maid and -said to her in a rapid undertone, ‘Johnson, ten pounds are yours if you -can steal one of Miss Shyne’s pet King Charles spaniels while their -attendant is not looking. There is no risk—I shall send the creature -back in ten minutes. Will you undertake this? Yes? Very well, go and get -the beast.’ - -“The maid, Johnson, departed swiftly, the area-gate clicked, and Lady -Tewsminster, feverish with the great project boiling under her -transformation, paced the drawing-room until she heard the second click -of the gate. She swept down the stairs to meet Johnson, in whose black -silk apron struggled the smallest of the King Charles spaniels. ‘Did the -woman see?’ whispered the mistress. ‘Not a bit of her, my lady,’ -returned the maid. ‘She was gossiping with the District Police-Inspector -about a burglary they’ve had three doors away. So I got Tottles—that’s -his name, my lady-quite easy, not being on a lead.’ - -“Telling the maid the promised ten pounds should be hers that night, -Lady Tewsminster snatched the struggling ‘Tottles’ from the enveloping -apron and swept back to her drawing-room to carry out her plan. ‘Peachie -dear,’ she said as she entered, ‘it would be frightfully sweet of you if -you would run in next door and carry this little beast to its owner, -Miss Shyne. Insist on seeing her; do not give the animal into any other -hands; do not wear your hat or an overcoat. I am firm upon this; and -remember,’ she fixed her large, expressive eyes full upon her brother’s -face, ‘remember, she has _nearly two hundred thousand pounds, and your -fate is in your own hands!... Go!_’ - -“Rather bewildered by Lady Tewsminster’s almost tragic address, De -Peauchamp-Walmerdale took the wriggling Tottles, left the house, and -carried out his instructions to the letter. The loss of Tottles had been -discovered. Miss Shyne’s establishment was topsy-turvy when he arrived, -servants tearing up and down stairs, the confidential attendant in tears -on a hall chair, Miss Shyne in hysterics in her Early Victorian boudoir, -the remaining dogs harking their heads off, and the very devil to pay. -But the arrival of De Peauchamp-Walmerdale, dear fellers, caused a lull -in the storm. Faithful to his instructions, he refused to give up the -dog, except to its mistress, and after a feint or two of departure, Miss -Shyne gave in and ordered her fate, as it turned out to be—d’ye foller -me?—to be shown upstairs. - -“The Early Victorian drawing-room, with the green rep furniture and the -Berlin woolwork curtains—a pattern of macaws and dahlias, I -understood—was in partial darkness. Only the wax candles in the crystal -candelabra on the marble mantelshelf were alight, no electric -illuminations bein’ permitted on the premises. - -“De Peauchamp-Walmerdale—dog under his arm—took up a commandin’ position -on the hearthrug, also worked in Berlin wool, in front of a small, -mysterious and palely-twinkling fire. As he did so the foldin’ doors -opposite, communicating with the boudoir, slowly opened, and Miss Jane -Ann Shyne, spinster, aged seventy, saw before her the long-dead romance -of her youth, resuscitated from the ashes of—wherever long-dead romances -are deposited, dear fellers. There was a faint, feminine scream—quite -Early Victorian in character—a rustle of old-fashioned satins—an -outburst of joyous barks from Tottles, a strong, bewildering perfume of -lavender water (triple extract), and the old lady sank, literally sank, -upon the white Irish poplin vest that added style and _cachet_ to De -Peauchamp-Walmerdale’s uncommonly fetchin’ costume. - -“What more, dear fellers? The couple were united yesterday at -St. Neot’s, Knightsbridge. Every penny is settled on De -Peauchamp-Walmerdale, and Lady Tewsminster says she can now die happy, -her dear boy being provided for, for life. She naturally claims the -honors of the affair! Quite so, but without the clothes where would the -man have been? D’ye foller me, dear fellers? In my poor opinion, the -principal factor in the making of De Peauchamp-Walmerdale’s fortune was -the Man Behind the Shears. Do you foller me? So glad! Thought you -would.” - - - - - THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA - - -“‘Let us be consistent,’” said Lady Pomphrey, her three saddle-bag chins -quivering with emotion, “‘or let us die’—that is what I have always -said. Here is my only niece, Wendoleth Caer-Brydglingbury, goes—actually -goes—and marries a Liberal Member of Parliament in a red necktie—who -makes speeches in townhalls and tents, and things, to masses of people, -all about pulling down the House of Lords and abolishing the Peerage, -and absolutely declines to allow his wife to drop her title. To you—so -intimate a friend, don’t you know?—I may say in confidence I am -sickened. I cannot imagine what the world is coming to. I could wish to -die and leave it, were it not that Jane and Charlotte are still -unmarried, and I have promised to present three of the _sweetest_ -girls—well-bred Americans of the best type, without a trace of accent—at -the first Drawing-room of the Winter Season. And the family diamonds are -being reset in view of Rustleton’s approaching marriage—a union -satisfactory from every point of view, especially a mother’s.” - -Lady Pomphrey paused for breath, and the intimate friend-they had met at -Bad Smellstein a fortnight previously while taking little early morning -walks, and drinking little glasses of excessively nauseous waters -warranted to correct the most aristocratic acidity—the intimate friend -murmured something sympathetic. - -“Of course, I might have _known_ one _could_ look to _you_ for -comprehension and all that sort of thing,” said Lady Pomphrey, -graciously bending her head, which was enveloped in a large mushroom hat -of blue straw tied down all round with a drab silk veil, and patting the -intimate friend upon the knee with the stick of her celebrated green -silk sunshade. “One of those delightful literary creatures-was it -Algernon Meredith or George Swinburne?—has termed friendship ‘the -marriage of true minds.’ Ever since the Hambridge-Osts introduced us—in -a thunderstorm—at the firework display in the Park in honor of the Grand -Duke’s birthday—and being Sunday, I will _own_ that the nerve-shattering -meteorological demonstrations that drove us to shelter in that extremely -leaky Chinese pavilion seemed to me but a judgment upon German -Sabbath-breakers—ours has been such a union. Cemented by your -helpfulness in the matter of sandbags for a rattling window—Lord -Pomphrey is completely impervious to all such nerve-shattering tortures, -and will sleep happily in his cabin on the yacht in Cowes Roads through -a Royal Naval Review—and your timely ministrations with soda-mint -lozenges when acute indigestion virtually prostrated me after a -homicidal _plat_ of eels with cranberry-sauce, of which I foolishly -partook at the _table d’hôte_. The mysteriousness of it allured me. I -wished for once to feel like a German. Now I feel assured their -extraordinary diet accounts for much that is abstruse and metaphysical -in the national character. For you cannot possibly be normal if you are -fed upon abnormal things. And I am grateful that Rustleton has never -shown himself in the least susceptible to the attractions of their -women. I know—almost quite intimately—a Grand Duchess who has brought up -every one of her nine young daughters upon red-cabbage soup, with -sausage-meat balls and dumplings; and somehow it is suggested in the -girls’ complexions and figures—_especially_ the dumplings.” - -The friend tittered. Lady Pomphrey placed upon the seat beside her a -straw handbag containing a Tauchnitz edition of the last new Mudie -novel, a black fan, a large bottle of frightfully strong salts, several -spare pocket-handkerchiefs, several indelible-ink pencils, and a -quantity of obsolete railway tickets, and became more confidential than -ever. - -“Had I been consulted by destiny when the arrangement of Rustleton’s -matrimonial future came _sur le tapis_ I could not—with my expiring -breath I would repeat this—_could not_ be more completely satisfied. It -began by his hating her.... She hit him on the nose with a diabolo in -June at Ranelagh, and, ‘Mother,’ he said afterwards to me—his upper lip -perfectly rigid with wounded dignity—‘I should have greatly preferred to -have been born in the days of “Coningsby,” or “Lothair.” Muscular young -women create in me a feeling of _positive aversion_!’ He found her -agitating even at that early stage of affairs? How subtle of you to -_see_ that!” - -The flattered friend murmured an interrogation. - -“Who is she?” repeated Lady Pomphrey. “But surely the newspapers?... You -suffer too acutely from dancing spots in the field of vision ever to -read when undergoing a cure?... Poor dear, I can feel for you. She is -the Hon. Céline Twissing—will be Baroness Twissing of Hopsacks in her -own right when old Lord Twissing dies. He insisted upon _that_ -arrangement in the interests of his only child; when the intimation was -conveyed from a Certain Quarter that the Jubilee Baronetcy he already -enjoyed would be changed into a Peerage did he encourage the idea. Quite -a bluff old English type, and I must say in hospitality Imperial. -‘Twissing’s Bonded Breweries.’... A colossal fortune, and that _sweet_ -girl is to inherit nearly the whole. Shall I say that my heart went out -to her from the first instant I saw her? As a mother yourself, you will -understand! Here comes the young woman with the tray for our glasses. -_Ja, bitte, Ich danke Sie...._ You _don’t_ mean to tell me the creature -is a Cockney?... How distressing! I may be fanciful, possibly I am,” -said Lady Pomphrey, “but I do prefer my surroundings to be congruous and -in tone. I’m sure you feel what I convey? You do? How nice that is!...” - -The friend smiled and inaudibly murmured something. - -“Of course,” cried Lady Pomphrey, “you’re on thorns to hear all about -Rustleton’s love-match. As I told you, Céline Twissing—the _Christian_ -name has been Gallicized from Selina—and why on earth not? _Céline_ is -an expert at diabolo. It’s a knack, sending these little black and red -demons as high as a house, or into your neighbor’s eye; and she is a -talented as well as a charming girl. With three languages, several -sciences, a system of physical-culture exercises, golf, tennis, and the -laws of hockey at her finger-ends, she would have gone far in these days -of violent recreations and brusque manners, even without a _dot_. -Masculine? Oh _dear no_! Perhaps deficient in reverence for what _we_ -were taught to believe in as the superior sex. Perhaps lacking in -feminine _finesse_. I _have_ heard it said that the girl of the -twentieth century cannot cajole, and is ignorant how to be alluring. -Perhaps it is a pity. The woman who has a gift of managing difficult -people, smoothing absurd people down, and being perfectly amiable to the -absolutely objectionable is practically priceless as a greaser of the -social cog-wheels. Now Céline calls that sort of woman, plumply and -plainly, a hypocrite.... But is it not a woman’s _duty_ to be a -hypocrite, if telling the truth to everybody makes the world a place of -gnashing?” demanded Lady Pomphrey, making her eyebrows climb up out of -sight under the shadow of her mushroom hat. - -The compliant friend assented. - -“You understand, then, how dissonant was the chord Céline Twissing -struck in Rustleton. With his Plantagenet dash in the blood, his -hereditary intolerance of anything smacking of vulgarity, his medieval -attitude of chivalry towards Woman, his Early Victorian dislike of the -_outré_ and the _bizarre_, he frankly found her intolerable. ‘In a -drawing-room,’ he said to me in confidence, ‘that girl reminds me of a -Polar bear in a hothouse.’ Where the boy could have seen one I cannot -imagine—probably it was only a young man’s daring figure of speech. -Shall we walk about a little? I think I felt a twinge.” - -The friend agreed, and, gently ambling up and down the Kreuzbrunnen -Promenade, Lady Pomphrey continued her narrative. - -“Rustleton said she was a New Girl of the worst type. Then came the -diabolo affair, which, considering Céline’s remarkable knack, I cannot -think accidental. The bridge of Rustleton’s nose was seriously contused, -and his monocle was shattered—fortunately without danger to the eye. He -took no revenge beyond an epigram, quite worthy of La Rochefou—what’s -his name?... She is keen on dancing, unlike other muscular girls; and -said so in my boy’s near vicinity. ‘Why not? She has hops in her blood,’ -he uttered. Of course, a little bird carried it to her ear.... How d’ye -do, Lady Frederica? How d’ye do, Count Pyffer? I quite agree with -you.... Piercing winds, varied by muggy airlessness and a distressingly -relaxing warmth, _have_ made the last eight days intolerable.... My -dear, where was I when I left off?” The suffering friend indicated the -point. Lady Pomphrey continued: - -“And _after all_ they have come together. Quite a romance. If a mother’s -prayers have any influence, ... and I am old-fashioned enough to believe -they have.... But I knew Rustleton too well to breathe a hint of my -hopes. I did not stoop to intrigue, as some mothers would, to bring the -young people together. But dearest Jane, who is always my right hand, -conceived a devoted friendship for Céline just at the psychological -moment, and owing to that she and Rustleton were _constantly_ thrown in -each other’s way. Céline quite exerted herself to be overwhelmingly -unpleasant. Jane says that during a bicycling excursion in the -neighborhood of our place at Cluckham-Pomphrey, she offered to help him -to lift his machine over a stile, and would have done it unaided and -alone if Rustleton had not peremptorily seized the frame-bar, gripping -both her hands in his. On Jane’s authority, she crimsoned to the hat, -throwing him off like a feather, and, mounting her machine, was out of -sight in an instant. He was icily sarcastic on the subject of muscular -young women all the way home, and limited his dinner to clear soup and a -single cutlet with dry toast, while Céline went through all the courses -in her usual thoroughgoing way. They are not in the least ashamed to -eat, do you notice?—these golfing, hockey-playing, open-air young -people.... Now you and I can recall placing a solid barrier of five -o’clock cake and muffins between undue appetite and the eight o’clock -dinner, at which we merely toyed with our knives and forks, trusting to -our maids to have a tray of cold eatables ready in the bedroom for -consumption while our hair was being brushed. Of _course_! ‘but _these_ -girls devour at tea, _wolf_ at dinner’—I quote Rustleton—‘and probably -stodge sandwiches and cold chicken and chocolate-wafers before they -plunge into their beds. When there, how they must snore!’ - -“His eye gleamed with such feverish malignancy as he said this, that I -involuntarily dropped a quantity of stitches in the silk necktie I was -knitting for him—a soothing neutral shade not calculated to call -attention to the tinge of bile in his complexion—and exclaimed, ‘Good -Heavens!’ He immediately begged my pardon and bade me ‘good-night,’ -whispering that he had arranged to shoot over the lower sixty acres with -Stubbins, the head keeper—purely as a filial duty, Pomphrey not feeling -robust enough to undertake it this year.... - -“Whether it was my having breathed a hint of this to Jane—who is, as a -rule, a _grave_ for chance confidence—or whether Miss Twissing had -overheard, how can I say? But she and Stubbins were waiting for my boy -on the following morning, Stubbins—who loathes sporting women—in a state -of complacency that only a five-pound note could have brought about. Her -beautiful Bond-street self-ejecting breechloader, her cap, tweeds, and -gaiters were the _dernier cri_, and with the coolest self-possession she -wiped my poor boy’s eye over and over again. Out of thirty brace of -birds before luncheon only three and a half fell to his gun, and _those_ -were of the red-legged French description, ‘bred for duffers to blaze -at,’ according to Lord Pomphrey. Rustleton went up to town that night, -charging Jane with all sorts of civil messages for Miss Twissing, and -slept at his Club, which was being painted and disagreed with him -excessively.” - -The friend sighed sympathy. - -“Even with every door and window open and a flat dish full of milk upon -the washstand,” said Lady Pomphrey, taking the friend’s arm and -emphasizing her utterances with the green sunshade, “white paint -permeates my whole being in a way that is perfectly indescribable. My -son inherits my receptiveness—perhaps my weakness-indeed, he came into -the world at Cluckham-Pomphrey during an early visit of ours, subsequent -to spring-cleaning, where, owing to an unhappy facility possessed by -Lord Pomphrey of being easily persuaded by self-interested persons, the -hall screen, grand staircase, and all the Jacobean paneling had been -covered by the local decorator with a creamy-hued, turpentiny and -glutinous mixture known as ‘Eggster’s Exquisite Enamel.’ It cost a -fortune to get off again, and some of it still lingers in the crevices -of the carving. My basket.... It is a little cumbrous, but I really -couldn’t think of letting you.... Well then, dear friend, if you -insist.... Now for the really remarkable ending of my boy’s story. - -“He flew to his cousin for consolation. Now, Wendoleth -Caer-Brydglingbury is extremely sympathetic. Only for the color of her -hair-a violent Boadicean red, almost purple in some lights—Rustleton and -she—but I am devoutly thankful things have turned out as they _have_. - -“‘A sea cruise,’ said Wendoleth promptly, ‘will get the white paint out -of your system quicker than anything I know; and your morbid feeling of -vexation with this girl, impatience of her persistency in continuing to -exist, and so forth, will vanish with other things. Mr. Mudge,’—the -person she has since married,—‘has kindly asked Papa and myself to join -his party on board the steam-yacht _Fifi_ for a trip to Lisbon, Madeira, -and the Canaries; join us. I assure you a complete welcome and at least -half a cabin.’ Rustleton recognized the cousinly kindness in Wendoleth’s -proposal, accepted, and went with her and Todmoxen—the Earl is still -robust, but not what he was in the ’seventies, nor is it to be -expected—down to Southampton to join the _Fifi_. Mudge is Liberal member -for the North Clogger Division of Mudderpool. But for a crimson -necktie—the Party badge—and a habit of hanging on to his own coat-lapels -when conversing, he is almost quite presentable, and, like all those -people who begin by not having twopence, he is astonishingly rich. His -welcome to Rustleton was cordial in the extreme. But when Rustleton -found Lord Twissing and his daughter already on board, discovered that -he was to share Twissing’s cabin, and that Céline slept in the one next -door, he was dismayed. He would have excused himself and left the _Fifi_ -only that she was already on her way. Fate, like one of those curious -jelly-like creatures which wave their tentacles to attract their prey -and then clutch it and gradually absorb it, had wrapped its feelers -around my poor boy. He is now resigned, calm, content, even happy; but -when I think how he must have suffered.... My salts. In the basket. So -kind of you, and _so_ reviving.” - -Lady Pomphrey inhaled with drooping eyelids and sniffed at the -salts-flagon from time to time as she embarked once more upon her -narrative way. - -“The _Fifi_ anchored for the night, which promised to be squally, in -Southampton Water, about a quarter of a mile from Hythe Pier. Depressed -and discouraged, my boy retired to his cabin, leaving the entire party -screaming over ‘Bridge’ at a number of little tables in the saloon. He -had just put on his nightalines,—pink with a green stripe, the jacket -ornamented with green braid in loops, to match—and was attending to his -teeth with a palm-stick, when, with a terrific crash, all the electric -lights went out and the _Fifi_ was plunged in darkness. I shudder when I -realize the awfulness of all that. Don’t you?” - -The friend supplied a shudder expressly manufactured for the purpose. - -“A Welsh collier steamer, the _Rattletrap_, from Penwryg, had run -down Mr. Mudge’s yacht, becoming firmly embedded in the hull of the -craft—the details are graven on my memory,” said Lady Pomphrey -impressively—“immediately forward of the engine-room. The crew -turned out—not into the sea, but out of their hammocks—the ‘Bridge’ -players rushed in confusion upon deck. In their evening dresses, -without being even able to save a bag from below, Mr. Mudge’s party -were dragged over the grimy bows of the collier. The crew scrambled -after. The captain of the _Rattletrap_, having ascertained that the -_Fifi_ was rapidly filling, and that all her passengers, as he -thought, were safe on board his vessel, was about to give the signal -from the bridge to reverse engines when, with an appalling scream a -lithe young girl in a crêpe de Chine evening wrap embroidered with -roses and turtle-doves—quite symbolic when you think of it—leaped -back upon the deck of the _Fifi_ and disappeared below. Guess who -she was, and whither she had gone? You can? You do? What romance in -real life, isn’t it? Céline Twissing had missed Rustleton, and, -knowing that he occupied the cabin next to her own, had rushed below -to save him. - -“He had rung for his man and was waiting calmly to be dressed, when she -burst in the door with her shoulder—have you ever noticed her -shoulders?—and shrieked to him to come on deck and be saved. Wrapped in -a Scotch plaid which he had hastily thrown over his pyjamas at the -moment of her entrance, he defied her, rebuked her immodesty in entering -a gentleman’s dressing-room unannounced, ordered her to quit the cabin -and go back to her father. When properly attired to appear before -ladies, my boy, ever chivalrous and delicate-minded, said he would board -the _Rattletrap_. ‘Don’t you feel that this yacht is water-logged?’ -screamed Céline Twissing. ‘Don’t you know she’ll sink under our feet in -another minute? Come on deck at _once_, you duffing little precisian, -unless you want me to carry you!’ He retorted with contempt. She -instantly seized him in her muscular arms—have you ever noticed her -arms?—threw him, Scotch plaid and all, over her shoulder, carried him up -the yacht’s companion-ladder, and amidst the cheers of the united crews -of the _Fifi_ and the _Rattletrap_, handed him over the bulwarks to the -men of the collier. Then she followed, the captain gave the order to go -astern, the collier reversed her engines, the water rushed into the -yacht, and she sank instantly. All that can be seen of her to-day is her -masts. And Céline Twissing and my boy are to be made one at St. -George’s, Hanover Square, in the first week of the Winter Season. Céline -will be married in white satin and _mousseline_ trimmed with silver -embroidery, and she goes away in a gown of putty-colored _velvelise_—the -new stuff. I believe she secretly adored Rustleton from the very -beginning, and he, I feel, is reconciled to the inscrutable appointments -of Providence. _How_ we have been chattering, haven’t we? Time for -luncheon now. Oh, I pray, no carp in beer, or eels with currant jelly. -But one never knows. _Au revoir_, dear! _Au revoir!_” And Lady Pomphrey -put up her green sunshade and sailed away. - - - THE END - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as - printed. - 3. 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